M’Adik 🧿

23 ~ she/her Just here to reblog

[utterlyvanya]

Barbie Doll

Paring: Jack abbott x nurse!reader

Wc: 2.7k

Description: You and your new boyfriend haven't had sex yet. Though, getting drunk for the first time — and seeing your gorgeous boyfriend take care of you — awakens that dormant part. Or, you being a drunk mess trying to get him to fuck you, and him fighting his self-control.

Tags/warnings: Established rlsp, Drinking, r is drunk, lots of flirting, highly suggesting themes, lots of mentions of sex, huge age-gap (reader in 20's, abbott is 50), size difference, horniness lol, slight allusions to dom!jack, use of pet names: sweetheart, baby, honey (would u guys like "kid" lol?) (sorry, i have issues. i think.)

Note: This is my first fic, and i wrote it in one go. While I tried to make the reader very neutral in terms of characteristics — the fic is highly self-indulgent (i, too, am horny for abbott), and you may see some mentions of reading having hair, reader being in heels.

Part 2 now up!

“I kind of want to get shitfaced.”

Jack did not turn to look at you. He just huffed into his cup of black coffee, held closely to his lips. The kind of black coffee that made you wrinkle your nose. You proudly liked yours with a bit of milk in it. Okay, a lot of milk. To the point, Jack called it a milkshake.

His eyes remained fixated at the screen of his phone, straining even with his reading glasses, to read the daily news on a bulletin app you downloaded on his phone. 

“What about your policy against having fun, and letting yourself go for more than two minutes in a row?” Jack asks in his low voice, scratchy from the coffee. His eyes finally find yours, as he takes a slow sip from his cup. His eyebrows raise at you questioningly, holding your gaze.

Damn him and his gaze. Even after 6 weeks of dating — and pining for a lot longer than that — he sure could still make you feel like a puddle.

You're only able to speak once he turns to his phone again. “Uh, excuse you, I'm a very fun person, thank you very much. Yesterday, I put a fake ‘your computer is down’ screen on Shen's laptop,” you tell proudly. 

“Dear god. He did not go into a cardiac arrest from your…prank?” Jack's voice caught on the word “prank” as if it deeply amused him.

You narrowed your eyes at your boyfriend (still hard to say that), shifting close enough to him on his couch that your knee knocked against his thigh. Your entire body faced him, while his faced the front — a tiny whine left your lips.

Jack turned his attention back to you as you spoke again. “You know it's the loss of control I hate. Don't you think I also feel like getting all loose-lipped and dancing on top of tables and flirting with strangers?”

His eyes softened a fraction when he saw the small frown on your lips. He sets his phone face-down on the arm of the couch, before shifting so his upper half faced you too. “Okay, what brings this on? You know I just like teasing, I don't think there's anything wrong with being an alcohol virgin.”

You rolled your eyes at his choice of words. “I want to know what it's like. It makes everyone so…” your hands do a weird dance in front of your chest, trying to find a proper word. Your attending swiftly moves his cup a bit to the left, so your hands wouldn't knock it all over yourself. 

“Joyful,” you finished.

“Okay, but let's not dance on table tops and flirt with strangers,” he takes off his reading glasses and perches them next to his phone. When his eyes find you again, they're equal parts amused, and that softness that only seems to show up when you're in the room.

“I would never, I'd feel bad for giving you stress at your age.”

He lightly smacks your hip that's not smushed against the couch, “Brat.”

You grin widely, “You'll be there, right?”

“With a camera and a mic. My beautiful, sensible, nurse, looking like an absolute fool,” he tugged at a loose strand of your hair, his eyes shining with endearment.

Your little baby blue sling looks absolutely ridiculous hung over his shoulder. “What did I tell you before leaving?” His voice strains with the effort of all the workout he got in today. He's struggling with unlocking the door, because your purse keeps slipping down his arms.

You were a disaster. While your favourite doctor made sure you only stuck to fruity drinks that gave you a pleasant buzz and not regrets — you still managed to outdo yourself in terms of being a mess.

You challenged a man twice your size in an arm wrestle. You advised 3 different women to break up with their boyfriends, “Mine's handsome and kind. You guys stay safe, though.” And, finally, broke the heel of your left boot making you even more unbalanced than you already were. 

“That Dr. Robby is a little shit with no self-preservation inst-”

“The other one, honey.”

You went silent for a moment, searching your hazy brain as the door opened in front of you. Jack gently guided you in, before locking the door with a sharp click. His rough hands sneak up your arms, tugging the jacket at your shoulders, and shrug it off you to safely hang it on his coat rack.

“That I shouldn't carry my bag if I couldn't keep it safe?” you say, looking down at him, as he sets his knee on the floor. His hands that cut and heal skin with such precision, are deftly working the zipper of your boots. He gently helps your feet out of the pair, patting your calf, before rising to his full height again with a groan.

Without your size boosters, your head was once again leveled with his chest. Jack nodded, leaning his head down so you didn't have to crane your neck as much.

“But I had my ID and pepper spray in there,” you justified, your lower lip jutting out in a pout.

Jack's hand pats the right-side pocket of his hands, “ID,” his voice rumbling as if coming straight from his chest. “And you don't need pepper spray. You have me.”

But you're not registering a word he says, not when he looks like this. His salt and pepper curls are all ruffled from your bar visit. His simple black tee is pulled taut across his biceps, making them look just as delicious as they do in his SWAT uniform.

His fingers snap in front of you, “Eyes up here, sweetheart.” You look in his honeyed eyes again. God, why haven't you guys had sex already? You seriously can't remember why.

“Why haven't we fucked?” You blurt out. Oh, the alcohol doesn’t make you Joyful. It makes you blunt.

Your boyfriend freezes for a second, before letting out a deep, throaty laugh. His hands settle on your shoulders. With a slight bend of his knees, he manages to stare completely and directly into your eyes. “Wow, thought we went to the bar, not to a seminar for clear communication.”

You capture both his hands and slide them down, so they're firmly on your hips. After humming in satisfaction, you take a step closer to him, your chest brushing his. “Answer me.”

As if suddenly realizing you both are still standing in the entryway, Jack starts walking you backwards, swiftly maneuvering you so you don't hit the kitchen counter. “I'm your attending, honey, I don't answer to you,”

You furrow your brows, staring up at him with irritation. You press yourself even closer to him, your palms settling on his hard stomach. “Like hell you don't. I want to know why me and my gorgeous boyfriend haven't made good use of every room in this too-big-for-you house.”

Jack sighs deeply, his fingers unconsciously tightening around your hips. He takes a seat on one of the low kitchen counter stools, so he doesn't have to keep looking down at you. His arms completely wrap around your waist, pulling you in until you're standing between the hard muscle of his thighs.

“Because we work at a hospital, we're either busy or tired. And…it's hard to find a footing with sex. You tense up whenever my hand slips under your shirt, you've talked about how insecure you get. And me…well, I'm not what I used to be.”

Your eyes soften, “But do you want me?” Your lips graze his jaw, your hands palming the hard plane of his chest.

Jack shifts in his seat and takes a deep breath, “What do you think, baby?” his right hand moves an inch lower with exaggerated slowness, settling on the top curve of your ass, his thumb stroking the curve.

You let out an entirely pathetic whimper at his breathy voice, his lips brushing your temple. You move back your face, so you can watch him again. His eyes look darker than they actually are.

“I see this as a good opportunity that we should seize, doctor.” His throat catches at the ‘doctor’. Oh, you are not a fair player.

“Well, I don't like my medical staff being inhibited. Perhaps, sometimes when you're horny and sober, we can continue the procedure.” His breaths are coming in shallow, his hard thighs squeezing around you to completely lock you in. His hands have not stopped moving, the one on your waist has moved north to tangle in your hair at the nape of your neck.

A petulant whine leaves your lips as you bury your mouth in the crook of his neck. “But-”

“No buts. I have no intention of being between your legs in a state you won't even remember anything in.” The rasp in his voice so close to your ear directly travels to the your belly, already coiling tight with tension.

The imagery makes you groan: His mouth working between your legs, his jaw shining under the dim lights, stopping for a moment to say, “Louder, baby. Your doctor can't hear you.”

Your lips slip from his neck, replaced by your forehead. His lips brush against your hair, the gentleness so different from what his body is suggesting.

“Kids and their hormones,” he teasingly says. That makes you pull yourself back. Because that's rich coming from a man whose pants are getting visibly tighter.

“Is that so, grandpa?” Your eyes are entirely fixated on his lips. Your own bottom lip has caught between your teeth.

His thumb comes up to free your lip so you don't hurt it, “Careful, brat.” His hand stays on your face, and you lean heavily into his palm, blinking at him. The strap of your top has conveniently fallen off from its place, and Jack is staring like a man who's just discovered shoulders, tracking the soft curve of it, following the slope of your neck, where your pulse thrums rapidly.

Leave it to him to have a gaze that weights at least a 300 pounds.

Your palms drop from his chest to his waist, brushing your fingers against the waistband of his pants. A soft “uh-uh” leaves his mouth as he slowly shakes his head, though he makes no move with his hands to push you away.

“You're palming at me like you're a little girl, and I'm your favorite barbie doll.”

“You are my favorite barbie doll, Dr. Abbott,” it leaves your mouth in a soft, needy, whine.

His shoulder shake slightly from laughter, the comforting rumble filling the room, subsequently reaching every tensed part of your body, and taking its place there too, perfectly fitting every crook and corner.

“I am a 50-year old man with a military background, who spends his nights managing an entire floor of medical staff. My day hobbies include being a buddy to SWAT and getting shot at.”

You look at him, as if to say “so?” and hearing the adoration — despite the choice of words — in your voice completely decentres him. “Glad to be your favourite barbie doll, honey.”

He finally freezes when your wandering palm brushes against the hard ridge in his pants, practically begging to be freed. You let out a little gasp as you feel his size, even with a barrier of rough fabric.

A low groan leaves him, his hand sharply capturing your bold wrist against his own chest, heaving up and down. For someone just talking about being 50, the man's heart is sure beating with a fast thump-thump-thump, like a teenage boy catching his crush in a 2-feet vicinity. Your name leaves his mouth, dirty and like a prayer at the same time.

“Let me help you, doctor. Please” you say sweetly, voice coated in silk and need and whatever poison this man mixed in your drinks.

A pause.

He gets off the stool in a sudden motion, his hands grip your forearms, and starts walking you backwards in the general direction of the bathroom.

“You are a pain in my ass. And, frankly, a horny mess.”

“Speaking of horny and my ass-”

He doesn't let you complete the sentence before turning you around, his broad chest hovering over your form from the back. “Nope. You have lost the privilege of looking at me before you've taken a cold shower.”

You tilt your head back to look at him, excitement glinting in your eyes, “together?”

“No, you pervert.” Your boyfriend opens the door to the bathroom and lets you both in. Before you can even complain, his rough palms are gripping the back of your thighs, swiftly lifting you up on the counter. You let out a little squeal, squeezing your thighs at the display of his strength.

Show-off.

So fucking hot, though. It's like he was made by Lana Del Rey's mind.

Jack doesn’t stop, though. He finds his way behind the glass that separates the shower from the rest of the bathroom. His practiced hands mess with the settings until he's satisfied, and comes back.

He stands in front of you again, crossing his arms over his chest. His muscles strain at the motion, trying to escape their way from the tight shirt. You pout at his slut-ishness. A walking, talking, thirst trap. If he was an actor, he would surely have his fare share of editors.

“How am I supposed to not get wet when you manhandle me?”

“Jesus,” he mumbles, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes to lull some of his composure back into him. He silently thanks his military discipline, or you would currently be spread on the soft sheets of his bed, waking up his neighbours.

He takes a deep breath, eyes scanning you again. His fingers come up to pinch your chin in a soft embrace, “Shower. Clean. Mind and body both. And then, we will sleep. Got it?”

Heat pools low in your belly at his authoritative voice. God, how did you land this man?

“Sir, yes, sir.” You watch his gaze get heavy at the word. He leaves his hold on your chin, pats your hip, and exits the bathroom.

Guess you know what you'll be calling him, when he finally lets you do what your body is begging you to do.

You find him on his bed, wearing only a pair of low hung worn-out sweatpants. His back is slumped against the pillows, fingers locked behind his head as he stares at the ceiling.

He finally looks at you, crawling on his king-sized bed, trying to make your way over to him. It seems the shower un-possessed you. You look soft, sleepy, tired, and utterly his.

He holds out his arm and you immediately curl up into him, your icy-cold nose finding the hollow of his neck. “Hold me,” you murmur.

“One second, honey.” Before he can properly embrace you, he pulls up the thick duvet and arranges it to cover both of you. His left arm is trapped under your body, fingers pressing against the small of your back to pull you closer. His other hand brushes the hair back from your face, watching your heavy eyelids.

“There you are,” he softly rumbles before pressing the softest, most lingering kiss on your temple. A low sigh of satisfaction leaves you. You're still inhibited, but the tiredness has caught up.

“You didn't like the freaky me?” You ask, your jaw cracking with a yawn right after. 

“I like every-you, unfortunately. It's a weakness in the ED.” His fingers are still moving in your hair, scratching your scalp in a way that turns your brain to mush. You push your face even deeper in his neck. Hell, you would live inside his ribcage if he ever allowed it.

You let out a soft giggle, hiking your thigh over his hip so no part of you is separate from him. “Can we have a proper conversation about sex tomorrow?”

Your boyfriend murmurs a “yes, baby,” against your forehead. 

“Okay, goodnight. Gonna have some good wet dreams.”

“Shut up, and go to sleep, sweetheart.”

If anybody even reads this, and ends up liking it - pls feel free to glaze me in comments, asks, or dms. likes and reblogs appreciated as well <3 also, do yall think im funny?

[cinnag1rl]

Based on this ask!

Babysitter!reader! x Pre Apocalypse Joel

Tags: MDNI, p in v , bicep fixation, Fingers in mouth🤤 , body restraint, Nicknames!(Sweetheart, baby) , a bit cringy confession scene but bear with me rn,

Links: Taglist & Masterlist

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Maybe it was fate, or maybe it was the craigslist ad that had finally gotten you a babysitting job after months of unemployment.

It was stupid really, you checked EVERYWHERE for any hires and had gotten no luck for months on end, and then FINALLY a guy named Joel was looking for someone to take care of his 2 and a half year old daughter full time.

And ever since then you’ve been taking care of Sarah! When you first arrived at the house, you were i guess, stunned, Joel didn’t know how to take care of tiny Sarah, in his eyes, the whole situation was a mess. I mean, he was a single dad with no one to help him raise a baby girl whilst also having a full time job , and it exhausted him badly.

He tried everything, research online, parent meet ups and even picked up a book after two decades, which were all zero help to him. So he gave in and put up a craigslist ad looking for a babysitter and of course this man didn’t know the true dangers of craigslist but oh well

But when you first arrived, Joel thought you were an angel sent from above, i mean, you had barely arrived for 5 minutes and the mere glimpse of him trying to take care of little Sarah forced you to step in and teach him right from wrong in regards of taking care of toddlers.

But you found it a bit endearing .I mean it wasn’t really all his fault , he was left alone to raise a child whilst he was working hard at his contracting job, of course he had no clue what he was doing.

Not only did you find him endearing and just a hard working guy, he was.. a little hot, I mean cmon, this single dad with the beefiest and juiciest biceps and the roughest hands with fingers you certainly didn’t want inside you or your mouth while he fucked you you’ve ever seen had you melting every single time you were in the same room as him.

It certainly wasn’t a good idea. he was years older than you, and you were just a mere babysitter taking care of his kid, you did try to forget about this handsome older man but the thought still lingered a bit.

Until one faithful night, Sarah had already fallen asleep whilst you were hanging out in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and doom scrolling on your phone. And the faint sound of the door opening and closing caught your attention , signalling that Joel had just arrived back home.

“Oh, Hi Joel,” you say once he walked in the kitchen, setting your phone down and your attention turning to him.

“Ah, hey sweetheart, how was it today?”

“It was fun, me and Sarah went to the park again and played together and then walked a round for a bit.” you pause for a second and your eyes roam faintly on him and his biceps and his veiny arms and then snapped back to his face “How was your day, mr, Miller?”

“Joel, sweetheart, and it was exhausting, like always,” You let out a small chuckle that placed a faint smile in Joels face.

“Right.. About Saturday, i don’t think i can work that day Mr. Miller, i have this date with this guy and i can’t really work that day..”

Joel lets out a small scoff with a disapproving look on his face, “The date gunna be all day? Just go in the evening, ain’t that hard.”

“Mr. Miller it’s just that, until i get ready and find an outfit and i already work quite alot yknow-“

you spew out trying to reason with him, trying to avoid a larger conflict

“No can do, sweetheart, Want you here with me- I mean to take care of Sarah,” He almost admits, looking away from a moment out of pure embarrassment, silently cursing himself.

You blink in surprise, “Mr. Miller, what are you saying…”

Joel takes a moment, deep in thought, he lets out a heavy sigh and finally speaks “Damnit. I just, don’t want you to go on that date, sweetheart.” he almost mutters

You two stare at each other for a moment before your face reddens out of pure embarrassment,

“Mr,Miller.. we can’t- i don’t think its a good idea..”

“I know, damnit.. I just, you’re real nice girl,” he lets out a shaky breath and continues, trying to look away. “You take care of Sarah real well, and you- damn you’re so sweet and caring,” he admits,

“And i-“

slowly walking closer to the counter where you were leaning against and trapping you between his huge beefy arms forcing you to look up at him and not his massive biceps which are really distracting at the moment keeping eye contact with him.

“Really really like you, sweetheart.” he mumbles just for you to hear while his hand cups your cheek. You lean your cheek closer into his hand and blush profusely.

“Me too,” you mumble whilst Joels lips land on yours. His hands planted on your waist, still trapping you between him , inching closer and closer to you , kissing you softly at first but with a evident hunger holding him back,as he gently bites down on your lower lip and bruises the pinkish skin.

His mouth lowers, pressing kisses along your neck each one leaving a small purple love bite on your skin, which would raise some questions from the others at the park tomorrow.

“Wanted this for so long, sweetheart,” he mumbles as his hand cradles your face again, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, the other hand on your waist lowering down to the waistband of your pants.

You let him kiss you again, this time, hungrier than before , his skilled tongue dancing hungrily with yours as his hand that cradled your face switch’s smoothly to the back of your head, pushing you closer. He pulls back for a mere moment and suddenly picks you up bridal style causing you to let out a small gasp forcing Joel to let out another chuckle as he quietly takes you up to his bedroom, quiet enough as to not wake up the toddler.

⋆˙⟡

“You’re real pretty, sweetheart,” He groans as he’s balls deep inside you while he has you on a disgustingly good mating press. The lewd plaps of the filthy skin slaps filling in the room as he pounds his long fucking dick inside you, you grip the bed sheets for dear life as his body hovers above you giving him a full view while he rams himself inside you.

“Joelll-“ you moan “Fuck- fuck Joel!” you sob out, your pink gummy walls almost suffocating his cock as his thrusts himself so so deep inside you.

“Shhhhh, Gotta be a- fuuckk- Gotta be quiet,sweetheart,” He groans as he cups your cheek while his thumb brushes against your lower lip, slowly pushing in his thumb inside your mouth to quiet you down, pressing down on your tongue whilst you eagerly suck his thumb with immediate desperation.

“Fuuckk, so fucking perfect, aren’t you sweetheart?” he grunts just as he teases your mouth with his fingers, the lewd scene of him toying with your tongue looking straight out of a porn video.

Your pussy gushes out your sweet sweet juices as he continues to rams his thick pre cum covered dick. He eagerly grabs your wrists, restraining your helpless arms beneath his arms giving you a beautifullll view of his big beefy biceps trapping you under him.

“Joelll, fuck, can’t- hic- can’t hold it iiinnn!” you desperately moan, your eyes slightly watering as he pounds deep deep inside , one of his hand reaching down to your mouth to quiet you down

“Shhh, baby,” he grunts, your moans mumbling up.

“Just let go baby, let go for me, sweetheart,” he grunts , the filthy sounds of you two fucking filling in the room but just quiet enough to not wake anyone up.

Your mumbled sobs and moans in Joels hand as you finally reach your climax, your pussy gushing out so so much more. Not fully pulling out but slowly and gently thrusting inside you trying to reach his own climax.

𑣲⋆

And then you suddenly wake up in Joels bed as Sarahs cries from across the hall become louder by the minute. You reluctantly try to get up but just as you get up you feel something immediately pull you back into bed.

“Just let her sleep through it,” Joel drowsily mumbles , still half asleep. And reluctantly you go back to bed

And the whole moment just felt right.

Post by Cinnag1rl 2026

🥲i’ve been in another country for almost three weeks and its draining me so much i hope you enjoy this small glimpse of babysitter reader and Joel hehe!

I’m also working on another request rn so it might take me a minute to write it😔 Please be patient with me yall

[vintagevenus1111]

Milk for the Needy

pairing: soft dom!joel x f!reader wc: 12k (i am so sorry)

summary: using tommy to make joel jealous seemed harmless enough- but joel had other plans...

warnings: 18+ mdni, jackson au, big age gap (mid 50s and mid 20s), soft dom!joel, protective!joel, pervy!tommy, clingy/needy reader, possessiveness, jealousy as foreplay, praise kink, daddy kink (nickname only used once), rough sex, oral sex (m receiving), food play, oral fixation, deepthroating, gagging, spit, tears during oral, hair pulling, throat holding, spanking mention, semi-public risk, unprotected p-in-v sex

a/n: i had a dream ab going down on joel so this is what transpired... i swear after this i'm limiting myself to fics under 6k words- bc its physically impossible for me to write something under 11k words... o.O anyway, i hope yall enjoy! i'll be going through my requests soon so feel free to ask/submit any ideas or whatever while they're open! i love to hear from you guys!!! ♡♡ also: i only proofread this like once...:/

now playing... the giver - chappell roan

Joel Miller tells you no at least ten times a day. Though you can’t remember the last time he actually meant it.

 No, you can’t follow him to the stables when he has work to finish. No, you don’t need help fastening every little button on your dress. No, he isn’t carrying you upstairs simply because your feet hurt.

Then you look at him long enough, or curl both your hands around his wrist, or let your lip poke out the way he claims stopped working months ago.

And that usually ends with you perched nearby while he works, his hands working at the front of your dress, or one thick arm hooked under your knees while he mutters something about how spoiled you’ve gotten.

As if he isn’t directly responsible for it.

Joel has catered to every clingy little impulse you possess and kept the reason perfectly hidden from the rest of Jackson.

Nobody knows why you’re always the first person he searches for when he returns through the gates. They don’t know that the key in his pocket belongs to the house you practically live in now, or that half the clothes folded inside his dresser are yours.

And they certainly don’t know what happens after you slip through his backdoor each night.

You tried to hide your clinginess at first.

Because people in Jackson are nosy, and the difference between you and Joel was already impossible to miss. You figured sitting in his lap or hanging from his arm would have the whole town whispering before you even made it through dinner.

Instead, everyone came to the same wrong conclusion.

They thought Joel was taking care of you.

Not fucking you. Not keeping your underwear beneath his pillow because you had a habit of leaving without them.

They thought he was taking care of you in the respectable, almost parental way an older man might look after a younger girl who had become too attached to him. They thought you’d attached yourself to Joel because he was older and dependable and that he indulged in you because refusing a pretty girl young enough to be his daughter was just one of the few survival skills he never learned.

And once they decided that, they stopped examining any of it.

So you stopped caring who saw you cling to him.

Joel, however, remained careful enough for the both of you.

He won’t kiss you in public, and he’d probably drag you home by the back of your dress if you ever tried. But that doesn’t stop you from winding both your arms around his bicep while he talks to someone about patrol duties or resting your head in his shoulder during dinner. You press your face into his chest whenever patrol keeps him gone too long. You stand between his spread knees at community meetings, close enough to feel his breath against your neck while his hand remains respectably above your waist.

Everyone just thinks you’re seeking comfort from him.

They don’t know that same hand held your face against the mattress the night before.

People smile whenever they catch you tucked under Joel’s arm—they think it’s cute. Tommy rolls his eyes and calls you his brother’s spoiled little girl, usually earning a glare from Joel and an embarrassing thrill between your legs.

Women old enough to remember life before the outbreak tell you how lucky you are to have a man like Joel watching over you, a father figure — unaware that he had you crying into his pillow before breakfast for reasons you absolutely cannot divulge to them.

The worst part is how easily you’ve begun taking advantage of it.

You can sit pressed against Joel’s side at the Tipsy Bison with your thighs fitted between his and nobody gives you a second glance. You can play with his fingers under the table, tracing the thick knuckles that were inside you that morning, while everyone just assumes you needed another bit of reassurance. Once, you even fell asleep with your head in his lap. Joel stroked your hair the entire time, scowling down at you because he knew exactly what you were doing.

Nobody noticed the way his fingers closed around a handful of it when you smiled up at him.

They just saw an older man indulging in the poor girl who followed him everywhere like a lost puppy. They didn’t see the erection you could feel beneath your cheek or the warning in his eyes when you rubbed against it.

Yet, those warnings were rarely empty.

He liked making you pay for taking advantage of everyone’s assumptions about the two of you.

If your hand wandered too high beneath the table at the community dinner, he’d wait until he got you home to bend you across his lap and redden your ass. If you accidentally mentioned waking up in his bed within Tommy’s hearing, he made you stand against the bedroom wall with your dress gathered around your waist while he decided what to do with you. And if you managed to sleepily call him daddy in front of half the Tipsy Bison, he’d make you repeat it into his pillow until it was the only word you could manage.

But It was hardly a punishment when both of you knew you misbehaved because you wanted exactly that.

You loved the change in him once you were behind a locked door. He could pin both your wrists above your head with one hand, then use the other to sweep your hair away from your face when it stuck to your lips. His knees forced your legs apart whenever they tried to close around him, but he kissed the tears from under your eyes and told you what a good girl you were for  taking him so well.

Sometimes he fucked you hard enough to drive the bedframe against the wall, his palm covering your mouth while he reminded you that the neighbors already paid too much attention to who came and went from his house. Even then, his thumb passed over your cheek, his forehead rested against yours, and every filthy command ended with baby or sweetheart.

But his roughness just came naturally to him.

 Joel was a big man with hands that could circle both your wrists and a cock that made your body ache the next morning, even on the nights the sex was slow and gentle. He left fingerprints around your thighs when he held them open. His bread scraped the sensitive skin between your legs raw. Sometimes his hips would strike hard enough to bruise, especially when you clenched around him and his restraint slipped for a few strokes.

But he never took more than he believed you could handle, and he never took anything purely because he wanted it.

You loved that in the beginning. You still do. You love how thoroughly Joel cares for you, how naturally his body closes around yours afterward, how he cleans you up and pulls the blankets beneath your chin. You love falling asleep sore between your legs with his hands spread across your belly.

You don’t have to do anything besides lie beneath him and accept it.

But that’s exactly the problem.

You wanted to make Joel feel good for once.

You wanted to learn his body as thoroughly as he had learned yours—to know what touch made his hips jerk, which drag of your tongue made him lose his train of thought, which gag would finally send him over the edge.

But he’d never even let you taste him.

The closest you ever got was a kiss from his after he’d finished in you then went down on you after.

Joel has never allowed you to kneel between his leg and take him into your mouth. He’d never stood over you with his hand fisted in your hair and taught you how to take him without choking. You’d spent countless nights imagining him using your mouth until tears ran down your cheeks, imagined what he’d look like when you’d glance up to find every trace of patience gone from his face.

He refused to let the fantasy get any further than that.

He always claimed he didn’t need it.

That was the word he always used. Need. Like it was air or water.

And you’d tried often enough to know his refusal had nothing to do with him disliking the idea. His entire body would betray him the few times you managed to get on your knees for him. His thighs would go rigid, his cock would thicken behind the seam of his jeans, and his fingers would flex at the sides of his thighs like he was already imagining a handful of your hair.

Once, you’d actually managed to get to your knees and open his belt before he stopped you. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you with his jaw clenched while you rubbed your cheek helplessly over the bulge in his pants. The dark patch at the tip grew against your lips as you pressed a kiss to it through the fabric, and the sound that tore from his chest kept you awake thinking about it for days.

“Teach me, Joel,” you whined, rubbing your cheek over the length trapped inside his jeans again. “I promise I’ll be good. I’ll do whatever you tell me.”

His refusal was already there, but it looked painfully close to breaking.

A muscle jumped beside his mouth. His lips parted each time yours brushed the damp patch slowly spreading over his zipper, then they’d press together again before any sound could escape. One of his hands gripped the edge of the mattress hard enough to bleach his knuckles. The other hung beside your head, fingers opening and closing as his eyes followed every pass of your mouth across his cock.

You tipped your face toward him without lifting your chin from his crotch. Your eyes were enormous and pleading from where you were, your lashes fluttering with every blink. And he watched every single one of them. You could almost see him imagining those lashes wet and clumped together while he held you down on him.

“Please, Joel. Just let me try,” you begged. “Let me show you how bad I want it.”

His fist gripped at the edge of the bed again when you turned your head and pressed another open-mouthed kiss to the tip. His cock jerked against your lips, and a broken grunt left his throat, followed by your name bitten out between his teeth.

You could see how badly he wanted to give in. His thighs spread another inch around your body, his heel scrapped across the floor as his hips pushed involuntarily toward your mouth. The hand hanging between your head lifted; his thick fingers passing through your hair, gathering it away from your face until his fist closed near your scalp as he stared at your mouth.

He used his free hand to drag his thumb across your lower lip, pulling it down until your mouth parted slightly. When his cock twitched again under your chin, you could’ve sworn that was is it. He was going to free himself, guide you forward, and finally let you give him everything you’d been begging to.

You leaned into his grip, already opening wider.

You watched his eyes close, and another curse leave him through clenched teeth before the fist in your hair loosened.

“No, darlin’.” His thumb passed once against your cheek again. “Get up for me.”

He slid both his hands beneath your arms and lifted you from your knees, making sure not to let them scrape against the floor. By the time he sat you on the mattress, every trace of that near-surrender had been locked away again—except for the erection still straining against his jeans.

He never let it get that far again.

After that night, Joel got better at recognizing your intentions before you could even think about dropping to the floor. You could barely kiss his belly before his hands were catching your waist and hauling you back up. If your fingers even hesitated near his belt, he laced them through his and pinned them beside your head. You never got another chance to feel his cock jerk against your lips or see how close he could come to losing himself over your mouth.

Naturally, that only made you want it more.

Usually, Joel gave you enough attention to keep frustration from consuming you. It was difficult to remain upset with him when his hands or mouth were on you, and most nights ended with you too exhausted to remember what he’d even refused.

But even that distraction had been taken from you.

Joel had barely been home. Between patrol, repairs near the gate, and whatever someone kept dragging him away to handle, you received whichever parts of him Jackson hadn’t exhausted. A kiss against your forehead while he ate supper standing at the counter. His hand squeezing your waist when he passed behind you. He barely lasted ten minutes tucked beside you in bed before his breathing evened out against your hair.

You loved those parts of him too, though.

Some of your favorite nights spent with Joel had nothing to do with sex. You were perfectly happy sitting beside him while he repaired the torn strap of his gun or sharpened the knife he kept at his hip, your legs across his lap and his thumb passing over your ankle whenever he paused. You loved watching him wash the day from his face at the bathroom sink, sleeves shoved to his elbows and gray curls wet and flattened at his temples. You even liked listening to him complain about his patrol assignments you barely understood, especially when he stopped halfway through to ask whether you were paying attention and found you staring at his hands instead.

You didn’t need him inside you every time the two of you were alone.

You did, however, need more than a sleepy kiss and the back of his shirt clutched in your fist while he passed out beside you.

By that evening, you were itching to see him. Joel had left shortly after sunrise, promising he would be home before supper, and that occupied nearly every thought you had for the rest of the day. You wondered where he was while you finished your morning chores, whether he had remembered to eat when you passed the dining hall, and how much longer he would be gone each time boots sounded against the porch.

He was due back any minute, so you had already made yourself comfortable on his couch to wait for him.

The little blue bowl that rested in your lap, filled with strawberries Joel had hulled and cut for you this morning. Sugar clung to their wet surfaces and collected with the juice at the bottom. Joel always sprinkled more over the top than necessary because he knew you liked scooping up the sweet syrup with your spoon afterward. A tall glass of milk sat within reach on the table next to you, beads of condensation running down the outside and gathering on the coaster under it.

You were lifting another sugar-covered strawberry to your mouth when boots struck the porch.

Excitement had you sitting upright before the latch even lifted. You placed the bowl beside your milk and wiped your sticky fingertips against the napkin you brought with you, already preparing to launch yourself at him the moment he came through the door.

The familiar weight of Joel’s boots crossed the threshold into the house, each step heavy enough to carry through the floorboards under your feet.

You were already pushing up from the couch when another set followed behind his. Louder. Uneven. One heel scraped across the wood before a shoulder struck the side of the door with a dull thud.

You barely had time to process the second pair of footsteps when you heard a drunken, slurred Tommy and a tired, very irritated Joel.

“Tommy, quit draggin’ your feet. Your scrapin’ up my damn floor,” Joel groaned from the entryway.

Tommy lifted one boot and brung it down against the floorboards with a deliberate thud. Then the other. The sound traveling through the house while he laughed at his own joke, one arm still hanging across Joel’s shoulder.

“Calm down, big brother. House survived all this time without you fussin’ over it.”

“House ain’t what I’m worried about. Keep that up, you’re gonna bust your damn teeth.”

All you could hear was a distant laugh from Tommy and another groan from Joel.

You sink back against the couch, plucking the bowl from beside you and placing it back in your lap.

All afternoon, you had pictured Joel coming through that door alone.

You’d imagined wrapping yourself around him before he could even take off his boots, following him into the kitchen while he ate, and stealing back every bit of attention Jackson had kept from you that week.

Instead, one of his arms is occupied by Tommy, and the other is carrying both their coats.

The strawberry between your fingers drips pink juice onto your palm.

You return it to the bowl without finishing it.

Joel looks toward the couch as he walks in. His eyes find you immediately, passing over the half-drunken milk, the bowl in your lap, and the disappointment you haven’t managed to hide from your face. His mouth presses into a line.

“I’m sorry, dar—”

Joel pauses mid-sentence, catching the pet name before it can fully leave his mouth.

Tommy’s head turns toward him, his brows pulling together as he tries to follow an apology that wasn’t meant for him. “Sorry for what? I’m havin’ a wonderful fuckin’ time.”

Joel pays him no attention. His eyes remain fixed on you, taking in the frown at your mouth.

Tommy follows his stare.

To you—curled into the corner of the couch with your legs crossed under you, a white cotton nightgown spilling across your thighs. The hem has ridden up while you waited, leaving most of your legs bare, and dull pink juice shines across your fingertips resting against the rim of your bowl.

Tommy looks at you for what feels like ever.

“Well, hell.” His unfocused eyes travel from your bare legs to the thin straps on your shoulders before his grin spreads. “Would’ve cleaned myself up if I knew Joel had pretty company waitin’ at home.”

“Eyes up,” Joel mutters.

Tommy’s grin only widens. “They are.”

You manage a smile, wiping the strawberry juice from your fingertips.

“Hi, Tommy.”

You like Tommy. He’s funny, easy to talk to, and far more willing than Joel to entertain whatever nonsense comes into your head sometimes.

He also gets shamelessly perverted after a few drinks.

His eyes linger where they shouldn’t, innocent compliments become filthy, and he has a habit of letting his hand remain on your knee long after the joke has ended.

But you’ve never felt threatened by it. Tommy flirts with half of Jackson, and you know he’d pull away the second you genuinely asked him to—even drunk. Usually though, you just roll your eyes and enjoy him anyway.

Tonight, though, is an unfortunate night to be trapped with the drunk, handsy version of him.

Because after spending all day waiting for Joel, the sight of Tommy hanging from the man you wanted makes your chest ache with an embarrassingly childish resentment.

You don’t want to share Joel’s attention with anyone—especially his brother, who seems to be determined to require every bit of it.

“Just for tonight, kid,” he adds, giving Tommy a shove toward the nearest chair. “Ain’t in no shape to make it home.”

“Okay,” you mumble, pulling the bowl closer in your lap.

You know he wasn’t eally asking for permission. Even if he were, you could hardly insist he throw his drunken brother into the street because you’d spent the day planning to monopolize him.

Kid is what Joel calls you when other people are listening.

The word helps everyone keep believing exactly what they already believe—that you’re just the girl Joel feels responsible for, and his attention carries no desire behind it. in public, you’re kid. Occasionally, you’re sweetheart, if nobody is paying enough attention to question it. Never baby, though.. Never his pretty girl. And definitely never the filthy names he presses against your ear while his cock is buried inside you.

Usually, you enjoy the deceit. There’s a private thrill in hearing Joel call you kid while his hand rests innocently on your shoulder, knowing that same hand would close around your throat once he got you alone.

Tonight, it only reminds him that you won’t be getting him alone.

Joel deposits Tommy in the chair and disappears into the kitchen for water. The moment his back is turned, Tommy is pushing himself upright and dropping onto the couch next to you.

He lands hard enough to jostle the bowl in your lap. The wet strawberries slosh against the side, and you catch it with both hands before it spills across your nightgown.

“Tommy,” Joel warns from the kitchen doorway.

“I’m sittin’ down,” he slurs.

“Put you in a chair for a reason.”

“Yeah, and I left it for a better one.”

You can tell Joel wants to argue back, but stops when he realizes it’s not worth the fight with a drunken Tommy Miller.

Tommy stretches one arm across the back of the couch behind you, taking up far more room than he needs to—typical. His thigh presses against your folded legs, so you draw them closer to you, but the couch is small and he doesn’t seem to notice—or care—that he’s crowded you farther into the corner.

He looks down at your bowl. “What’ve you got there?”

Your eyes bounce between him and the bowl, one eyebrow slightly raised but not enough for him to notice.

“Just a snack,” you reply, plainly. “Strawberries and some milk.”

“I can see that.” He lifts his eyes back to yours as he nods toward the bowl. “You mind?”

Your eyebrows draw together, lips parting as you search for an answer. “Uh, I—”

You barely get out the first sound out before his hands are moving.

His fingers dip into the bowl, plucking one of the largest berries from the sugar collecting at the bottom. He pops it into his mouth whole, then licks the juice from his thumb.

“Tommy,” Joel calls more sternly from the kitchen.

He glances around his shoulder; his cheek rounded around the berry. “What? She ain’t complainin’.”

You nearly do.

The berry was yours, Tommy is a little too close for comfort, and the whiskey on his breath makes your eyes water whenever he speaks.

But your eyes drift past him. To Joel standing in the kitchen doorway.

His eyes are bouncing between Tommy’s fingers in your bowl, and you curled into the corner of the couch.

For the first time all night, Joel’s attention was on you.

He’d spent the entire week giving you distracted kisses and whatever parts of him Jackson hadn’t exhausted. Tonight, after waiting all day to finally have him alone, he arrived with his drunken brother hanging from his arm.

Now all it takes is one stolen strawberry for him to watch every movement on his couch.

The complaint dies on your tongue.

Because you like Tommy. You do. He’s generous, knows how to make you laugh, and is usually harmless beneath all the drunken flirting. Letting him steal a strawberry isn’t betrayal.

If it irritates Joel, that’s merely an added benefit.

So when Tommy asks what you’ve done all day, you answer. When he tells you your nightgown is too pretty for sitting around in Joel’s house, you laugh and glance toward the kitchen to see whether Joel heard him. You even let him steal two more strawberries, leaving the bowl in reaching distance despite having plenty of time to move it.

You aren’t flirting with him.

You’re simply not making any effort to discourage him.

There’s a difference.

Probably.

Joel returns a few minutes later with a glass of water and a damp cloth. He gives Tommy the water first, then tosses the cloth into his lap.

“Drink. Clean yourself up.”

Tommy wipes it once across his mouth before dropping it onto his knee. “She’s been keepin’ me company.”

Joel answers with half grunt, half laugh as his eyes travel over the arm stretched behind you, Tommy’s leg pressing into yours, and the half empty bowl resting between the two of you. The muscles beside his mouth draw taut, but all he does is nod toward the water.

Tommy drinks half before becoming distracted again.

“You always dress like this for him?” he asks you.

Your fingers pause against the rim of your bowl.

“Quit it,” Joel says firmly.

“What?” Tommy turns toward Joel, attempting an innocence his grin immediately ruins. “Just tellin’ her she looks nice.”

“You said it. Now move on.”

Tommy gives you a conspiratorial grin, treating Joel’s irritation as another private joke between the two of you. “He always this bossy with you?”

Your eyes lift to Joel before you answer, making sure he’s watching.

 “Sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” Tommy repeats with a laugh. His hand drops onto your knee as if you’ve shared a joke at Joel’s expense. “Poor thing.”

Joel does not find the joke nearly as funny.

Tommy’s palm remains there, and this time, you don’t pull your leg away.

Your fingertips continue circling the rim of the sticky bowl while you watch Joel take Tommy’s abandoned glass from him.  The base strikes the wood hard, sending a ring through the room.

“Hands to you damn self, Tommy.”

Tommy glances down as if he’s only just discovered where his hand ended up. “Jesus, Joel. It’s her knee.”

“And it don’t belong to you.”

The words leave him too quickly.

No one speak after that.  Tommy’s eyes narrow as he looks between the two of you, his drunken mind trying to catch hold of whatever slipped beneath Joel’s answer.

But Joel recovers first.

“You’re twice her size, drunk off your ass, and crowdin’ her into the damn wall,” he adds. “Move.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him.

Joel’s head snaps to yours.

You try to look innocent, although the thrill running through you probably shows. Joel stares long enough to make you wonder whether he already knows what game you’re playing.

Tommy gives your knee a tiny squeeze. “See? She’s fine.”

“Move,” Joel repeats.

Tommy lift his hands in surrender then scoots several inches away. Joel watches until a respectable amount of couch appears between you. Then he collects their coats and heads upstairs, probably to prepare whatever space he’s going to throw Tommy in.

You immediately wish he hadn’t left.

Tommy’s attention holds very little appeal without Joel there to witness it. The fun came from watching Joel notice every inch his brother took—the space beside you, the strawberries from your bowl, your knee beneath his clammy palm.

Without Joel in the room, you’re merely sitting beside a trunk man who doesn’t seem to remember what personal space is.

Tommy is filling the empty space before Joel’s even made it halfway up the stairs.

He asks whether you have anyone waiting for you at home, then tells you a girl who looks the way you do shouldn’t spend her night alone. You answer him with enough sweetness to keep him talking, but your attention remains on the stars.

You could tell him to move. You know that.

The trouble is that you’ve spent the last ten minutes smiling at him.

You laughed at his drunken compliments, let him stick his fingers in your bowl and eat from it, and left your leg beneath his hand after Joel told him to remove it. Pushing him away the instant Joel left would make it embarrassingly clear that none of this had ever been about Tommy.

So you let him continue. Only until Joel comes back.

Then Tommy steals his fourth strawberry.

And this time, instead of reaching into the bowl, he takes it directly from your sticky fingers. His fingertips drag across yours, collecting the sugar and juice left behind.

“You gonna eat all these yourself, sweetheart?” he asks, dangling it between your fingers.

You manage a laugh. “I was planning to.”

He sucks his teeth, popping it into his mouth. “Thought Joel taught you to share.”

The words send an uncomfortable pulse through you. Tommy couldn’t possibly know what Joel has taught you, yet your heart still skips a beat at the thought.

Tommy laughs when he sees your reaction. “Aw, don’t get shy now.”

“I’m not shy,” you insist.

“You are,” he teases as he leans closer. “Face gives you away.”

Joel’s boots cross the floor above you.

You lift the bowl out of Tommy’s reach when he tries to take another strawberry, but your smile ruins the refusal. He follows the bowl across your body, his hand pressing into your thigh as he reaches farther.

“Tommy,” Joel shouts. “What the hell did I just tell your ass?”

His words crack across the room.

Joel appears at the foot of the stairs, a folded blanket crushed beneath one arm. His eyes are fixed on Tommy’s palm against your thigh, and the tendons along the back of his free hand stand out where his fingers have curled into a fist.

Tommy sits back, more startled by Joel’s tone than ashamed. “Christ, Joel. We’re just talkin’.”

“Then you can do it from over there.” Joel points toward the opposite end of the couch. “Move your ass.”

Tommy lets out a loud laugh and looks at you for support. “She ain’t asked me to stop.”

“She shouldn’t have to,” he sneers. Joel strides farther into the room and drops the blanket onto the chair.

“You’re drunk, you’ve got her crowded into a corner, and I’ve already told you to leave her alone. What part’re you havin’ trouble understandin’?”

“Joel, it’s okay,” you say, smoothing your nightgown over your knees.

Tommy lifts his eyebrows at him, smug. “See? She said it’s—”

“No, it ain’t.” Joel cuts him off so quickly that the words nearly overlap. Then he catches himself, his jaw working before he looks back at Tommy and continues. “You’re makin’ an ass of yourself. Sit over there, drink your water, and keep your damn hands to yourself.”

Tommy stares at him for a second, then lifts both his hands with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “All right. Jesus. Didn’t realize she needed a damn guard dog.”

“She don’t,” Joel replies. “You just need somebody remindin’ you how to behave.”

Tommy mutters something under his breath as he scoots across the couch angrily, sloshing the remaining water across his knuckles in the process.

The relief you feel when his thigh leaves yours is almost immediate.

You had enjoyed Joel’s reaction for more than you enjoyed the hand that caused it. Tommy’s touch left behind a little more than the fading pressure of his palm. But Joel’s jealousy has your underwear clinging to you under your nightgown. And Joel looks about ready to break Tommy’s hand.

The sight sends another embarrassing throb between your legs.

You’ve spent days desperate for his attention, and now every bit of it is fixed on you—the fist at his side, the anger spread across his face, the possessiveness he has no respectable way to explain. Tommy’s palm has already left your thigh, but Joel’s reaction makes you press them together beneath your nightgown.

 You hadn’t meant to cause an argument between them.

But you can’t pretend you’re sorry to discover how easily another man’s interest strips away Joel’s restraint.

Joel glances at you once more before returning to the kitchen. His eyes pause on the fabric gathered over your thigh.

You hold his stare while you smooth the nightgown back over your legs.

His eyes narrow at you.

The difference is minor enough that Tommy misses it. But you don’t. You can tell Joel is beginning to suspect you aren’t quite as uncomfortable as he assumed.

Someone sensible would stop there.

But you spent all week being sensible.

Tommy behaves for less than a minute.

He finishes off his water, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and watches Joel disappear around the kitchen doorway then his attention is back on you.

“Still allowed to talk to you, sweetheart?”

You glance toward the kitchen. Joel has his back to the room, but the rigid line of his shoulders tells you he’s definitely listening.

“Depends,” you say, fighting the smile pulling at your lips. “You wanna get yelled at again?”

Tommy laughs and leans closer despite Joel’s warning. “Might be worth it.”

You should end the game. You’ve already gotten what you wanted: Joel is angry, attentive, and painfully aware of every inch between you and his brother.

Then Joel looks over his shoulder.

The directness of his stare nearly wipes the smile clean from your face. You immediately reach for the glass next to you, hoping it’ll hide whatever guilt he might read in your expression. It gives your hands an innocent place to go too—like you’re only sitting there finishing your snack, completely unaware of the game you’ve been playing.

The glass is still cold against your sticky fingers, wet enough with condensation that it nearly slips from your grip. You bring it to your lips and drink much faster than you need to, swallowing mouthful after mouthful while Joe’s eyes lay into you from across the room.

The milk catches at the corner of your lips when you tip the glass too far. One drop slips over your chin and trails down the front of your throat. Another follows, reaching the neckline of your nightgown before disappearing beneath the white cotton. A small splash darkens the fabric over your chest, leaving it damp enough to cling to your skin.

By the time you lower it, the cold has begun to ache behind your teeth.

And Tommy’s attention is no longer on your face.

His eyes have followed the wet path down your throat and stopped on the darkened patch across your chest. The playful grin disappears for a second, replaced by an intent stare that makes your fingers close harder around the glass.

“Spilled a little,” he says.

His tongue passes across his bottom lip before he looks back at your mouth. Another drop remains in the corner.

He leans across the space he’d been ordered to leave between you. “Here. Lemme help you, sweetheart.”

You start lifting your hand, mainly because your first instinct is to wipe it away yourself. Then your eyes drift toward the kitchen doorway.

Joel’s watching again, one hand planted against the counter and his entire body turned toward the couch.

Your hand pauses halfway to your face.

That single moment of hesitation is all Tommy needs. His thumb passes across the corner of your lips, collecting the milk. And instead of pulling back, he drags the pad of it along your lower lip, his eyes following the motion.

Joel is out of the kitchen before Tommy’s hand can leave your face.

His fingers lock around Tommy’s wrist and wrench his hand from your mouth so quickly that the couch jolts beneath you. The milk on Tommy’s thumb smears across his knuckle as Joel twists it away from your face.

“Goddamnit, Tommy.” Each word forces its way through his teeth. “What the hell’d I’d tell your ass?”

Tommy rocks sideways, his free hand catching on the couch. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

Joel drags him upright, Tommy’s knee striking the table on the way up, rattling your glass and sending milk over its rim, but Joel doesn’t even glance in its direction.

“I’ve told you three goddamn times to keep your hands off her.”

“I wiped her damn mouth, Joel,” Tommy curses back.

“You put your hands on her mouth.” Joel gives his wrist another yank when Tommy tries to pull free. “After I told you to leave her alone.”

Tommy’s face pinches. “You’re gonna break my fuckin’ arm.”

“The quit fightin’ me,” Joel scolds, giving his wrist another wrench.

Joel releases his wrist only to shove him back by the chest. Tommy stumbles into the table, and Joel follows, keeping his body planted between the two of you. His hands curl into fists, and the veins stand out along his forearms because of it, and each breath pushes hard through his nose as he stares his brother down.

You’ve seen Joel angry before. You’ve watched him handle men outside the gates and silence entire rooms with a look. He usually keeps that part of himself buried around you.

It’s overflowing at the surface now.

Tommy rubs the inside of his wrist. “She ain’t even tell me to stop.”

“Don’t care. I did.”

“Since when do you get to decide who puts their hands on her?”

Joel steps into him again. “Since your drunk ass forgot how to listen.”

Tommy turns toward you now. “She ain’t looked too bothered all night.”

Joel’s head turns.

You’re still sitting on the couch with the bowl clutched against your stomach and milk drying across the front of your nightgown. His eyes move from the damp fabric to your lips, then rise to meet yours.

He knows.

You see the exact second every polite laugh, every strawberry you let Tommy steal, and every glance you sent towards the kitchen arranges itself inside his head.

You should feel guilty now that he’s caught you. Instead, the knowledge that Joel understood exactly how bad you wanted his jealousy, sends another heartbeat between your legs.

“I’m okay, Joel,” you tell him, attempting the same innocent expression that usually earns you whatever you want.

His eyes narrow fast.

“Yeah,” he replies, turning back toward Tommy. “I can see that.”

You suck in your lip to keep from smirking.

Tommy’s eyes move between you. The alcohol no longer clouds all of his attention as he looks between Joel standing in front of you and the guilt threatening to betray your performance.

“Why do you care so damn much?” Tommy asks.

Joel goes rigid.

For half a second, you think he might answer honestly. His lips pull back from his teeth, and his chest expands under his shirt as every ugly, possessive word he can’t say collects behind them.

Then his hand closes around the back of Tommy’s neck.

“Because you’re embarassin’ yourself, pawnin’ at a girl half your age.” He turns Tommy toward the stairs with his hand still locked around the back of his neck. “You’re done. Get upstairs.”

“Get your hands off me,” Tommy hisses.

Joel shoves him onto the first step. “Start walkin’ then.”

Tommy turns as though he intends to argue again. But Joel catches a fistful of his shirt and slams him against the staircase railing, bracing his forearm across his chest. The impact knocks the remaining fight from Tommy’s face.

“You’re gonna go upstairs,” Joel tells him, each word pressed through his clenched jaw. “You’re gonna get in bed, and you’re gonna stay there until you’re sober enough to remember how a grown man keeps his hands to himself. You understand me?”

Tommy just stares at him.

Joel drives his forearm harder against his chest. “Asked you a question.”

“Yeah. Fine,” Tommy replies reluctantly.

“Upstairs then.”

Joel releases him with a shove that nearly sends him to his knees on the stairs. Tommy grabs the railing, curses, and begins his ascent. His boots strike every step unevenly, but Joel remains directly behind him, one hand fisted in the back of his shirt whenever he moves too slowly.

Before they disappear, Joel glances over his shoulder at you.

His eyes drop to the milk staining your nightgown, then return to your face.

The warning there promises he hasn’t forgotten your part in this.

A small knot of guilt forms under your ribs as you listen to Joel force Tommy up the remaining stairs. You hadn’t intended for the game to end with his wrist nearly twisted behind his back. You only wanted Joel to notice. To look at you with the same hunger he kept denying whenever you tried to please him.

Judging by the anger he carried upstairs, you definitely accomplished that.

Maybe tonight wouldn’t be another night spent curled against Joel’s back while he slept. Maybe he’d finally give you more than a distracted kiss and ten exhausted minutes under him. The possibility of that makes it difficult to regret much of anything.

A bedroom door slams overhead. Joel’s boots cross the floor once, followed by the scrape of furniture being dragged in front of the door. Tommy protests, but Joel just tells him to sleep it off, and then the house goes silent.

You remain on the couch with your bowl pressed against your stomach while milk dries against your throat and makes the front of your nightgown stay clinging to your chest. Your lips still carry the strange phantom of Tommy’s thumb, but the sensation disappears when Joel begins descending the stairs.

He looks furious when he reaches the bottom.

His sleeves are shoved past his elbows, exposing the veins raised along his forearms. His gray curls lie disordered across his forehead, and the first buttons of his shirt have been pulled open during the struggle. His eyes find you immediately.

“Kitchen.” He nods toward the bowl in your lap and the glass on the table. “Bring your dishes.”

Your guilt returns. But still, you collect both and follow him.

When you enter, Joel doesn’t look at you. He only takes the dishes from your hands and places them beside the sink. The strawberries slide through their pink syrup when the bowl meets the counter, filling the room with their sugary scent.

Then he catches you around the waist.

Your feet leave the floor in one easy motion. He sits you on the counter and steps between your dangling knees, already reaching for your face.

“Lemme see.”

His fingers cup your jaw and turn your head toward the light. He wets his thumb with his tongue before passing it over the corner of your mouth where Tommy touched you. Then down the line of the dried milk beneath your chin and down your throat. His eyes travel over every inch of skin he uncovers.

“He touch you anywhere else?”

You shake your head. “Just my leg.”

He pushes your nightgown above your knee and spreads his hand across the place Tommy’s palm had rested. There’s no mark for him to find—of course—but after one final pass of his thumb over your thigh, the concern leaves his face.

And the anger stays.

His jaw clenches under his beard. “You like him touchin’ you?”

Your eyebrows lift in confusion, and all you can do is stare at him. You thought Joel had already understood the game; surely, he hadn’t watched you glance toward him after every stolen strawberry and mistaken any of that for genuine interest in Tommy.

“No.” Your answer comes out breathless with a surprise. “Of course I didn’t.”

“Sure as hell looked like you did.”

“Well, I didn’t.” You reach for him, combing your fingers into the gray hair near his temple. “I only let him keep flirting because you were watching. I just wanted your attention.”

His head tips into your hand despite the accusation in his eyes. His cheek brushes your wrist as your fingernail passes through his curls.

“Could’ve just asked me, baby girl.”

“I have been asking.” Your lips push into a pout, but then you notice how firmly his jaw remains set. The possibility that you genuinely hurt him drains the satisfaction from your face.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you this upset,” you plead. “I just missed you, and then you came home with Tommy, and I thought you weren’t going to want me tonight either.”

His head rises under your grasp. He draws your face toward his, forcing your eyes back to him while his other palm closes around the inside of your thigh.

“Well, you got my attention, didn’t you, darlin’?” His thumb presses into your lower lip. “Had me watchin’ every time he looked at you. Every time he put his hands where they didn’t belong.”

Your knees part farther as he moves between them.

“Seems to me you need a lesson in how to ask for my attention,” he scolds, the anger in his face and voice tempered by the hand caressing your thigh. “Hm?”

Your eyebrows draw together as you search his face. A lesson could mean a number of things with Joel, and the fingers moving higher under your nightgown gives you very little indication of which one he has in mind. Still, you nod uncertaintly.

He catches your bottom lip beneath his thumb and pulls it down. “Use your words.”

“Mhm,” you whisper, your eyes dropping to his mouth. “Y-yeah.”

“S’right.” His grip eases under your chin, his thumb soothing the place he just pressed into.

“Been beggin’ me to teach you somethin’,” he hums. “Figure we’ll start with that mouth you used to get yourself in trouble.”

The promise hidden beneath his words, sends a thrill through you. Your lips part around a hopeful, little breath and both your hands close around his wrist.

“Really?” You can’t stop the smile beginning to spread. “You’re really gonna let me—”

Joel pulls away before you can finish.

The loss of his body between your thighs leaves you leaning forward on the counter. He takes one step back, gives you enough room to move, and nods towards the floor between his boots.

“Get on your knees.”

Your smile disappears beneath a startled blink.

You had begged to hear those exact words for forever. Still, their abruptness catches you unprepared. Joel has always lifted you from the floor whenever you tried kneeling for him. Now he stands over you expecting obedience, his shirt partly open in his eyes fixed on your face.

And Tommy is directly upstairs. If the floorboards carry even half as much sound upward as they carried his drunken cursing down, he’d be able to hear everything.

But somehow that risk only makes him more eager.

“Now?” you ask.

A hint of affection finally breaks through his stern expression. He reaches for you again, brushing your hair behind your ear before his fingertips trail under your jaw.

“Now, baby.” His thumb passes over your cheek. “C’mon. Been waitin’ so patiently for me, haven’t you?”

You nod eagerly.

He takes your hands as you slide from the counter. He keeps hold of them while you lower yourself, supporting your weight until both of your knees hit the tile. The floor is cold under your skin, but the small discomfort barely lasts once he’s standing above you.

“There.” He smooths your nightgown over your shoulders where the straps have fallen around your arms. His palm remains on the crown of your head afterward, stroking across your hair. “So pretty, darlin’.”

His praise pulls a small smile across your face. You lean into his palm, your cheek brushing the inside of his wrist as your knees inch closer to his boots.

You curl your hands around his calves, as you look up at him, unable to stop touching him now that he’s finally put you where you spent weeks waiting to be. The worn denim under your palms carries the heat of his body; your fingers climb toward his knees until he catches one hand and presses a kiss into its sticky center.

“Eager little thing.” His lips brush your fingertips as he speaks. “Haven’t even told you what to do yet.”

“I know.” You tuck your bottom lip in between your teeth. “Just wanna be good for you.”

“You will be.” He places your hand against your thigh, then gathers your hair behind your head. He twists the length around his fist without pulling, keeping it away from your face. “Gonna teach you. All you gotta do it listen.”

“I’ll listen.”

“I know you will.”

His faith in you makes your chest ache.

Joel brushes his knuckles over your temple, then lets his hand travel down to cup your cheek. The touch carries none of the anger from moments earlier. He holds you as carefully as he does after sex, his thumb moving beneath your eye while he studies your excitement.

“Still got a lesson to learn, baby doll.” His thumb caresses your cheek, while the rest of his hand holds your jaw firmly, keeping your face tipped toward him. “You asked me to teach you, so you listen and take exactly what I give you. Understand?”

You nod, your lashes fluttering faster now.

“Good girl,” he draws out.

Only then does he reach for his belt.

The buckle opens with a muted click above you. Your eyes follow his hands as he pulls the leather free and lets it hang open on either side of his jeans. He takes his time with the button, watching your expression while he lowers the zipper.

Your fingers curl into the denim covering his thigh as he works open the front of his jeans. His eyes drop to your hand, watching it and grip him harder while the zipper begins traveling down.

“Both hands behind your back.”

His command catches you by surprise. You’d assumed he would teach you how to touch him first—guide your hand around the length of him and show you what pressure he liked. Instead, he intends to leave you with nothing except your mouth and whatever he decides to give it.

You hesitate for barely a second before releasing his thigh. Both arms fold obediently behind you, your fingers clasping together against your spine.

He watches you arrange yourself before pushing his jeans lower on his hips.

“Perfect,” he praises, reaching down to sweep more hair away from your face. “You stay just like that for me.”

Your eyes follow his free hand as he finishes popping open the last button on his jeans. The loosened denim has barely begun to separate when a floorboard creeks above the kitchen.

Both of your heads snap upward.

Another groan travels through the wood followed by the muffled scrap of Tommy moving around in the bedroom.

Your face immediately flushes hot.

It was thrilling when he was only a distant threat upstairs. But now, hearing exactly how little separated him from the kitchen reminds you exactly what would happen if he came down here.

There would be no innocent explanation for finding you on your knees with your hands tucked behind your back while his brother stood over you with his pants open.

Tommy would know.

And by morning, he might not be the only one.

You tip your face toward Joel, your eyes wide and searching. “What if he hears us?” you ask nervously. “What if he comes—”

Joel’s palm curved around your cheek, covering nearly half your face as his thumb passes under your lashes. He listens until the floorboards stop creaking above and then returns his attention back to you.

“Then you better not give him a reason to come lookin’.” His pale caresses your cheek again. “Keep that pretty little mouth quiet.”

Your eyes widen a little, suddenly suspecting he intends to test exactly how quiet you can be.

You nod beneath his hand regardless, pressing your lips together around the breath threatening to escape. The danger upstairs now only makes you more eager to prove you can listen.

A small smirk crosses his lip.

His hand lingers against your head while the other finally pushes his jeans and underwear down far enough to free himself.

His cock springs from the waistband and juts rigidly upward, bobbing once before the thick shaft angles toward his stomach. The head is swollen and flushed, a clear bead of precum already shining at the slit under the kitchen light.

Your eyes widen again.

From your knees, all of him seems bigger. His thighs frame your body on either side, blocking anything else beside him. His shirt hangs open above you, exposing his belly and the dark hair interrupted by thin streaks of gray. Even his hands look bigger from down here—one tangled at the back of your head, the other wrapping around the base of his cock.

You stare without attempting to hide it.

And from down here, his cock looks even bigger than it feels inside you. His thick shaft extends past his fist, veined and flushed, with a slight curve toward his stomach. The pale scar crosses one side near the base—the same one you’ve blindly traced with your fingertips in bed—and a few silver strands break through the dark hair surrounding it. His hand can’t even fully close around himself. His swollen head shines only mere inches from your face, and the thought of fitting all of him in your mouth makes your jaw ache, but still, your tongue presses forward inside your mouth at the thought of finally tasting him.

You lean forward on instinct.

The hand he has fisted in your hair tightens and closes near the roots, stopping you several inches away.

“Be patient.”

“I know,” you whine, your body still leaning forward, despite the fist in your hair pulling you back. “But I’ve waited so long,” you add, your eyes still fixed on the shiny tip.

“I know you have.” Joel strokes your hair once, his affection tempering the restraint of his fist. “And you’ve been such a good girl about it, haven’t you?”

You nod, though both of you know tonight has proven otherwise.

The corner of his mouth lifts. “Mostly good.”

His free hand reaches past you for the bowl next to the sink. He plucks a strawberry coated in sugar and brings it toward your mouth.

“Open for me.”

Skeptical, you still obey, expecting him to feed it to you. Instead, he presses the berry against your lower lip and drags the wet fruit from one corner to the other. Sugar sticks against your skin, and red juice runs toward your chin, but his thumb follows and wipes it away before it can fall.

“Better use for that mouth.” His thumb smears the juice across your lip. “Should’ve kept it busy with me instead of flirtin’.”

Your brows furrow together again. You’re already forming another protest—ready to remind him that you hadn’t truly been flirting—when he sees it gathering on your face.

“Ah-ah.” He taps the berry against your parted lips, cutting you off before the first word escapes. “No talkin’. Thought you said you were gonna listen.”

Your mouth closes again, though the small crease remains between your brows.

Joel smooths it away with his thumb. “S’my girl. Now bite.”

You sink your teeth into the strawberry. The juice of it bursts all over your tongue and across Joel’s fingers as he holds the rest against your mouth. He waits until you finish chewing before pushing the remaining half between your lips.

“All of it,” he instructs, his fingers still at your lips.

You do as you're told.

You chew and swallow all of it before closing your mouth around his fingers, sucking the sugar from them before he can remove them.

His pupils widen down at you as he scoffs.

“Gonna make this hard for me, aren’t you?”

You release his fingers with an innocent smile. “I’m only listening.”

“Yeah?” he hums, rubbing his thumb over your lip while he strokes himself.

You nod slowly, rejecting the urge to lean forward.

His hand leaves your lip to caress your cheek again, pride and hunger crossing his face equally.

“Let’s see how well you listen with your mouth stuffed full of me.” His thumb collects a final grain of sugar from the corner of your mouth before he brings it to his lips and swipes it clean. “Don’t disappoint me, baby.”

He wraps his fist around the base of his cock and brings the swollen, pink head toward your strawberry-stained lips. He doesn’t let you take him yet. Instead, he drags the tip from one corner of your mouth to the other, smearing the clear bead of precum through the red juice already shining there.

Your lips part beneath the contact, but he pulls back before you can catch him.

“Lick your lips for me, baby girl.”

Your tongue slips out immediately. You trace the path he left across your mouth, gathering strawberry sugar and the first salty taste of him. The mixture coats your tongue—sweet at first, followed by a trace of bitterness that makes you lean forward again.

“Taste good?” he asks, stroking his knuckles over your cheek.

You nod, almost too eagerly.

The hand in your hair holds you in place. “Good. Open wide.”

You part your lips, eager, despite the nerves running through you.

A breath of laughter leaves his nose. “Wider, baby. Ain’t gonna fit in there if you’re shy about it.”

Your cheeks will burn, but you open until the side of your jaw start to ache.

“S’exactly what I needed.” His thumb strokes behind your ear, easing the pull of his fist in your hair. “Knew that greedy little mouth could make room for me.”

He presses the head onto the center of your tongue. His skin is hot against the lingering chill of the fruit in your mouth. He watches your eyes widen as his taste reaches you without the sugar hiding it this time—salt, skin, and the precum slowly leaking from the slit.

“Don’t move yet.” His thumb caresses the base of his cock while it rests heavily on your tongue. “Let yourself get used to me.”

You remain obediently still, your hands still clasped behind your back as your knees start to sting against the tile. You feel the saliva gathering beneath him and starting to slip over your lower lip.

Instinctively, you start to free one your hands to wipe the saliva gathering under your lip, but you don’t get very far. Joel is already drawing the head outward, spreading the wetness across your tongue with it before pressing it in again.

“Close.”

You do.

Your lips seal around the swollen tip, straining at the corners to accommodate the girth. He lets it rest there for a moment, letting you feel the weight of him on your tongue.

“Suck.”

Your cheeks hollow around him at the command.

Pleasure passes openly across his face when you suck for the first time. His sucks in a quick breath, and the fist holding your hair closes until a pleasant pull spreads across your scalp.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises. “Mouth was made for me, wasn’t it?”

His approval makes you suck harder.

He draws himself out until your lips catch beneath the ridge of his head, then guide you forward again, another inch filling your mouth. The thick vein under his shaft drags across your tongue, and you press upward against it, eager to discover what earns another reaction from him.

When his hips jerk toward you, you glance up. Delighted.

“Don’t look so proud.” The corner of his mouth lifts despite the scolding. “Keep your tongue right there.”

You do, tracing the vein each time he moves between your lips. He feeds you more with every pass, guiding your head through the hand wrapped around your hair. He leaves you enough time to adjust before it reaches the back of your tongue.

And your throat immediately resists.

A gag contracts around him, and your shoulders jerk. He withdraws before panic can follow, leaving only the tip resting between your lips while his palm moves in your hair.

“Easy, baby.” His thumb strokes beneath your eye, collecting the first tear before it can travel down your cheek. “Ain’t gotta take all of me yet. You’re learnin’.”

You whine around the head, frustrated with your own body.

“I know.” Joel taps the tip against your tongue. “Want it all right away, don’t you?”

You nod as much as his grip permits.

“Greedy girl.” His affection softens the tease as his hands leave his cock to pass over your cheek again. “Take what I give you. We’ll get you there.”

He presses forward again.

 You concentrate on keeping your jaw loose, and your tongue flattened under him. When the head reaches the back of your mouth again, your eyes water, but he holds you there for a second, forcing it, before drawing it out.

“Good.” His thumb catches another tear. “Again.”

He wraps his hand back around the base and guides the length of him farther into the back of your mouth.

You get farther this time.

Saliva spills over your lower lip and runs onto your chin. Your hands twitch behind your back, desperate to wipe it away or reach for his thighs, but he watches closely enough to notice.

“Hands stay where I put ‘em.”

Your fingers clasp tighter against your spine and the smirk on his face dampens your thighs.

He continues guiding you. Each pass pushes another fraction of him beyond your lips until your nose nearly reaches the dark hair at his base. Your jaw burns, and the tile is biting even harder into your knees now.

But none of it matters when Joel’s composure is starting to come apart above you.

His chest is rising fast up and down under his open shirt, the muscles across his stomach squeeze whenever you suck, and his hand has started to grip tighter into your hair, a small sting forming at the base of your scalp.

And now you finally understand why he kept refusing you.

He hadn’t been worried you would enjoy this. He’d been worried about how much he would.

That makes you moan loudly around him.

His eyes flick toward the ceiling and his grip tightens again in your scalp.

“Gotta keep those pretty noises down, baby,” he reminds you, his thumb passing across your wet cheek. “Don’t wanna get in trouble now do we?”

You shake your head at the warning, but it sends another pulse through your underwear, and you have to press your thighs together, but the position offers no release.

Joel’s eyes drop to your legs pressing together under him.

“Gettin’ off on this, aren’t you?” He eases his cock from your mouth, leaving you gasping under him. “Kneelin’ there with your hands behind your back while I use this sweet little mouth.”

You nod fast, trying to swallow whatever he left on your tongue.

He smirks. “Can see it all over that pretty face.”

He reaches past you and toward the glass of milk sweating on the counter. The condensation wets his fingers as he lifts it in front of you.

Your eyes follow the glass until it’s right between you. “What—” You choke a little on your next swallow. “What’re you—”

“Thought I said no talkin’?”

You swallow, closing your parted lips.

He caresses your cheek with the back of his finger. “Open.”

You hesitate for just one second before your lips part on their own, your tongue slipping out in the process.

The hand in your hair loosens to come to the base of his cock. He tips the glass and pours a small amount on him. The milk strikes his swollen head and runs along his shaft in little pale streams, carrying traces of your spit with it. Drop after drop falls onto your waiting tongue, and the rest travels across his knuckles and drips from his fist onto the front of your nightgown.

Cold milk splashes against your chest and the white cotton darkens and clings to your nipples as they tighten under your nightgown.

Joel watches one drop travel beneath your neckline before his thumb presses at the bottom of your lip, dragging it down and directing your attention back to the milk running down the length of him.

“Clean me up.”

You hesitate again, but it barely lasts a second before you’re leaning forward, licking the milk from the underside of his cock. Your tongue follows it from the base toward the head, gathering every drop along with the salt on his skin. He allows you to reach the tip before he takes hold of your hair again.

“Open wider.”

You obey, and he presses into your mouth.

Milk spills around the sides of his shaft when your lips close. It runs over your chin and down your throat, joining the damp patches across your chest.

The first taste is mostly milk, a little cold and creamy on your tongue. Then you suck harder and find the familiar taste of Joel under it, salty and a little musky, and that bitter little trace that’s waiting at the tip.

You suck until there’s nothing left except the taste of him and the slightest trace of milk and strawberry on your tongue.

“Such a good, fuckin’ girl,” He groans.

His thumb sweeps through the mess beneath your lip, but instead of wiping it away, he smears it across your cheek. “Finally got what you wanted, and you’re already covered in it.”

He drives into your mouth again.

“Should’ve put you on your knees weeks ago.”

You gag around him again, closing your eyes, trying to fight the gag—the pain of it every time it hits the sensitive part at the back of your throat—but Joel’s hand is already lifting under your chin, stroking the underside of it.

“Keep those pretty eyes open for me, baby.”

Your lashes lift reluctantly, wet and clumped together. Tears blur him at first, turning his face into hazy mess above you, but you blink until he comes back into focus and holds his stare, despite the reflex still fluttering through your throat.

And you watch his face change.

The tenderness remains in his hand, cradling your jaw, but hunger takes over the last of his restraint. He guides you forward, pushing past the depth that made you gag earlier.

Your throat fully contracts around the head this time.

He pulls back, then presses in again before you can fully recover. The movement becomes faster now, driven more by his hips and the hand holding your hair. Every thrust fills your mouth with the taste left on his skin and forces another wet sound from your lips.

“Wanted me to use you,” he says, clearly fighting to whisper but losing. “This what you were beggin’ for?”

You nod around him, another gag slipping out.

“Could’ve had this instead of lettin’ that drunk flirt with you.”

The mention of Tommy makes you whine.

He drives his hips forward again and pushes his cock to the back of your throat, and keeps it there, holding you full while your eyes spill over. His thumb caresses your temple, reassuring you even as his fist prevents you from escaping the pressure.

“S’mouth belongs to me, baby girl.” He withdraws enough to let air pass through your nose without obstruction. “You remember that next time you think about usin’ it to make me jealous.”

You nod eagerly.

The second your head stops moving, Joel begins fucking your mouth in earnest.

His hips meet your lips with each thrust. Saliva strings between your chin and his shaft whenever he pulls back, broken only when he pushes into you again. Your throat opens for him more easily now, though every third or fourth thrust still makes you gag.

At each time, Joel watches.

He eases when your body needs him to and pushes farther when he sees your fingers remain obediently folded behind your back. His control never disappears entirely, though. One hand uses your hair to guide you; the other pets your face, wipes tears from your cheeks, and checks the muscles working beneath your jaw.

“Take a little more for me,” he breathes.

Your jaw is already stretched as far as it’ll go, the tendons on both sides starting to ache, but you listen and force your mouth wider.

He presses in until your nose meets the damp hair at his base. His cock fills your throat, leaving no room for even a little sound, let alone air. Tears slip freely while he holds you there— not from the pain, but from the reflex your body can’t suppress and the overwhelming satisfaction of finally taking him this far.

A trimmer runs through the thigh beside your cheek, his grip stutters in your hair, then closes again as his hips twitch against your face.

“Jesus, fuckin’ Christ,” he drags out, his head tipping back.

The sounds scraped out of him make the ache worthwhile by itself.

When he finally pulls out, you drag air through your swollen lips as fast as you can. Saliva and leftover milk coat your chin, and strawberry juice stains the corners of your mouth pink. He gives you only a few seconds before tapping the heavy head against your tongue again.

“Still my eager girl?”

You try to speak—to tell him yes. That you can take more—but all you can manage is another eager nod.

“Exactly where you wanna be, huh?”

You nod again, already parting your lips.

He swipes his thumb along your bottom lip and brings it to his mouth. “Greedy girl.”

He feeds himself back into your mouth slowly, and you take him with renewed enthusiasm. You work your tongue under the head and suck hard whenever he withdraws.

You start to feel his cock pulsing more frequently, each throb kicking against your lips. His movements start losing their rhythm, and the hand in your hair trembles. A broken sound catches behind his teeth when you swallow around the tip on the next thrust.

You already know what’s coming before he even has to tell you.

Excitement makes you suck harder.

Joel curses loudly under his breath, and the fist in your hair pulls so tight your scalp starts to throb. He pulls you back until only the head rests against your lower lip while his fists move over the slick shaft, spreading saliva with every pass.

“Gonna come, baby.” His free hand cups your cheek, his thumb wiping a tear from under your lashes. “Want it in your mouth. Tell me you can take it.”

Your head bobs up and down, your sore knees dragging across the floor as you try to scoot closer.

“Y-yes,” you swallow, your lips trembling around the words. “I can take it. P-please.”

This is the part you’ve replayed in your head for months now. The thought of finally getting to taste Joel’s release on your tongue has your fingernails digging into the palms of your hands behind you.

The muscles across his cock jump at your answer. And his thumb moves from your cheek to your lower lip and draws it down.

“So proud of you darlin’,” he coos. His fist starts pumping against his shaft, firmer now. “Gonna keep those pretty eyes up for me and keep that mouth open, yeah?”

You nod eagerly, a breathless “Yes” slipping out before you open wide and extend your tongue beneath him.

He positions the swollen tip in the center, his hand gripping back into your hair firmly enough to keep it exactly where he wants it.

“Stay just like that,” he hums, his fist working faster now. “Gonna give that perfect mouth everything It’s been askin’ for.”

You stay open under him, your tongue shaky, and your eyes glued to his face. His hand moves over his shaft in quick strokes, carrying the mixture of sweat and saliva from the base to the head. Each pass forces another little clear bead from the slit and leaves his cock shining under the kitchen light.

You watch as his expression begins to break apart above you.

The muscles in his forearms are straining, and his lips try to separate around a breath, but it stops halfway out. The fingers threaded through your hair flex hard enough to send another sting across your scalp while you fight the urge to close your mouth around him.

He told you to stay open, and you want to prove that you can follow every instruction he gives you.

“Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he hums, tapping the tip against your tongue.

The last of whatever restraint Joel was fighting, breaks through him on the first pulse against your tongue.

The first release spills into the center of your mouth, hot and thick enough to startle you. Salt spreads across your tongue and cuts through the strawberry sugar that was still lingering there.

Then his hip jerk again.

The second spurt reaches farther back, striking near the roof of your mouth before sliding toward your throat. Your tongue dips under the sudden weight of it, and your lips twitch with the instinct to close.

“Keep it open, baby,” he groans, his fist continuing to work over himself. “Doin’ so good.”

You force your jaw wider, blinking up at him.

Another thick release coats your tongue, joining the first two until there’s enough to pool beneath it. The taste is stronger now—salty, musky, and slightly bitter beneath the milk still sticking to the insides of your cheeks. The strawberry barely clings to your lips now, making every part of him taste stronger.

His eyes remain fixed on the pearly streaks, coating your tongue as his fist drags over his swollen head again. A final hard pulse sends another spurt toward the back of your mouth before you can prepare for it, and your throat contracts around it.

A loud gag jerks through you, sharp enough to make tears spill from your eyes. Your fingers tear apart behind your back, but you manage to keep them there while you fight the reflex to swallow.

Joe immediately angles his cock away from your throat. The hand in your hair loosens, his fingertips caressing your scalp instead of holding you in place.

“Easy, sweetheart.” His thumb reaches down to wipe the tear traveling over your cheek. “Got a lot in that little mouth of yours, don’t you?”

You nod carefully, terrified of spilling any.

Pride softens his face as he traces the swollen corners of your lips, catching the thin white line threatening to escape. His thumb pushes it back onto your tongue.

“Kept every drop,” he says, his chest rising and falling. His knuckles stroke your cheek. “Made for me aren’t you?”

Your jaw aches from remaining open, and that thick mixture is starting to slide towards the back of your throat again. Joel lets you hold it only long enough to admire the sight.

You can only imagine what he sees.

Your swollen mouth held wide, your tongue cupped and shaking beneath the pearly white pool he left there, another thin streak slipping free and trailing down the corner of your mouth.

The half empty glass of milk enters your peripheral, streams of it coating the sides, and your certain the two look obscenely similar.

“Go head and close, baby,” he hums, passing his thumb over your swollen bottom lip.

You seal your lips.

The taste is stronger now without the air between you. His release coats the inside of your cheeks and clings to the roof of your mouth, mixing with the last traces of milk and strawberry until you can just barely taste all three with every swirl of your tongue.

His palm cups beneath your chin.

“Swallow.”

Your throat works beneath his hand.

The first swallow clears only part of it. The thickness sticks near the back of your throat and forces you to swallow again, your eyes watering as it travels down. A small amount remains across your tongue, salty enough to make your lips purse.

Joel watches every movement in a trance.

He grips your chin between his thumb and pointer finger. “One more.”

You obey, swallowing until your mouth is empty, except for the taste he left behind.

You drag your tongue across your bottom lip, savoring the saltines of him, and wishing he had given you just a little more.

“Open,” Joel demands.

You part your lips and stick out your tongue for him.

A thin pearly trace remains near the corner, and Joel wipes it forward with his thumb, pressing it into the center, and waits until you close your lips around him.

You wrap your swollen lips around his thumb and suck it clean.

“S’my perfect, perfect girl.” His other hand strokes across your hair, repairing the strands his fists disturbed. “Took everything I gave you and more.”

The approval makes you smile weakly around his thumb.

He withdraws it and caresses your sticky cheek. His cock stands hard enough to hang heavily from his open jeans, damp with saliva, and the release you hadn’t managed to catch.

His hand slides from your cheek to your throat. His fingers close around it and draw you upward while his other arm catches your waist, hauling you from the floor until your body presses tight against him. Your knees are sore and weak; you barely have time to straighten before his mouth is on yours.

He kisses you with none of his earlier patience. His lips force yours apart and his tongue sweeps inside as though he intends to taste every trace of himself you swallowed. The force of it tips your head back against his palm and leaves you clinging to his open shirt.

His grip remains firm around your throat, pressing beneath your jaw while you cling to him.

“Taste so good,” he mutters against your mouth.

You try to kiss him again, but his hand keeps your head tipped back.

“Mouth took me so well,” he whispers into your mouth, his grip still firm on your throat. “Wanna see how well the rest of you does.

You moan against the hand around your throat and the length of him dancing between your sticky thighs.

“P-Please,” Joel,” you whine, trying to inch closer to him.

“Please what?” he asks, his hand gripping tighter around your waist.

“Please, f-fuck me,” you whisper.

He presses a kiss under your chin and onto your mouth, swallowing the desperate sound that follows when he turns you around.

“Anythin’ you want, darlin’.”

He pushes your front against the counter and gathers your nightgown above your hips. Cool air reaches the damp fabric between your legs as he hooks his hand behind one knee and lifts it onto the counter, leaving you exposed with your other foot barely touching the floor.

The bowl, now holding nothing but strawberry syrup, rattles beside your elbow, pink juice lapping against the porcelain while Joel pulls your underwear aside.

His fingers swipe through your folds, gathering the slickness there before chasing it back toward your clit. The brief contact pulls a helpless moan from you, your hips bucking into his hand and searching for more.

“I know, baby. I know,” he coos, pressing a kiss beneath your ear as his fingers caress you again. “Gonna let me fuck that ache away?”

You whimper at his touch, your head nodding helplessly as your cheek rubs against his. “Y-yes. Please, Joel.”

“Don’t worry baby.” He pulls your hips firmly against his. “Gonna take such good care of you.”

He wraps one arm around your waist and positions his swollen head at your entrance. Then he drives inside, filling you in one firm thrust that forces your hands against the counter and sends the bowl rattling toward the wall.

The sudden fullness forces a full-on cry from your chest. His palm rises from between you and wraps around your mouth before the sound can carry upstairs.

“Keep it down, he warns into your ear. “Can’t let him hear us.”

You nod against his hand, tears threatening your eyes.

He releases his it from around your mouth and wraps it back around your throat. He drives into you again, hard enough to push your hip into the counter—hard enough to bruise probably. He doesn’t fuck you with the same patience he usually does. Each drive of his cock forces you onto your toes, your lifted leg trembling beside the bowl while his fingers dig into the flesh at your hips.

It’s exactly what you wanted from him.

His pleasure without apology. His body using your instead of arranging every touch around your comfort. Still though, his care survives inside the roughness—his arm braces your chest when your elbow threatens to buckle, and his palm muffles each cry without stealing your air.

“Takin’ me so well,” he praises into your hair. “Knew I’d fuck that little game right outta you.”

His words send you over faster than either of you expects.

Your body clamps around him, puling hard enough to interrupt his rhythm. His hand leaves your mouth and curls around your throat again, holding you upright while your orgasm tears through you.

“Joel—” you whine.

“I know, baby.” His lips press against your temple. “Ride it out.”

He fucks you through the final contractions, his strokes turning uneven as your body keeps gripping him.

“Missed you so damn much,” he whispers into your ear.

Then his hips drive flush against you and remain there while his cock pulses inside you.

Hot release fills you in several thick spurts, each one accompanied by Joel’s fingers in your mouth to muffle your whimpers. His face buries against your hair as he holds you against his chest until the last twitch passes.

For several seconds, neither of you moves. It’s just the sound of his breathing in your ear and the sound of you gasping for air.

Then Joel lowers your leg and turns you carefully in his arms. Your knees nearly give out, but he catches you and wraps both his arm around your waist before you can fall.

His hand caresses the throat he was just gripping, and he presses a wet kiss to the side of your mouth.

“Learn your lesson?”

You nod, exhausted and pleased, because that’s all you can manage.

Joel raises an eyebrow.

“Yes,” you correct yourself, still breathing heavy. “I’ll come to you next time. P-promise.”

“S’right.” He kisses your forehead and draws your nightgown back over your thighs with his free hand. “My good girl.”

You curl against his chest, smiling into his shirt.

“It worked, though.”

His palm comes down quick against your sore ass, loud enough to make a noise that he doesn’t seem to care about.

“Don’t push it.”

[theangelofletters]

drinkin' water at your weddin'

Pairing: Joel x Ex!Reader Summary: I don't know if we do fics inspired by songs anymore but this one is inspired by Drinking Water at Your Wedding. It's made me cry, a LOT. Joel and the Reader broke up a year ago and she has moved on and invited Joel and Tommy to her wedding. When Joel arrives, he makes it through the ceremony but notices that she's not drinking champagne... Warnings: Infidelity, Smut (lots of smut. all the smut). Overpriced weddings. Shotgun weddings. Word Count: 7500 Notes: I'm not real sure about the ending of this one. kept feeling like something was off about it but not sure how to land the plane. let me know what you think! Dividers by @saradika-graphics Masterlist here. Ao3 here.

“Sure ‘bout this?” Tommy’s voice cuts through the radio. 

Joel sighs, but he nods anyway. “Don’t got much choice, do I?”

Tommy’s grimace is his answer. But he’s loyal, Joel gives him that. “You can jus’ go home. I’ll tell Mrs. Anderson you’ve got hand, foot, and mouth or somethin’.”

“She’ll know it for a lie,” Joel says, leaning his elbow on the center console so his hand can support his face. “We saw her at the gas station yesterday.”

“These things tend to develop quickly in 24 hours,” Tommy tries, and Joel loves him for that, but it doesn’t matter. 

“Naw, I gotta go, it’ll be weirder if I don’t. We’ll sit near the back, get some cake, then head out.”

Tommy raises his eyebrows. “Heard it’s an open bar…”

“Good,” Joel grunts. “I’m gonna need it.”

His little brother swallows and Joel keeps his eyes on the road. 

The little chapel is idyllic. One of those one-room, whitewashed deals built in the 1800’s. He’s not sure it’s even large enough for all of the people milling about in the shaded clearing, but it’s just him and Tommy — they’ll stand if there’s no seating. 

Mr. Anderson shakes his hand firmly, as if he knows exactly why Joel had to come and he respects him for it. Joel doesn’t want his respect, but he forces the smile that’s expected and finds somewhere to sit. 

Then he and Tommy up standing once the older ladies start filing in and it’s made clear that there wouldn’t be enough room on the benches. 

The music starts, and Tommy leans in to whisper, “you alright?”

He’s not, and Tommy knows that, but he just nods anyway. 

It goes by in a blur of music and the scent of roses. 

Fuckin’ roses, he thinks, scoffing when he sees the obnoxious bouquets each bridesmaid holds. 

Tommy raises his brow. Joel leans over to his brother’s ear. “She hates roses.”

He just nods, remembering. Of course he remembers. You were Tommy’s best friend too. 

“Mr. Ole Miss must like’em fine,” Tommy ventures, trying to hide his smile. 

The music changes and Joel feels his heart inching up into his throat. How many times had he imagined this exact moment, ’cept he was at the front of the church instead of hidin’ in the back. 

He hates himself for a coward. 

Everyone stands then, and Joel holds his breath. He wants to bolt, to flee somewhere that he doesn’t have to endure this torture. He wishes he’d brought Sarah so he’d have someone to hold on to, or a reason to escape if she cried or needed a diaper change. 

What the hell did he ever do in a past life to earn this? 

Tommy’s arm finds his shoulder and he’s so grateful for the silent touch that he has to swallow and blink hard to keep his eyes from filling up with tears. 

And then you enter. 

A hush falls over the crowd for a couple seconds, then it’s hushed whispers of oohs and aahs. 

Joel can’t make a sound; his mouth is dry and he knows it’s hanging open, but he’s simply forgotten what to do with it. 

Later, during the reception when Tommy asks, Joel won’t remember a single detail about the dress, other than it was white. The veil covers your face, but it’s short enough that he catches the string of pearls at your neck. He knows they’re your momma’s and her momma’s before. 

Mr. Anderson leads you to the end of the aisle and everybody is seated, but Joel can see the way your shoulders shake, almost like you’re laughing. But when your father takes the veil off and places it over your hair, Joel doesn’t see the expression he expects. 

You’re trying not to cry, but those aren’t the tears of a blushing bride. It’s not noticeable to the crowd at large, but Joel clocks it. He sees the way your mouth is pressed tightly together, the way you do when you’re trying to keep from crying over something you think is silly. The line between your brows, the white knuckle grip you have on your dad’s hands. 

His shoulders tense, and Tommy looks at him with a bewildered expression. 

“Later,” Joel whispers. 

He made himself almost disappear during the ceremony. He didn’t want you to have any memories of him during this most important moment of your life. He didn’t want you to look back and see him instead of Mr. Ole Miss. 

He was the first one out of the church when the preacher said everyone could file out to the reception area. 

A shot glass makes a peculiar sound when it’s slammed down on a wooden bar, and by the second one, Joel decided he quite liked it. 

The bartender asks if he wanted another, but he and Tommy both say no. He wouldn’t make a scene. 

By the time of the first dance for the married couple, however, he was wishing he’d said yes. 

He tried to fade into the background, but it wasn’t easy. Your sister, one of the bridesmaids, always had a thing for Tommy, so when she sits between him and his brother, Joel almost gets up just to avoid the conversation. 

Her hand is soft on his forearm though. “It’s good that you came, Joel.”

He just presses his lips together and nods, wanting another drink. 

As your new husband twirls you around, Joel sees that look again. The one that said you’d promised yourself you were not gonna cry and you were doing your best to keep your promise. 

Your sister follows his look and Joel feels her fingers tighten on his bare forearm. When he looks at her, he wanted so bad to ask you see this right? but he doesn’t. It doesn’t matter if she does or doesn’t. 

And then your eyes meet his. 

Right over the shoulder of your husband. He changes directions, but your eyes stay put, locked with Joel’s. 

Is that— surprise there? You really thought he wouldn’t come? 

He looks down then, unable to meet your gaze. A shot glass sits in front of him and he takes it, an understanding passing in Tommy’s gaze. make a scene, big brother. I got you if you do. 

He smells it first, and it’s Jim Beam. 

God damn it. 

Eyes closed, he takes it back in one gulp, desperately willing it to take effect before the memory of you drinking straight from a bottle of Jim can infiltrate his mind. 

Too late. 

You always have hated shot glasses — you’d rather sip straight from the bottle and then chase straight from your can of coke. 

He remembers a night on his tailgate, not many weeks after his divorce was finalized and Sarah’s mother had terminated her rights. He’d thought he would’ve been happy to be done with it all, but all Joel had felt was the crushing weight of failure. 

You’d found him that night, you’d made Tommy drive you out to his favorite spot so you could drive him home. He’d held you in his arms, sobbing that he was going to ruin this little girl’s life, that he couldn’t do it alone. 

And that had been the first night you kissed him. Because it was only with your lips pressed against his with the words “you’re not alone, Joel” that he began to believe it. 

He makes it through the toasts and starts to think that maybe he can make it through this entire damn event without crying or making a scene. 

The cute little piece of paper in Tommy’s hands says there’s only one left and he braces himself. 

It’s your sister this time and Joel is glad. He likes her better than any of the groomsmen droning on about bachelor parties and shit. There were a couple of choice comments that seemed to be made at your expense, and when you blushed, your new husband just guffawed. 

When he raises his bottle of beer (Tommy said no more hard liquor and honestly, that was a good choice), he meets your eyes, all the way up at the front of the room. 

You raise your glass with your eyes on him, and when your sister finishes her toast (to unending love), you nod to him and tip your glass. Joel’s mouth is dry but he nods back, tipping his bottle too.

His eyes catch on your glass as you take a sip. He expects bubbles of champagne — which seems to be what everybody else here is drinking — but as he stares, he notices there’s no bubbles and the liquid is clear. You take a longer drink this time and he doesn’t see the telltale puckering of your lips for vodka or rum.

“It’s water,” he whispers, more to himself than anyone else. 

He knows his eyes are wide, his chest is tight, is breath is coming in short little gasps that attract even Tommy’s attention.

“What’s that, Joel?” He asks, concern etched in his face.

He shakes his head, still not looking at his brother. “I — I need a minute,” he grumbles, standing from the table on shaking legs.

It’s not just Tommy’s eyes that he feels on him as he walks between tables and couples and little children running around, but he doesn’t care. the reception area is outside the little chapel, with a small dance floor and a raised dais, surrounded by the covered tables like the one he just ran from. 

But it’s just a clearing, and there’s acres of forest ahead that he can disappear to for just a moment. He walks into the treeline, far enough that no one will notice him collapsing against the trunk of one.

Everything clicks into place as he collapses. And Joel, as much as he doesn't want to, understands everything.

He sits there for a while, long enough that he can hear the cake cutting and the DJ opening up the dance floor to anyone who wants to dance. Long enough that he knows he needs to head back, but Joel can't get his feet to work. He can't move. 

Two months ago

Joel sighs as he collapses on his couch. At only three, Sarah still had issues sleeping. Tonight in particular, not only had she had trouble going to sleep, but this was about the fourth time Joel had woken up to her screaming. This last go-round, he’d promised her that he would buy her a fuckin’ pony if she would just sleep through the rest of the night.

He doesn’t have to work tomorrow, thank God. He isn’t sure he was built to survive on less than four hours of sleep, but he also knows Sarah will be up at the ass-crack of dawn wanting him to play barbies or make up or something. 

Head leaning back against the couch, Joel rubs at his face. He wants to sleep but he’s just too wound up from having to calm Sarah down for so long. He checks his phone, noting a couple messages from Tommy and one from… you.

“Christ.”

He opens the message, hands almost shaking.

hey.

It’s been so long. Probably close to a year since he’d spoken to you. He isn’t even sure what to reply. The timestamp reads only an hour previous, and at 2 AM on a Friday, he has no doubt that you’re still awake.

No, he stops himself. 

He’d seen your momma last week at the grocery store and she’d handed him a wedding invitation for you and Mr. Ole Miss. Joel’s jaw had been tight as he accepted it and assured Mrs. Anderson that he and Tommy wouldn’t miss it for the world.

It’s a small town, he’d known you were proposed to the day it happened.

Doesn’t mean he wants to know.

The night his divorce went through, you’d pulled up and told him he wasn’t alone, and for the next six months you had proved it. It hadn’t taken that long for Joel to fall in love, but it took him six months to admit it to himself and say it out loud to you.

You’d only smiled, like you already knew, and said, “Better remember that, cowboy.”

It had been the best year of his life. You loved Sarah, you loved him, and the two of you were building the exact life that Joel had always wanted.

But a year ago, Joel made the biggest mistake of his life. 

He’d let you go. 

In hindsight, he knew that you had just wanted him to fight for you — to prove that he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. But he hadn’t known that then. He thought standing aside was the right thing, to give you whatever it was that you said you wanted. And you’d said you wanted to leave.

So he’d let you.

And he’d spent a year regretting it every single day. 

You’d met someone. Started dating. Got serious. Got engaged. Planning a wedding.

And Joel was still sitting on his couch at 2 AM, wishing he had another chance.

knock knock knock.

Joel’s instantly alert, on his feet before he can articulate the thought. He can hear someone at the front door, not aggressive, but rather like someone who wants to be heard but doesn’t want to wake the whole house.

Like someone who knows there’s a three year old who lives here and she doesn’t want to wake them up.

His breath catches as he walks to the door, hesitant because as long as he doesn't open the door, there’s always the possibility that it’s you on the other side. 

But he can’t help it. He has to know. The text message and someone showing up at 2 AM can’t be a coincidence. 

Through the peep hole, he sees you, and Joel’s knees start to buckle so quickly that he has to catch himself on the door handle.

He sees your head jerk up, knowing he’s awake.

Unlocked and thrown open, the door almost hits the wall too hard, and Joel cringes. Then he looks down and realizes he’s in a t-shirt and boxers and he cringes again.

He expects you to be in clothes for a bar or going out with your girlfriends, but he’s met with a pair of plaid pajama shorts (his favorites, he remembers) and one of his old t-shirts that he’d never found after the breakup. 

“Hi,” you whisper. “Can we talk?”

He nods, but he can’t make his fucking feet work correctly to get the fuck out of the way. You giggle, and Joel can smell it.

“You drove here drunk?”

You shake your head, jerking your thumb back behind you. Your sister sits in the front seat of her car and Joel waves hesitantly. “Does she —“

“Shh,” you slur. “No one else knows I’m here. She won’t say anything.”

Joel remembers he’s blocking the door and he shuffles out of the way, letting you in. Your sister puts her car in drive and speeds away. 

When he closes the door, he’s hit by the overwhelming realization of what this looks like. You’ve shown up, drunk, at his door, at 2 AM, with another man’s ring on your finger.

The rational part of his brain is working really hard to remind him of that fact. But the irrational part of his brain doesn’t care. You smell the same, and he bets you smell and taste the exact same too.

“Been a while,” he manages, looking down at his hands and wondering what the hell he’s supposed to actually do here.

“I know,” you murmur, stepping a little closer. “Is Sarah here?”

“Yeah. Just got her back down, actually. She’s been havin’ a hard time lately.”

You look down at his chest then. “Poor baby. I miss her.”

It makes Joel’s heart ache. “She asks ‘bout you alot. Wonderin’ when you’re comin’ home.”

He looks up when he says that last part and he feels a touch of triumph at the look of agony on your face, but it fades quickly. He always knew you loved Sarah more than you ever did him, and that was all he’d ever wanted out of a woman. 

You make your way into the living room, well-practiced at the layout of Joel’s home, and you sit on the couch, patting the seat next to you.

“Can we talk?”

He nods and comes as bid. All of the desire he had to sleep is gone, and he knows that no matter what conversation is had tonight, he won’t regret being tired in the morning. 

“What —“ he swallows, wondering how his throat got so dry, “what is it you wanna talk ‘bout?”

Your hands are in your lap, and you look down at the ring that adorns your left hand. 

“That?” Joel’s voice is soft.

When you look up at him, your eyes are full of tears. “Yeah, that.”

“What’s the matter, baby?” 

A tear slips out at the old familiarity, and Joel presses his lips tightly together. It’s so easy whenever he is around you — that’s why you’ve avoided each other for a year. Joel knew early on that as long as he was around you, he’d never let you move on, and you deserved to move on.

“Do you still —“

“Yes,” he interrupts. 

“Are you sure?”

“I told you that I would always love you,” Joel admits, scratching the back of his head. “I meant that.”

You look back down at your hands and Joel can see the gears whirring in your mind. He’s always known you so well, it only ever took one look for him to know what was going on. It’s nice to know that a year hasn’t changed anything there. Even if everything else has changed drastically.

The lightbulb moment in your mind is so subtle, but Joel sees it, has a half second to prepare himself before you look up and reach for his face. 

It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d been prepared or not.

The softness of your fingers almost knocks him backwards, and he thinks that he’s glad he’s sitting, because it would’ve been real embarrassing if he’d actually fell. 

You pull in close, and Joel can smell the scent of lavender and vanilla — your favorite. His eyes close, better to concentrate on the scent and the soft skin of your hands, but he’s actively aware of you getting closer to him.

He should stop you.

He really should. 

You’re getting married in two months.

But he wants to kiss you so badly, so desperately. He never got the chance to kiss you goodbye, to press his lips to yours one more time, knowing it would be the last.

So he’s going to take one kiss and then he’ll stop you. Be selfish for only a moment, and then do the right thing.

But when you press your lips to his with just the softest pressure, a kiss that is more a question than a statement of desire… well, all of Joel’s plans go right out the goddamn window.

His arm had been slung around the back of the couch, so it’s not hard for him to wrap that arm around you, his other hand finding your sides. His hands are so big and they cover so much space, but still he wants more. You pull back a fraction of an inch, and he hears your exhale.

His chest heaves with the anticipation, then he realizes that you were asking him a question, and his body desperately wants to answer it.

So he does.

He pulls you to him by your ribs, pressing your torsos together and mashing his lips to yours in something that’s more desire and possession than passion or even love. 

Mouth molding against his, he feels rather than hears your gasp, but the heat pulsing through his blood tells him that it’s a good gasp, and he keeps going. He licks into your mouth and you respond, moaning as you touch your tongue to his, pulling at his hair so hard that Joel has to break the kiss, following the direction you’re pulling and his own gasp releasing from his throat.

You’re grinning when he opens his eyes, flushed and a desperate look in your eye. His pulse is hammering and he feels intoxicated just from one fucking kiss.

Black fabric (from his shirt, he reminds himself with glee) bunches under his palms as he moves his hands, wanting to touch your skin instead. Your head leans back, granting him permission, and Joel feels like a magnet, drawn to the soft and unmarked skin of your neck. 

While he kneads the skin of your ribs and back with his strong hands, his mouth searches the skin of your neck, biting gently and soothing it over with his tongue. He ravishes you, and he can feel you squirming in his hold, your hips already bucking to try to find friction there. At the press of his lips under your ear, you keen and whimper, releasing your hold on his hair and trying to find purchase on his shoulders and neck. 

He promised himself one kiss, and then he would talk to you, but Joel doesn’t want to waste any time that he could be touching you. He doesn’t want to manipulate the moment, but the thought of having gotten to touch you and then it being ripped away from him is just more than he can bare.

So he licks under your ear and he knows he’s hoarse and ragged when he murmurs, “Why did you come here, baby?”

Your answering moan and the tightening of your fingers is a good answer, but it’s not the one he needs.

He pulls back, hoping the distance of his mouth from your skin will clear your head a little. Your eyes are glazed over, but it works, and he sees you shake your head and breathe.

“Baby,” he sighs again. “Why are you here?”

“I just needed to know,” you murmur, eyes wide and searching Joel’s.

“Know what?”

“If — if loving someone would make it all feel different.”

“What do you mean?” His eyes narrow and his head tilts, and even though all of his blood has flooded straight to his cock, he’s trying so hard to make his brain work. 

“I don’t — “ you sigh then, but you lean in, trying to kiss him again.

His hands are firm, but gentle as they hold you back, still resting on your ribs and waist. 

“Baby,” he tries again. “Tell me.”

“I still love you,” you tell him, and Joel’s chest hurts as you whisper it again.

He whispers your name, and he knows his own eyes are wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. How long has he been waiting to hear this?

“I remember how it felt between us.”

“I do too.” And he does. He’s had other women since you (mostly around the time you posted you were in a relationship and engaged) but none of them have ever lit him on fire the way your touch does.

“It doesn’t — feel that way with, with Nate.”

It clicks in Joel’s head then. 

“You came here to see if it was you or if it’s because you don’t love him.”

You flinch. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m not really sure I had a plan, exactly.”

“I should call your sister,” he mumbles, getting up from the couch. It’s the right thing to do, he knows that as he starts looking for her name in his contacts, but you’re off the couch in a flash, hands on his and pulling his mouth to yours.

“No,” you sigh against him. “Kiss me.”

“But you’ll regret this,” he says, holding you at arm’s length. He can’t do that. He can’t have you regret him. He won’t survive it.

“I’d never regret you,” you tell him, the sincerity of it pulsing in your gaze. “Not once, Joel. Not ever.” And with every word, you get closer, until you’re looking up at him like he hung the moon. 

“It’s a bad idea,” he says instead. Because it is. It’s the worst idea. You’re going to be married to another man. You’re wearing his fucking ring in Joel’s house.

“Then tell me to leave.” You’re breathless, and Christ.

He holds out his arms, wishing he had the strength to do the right thing — but he fucking doesn’t.

You almost jolt into his arms. His body responds instantly, without thought, and he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you up so that your chest is flush with his. Your mouths find that rhythm easily, like it was never lost, like no time has passed. 

His hands inch down your back to your ass, and he cups you there, holding you up just high enough that your legs wrap around his waist, your hips bucking against him. 

The stairs aren’t a conscious decision he makes, but he’s making it all the same, kissing you with abandon, one hand coming to your cheek and tilting your head so he can get at your neck. You moan again, and Joel whispers into your ear, “Gotta be quiet, baby. Sarah’s asleep.”

You nod in his hold, and he presses your back against the wall of the landing while he tries to remember how a fucking doorknob works. You wiggle down his body once it’s open, and reach for him to kiss you as you walk backwards to the bed. 

He does remember to lock the door behind him, just in case Sarah gets up again. But his voice is ragged when your legs hit the bed.

“I love you.”

“Joel,” you croak, “I love you.”

His hands fist in the shirt. His mouth traces your jaw, and he doesn’t give a shit how many hickies he leaves — in fact, he hopes he does.

“What the fuck were you thinkin’, comin’ over here in my goddamn shirt, like you know this shit doesn’t drive me crazy?”

“Does it still?” You whimper, eyes on his.

He smirks and you smile back, lowering yourself to the bed.

“You know full well that it does.”

“Good.”

Joel reaches for your pajama pants and you lift your hips so he can pull them off in one go. He reaches up to kiss you again, palming your mound, and moans deeply when he feels how wet you are.

“Who’s this for, baby?” He breathes against your mouth. Joel’s a possessive bastard, he always has been, so why not go all the way, huh?

“You,” you moan, laying back against his sheets and closing your eyes. “Joel, you know it’s for you.”

“That’s right. You’re always so wet for me,” he praises, and you arch up, moaning again.

He lowers himself to his knees, pulling you by your hips so you’re at the edge of the bed. He knows that you know what’s coming and he can see your cunt flexing around nothing in anticipation of it. 

It’s nothing to touch his lips to the soft skin of your inner thigh, and he does, nipping each leg closer and closer to where you’re dripping. His hands hold your hips tight, but your grunts of frustration start to get louder, and Joel taps your stomach to remind you.

The air is heavy and he can hear your pants as he stops just before your hole. He looks for just a moment, familiarizing himself with it once again — he used to know your body as well as his own… but it’s been a year. He needs to reacquaint himself.

You whine his name, and he grins. “She’s so pretty, baby. Look how much she’s missed me.”

His fingers tighten on your hips as he lowers his mouth, pressing his lips to your swollen clit. You gasp, arching up and trying to take your hips with you, but Joel’s arms flex, keeping you where he wants you. He licks you from the bottom of your hole to the top of your clit, and then he goes to work.

Your climax builds quickly, Joel remembers all the ways to get you off and he’s pleased that your body still responds to his this way. He ravishes you, licking and flicking his tongue until your every breath is a chorus of please and joel over and over again. 

“I know, baby,” he whispers, face covered in your slick. “I know what you need. Give me just a second and I’ll give it to you.”

He releases one hand off your hip and trails it down to your waiting pussy. He uses one finger to work you open, still tonguing and flicking at your clit and once he’s satisfied with the stretch, he puts another inside. You growl at him then, hips still trying to buck to get the friction you need to cum, but Joel already knows exactly what to do.

So he does.

It doesn’t take but a few pumps of his fingers, he knew it wouldn’t, but the pressure of having something inside you and the circling heat of his tongue have you cumming in seconds and Joel grins like the cat that got the cream. 

You writhe through the orgasm, and Joel licks at your trembling clit, feeling your blood pulse whenever he presses his tongue to it. you moan and mumble as you come down from the high, almost battling being oversensitive since he keeps his tongue on you. Once he’s sure that you can’t take another second, he stills his fingers and pulls them out. 

“Look at that,” he whispers, full of awe as he moves his fingers back and forth, mesmerized by the slick coating them. His eyes look down and he grins, “Look at you.”

“What?” You gasp.

“You’re lyin’ here, in my bed, in just my shirt, so fuckin’ beautiful when you cum.”

“I need you,” you whisper, reaching up to grasp at his shirt.

He lets you pull it over his head, grinning as he uses the hand he didn’t finger you with to pull down his own boxers. He uses the slick still on his fingers to rub over his aching cock. His eyes roll back in his head and his cock pulses, remembering you.

When he opens his eyes, you’ve thrown off -your- his shirt and you’re naked. 

Nipples peaked, skin soft and inviting, he tries not to let his gaze linger too long in one place, there’s too much to look at.

But it all adds up to one thing.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, not even sure he spoke aloud. 

“So are you,” you whisper, eyes wide in your own appreciation of him. You sit up and he sees your hands reaching for his dick, but he stills you with a hand on your wrist. 

“No, baby, not tonight.”

“But I —“

“I know,” he soothes, getting on the bed and laying you back down, “but I won’t last if you do that.”

A devilish grin paints your face and you shrug, laying back in the middle of his bed. 

He leans over to his bedside table for a condom, and this time it’s your hand on his wrist to stop him. “No,” you rasp. “Please, Joel, I want to feel you.”

It’s a bad idea. God damn is it a bad idea. But how can he resist?

So he nods. 

He crawls up the bed as you spread your legs, eager hands reaching up for his shoulders, mouth already opening to his as he jacks his cock a couple times. He pushes it through your folds coating the head in its slickness before tapping it to your clit. You writhe and Joel relishes it, growling at how responsive you are to his touch. 

“You sure?” He says between clenched teeth. “Once I’m in, I dunno if I can stop, honey.”

He doesn’t want to. If you asked him to stop right now, he’s pretty sure he’d die on the spot, but he has to ask. He has to be sure. 

You open your eyes and nod. Your left hand reaches for his cheek, and that possessive animal in him snarls at the thought of fucking you with that goddamn ring on.

You must see it in his eyes, because yours widen as Joel’s hand leaves his cock and snaps around your wrist, bringing your hand to his mouth. 

Eyes tight on yours, Joel takes your ring finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue on the digit until he finds the ring. Using his teeth, he sucks it off of you, enjoying the way your eyes roll back and your body erupts into goosebumps.

When you look back at him, it’s between his teeth, and Joel grins before turning his head and shooting it somewhere across the room.

“When I’m in you, you’re mine,” he snarls. “And I don’t want what’s mine to have another man’s ring. You’re not thinkin’ about him while fuckin’ me.”

You shake your head and he sees the faint curl of a smile. You’re not afraid.

“Say it.”

“I’m only thinking of you, Joel,” you whisper, but your voice has that dreamy quality he likes.

He nods then, grasping his cock again at the base. He splits your folds and pushes in the head of his cock. He sucks in a shaky breath, feeling his own shivers down his spine. “F-fuck.”

You whimper, one hand gripping the sheets, but your left hand is on his shoulder, tightly enough that he’s sure he’ll have marks from your nails.

Good.

He leans over you, resting his elbow and forearm near your head and letting his weight carry him the rest of the way in. Your legs wind around his hips as he pushes in to the hilt, and Joel moans in your ear as you whimper in his. 

Pushing his lips to your neck, Joel gives you a minute to adjust. After all, it’s been a year.

“You alright, baby?” Joel asks.

“Yes,” you whimper, thrusting your own hips up to meet his.

Joel grins, leaning back on his elbow just enough to kiss you, his other hand grasping your hip. “I missed this,” he purrs, thrusting slowly. “I missed you.”

“Oh god,” you open your eyes, crying out, “Joel I — I miss you too.”

His hips jerk at that, and he huffs, knowing this isn’t going to last long. He bites his lip at the thought of round two and his cock twitches inside you, prompting another moan. 

He’s almost lazy with his thrusts, pressing his chest to yours as if he wants to feel as much of your body pressed against his as he can, the only movement is that of his lips against yours and the slow, languid strokes of his hips meeting yours. 

“That’s it baby,” he whispers whenever he needs a breath from kissing you. “You take me so well, like you were fuckin’ made for me.”

“I was,” you gasp. “You were made for me.”

He grinds down, picking up his pace in a frenzied, desperate effort. He knows he should be quieter, that you should be quiet, but the sound of his hips smacking against yours awakens that animal inside him again, and he leans up, watching your face as he pounds into you, stretching you just for him. 

Your walls start to pulse around him and you make that half-whine, half-whimper that he knows means you’re close. He’s heard that noise in his dreams so many times over the last year, and he can feel himself get close just based on that alone.

Rolling his hips, Joel sits up to his knees, using his thighs to spread your legs even further. You open for him and lean up on your own elbows to watch. You see his length disappearing into yourself and you moan, leaning your head back.

“Nu uh,” he grunts, reaching out for your chin. “Don’t stop watchin’, you understand. You can take it. Be proud.”

You arch then, and Joel reaches out a hand to take one of your full breasts in his palm. 

“Joel, I’m so close.”

“I know you are. This is what you wanted, right?” He growls, hips snapping harder as his other hand reaches down to your clit. 

“Yes,” you begged.

He presses his broad fingers to your swollen clit and begins to rub in a circle, the way he knows would get you off, slowing his hips to an agonizing pace, as slow as he could manage while still moving. 

You respond immediately, smiling as your eyes roll back and you cry out. He knows you were close, he could feel your walls fluttering around him, your hand fisting so hard in the sheet that your knuckles go white. He grins as he watches your body start to convulse.

Then he leans in, making sure there’s enough room for his hand to keep working. “You deserve this, baby,” he purrs, tongue licking the shell of your ear. “You’re mine. Always mine. Let me hear you.”

And that’s all it takes. 

Your cunt tightens and he can feel the rush of slick down his shaft, abandoning his slow pace for the brutal and unrelenting one he knows you needed to keep cumming.

“There she is,” he praises, never slowing as your eyes roll back in your head. He gets desperate in his strokes, but your body is still trembling and your legs are convulsing against his back and he knows you’re still riding the high. “Keep going, baby. That’s it. You can take it,” he talks through it, the only thing keeping him from cumming now.

It finally eases and Joel slows a moment, still buried inside you. Your eyes flutter open and he sees the rush of blood to your cheeks, but you reach up for his face and kiss him sloppily, messy.

“Your turn, cowboy,” you command against his lips. 

His hips move on their own command, slipping in and out of you with no resistance since you’re so wet. When he tells you, you lick the shell of his ear, “hard to stay dry when you make me feel so good.”

He can feel the heat pooling in his back, spreading under his skin. He knows he’s going to cum soon, he just — fuck.

“Wh-Where?” He manages, gritting his teeth.

“You know where,” you whisper, leaning back so he can see you’re completely serious.

He’s lost to all reason, barely hanging on to the impending orgasm. At your permission, he moans, burying his head into your neck and comes apart inside you.

He comes back to himself a few minutes later, limp and sticky with sweat as he lays on you, his head cradled to your chest. You hum some song he probably should know, just running the fingers of one hand gently through his sweat-damp hair while the other is feather-light as it traces his spine.

“Hey there,” his voice is sluggish, slurring almost. 

“Hey, cowboy,” you whisper, kissing his forehead.

Joel pulls himself out of the memory when he realizes he’s not alone. 

He expects Tommy, telling him it’s time to go, but his breath hitches when he sees a white dress instead of blue jeans. 

He whispers your name, he can’t help it. And you gasp, putting a hand to your chest.

Now that he notices the dress, it really is beautiful. A lacy thing, tight around your chest but just loose enough to conceal a secret.

“Joel,” you answer, looking down with shame heating your cheeks. 

You hold a champagne glass, but Joel notices, again, that it’s water.

“Awful weird to be drinkin’ water at your weddin’.” It’s hard to keep his voice neutral, but he does.

“Oh,” you give a nervous chuckle, “well, ya know, watching my —“

“You’re lying.” He takes a step toward you. “Aren’t you?”

Your eyes fill with tears, and Joel sees it all, the weight of it. The weight that you’d carried alone, but he doesn’t know why. 

“Two months ago,” he whispers, “you came to me and we — “

“Joel, I didn’t —“

“Hang on now,” he stops you, putting a gentle hand to your cheek. “You wouldn’t answer my calls.”

“I know,” and you start to look down, but his fingers are firm, and he keeps you looking at him. 

You take a deep breath. “I didn’t know how to say —“ you trail off, biting your lip.

“Say what?”

You shake your head. 

“You don’t love him,” Joel guesses. You say nothing, but the flicker of doubt he saw in your eyes was answer enough. “That’s why you’ve looked like that all day… why go through with it?”

Your chest heaves, and he sees the tears spill over, the mascara running. His other hand reaches up to thumb away the tears.

“Tell me,” he begs. 

“I can’t.” Your voice is full of agony, and Joel knows that if he looked inside his chest, he’d see that same agony.

“We keepin’ secrets now? You and I ain’t ever lied to each other,” Joel’s voice is rising in anger, but he’s not angry, he’s not, he just needs you to admit it. “So don’t lie to me. Don’t you keep a secret from me, you hear me?”

“Joel, I —” the tears come in earnest then, and Joel’s heart breaks. He pulls you to his chest, still amazed by how perfectly you fit there. The same way you had two months ago in his bed.

“Is that —“ he swallows and clears his throat, “is that secret you’re keepin’ gonna have my eyes?”

“By the time I’d gotten up the courage to end it with him, I realized I was pregnant,” you admit, pulling back from Joel. You took a few steps, pacing nervously. 

“Does he know — that it’s mine?”

You swallow. “No. I was planning on telling him after—“

He just nods then, squeezing your hand. 

“And when I told my parents, my fucking father brought out a goddamn shotgun, Joel. I didn’t know what to do.”

He understands. It was an expensive-looking wedding. Calling off something like that wouldn’t have been easy. Even his own wedding to Sarah’s mother, as inexpensive and private an affair as it had been — he wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to just call it off. 

His eyes soften. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“And say what?” You swallow, throat working as the tears flow steadily. “You already have Sarah, Joel. When we were together, you stressed so much about the bills and the house — I couldn’t, I couldn’t do it to you again —“

“Oh, baby,” he soothes, pulling you in tight again. He cradles your head, running fingers through the beautiful curls. “No, no, don’t ever think that. Taking care of another baby — our baby,” his voice breaks then, and he can’t help shed his own tears.

You look up at that, eyes wide with fright. “Joel —“

“No,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to yours. His knees threaten to buckle when you press yours back, opening your mouth for him. 

“I want you. I didn’t want you to leave the next morning — “

“Neither did I,” you say against his dress shirt. “My — my sister and I fought over it. Over whether to tell them all or what to say or anything. I just thought — I don’t know. He was never going to be you, and I knew that. I think i've known that all along."

He whispers your name then. “I wanted to tell them all, your momma, your daddy, his parents, him, to go to hell because you’re mine, but you,” he takes another breath, trying to steady himself. “You were gone. You wouldn’t answer my calls. I thought — I thought maybe that was your choice.”

You shake your head. “Joel, no. I want you.”

He smiles then, a sad smile. “Then you’ll have me. Anything you want. We can tell them all to go to hell. Whatever excuse you want to give’em. Tonight, if you want.”

Your eyes widen. “Leave now?”

“Yes,” he breathes. He reaches down for your left hand, the same engagement ring he pulled off two months ago, and he takes it with the band. He drops it at your feet. It’s a question.

“Make a choice here, baby,” he says, taking a step forward. “If you want to go back to him, then okay. We can tell him and co-parent and it will all work out.”

He takes your hands, dropping his voice just a little. “But listen to me, if you have any doubt about him, about this marriage…I know you left and I didn’t fight for you before, but I want you. Let’s do this right this time. Come home. 

“But Joel —“

“I don’t care.” He leans in, just a breath away from your lips.

“People will talk.” You say against his mouth.

“Let them.”

You nod then, more tears spilling as you open yourself to Joel’s kiss. He lifts you, spinning you there in the trees. 

“I’ll figure it all out, okay?” He promises. "It's not binding 'till the paperwork's turned in to the courthouse."

You narrow your eyes, lips tilting in a crooked smile. "That... that's what my sister said -- this morning. She told me that."

Joel shrugs. "She always did have good taste."

[liltangerineart]

F I R S T T I M E F O R E V E R Y T H I N G

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

word count: 20.11k (honestly a mini series)

rating: e (minors dni)

song inspo: me and your momma by childish gambino

summary: after helping the mandalorian with a favor, he brings you a gift as a thank you. little do both of you know that this gift sparks a connection that neither of you can deny, and thoughts that din never considered before you.

tags/warnings: dual pov, no use of y/n cuz ew, alcohol consumption, mentions of medicine/contraceptives, a very tiny mention of being chased/hunted down, hella chemistry, fluff, language, jealousy, sexual tension, yearning, dirty talk, heavy makeout, biting, fingering, clit play, cunnilingus, breast play, slight choking kink, piv unprotected sex, praise kink, breeding kink, cream pie, helmet off, dark room sensory focused.

author’s note: listen listen LISTEN... I know, it's been a hot minute 🥲 Life happened and all that jazz. Tbh this has been in my drafts for a while but I decided to finish it now that the movie is out so this is probably canon divergent at this point lol. But when I tell you I ran away writing this, bitch I raaaan. To everyone who wondered what happened to that bottle of liquor in s3, this is for you pookies🫵🏻🙂‍↕️

**update** this fic is now on AO3! It's my first work on there at the moment but feel free to drop some love 😁✨

When you decided to make Nevarro your home, you expected it to be a rough place. A far off den of thieves, bounty hunters, and a sleazy connection to the old empire. Nonetheless, it was cheap so you convinced yourself you could put up with it. It wasn’t anything new to you. Plus, at the time, you really didn’t have anywhere else to go. 

Thankfully, the reputation has drastically improved over the past few years. It’s not Naboo, but there’s a sort of gritty charm to it. Rebels became marshals. Bars became schools. Thieves became honest vendors. Hell, there’s even kaf shops here now.

You’re no stranger to drastic changes in this galaxy. You’ve beared witness to the rise and fall of an empire after all.

But receiving a bottle of wine at night from a notorious ex-bounty hunter is definitely a first for you.

“You’re… giving this to me,” you ask, dragging the question out.

The Mandalorian stands at your doorstep. Unreadable beneath hard shiny metal and illuminated only by the entry light of your home above your door. The chilly night air bites your cheeks but he stands unfazed.

“As a thank you,” he explains. “You were a big help to my kid and this was the only thing I had that seemed like something you’d enjoy.”

All you did was give his little green kid some medicine. It’s not like it was even your first interaction with the infamous hunter. He’s stopped by your apothecary a couple times. Passing by so swiftly you hardly even knew he was there if it wasn’t for the lingering stares from other customers. If you recall correctly, he only ever picks up supplies to replenish a med pack or bacta spray for wounds.

Until you suddenly found him at your doorstep the other night with his adorable little green baby in his arms. The poor little guy was running a fever, coughing up a storm, and had even refused food for over a day. Any parent would be frantic. And so you didn’t even think twice to let them inside.

Luckily your small shop is attached below your home, so you were quick to find the right tinctures for his illness. The Mandalorian paced circles in your kitchen as you administered the medicine and blotted his kid’s little forehead with a cool damp cloth. It took some time and a lot of reassurance to a very nervous father, but after a few hours the fever broke.

You sent them home with some herbal tinctures and even some homemade hard medicinal candies for stubborn coughs and that was it. Hardly any words were exchanged between you that night that didn’t pertain to the child. Only a heartfelt thank you, goodnight, and a promise to pay you back somehow. You assured him that it really wasn’t necessary, that you were glad to help.

You’ve admittedly always been curious about the man. With his stoic demeanor and a reputation that preceded him like lightening preceded thunder. He’s somewhat of a local legend, menace, and hero all wrapped up in one. And now he’s at your door. With booze. Definitely a man of his word, this guy.

“You’re giving this,” you repeat with astonishment. “This whole bottle, to me?”

“Yes,” he answers again. “Is it a special one or something?”

“This is Andoan wine,” you emphasize, holding out the clear glass bottle. “You can only find these on Coruscant now. Very delicious, very rare, very expensive.”

“Is it,” he asks nonchalantly. “I’ve never tried it before. But I hope you enjoy it.”

“You really don’t have to,” you tell him.

“I insist. I didn’t know the first thing to do so I appreciate your help.”

You chuckle. With your limited interactions, you’re starting to see that he’s short and to the point with his words. Almost like he’s not entirely used to speaking with people.

“I…” You nearly argue it again but decide against it. He really didn’t have to give you such a lavish gift for something any good person would do in a situation like that. It was only natural. But at this point, refusing him might come off as rude so…

“Thank you very much.”

The Mandalorian acknowledges your gratitude with a tilt of his helmet, then turns on his heels to leave without another word. And for some reason, you linger at the door. You watch him go down one step, then another, then-

“H-hey, Mando?”

Your sudden call stops him in his tracks on the stair case and he turns to look back over his shoulder. The dim light gleaming over his steel.

“Yes?”

“I…. w-well…”

You’re stammering. Just come out and say it.

“If you’ve never tried it… would you like to share it with me?”

He stands there silently looking at you and the awkwardness crawls your skin.

“I’m not busy at the moment and it’s not really in my culture to drink alone.”

Culture your ass. You just want to drink with him. It’s unclear why in particular but… you’re curious about him. Other than the company of his kid, he seems alone. You wonder if he prefers it that way or if it’s for another reason entirely. Either way, the offer was worth a shot.

There’s more silence and the only noise in the air comes from the gentle chirp of some lava crickets and the breeze brushing the trees in the street. And it’s in that moment that regret starts to burn in your stomach

He’s gonna say no. A pause like that doesn’t necessarily mean yes. But it would be rude not to offer, right? A bottle this nice doesn’t come by these parts and it’d be a shame to drink it alone. It’s reasonable to offer the gesture. After all, he went out of his way to come here from across town. It’s the least you can do to show your appreciation in return.

“Alright.”

The word that falls out of him so effortlessly hits you like a punch to the chest. Are you nervous? Absolutely. But how many people can say they shared a drink with the Mandalorian?

A few minutes later, you find yourself standing on your tip toes, grabbing a couple earthenware ceramic cups in your kitchenette cabinet while Mando stands in your living room. His helmet follows the various potted plants, momentos and knick knacks from your travels littered around your home. Even tracing his gloved fingers over some of them.

“You have a nice home,” he says. “I didn’t notice before. Very lived in.”

“Lots of junk,” you joke. “You can say it Mando, I won’t mind.”

“My place is still new. Doesn’t feel like a home just yet.”

“That’ll change over time,” you assure him. “After a while, your home becomes a collection of memories.”

His attention gets drawn to a particular item on your wall. It’s an old worn down canvas satchel bag that hangs on the wall. At one point it was a life line. Now it serves as a reminder that no matter how hard life gets, showing a little kindness can go a long way for someone.

“What’s this memory?”

“That? That memory is what got me here.” You smile to yourself as you wipe down the cups with a clean kitchen rag.

“A few years ago, I was on Pantora with just some spare change and the clothes on my back. I was desperate to leave so I ended up hitching a ride on a freight ship. I worked on the ship in exchange for a ride to Corellia. Their language was difficult to learn and I had a rough time getting things done because for some reason everything was written in the native language and not aurebesh. On a stop to Tattooine, I accidentally labeled a pallet of coaxium as a pallet of scrap metal. That “scrap” was sold to some Jawas and by the time everyone realized my mistake we were already halfway to the next planet.”

“Was that before you came the Nevarro?”

“That was the reason I came to Nevarro,” you clarify. “It was their next stop so they dropped me here.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, ouch,” you laugh. “Anyway, I guess one of the workers felt sorry for me and left me that satchel with a couple credits and some ration bars inside. Buuut my mistake turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Nevarro turned itself around. I have my own little business. I’m even able to save a little bit of money now. For the time being, things are comfortable. I’ve hopped around the system a lot as you can see. But… this is a place I can always come back to.”

“Something reliable,” he adds.

“Exactly,” you say softly, smiling at the sentiment.

You look up at him. And you didn’t notice as you were cleaning those cups that he’s now completely facing towards you. His visor is trained on you. And it’s then that you realize how small your home really is. Because Mando is broad.

His crossed arms accentuate his wide shoulders. His chest plate follows the lines of his trim torso. Even those plates of beskar armor can barely hide the bulk of his biceps. Your eyes briefly, briefly take a tour at his waist line before you realize how incredibly rude you’re being.

He’s a guest. And a customer. Don’t. Check. Him. Out.

Heat starts to rise in your cheeks. Focusing back on the cups, you round the kitchen counter and walk over to him.

“I’m sorry. All this talking suddenly got deeper and I feel like I haven’t really introduced myself. We’ve only ever passed by each other before,” you chuckle, shaking away the nerves.

In hindsight you should’ve just introduced yourself the other night, but truthfully you were in care-taker-mode and it didn’t occur to you at the time. Plus you didn’t think you’d have an encounter with the man again other than seeing him briefly in your shop every so often. But he seems like a nice enough person with the limited knowledge you do have with him. And after tonight you’re bound to cross paths again. So you happily extend your hand out and give him his cup along with your full name.

There’s a couple beats of silence and you’re starting to see that’s his default. But it doesn’t stop you from second guessing your words as if you’re crossing an unknown boundary. There’s a slight tilt downward with his helmet and he responds with a regretful “I’m sorry, but-“

“You don’t have to tell me your name,” you immediately add. “I know there’s… principles you must have. I just wanted you to know me. That’s all.”

Another beat passes before he finally reaches out to take the cup in his hand. He repeats your name and the way it comes out of his voice holds a whole new flavor. Soft and curious even through the warble of his vocoder. It’s almost like he’s seeing how it tastes.

You like it. You like it a lot.

“It’s nice to meet you.” The voice wears the vocoder like a veil but you still catch a hint of a smile by his relaxed tone. No real logical way to know for certain, just a gut feeling.

“Likewise,” you smile back.

“So,” he exhales. “You want to know how two Mandalorians drink?”

“Sure. Sounds educational,” you joke.

With a tilt of his helmet, Mando steps further into the living room area and you follow behind, cup and bottle in hand. Walking over to the couch, his gloved hand reaches for the small round pillow resting there. His smokey grey cape flows over his shoulder and for a moment you’re mesmerized by the movement. As he turns on his heel, his fingers release the pillow. Letting it fall to the thin rug with a muted poof.

“Right here.” Mando gestures to the floor and you waltz over to take a seat on the cushion, crossing your legs. It doesn’t escape your notice how he doesn’t grab the only pillow for himself. Opting for your comfort over his own.

He takes a minute to look around the room. Probably checking for anything reflective. Then with a swish of his cape to the side, Mando settles in the floor behind you. When his back presses against yours, you expect a wall of cold hard metal beneath the cape. But instead there’s warmth. Strong and firm, but still warm and giving.

“It’s customary to sit on the floor when drinking with a war band. Usually outside around a fire. When it’s just two, it’s back to back.”

“Aaah,” you drawl. “Very practical. I like it.”

The top of the bottle comes off with a pop and the rich scent caresses your nose like a hug. After pouring about two fingers worth into Mando’s cup you pour one for yourself and settle in.

“Are we drinking to anything tonight ,” you ask him.

“Not sure. How about…,” he pauses for a moment before deciding. “To that Pantoran who gave you the satchel.”

That makes you laugh out loud. But you can’t help but feel a little pleased at that. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be on Nevarro, wouldn’t have a home. And you definitely wouldn’t be drinking with Mando tonight. For that you’re especially grateful.

“You know what, yeah,” you chuckle. “To the Pantoran.”

Mando extends his arm back to reach your cups and you meet him halfway. Letting them touch with a soft clack.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

There’s an unclicking sound and you sense that he’s probably tilting his helmet back to drink. You ignore the small tinge of disappointment that he didn’t take it completely off. But it’s understandable. He doesn’t know you well. Even drinking like this with an outsider is probably a big deal for people of his creed. His back presses a little further against yours as he takes his first sip and you take yours.

The wine is rich and dry, and a bit smokey. But the underlying taste of tangy fruit blends well with the flavor. Going by the color, it has to have been bottled for a decades. The alcohol runs warmly down your throat and settles like smoldering ember in your stomach. It’s like no other alcohol you’ve ever tried before. Not even close.

“Hoooh,” he hisses after that sharp bite of alcohol.

“Yeah,” you agree knowingly. Already sensing that this bottle is getting finished tonight.

The conversations flow pretty easily after the first drink. He tells you about how his boy came into his life and how he suddenly found himself being his father. You tell him that you can only dream of having a parent like him because you never got to know yours. You half expected he would cut the interaction short and only accept one drink. But when you offer a refill, he gladly accepted which warmed you from the inside.

Admittedly you ask a few curious questions about his creed and he indulges you a bit. And he asks about how you got into medicine making. But for the most part you both stick to easier topics like current events on Nevarro, work, and food. Eventually two drinks turn into three and somehow you’ve both dipped into topics like past relationships. Which is dangerous territory after drink number three.

“It was baaad, Mando. I’m telling you. I mean, really! Who gives two shits who makes more money than who? Or am I in the wrong here?”

“Nah, definitely not,” he replies. His speech now more relaxed but a little raspy from the alcohol. “Honestly, he sounds like a little bitch if that was his main concern.”

“Yeah! Like, what is it with these men and needing to feel superior in such bullshit, inconsequential ways?”

“You seem strong willed. Weak men are intimidated by that.”

“Yeah well, then every man I’ve met in this galaxy was weak,” you groan. “I mean, c’mon. Am I that intimidating? Is it the yapping? It’s probably the yapping.”

“I think someone who’d be deterred by something that trivial doesn’t sound worth a damn anyway.”

With that, you let out a deep sigh and slump against the man behind your back.

“Eh, you’re probably right,” you exhale. You toss back the last little sip in your ceramic cup, savoring the flavor.

“You know what, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll just be that shop girl around the corner who throws herself into her work, makes her little remedies, and stays happily independent. I think I can live with that.”

A pause streches between you.

“You don’t sound too convincing, Shop Girl,” he teases.

“Shit,” you tsk.

You both wheeze with laughter, your bodies rumbling against one another and it’s so… relaxing. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t say much. Or that what little he does say is said with a sincerity you’re not used to. Or you’re drunk. It could very well be that.

But in a galaxy full of deceit and unknown dangers, it’s refreshing to talk with someone as honest as him. He’s authentic, unapologetically so.

“Hey so… can I ask you something?”

“You’ve been asking things this whole time,” he teases.

“I know, but… it’s technically a helmet question. And you can tell me to fuck off if it’s too much.”

Mando hums and the rumble reverberates through your body, nesting warmly in your chest. He’s settled comfortably against you and it makes you feel close enough to ask what you want to ask. After thinking it over he gives you permission.

“Can’t wait to hear this,” he sighs with a little amusement.

You smile. To your surprise, he actually has a good sense of humor. A dry, blunt one . But humor nonetheless. You run a finger over the rim of your cup, finding a little more courage.

“Mando… Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

It’s a simple enough question, right? It’s within the ballpark of the topics you’ve been discussing. And you’re both adults. It’s not like it’s inappropriate…Right?

Oh god, you really are drunk…

Regret rises with each passing second and you wonder why you even brought it up. It’s probably some kind of insult to his creed to ask something like that. 

“Too much,” you broach gently.

“No,” he says softly. “You’re not exactly the first person to ask that. Doubt you’ll be the last.”

He pauses for a moment to find the right words. Then with a heavy exhale he gives you an answer to your insanely intrusive question.

“I was pretty young when I took the creed,” he states. “Ten, twelve maybe? Too young to be interested in those kinds of things. Never looked back since. To be completely honest, it’s not even something I really think about in adulthood. Never understood the hype.”

“Sooo, I’ll take that as a no.”

“No,” he breathes. “Never kissed anyone.”

Never kissed anyone? Never felt a person’s soft lips against his own or graze his skin? Does that mean he hasn’t gotten to experience more than kissing? Licking? Biting? Or…

Do not finish that thought…

“Huh… Well, that’s a shame,” you say without thinking, quickly adding “-but at the same time, I completely understand it too! I mean, it shows a lot of self discipline, you know? To resist that kind of… temptation. Most people don’t have any reason to be disciplined enough to stay chaste. I can admire tha-"

“I said I’ve never kissed anyone, I didn’t say I never fucked.”

Thank… the Maker… you’re not face to face. Because the way your eyes bulged just now would’ve been downright embarrassing had it been caught. He didn’t just say sex or even screwing. The Mandalorian fucks. The alcohol in your blood seems to conjure a brief glimpse of what that might look like before you find enough coherence to shew it away.

“…oh,” you breathe out, effectively stopping your rambling. “I-I guess I just assumed…”

A deep exhale blows out of his nose. He hums, seemingly entertained by the foot you’ve put in your mouth. But also making the air light between you.

“Well, you assumed wrong.”

The humor in his voice settles your nerves a bit. Thankfully there isn’t an awkward air at the sudden change to such a topic despite hardly knowing each other. And oddly enough, it feels easy to talk about it for that very reason.

“You’re rather chatty when you drink, Mandalorian. I feel like I’m learning all sorts of things about you tonight.”

“You’re right,” he breathes. “I spoke without thinking, I apologize.”

“No, It’s fine. I don’t mind at all. It’s a relief to know there’s a man under all that armor and not solid metal.”

He hums again and the noise stirs something in your chest.

“Well, even so… It’s late… Probably best if I stop drinking.”

You look into your empty cup. Then glance over to the bottle with barely a drop left inside. Something inside you wilts. There’s nothing to keep him here any longer…

“Yeah… Me too.”

You’re not sure if you wait for him to move first or if he’s waiting for you. But both of you remain still for nearly a whole minute. Silent and hesitant to end the night. As comfortable as it is, you feel Mando’s back lean away from yours and you miss the warmth. You turn on the floor to find him standing up as he adjusts his helmet clasp and places his empty cup on the table.

“You were right. It tasted better shared,” he admits. A satisfied smile curls your lips.

“If you learned anything about me tonight, Mando, it’s that I am always right when it comes to liquor.”

“I appreciate the hospitality.”

“I appreciate the company.”

You place a hand on the table as an anchor in an attempt to stand up and follow him to the door. But as you try to stand straight, the room spins and your knees buckle.

Nope. Not doing that.

You sit your ass right back down on that cushion before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. Quick to respond, Mando catches your free arm. Making sure you land back down safely.

“You ok,” he asks, concerned but with a hint of humor.

“Pfft. Yeah, I’m good. I think I’ll just stay down here for a minute,” you chuckle, running a hand through your hair and closing your eyes for a moment.

For sure you’ll have a hangover tomorrow. Shit. You work tomorrow. There’s a couple things you’re running low on, too. You’ll have to request an order through the trading guild. That’ll cost credits. Maybe if you get that Chiss man again you can manage a trade and he can throw in those dried flower buds for that tea that keeps getting sold out.

You know you’re already a bit dizzy. But behind closed eyes you feel like your head is swaying. Or rather… that it’s being moved. Something warm and firm holds your jaw up and when your eyes flutter open again you’re met face to face with dark silver.

The Mandalorian stands barely a foot in front of you. Visor fixed down on your face. Maybe the wine has made your brain slow but it’s only when you follow the path from his shoulder and down his outstretched arm that you realize what’s holding your jaw… is his hand.

With a subtle pass of his thumb along your cheek you can feel warmth starting to pool in your face. Awareness pricks the hairs on the back of your neck when you realize your position. Sitting on your knees, face barely level to his waist as a wall of steel and muscle towers over you.

“Your cheeks get flushed when you drink,” he mutters.

When I drink. Suuuure.

“Now you know,” you mumble without thinking. It grants you a satisfied hum from his helmet and you feel it travel through your ears and under your skin.

“Now I know…,” he repeats.

There’s no movement, no words. But there’s something thick in the air. It’s heavy and enticing. It’d be so easy to get wrapped up in it with any sudden movement. You look up at him through half lidded eyes and you get a gut feeling that they’re meeting his. You’re not sure what his are giving away. But yours have to be hinting something you’ve been trying to hide all night.

With a sharp intake of air, Mando steps back and releases your face. Your head drops a little at the loss of support and it follows his direction as he walks towards the front door with quick, heavy steps. With a press of a button on the wall panel, the door panels slide open and just before he steps outside… he stops. Not looking back, just standing there at the edge of your home with his stand still resting on the doorway.

“Don’t invite me in again.”

And then he’s gone. The door panels shut swiftly, leaving you alone and more confused than when he showed up at your door.

…what?

•

Din wishes he could say that the first thing he thinks about when he got home that night was his sleeping kid safe in the crib. Or at the very least about how incredible that wine tasted. But after he undressed and collapsed down onto his bed half drunk, the only thought he couldn’t stop thinking about as he stared at the ceiling was…

Damn… it’s been a while.

For the past few years, Din’s life has flipped around a number of times. Between barely scraping by as a bounty hunter, saving an orphan kid from an imperial psychopath, losing said kid, then having him return and be by his side to reclaim the Mandalorian home-world, there’s not much time to indulge those kinds of needs. But just because Din found himself being a busy father later in life doesn’t make certain things dead.

No. Everything felt very much alive and kicking by the end of that bottle.

Behind closed eyes, his room feels like it swirls. After that wine, his body feels loose and relaxed. Something he rarely gets to experience these days. Images dance across his closed lids. Delicate, slender hands around a handmade cup. A pink flush on smooth skin. Plump tinted lips between his fingers, softly parted and begging to be touched. The intrusive impulse to dip a finger between those lips was so strong he could feel his hand move into the action before he could even think to do so.

All thanks to that one question. That simple, innocent question activated a deep part of his brain that lay dormant. And then he decided to shatter the care free atmosphere by with a crass remark about sex.

Never in his life has he regretted saying something so fast. You barely even know each other. Admittedly, Din isn’t exactly a refined person, far from it actually. But after his third glass, any semblance of manners flew right out the window. His mouth did the walking with little thinking involved.

Yet, you didn’t get uncomfortable. You handled the slip up with humor instead of getting offended or something just as bad. Using humor to make the air light again. It surprised him how easily you did it. How easy the conversation was all night, really. It’s not everyday he’s able to let his guard down with another person.

Once he was aware of that, he became aware of everything. How late the hour was, how drunk you both were, and how your bed was right behind where you both sat. Only separated by a simple room divider. Even when he tipped up his helmet, there was a heady herbal scent from you that kept swimming in his nose and it was just as intoxicating as the wine. He couldn’t trust himself to stay any longer. And now, in the safety of his own home, he finds himself preoccupied with a mountain of questions.

What kind of person are you? What’s your daily life like? What other places have you seen? What troubles you? You seem to be rooted here in Nevarro for the time being. But from what you’ve mentioned about your past, you have a kind of nomadic life. What happens if he… if the kid gets attached and you decide to move on to another planet? But then again, it’s not like he’s not one to talk though is he?

Loyalty. Solidarity. These are things that have been etched to his core since childhood. But giving those things to something that could be fleeting? That’s a risk he’s avoided for most of his life. Those kinds of wounds never heal.

But as much as he tries to distance himself, it’s not always in his control.

Three weeks go by and they couldn’t end soon enough. When he offered to work with Teva (or Blue as he usually calls him) on a case-by-case basis, he figured they’d be more involved than the bounty hunting trade. He’s spent up to a month off planet at times in order to capture a quarry so it’s not exactly new to him.

But that was when he had the Razor Crest. With a cot to rest in, a weapons locker, and supplies readily at hand. In that regard, the N-1 leaves much to be desired. Plus Din’s back isn’t what it used to be and long rides in that ship are killer. And to add insult to injury, this last case with Zeb was especially complicated to resolve. It left him and the kid completely drained.

After finally landing back in Nevarro with fresh credits, there is absolutely nothing Din wants more than to just go home, bathe, and sleep for at least a day. But he’s got a very hungry green mouth to feed and there’s no way Din is fixing up any dinner tonight.

Street food it is.

“Alright, we’re making this quick. In and out. I’ll get you as much food as you want and you can pick out one sweet. Not five. One. Got that?” Grogu tilts his head at Din curiously from where he follows behind on the cobblestone street and he’ll just take that as a yes.

Dozens of food stalls are gathered at the main square in town as he approaches. Adorned with all sorts of neon signs, string lights and colorful banners. It’s a busy atmosphere filled with people laughing, vendors calling out for customers to stop by, and sounds of clanking and sizzling as they cook.

Din gravitates towards the skewers stand. He knows Grogu is going to down ten of them by himself so he opts for something easy, filling, and cheap. He catches sight of those spicy chunks of fatty meat searing over lava coals and his mouth waters.

“Okay, which onesss-“

Din reaches down to pick up his son only to find the street bricks.

“-Sssshhhhit,” he hisses under his breath, glancing around. This fucking kid. He knows better than to run off.

The crowd is thick and it’s getting dark. He scans through the sea of people and vendors but doesn’t find that familiar pale green.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

With a tap of his helmet side panel he switches to the tracking beacon screen. After enough scares like these he’s learned to have a tracker sewn into his clothes at this point.

Blinking red arrows come into his view and he follows the path. Not caring whose shoulders he budges or what food he knocks out of someone’s grip to get through. The red arrows turn yellow. He’s getting close but there’s still no visual of the kid and he’s starting to panic. He pushes through, scanning side to side and calling out his name in an orchestra of noises without reply.

Yellow turns to green and he’s still out of sight. He’s tiny and easy to miss. Grogu could be anywhere, he could be in any one of these stalls. What if he’s taken? What if someone else is tracking him? He could be picked up by a total stranger and taken away again.

Just as that thought crosses his mind, there’s a small separation in the crowd. Big floppy ears come into view and he’s definitely been picked up. But it’s no stranger that holds him.

“And here comes dad~” A voice soft as silk rings inside his helmet.

Relief floods his body as well as caution when he taps his screen clear. Only him. Situations like this only happen to him. It could’ve been Karga. It could’ve been anybody. But it had to be you that found him.

It was barely two minutes. But within those two minutes Din’s head flooded with every worst case scenario possible. And here he is. Happily babbling in your arms like he didn’t just give his dad a fucking heart attack.

“I know, I know,” you assure him like you can already tell where his head’s at, trying to speak over all the noise. “Don’t be too hard on the little guy. I already gave him a bit of a lecture for running around at night.”

Din wants to. It’s honestly his first reaction. But a cooler head prevails and he decides against it after a second thought. He reminds himself (once again) that Grogu is still young and that getting angry would only make things worse. What matters is that he’s safe and that he managed to find you.

“At least he won’t have to hear it twice,” he exhales, pushing out the stress sitting in his lungs. “Sorry about him.”

“No, no sorry needed. He’s smarter than he lets on. At least he ran to someone he knew. I’m glad I was around.”

Din opens his mouth to speak but ends up falling short with his words. Now that some of the stress has left his body, his eyes take you in at a second glance. Unclouded by the adrenaline.

Your hair is tied up with a pin with a few loose pieces falling at the nape of your neck and around your face. With the heat persisting into the night, you decided to wear a thin strap tank top that hangs low on your chest. It exposes miles of smooth skin, from your shoulders all the way down the arms wrapped around his kid. A dusty blue apron wraps around your waist over some baggy cargo pants so you must’ve came here right after work. There’s a glow from all the neon lights that adorns you and he has to will his mouth to move before he gets caught staring.

“Here.” He extends his hands to you. “I can take him back. Thank you for catching him. C’mon, bud. Let her get back to shopping.”

“It’s no problem,” you assure him with a smile. Your hands hooks under Grogus tiny arms and start to pull him off your torso. “Back to dad you go.”

But the moment he’s barely lifted, he cries out in protest with a shrill whine. Refusing to leave your side. You pull him back in instantly and run a soothing hand on his back.

“Oh! Okay, okay. You can stay with me for a minute,” you giggle in a sugary voice to Grogu. Bouncing him on your hip.

You both exchange a look of surprise (as much as his visor can give off anyway). What kind of person are you that Grogu prefers your embrace over his own father? He doesn’t know whether to be jealous or impressed.

But it’s getting late, they need to eat and get home and you probably need to get back to your own errands. Din’s hands extends again to take Grogu but you shake your head with a little smile. Letting him know it’s not an inconvenience to you.

“Here, wanna help me pick out some sweets?”

Grogu coos at your request, toying with the glittering silver chain pendant on your neck. You rest his kid on your hip effortlessly and the motion of it pinches something deep in Din’s chest. Turning to the assorted trays of sugared fruits on skewers, you list the various kinds for Grogu to pick out. Talking back with him like you can actually understand his little babbles. You answer him with “ooh, that’s a good choice” and “these are my favorites”. 

Din just stands aside, watching the way you both interact and it’s admittedly a bit pleasing to see how natural you are with him. Most people think he’s a pet at first glance. Karga treats him like a newborn. Talking gibberish and doting on him despite him handling a 50 year old. You, on the other hand, just treat him like a regular kid. And it’s refreshing to see.

His son’s head spins back at his father with the biggest set of sparkling inky eyes and Din can see the pleading question in them. He tilts his helmet at him and reminds him “one”. Those large ears deflate a little and you giggle at the interaction. Din offers to pay for your skewer along with Grogu’s as another thank you for looking after his son (again). The vendor gathers the treats in paper wrappers to take to go.

You turn to ask Din something, but it’s covered by the noise of yelling and cooking. He tilts his head a bit lower to try and catch what you’re saying. Then, without hesitation, your hand finds purchase on the pauldron on his shoulder. Prompting him to lean in closer to you so you can speak within earshot.

“It’s been a minute since I saw you last,” you remark with a raised voice. “Everything good?”

Shit.

For a second he freezes. Partly at the lack of distance between you, but mostly because the last time he saw you he stormed out of your place like it was on fire without so much as a goodnight. You’re probably wondering what the hell that was about and he honestly can’t answer that himself. Although your expression seems more cheerful than troubled. He crouches closer to your ears and replies with caution, hoping to avoid the direction of that conversation.

“Yeah, we’ve been um… traveling a lot lately. I get contracted by the new republic pretty often these days. Leaving him behind with someone whenever I’m off planet for too long doesn’t seem fair to him so he’s always by my side no matter what.”

“Ah, that makes sense. You usually stop by for medkit supplies so when I didn’t see you last week I figured you were away.”

Din mentally smacks his forehead. Right. Of course you meant the shop. Because what else would you be implying to a fucking customer? You’re just making small talk. Something he has never really gotten the hang of. Seems pretty damn easy when he’s drinking though…

“We actually just got back. Too tired to fix something up so I figured I’d grab us something quick and easy before heading home.”

“Ugh. I feel that. When I get home I’m crashing on the first soft surface I see,” you groan, still bouncing Grogu on the curve of your hip. Those hips…

No. Stop it.

“Busy day,” he asks and your eyes roll upwards.

“Busy week,” you exclaim. “I swear I think about quitting at least once a day. But I like it too much. Plus it’s the only thing I’m any good at. Otherwise I’d probably be some kind of criminal.” You pause then laugh at the thought before adding, “then you’d probably have to hunt me down, huh?”

That… is a scenario that he already knows is going to stick in his brain for a while. It’s such an enticing thought that he doesn’t bother to tell you he’s not in that business anymore. A tiny part of him would much rather have you think he’d chase you. Obviously you’re not serious, but he can’t help but lean into the joke.

“I don’t know,” he says unconvinced. “Might be pretty easy to find you. All I have to do is look wherever there’s street food.”

A laugh bubbles out of you and there’s a strange feeling that radiates in his chest at being able to make you laugh. Pride maybe? No, more like… satisfaction.

“Don’t underestimate me, Mando. I know my way around the outer rim. I’d make you work for it,” you say. Taunting him with a knowing smirk.

A smile tugs higher on his hidden face. The thought of you making him work for anything will no doubt be food for thought later. And instinct tells him that might’ve been your intention. But two can play at this game.

You’re already nearly face to face but he inches even closer, almost close enough for metal to meet skin. Ensuring you catch every word right into your ear.

“I’d like to see you try, Shop Girl.”

Your eyes grow a little wider at the sound of your nickname and he takes pleasure at just how effective it is. It’s another reminder of that night. A name that was spoken within an intimate atmosphere that only the two of you occupied. And by your expression, that same thought crosses your mind too.

You bite your bottom lip in a smile. The same lips that were between his hands. The only lips he can’t seem to forget. The shape, the color, and how fucking edible they look. He’s even noticed how they pout a little when you’re concentrated on a task. More questions surface.

What do they feel like? What do they taste like? What makes a kiss so good that everyone can recall their first?

The bubble created is suddenly burst by the outside world. The stall vendor gleefully hands over the candied fruit over the counter in their wrappers and you take them with your free hand. Handing the mixed one to Grogu because he couldn’t decide on just one flavor. Reality returns to Din’s head and his thoughts immediately sober up.

What the hell is he doing?

He tears his eyes away. Even if you can’t tell, looking at you like that for too long feels wrong. You’re a good person, you’re trying to live a normal life, and what you’ve told him you’re not looking to get involved in any drama. He has to keep reminding himself of those things.

That same instinct to leave hits him again. Because that urge to do something he can’t take back flares up again and it’s best to not give that feeling any more energy. For both your sakes. He gestures his hand in a hand-him-over motion, signaling to you and Grogu that it’s time to go.

“Alright, time to go kid. Say goodnight.”

Grogu whines with a mouthful of sweets and a face covered in sugar and it makes him chuckle to himself. Din would normally find the defiance a little cute, if it wasn’t for the stunt he pulled earlier. You carefully hand him over with both arms leaning in close and again he feels another pinch in his chest at how carefully you exchange him.

Your bare arms graze against his clothed ones and he pulls away the second he has hold of his kid. He ignores the small current of electricity from the contact and maneuvers Grogu into the crossbody bag to his hip. Which, of course, makes him protest.

“Nope. You had your chance. Now you get the bag.”

“Aw c’mon,” you scold “He was just playing around. Now he’s in bag jail?”

First the kid and now you? He can tell his son no, but it might be a little harder to tell you that.

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe next time he’ll think twice about running off in a crowd,” he groans.

Once the kid is settled in the bag, you follow him down. Crouching down, you sit face to face with Grogu as he stuffs his face with the candied fruit. Resting your free hand on his fuzzy head as the other holds your own skewered treat.

“Kay, little rebel. Go stuff your face with some good food. And take it easy on your poor dad, alright? He’s not built for that kinda stress.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” he asks, kind of amused by your ribbing. He can count on one hand the people who are undaunted enough to make playful jabs at him.

Your lips twist and your eyes take a tour up to your brows as you think of your reply.

“Hmm… just the way you get a little impatient sometimes. You were like that when you brought him over and paced my living room for an hour,” you chuckle. “You seem like the kind of man who gets antsy when something’s not in your control.”

A smile threatens to crawl his face. Pretty presumptuous. But he can’t deny how true that statement rings. Especially nowadays when it’s not just himself he has to worry about.

“Maybe so,” he replies with a hint of humor in his voice. “Patience isn’t really my strong suit. Although this one seems to enjoy testing it.”

“Patience is bitter,” you muse as you rub the top of Grogu’s head with your thumb. He coos with delight and the softest gaze glows on your face. Then from your crouched position, your eyes glance back up at Din and add, “…But the fruit is sweet.”

His jaw flexes beneath his helmet, and heat now courses through his veins.

That can’t be a good sign. He already enjoys your banter too much as it is. But that look just now was dangerous. It dredges up thoughts he shouldn’t have about you. Thoughts like kissing someone he barely knows. Feeling skin on skin. Showing you what a man like him can do to you compared to the boys of your past.

He saw it all over your pretty face when he held it in his hand. That flush on your cheeks, your dilated pupils. Hell, he even saw your heat signature rising in his helmet screen for fuck sake. There’s an attraction and that’s fine (and not completely unreciprocated) but it can’t be anything more than that.

You and him live completely different lives. There’s no need to uproot your peace and get involved in his complicated affairs. Even if something happened, it wouldn’t be long before the allure of the suit and mystery people usually perceive of Mandalorians would turn into repulsion.

That’s how it’s gone before. That’s the way it is.

•

You’re a bad person. A horrible human being and a shameless lowlife. Downright beyond saving.

I’d like to see you try, Shop Girl.

The damn sentence won’t stop replaying in your head. It’s not just a nickname. It’s a nickname he gave you. One that’s covered in underlying context and memories that only the two of you share. One that peppers your skin with goosebumps when it comes out of that raspy modulated voice. It’s even worse when your brain starts intrusively placing it in all sorts of sentences.

That’s it, Shop Girl…

You’re doing so well, Shop Girl…

Bend over for me, Shop Girl…

That last one has crawled into your dreams more often than you’d care to admit lately.

You need to get a grip. It’s just an attraction. You’ve been alone for too long and you’re getting all wound up over a smidge of attention. He’s just a regular decent person with a kid to take care of who also just happens to have an amazingly muscular body and a voice of sin. Simple as that.

Right. Simple.

After that night at the food stalls, the Mandalorian and Grogu have been visiting your humble Clinic Shop on a more frequently. Usually you'll see them a couple times a week if they're not on one of their long haul trips. Missions? Jobs?

It's not like Mando has any reason to let you know ahead of time. But when a week or so passes with no sign of silver or green, you can't help but feel a little down. You've come to look forward to seeing your regulars. But they grown to being your favorite customers.

And if you're being honest, theres a growing part of you that feels tied to the man in silver beskar. When he's here, the part blossoms. And when he's gone, it feels... wilted. It's unexpected and confusing to say the least. The closest feeling you could label it is homesickness. And truthfully, you're not really sure if you want to feel such a heavy thing towards anybody right now.

There's a lull in the store this hot muggy afternoon. You've already finished your prescription orders, restocked your shelves, even watered all the potted plants outside the entrance. Since you finally have some down time, you figured you might as well get to making some of your popular tea mixes.

On the back counter, you have a variety of dried herbs, flower buds, tea leaves, and a few large mixing bowls. The scent in the shop is incredible right now. Swirling around on the wind propelled by the metal fans around the shop. Spiced and aromatic with a hint of fruitiness. You let the smell fill your lungs and relax your body as you place measured scoops of the mix into small paper bags. A bead of sweat tracks down the back of your neck. Even with pinning your hair up and the strapless wrap you chose to wear today, the heat of the day still clings to your damp skin.

A cool glass of that Andoan wine would be so good right about now...

Maybe it was instinct, or maybe there really is some kind of invisible tie. But something makes your head tilt to the side and glance at the open entrance. And it's then that a glint of sliver light reflects on the stucco walls. A flutter of anticipation strikes through your chest and your eyes are locked at the entrance. Then, that familiar Silver T-visor and a pair of floppy green ears peek around the corner.

The smile that spreads across your cheeks is so big it almost hurts.

"Hey," you exclaim from the back of the store. You leave your station and excitedly make your way across the store to the pair as they step inside.

“It’s been a whi-“

“Ah ah, sorry," you cut Mando off mid greeting, halting him with your pointer finger. "Grogu gets first dibs.”

Mando shakes his head but you can tell he's humored. Turning his hip to the side and giving you access to the canvas crossbody where Grogu resides.

“Even though I'm a regular customer," Mando retorts.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that sounded a teensy bit like jealousy. You smirk, giving eyes only to the little green baby.

“Not when you’re as cute as him.” You say, placing Grogu on your hip and giving him little scritches on his wrinkled head.

“Isn’t that right, Kid. Mando wishes he could be half as cute as you.” The child coos at you and Mando shakes his head. But you can tell by his body language that he's at least a little amused.

You walk back to the back counter with the kid in your arms and Mando in tow behind you. And the feeling you have in this moment is oddly... domestic? You're not entirely sure if that's the right word. In your life you've never experienced domesticity. But you figure it's similar to that homesick feeling you get.

You place Grogu on top of your station and pull out an herbal lollipop from your apron for him. You like to keep a few handy for kids and they also help with coughs. The kids inky eyes gleam as he babbles and plunges the sugary candy in his mouth. 

"Any chance that delivery for those new Pharmakits arrived yet," Mando asks, leaning a hand on the counter next to you.

"They did," you nod. "Any chance you're planning on taking on an army on your next trip?"

He shrugs, tilting his helmet to the side in that way he does when he's being aloof.

"Doesn't hurt to keep one on hand. You never know."

You hum in acknowledgment but inside a pit forms in your stomach. The danger he faces whenever he goes on these "jobs" isn't lost on you. Lately, it's been on the back of your mind more often than not. On his last visit, when he asked about ordering stronger meds and triage supplies, it hit you just how much his long absences affect you. And just the thought of never seeing him or his little boy again stirs up something vile inside.

“You seem to be busy today,” he remarks, pointing out all the open jars and mixing bowls with various dried leaves and herbs.

His remark takes you out of your thoughts. You must've been silent a second too long for him to change the subject like that. With a deep inhale and slight embarrassment you shrug off the negative thoughts and ground yourself back to reality.

“Yes and no. I’ve been restocking while it’s dead to keep busy.”

He leans in a bit to get a closer look at the contents of the bowl. Close enough for you to catch the scent of smoke and musk on his clothes.

“You’re mixing… tea?”

You hum a yes and nod.

“Tea can be used for lots of medicinal purposes. Many people prefer natural remedies to pharmaceutical ones. I try to have a mix of both.”

“So this is medicine?” You sway your head to the side, trying to think of the best way to explain the purpose of the tea.

“Kiiind of. You could say it’s preventative.”

“What does it prevent?”

“Pregnancy.”

A clearing of his throat follows your answer. You turn toward him with a smirk and a raised brow but his visor has now turned away your face.

Most fearsome bounty hunter in the outer rim, everybody.

“You asked, man,” you chuckle with a shrug.

“Guess that’s on me,” he says.

“This is actually one of my best sellers,” you tell him. You grab the wooden scoop and raise up the floral mix, letting the various petals and herbs rain back down into the bowl. The motion makes the sweet scent drive up in the air. “I have customers tell me they don’t leave the house before their daily brew.”

“I’m glad business is going well for you,” he deflects, making you fold your smile in your teeth. And suddenly your brain sees a prime opportunity.

“You know, Mando…,” you drawl as you mix the petals. “If you’re ever in a pinch and you need some, I could give you a sample.” The way his helmet jerks to face you almost breaks your nonchalant smile.

“That’s um… very generous but it’d be wasted on me.” His body straightens stiffly and you can tell the topic makes him a bit uneasy. But you press on anyway.

“You sure? You can never be too safe. I’m sure any visitors would appreciate it.” He sighs deeply and turns away, shaking his head in annoyance.

God, this is too much fun. Teasing him is so easy. If it wasn’t for the helmet you bet he’s sweating right now. He might look cool and collected. But after drinking with him, you know there’s in fact a man under all that metal.

“I’m sure,” Mando confirms. “I'm not seeing anyone at the moment.”

And there’s the answer you’re looking for.

Was it a bit sneaky? Yeah. Yeah, it was sneaky. But it rules out the theory that reason he told you not to invite home again was because he’s currently taken. It’s still an enigma as to why. But honestly there’s still the gut feeling that you did something to make him uncomfortable that night.

Maybe you crossed a line with one of your questions. You tend to ask a lot of questions. Your filter also isn’t everybody’s flavor. Even so, you had a great time talking, even joking around with him. You’ve come to cherish that night in your memory. And the thought that you obliviously might’ve said something to offend Mando in any way makes your chest ache.

But if that was the case then why has he been stopping by your store more frequently since then? He always says he’s restocking his med kit but you get the feeling there’s more to it than that. Almost as if he’s checking up on you. Making sure you’re doing ok. And above all, that’s what scares you.

It’s scares you how good that thought makes you feel.

“Picking up an order!” An unfriendly voice bellows from the entrance where a Trandoshan man in fine robes stands waiting. “Name’s Samir T’ar.”

It takes a second to snap back into action. But you slap on your best customer service smile and leave your task for later. Rounding the corner past Mando and the kid and walking to the Medicine Cabinet. Wiping the non-existent dust on your hands on your waist apron.

“Hi, yes! I’ll grab that for you right now.”

The Trandoshan stands waiting at the counter as you sort through the assorted orders in the glass case. Looking for the right name tag and plucking the tied linen bag. You dont turn your eyes toward him, but Mando’s pressance is all your body is aware of. You can tell he’s miandering through the shop, looking at various items on the shelves. Which, to you, is a bit funny since hes been here plenty of times by now.

Is he playing the curious customer right now because there’s someone here?

You rest the tied bag next to the register as you run the total. All while the Trandoshan taps his clawed fingers impatiently on the check out counter.

“‘Kay with the compounded medicine and the herbal soak salts, that puts you at… fifteen credits today.”

“It was twelve the last time.”

“Yyyeesss, some of the ingredients for the meds were hard to come by this time around. Outer rim shipping routes, and all that,” you smile, trying to humorously reason with the man.

“And that’s supposed to be my fault? Just make it the same price as before and I’ll be on my way already.”

Ugh, great. One of those.

“I understand where you’re coming from, really. But fifteen is pretty fair considering the initial cost of acquiring ingredients of this high quality. Can’t beat the price compared to those New Republic clinics-"

“Nonononono," he waves with both hands in disapproval. “I’m not paying a single credit more for something I can make myself.”

That’s kind of the point of it buying here, right? To save yourself the trouble of making it?

“Sorry. Price is firm," you say confidently but kindly. "Buuut, how about if I throw in a couple sample heating pain patches. Free of charge,” you chirp, unfazed by his condescension.

Work with me, guy. There’s a man packing heat in the back…

“How about I give you ten for the order and leave? I don’t need you to peddle your-“

It’s a hand that shuts him up. Not yours, as much as it twitches to swipe that bag and toss in it the trash. No. This hand is big. Leather clad. And planted firmly on the counter between you and the customer.

“You can pay the fifteen or you can leave. But what you won’t do,” Mando leans in towards the Trandoshan for effect. “-is talk to her like that again. Make your choice.”

With his chest pressed to the back of your shoulder, you struggle to not squirm. You can feel his heat on your body. His frame eclipses yours from behind. The smell of gun smoke and musk caresses your nose and you die a little inside. But it’s his words that make you want to melt into a puddle.

He didn’t just ask, he demanded for you to be treated with respect. Not that you can’t hold your own when it comes to defending yourself against snarky customers. But the way Mando didn’t even hesitate to intervene on your behalf. It stirs up all sorts of thoughts.

Oh maker, you really are a shitty person. The man stands up for you and all you can think about is how hot he sounded.

The Trandoshan swallows hard. Mando might as well a knife to the guy’s throat with the look of silent terror on his reptilian face. Without even breaking eye contact with Mando, he stuffs his clawed hand in his pockets, and pulls about 20 credit chips without counting. Letting them clatter on the counter as he tosses them.

“H-here,” he stutters. “Fifteen is fair.” With that he snatches his order from the countertop and makes a hasty exit.

“Have a nice day~,” you sing-song as he scurries out onto the street.

You shift your eyes up to Mando, his palm still pressed flat against the counter with his other hand thumbing his belt. His visor follows the customer as he leaves and you can tell that his body language doesn’t relax until the he’s completely out of sight.

“Fucker…,” he mutters under his breath. When he finally turns his visor to you, he finds a knowing little smirk on your face.

“What?”

“You know, if you really wanted to scare him, you could’ve just pulled out your blaster.”

His visor turns away and he takes a step back as if he’s been caught doing something out of character. And if it wasn’t for his confident stance, you’d almost say he got a little flustered just now.

“I didn’t like the way he spoke you,” he grumbles. Which only makes you giggle.

“You’re right,” you agree with a serious tone. Slamming your palms on the counter. “That’s the last straw! I’ll have to close and resort to a life of crime after all!”

Although you can’t read his face, his body language says it all. He tilts his head to the side in a way that can only mean “are you fucking kidding me” and it only makes you smile harder.

“C’mooon, it’s funny,” you say. But he’s still not charmed.

“Does he always treat you like that,” he asks like he needs to know for certain.

You fold your lips between your teeth to hide your smile. He’s concerned for you and you can’t help but bathe in it. At least for a little bit.

“And if I said yes?”

“I’m being serious.”

“It’s fine, Mando. It’s really not a big deal for me. Look, if I let every snippy customer get to me, I wouldn’t have a business. I’m a big girl. I can fight for my honor all on my own, don’t you worry.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Yeah? What is your point then?”

He steps in closer. Forcing you crane your neck to face him. Your backside unconsciously presses against the back of the counter and you’re pinned. He’s impossibly close. Close enough to see your eyes reflected on the inky black screen. Knowing he’s captured your full attention, he hits you with a bombshell that devastates you.

“I wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you when I can do something about it,” he says crystal clear, lowering  his voice. “If someone gives you trouble, they’ll deal with me before they mess with you... Understand?”

That shuts you right up. Your playful expression falls, now replaced with silent astonishment. He keeps saying things that reach deep inside you, making your chest tight. Words like that make it hard to breathe.

You feel utterly captured and it’s no wonder he was the best hunter in the outer rim. Because even though he’ll defend your honor and call you sweet nicknames… all he has to do is stand his ground in front of you to make you feel like prey. And fuck, do you wanna be caught…

“Ok,” you breathe when you find the courage. “I understand now.”

“Good…”

Silence streches between you and it feels as though you’re both waiting for something to happen. Something that feels like it’s been teetering on the edge since the night you drank together. It’s connected and deep in a way you’ve never experienced before. You can tell it’s something he’s afraid to say out loud.

What you’re both afraid to say out loud.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t add anything to his statement. He’s got you locked in his gaze with no escape. And for a moment you wonder if he’ll take hold of your jaw again. Goosebumps rise to your skin because it wants so badly to close the gap.

Suddenly, a call rings from the vambrace on Mando’s forearm, abruptly breaking the tension. At first he hesitates to address it, still locked onto you. But after the second ring he lets out an aggravated sigh and steps away to check the incoming call.

You walk back to your work table and mixing bowl of tea to give yourself something to do while your breathing returns to normal. Scooping a measured cup from a large jar of dried leaves before adding it in.

Grogu sits with his little feet dangling over the table, now finished with the lollipop and looking at the candy-less stick with droopy ears. And before Mando turns to look, you sneak his son another herbal lollipop from your apron.

"Don't tell your dad," you whisper, pressing your index finger over your lips. Which earns you a happy little "Batu" in understanding.

Mando is pacing around now. Conversing with a gruff sounding Lasat. You don’t eavesdrop per se, but words like “new lead”, “investigation”, and “high-risk” get your ears to perk up.

“Shit,” he sighs deeply once the call is done. Planting his hands on his hips.

“Work call?”

“They like to keep me busy, that’s for sure. Best not keep them waiting.”

“R-right! The pharmakits."

You walk towards side of your shop in the back closet where your new inventory sits in their delivery crates. Grabbing one case but then after a second thought grabbing another before turning back and handing them to Mando. When you return Grogu is already back in his father's tote still nursing his treat.

“Couple things," you disclaim, handing the cases to him. "Keep these in a dark cool place if you can. Heat can spoil some of the medicine. And if you ever find yourself needing the epibacta, I’d advise you to take in a safe place. This dose will knock you out cold for a while. Emergencies only.”

He takes the cases by the handles and gives you a nod of understanding.

“I appreciate it. I’ll try to avoid needing it.”

“Just… be safe.”

“I will…”

Another beat of silence. At this point it's starting to feel like you're waiting on the other person to break the ice. But after a moment, he clears his throat.

“Well... Until next time, Shop Girl.”

“Until next time,” you repeat.

He really should stop calling you that. But you just can’t bring yourself to stop him. What do even tell him if he asks why?

You turn to the holopad on the front counter and check the inventory list to give your hands something to do. Chewing your bottom lip as walks towards the exit. One step, then another…

“And thank you,” you quickly add before he steps out. His foot stalls just before reaching the street and you tap on the screen pretending not to notice. Your eyes glance up to him, catching his helmet peer at you over his shoulder “…for stepping in.”

“Anytime,” he says softly. He step out into the street and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You lean on the counter with your chin propped in your palm, now free to watch them go without notice.

Grogu turns back to look at you one last time, his tiny arm fighting against the fabric of his bag before popping out and waving at you. The adorable gesture makes you giggle. The little guy must know exactly how stinking cute he is. You wiggle your fingers back at him from behind the counter. Mando takes notice of his kid, turns his head back, and finds your gaze.

For a moment, everything’s frozen. People cross and mix in the street between you. Life seemingly goes on like any other day for everyone in town. But in your eyes, there’s only him. Only bright silver fills your vision. After a moment, Mando raises a hand for a final farewell, and in the next, he’s gone. Blended into the crowd.

An ache spreads in your chest, and that confirms it. You can’t deny that what you’ve been pushing down for months isn’t just an attraction. Strangers can be attracted to each other but he feels like anything but.

You like him. You like how you feel when he’s around and how safe his presence feels. You like that little skipped beat you get when something you said earns even the smallest chuckle from him. You like that he trusts you around his kid.

And you love that he keeps coming back.

You’ve tried to rationalize as just a simple customer acquaintance. But you can’t keep kidding yourself. Its always felt more than that. And you want to know more about him.

At the end of the day, you roll down the metal doors of your humble apothecary and walk the same 15 steps up to your home as you do everyday. You bathe, put on your most comfy shirt and sleep shorts, make yourself a simple meal, and wind down for the night. It’s been your routine everyday since you made this place your home.

Only tonight, despite all your trinkets, all your memories, and all your comforts, tonight your home feels a bit empty. Like something important has been removed and you can’t place what it was. With your dinner bowl in hand, you almost take your seat on the couch before thinking twice on it and choosing the floor of your living room instead tonight.

You actually find it to be pretty comfortable. More grounding. You only wish you had something warm to lean back on.

•

Din thought Guild Master Greef Karga had an inflated ego. But High Magistrate Greef Karga makes that Karga look like a Jedi monk.

He finds himself sitting on a leather chase with his legs propped on the window ledge in Karga’s high tower office. He watches him spread and maneuver a 3D hologram model of Nevarro and the town. His voice filled with ambition as he explains all his new projects for the upcoming year.

“We’ll put the lodges here, here, and here. They’ll have access to the hot springs in the crawling canyons and docks will be built around the water edges. I’ve spoken with that lovely Twi’lek bathhouse owner and she’s spending her best architects to Nevarro as a personal favor to me. It’s going to be the jewel of the rim I tell you!”

Much of the dialog goes over Dins head. Mostly because he’s dead tired and currently operating on less than four hours of sleep. They only landed a couple hours ago from another grueling mission. He partly listens to Karga’s plans, partly watches Grogu quietly sit on the hologram table as he stuffs his mouth with blue cookies his “uncle” has given him. But mostly, Din gazes out one of the many windows in his 360 degree office. Watching the sun set over the canyons and turn the sky a dusty pink.

The shiny bronze protocol droid shuffles around the office with a silver tray with two crystal glasses of spotchka. He offers a glowing glass to Karga who gladly takes it. Then the droid starts to approach Din with the platter, offering him a glass as well.

“Uh no no, he doesn’t drink,” Karga quickly corrects, taking a momentary pause from his plans. The shiny droid fumbles a bit, flustered, then offers an apology before scuttling away with the tray.

Mando doesn’t even bother to correct them. Too much energy. It’s true, he’s never accepted alcohol in front of Karga. Especially in those early guild days when trust was low. But even to this day, Din doesn’t drink around people.

Well… most people, that is.

An image of last time Din saw you pops into his head. That thick, slightly mussed hair tied up with a hair stick. Dewy skin. All smiles and laughter. You wore a deep blue torso wrap that time, His eyes kept following the lines of your collar bones and all that exposed skin seemed to glow in the reflected sunlight in the shop.

And those lips. Those goddamn pink tinted lips that he can’t get out of his head. If that’s not the definition of beauty he doesn’t know what is.

Your teasing is something he’s growing used to. But that day you pushed too far. You weren’t taking him seriously and you shouldn’t be the only one who gets to tease, right? When he cornered you against the counter, he made it known just how serious he was about defending you. That flush came back to your cheeks and your breathing had picked up. You had no idea, but your eyes had found his and it made heat pool in his lower abdomen as he got lost in the color of them.

In that moment, Din wrestled back the impulse to lift you up on that countertop, spread those perfect legs and-

“-Right, Mando?” Karga’s voice interrupts just as that train of thought was getting good. Din turns his visor over to him.

“Hmm?”

“You just agreed to let the kid spend the night here.”

“Right. Yeah,” Din scoffs. “Was that before or after I sold my ship to the Jawas,” he replies in a gruff tone. Karga doesn’t find the sarcasm amusing.

“Alright, alright.”

“Maybe I’ll sell them my armor while I’m at it.”

“I get it,” he exclaims. “You weren’t even listening! I was talking about the space port proposal and I can’t even tell where you clocked out. That's not like you, Mando.”

“I’m tired. I just got back from a long trip.” Kargas eyes glance between Din and the window he's been looking out from.

“I wouldn’t say tired. More like… Distracted.”

He says the word with an insinuation Din would rather do without.

“It’s nothing,” he deflects.

“Hey, you know me, Mando. I’m not one to judge,” Karga says, throwing his hands in the air. “If there’s anything on your mind I’m all ears. Money, politics, work, women-“

“There’s nothing to discuss. I’m fine," Din deadpans.

Kargas covers Grogus ears, who is too preoccupied by his munching to mind.

“Sounds like you need to get laid.”

Maker...

“You’re sordid,” he grumbles, shaking his head and turning back to the window. Karga just laughs. Amusement written all over his wrinkled face.

The arguments were one of the main things that changed between them over the last few years. Now they bicker like two old friends instead of two business associates. But one thing that has never changed is the way Karga tries to pressure him into revealing things out of him. Imperfectly human things.

He’d offer Din all sorts of things like spice or Twi’lek bathhouses just to see if he was capable of being tempted. And right now… there’s only one other person Din can think of capable of doing that.

“You know what I think? I think you’re starting to outgrow this lone wolf lifestyle of yours,” he speculates. “You’re a father now. Don’t you think the little one needs a mother?”

Dins helmet swivels back to Karga.

“Don’t you think you should stick to governing your town?”

“I was just getting to that," Karga exclaims excitedly. "You know we really should consider moving a few of the-“

“Here we go…,” Din sighs to himself.

What should’ve been a quick visit has turned into a one sided yap session. It’s been a couple weeks since he left and he’s eager to re-supply for his next run with Zeb. He’ll need to head to the square at some point as well. His home is in desperate need of a re-stock. And of course, a visit to the clinic probably wouldn’t be a bad idea if he’s already in the area.

Even from up here, your store can be seen at the far corner of the plaza. And every couple minutes, he can see you. Popping in and out of the small store and rearranging some of the potted plants outside. People greet you from the street and you turn to wave back.

It’s getting harder and harder to find excuses to go there that sound necessary. Last time he was there he picked up two new pharmakits, even though another two regular medkits sit unopened in his home. He’s been buying that energy tea you make, despite him being a kaf drinker his whole life. He keeps going back for shit he really doesn’t need. But if he was pressed to give a better reason, it’s mostly because he feels a need to check on you.

True, Nevarro has become significantly safer, but that doesn’t make it safe. Especially for a woman living completely on her own. You’re a kind hearted, giving person in a galaxy that does nothing but take. And someone like that should be protected. He’s looked the other way too many times in the past and he doesn’t want to be that person anymore. And plus the kid enjoys the visits.

Sure, the kid. Keep telling yourself that, Din…

A chiss man with a floating pallet of goods approaches your shop entrance and your attention turns from watering the plants to greet the vendor with a bright smile. You speak animately. And it would normally be endearing, if it wasn't directed towards another man. In the privacy of his helmet, Din grimmaces.

He shouldn’t be surprised. You’re well traveled, knowledgeable. It’s no wonder you’re able to buy products from so many places. But this particular vendor is getting a bit too close for Din’s comfort.

As usual, you talk with much enthusiasm. Sparking a conversation with the man. It’s clear you’re familiar with each other by the body language you both give off. And he’s not sure if it’s because you regularly get inventory from the man, or something beyond that.

You turn around on the balls of your feet to dip back inside the shop and as you do you’re completely oblivious to the way the Chiss’s head tilts to the side so his crimson eyes can roam your backside. And the only reason Din caught it was because the binocs in his visor seem to have unconsciously been turned on by his finger on his vambrace.

You return to with a small wooded box and open the lid to show him mineral salts, the kind he’s seen you make herbal soaks with. The vendor offers a large lidded glass jar of some kind of dried purple flower buds from his cart. With the added exchange of some credit chips, there’s more talking and smiling. Something he said makes you laugh as you sign his holopad and Din has to flex his fingers to stop them from clenching into a fist.

Enough. Stop watching.

The mental check forces Dins attention to shift back to whatever Karga keeps droning on about. You can associate with whoever you damn well please. It’s none of his concern who you do business with or what your personal life is like. Din nearly turns his visor away. But out of the furthest corner of his eye, he catches something he can’t tear away from.

The distance between the Chiss and you has suddenly shrunk. The moment unfolds in slow motion as his eyes chew on every second. The Chiss steps closer to lean down then…

Din’s arms uncross when the Chiss leans in close to your face. And before he knows it, the fucker plants a quick peck on your cheek. And you return it! The whole exchange lasts less than a second before you wave each other goodbye and he goes his separate way. You return inside with the product like nothing and Din sits there, completely rattled.

What… the fuck?

Was it a casual kiss? Did you even know that he was checking you out? If you did, was that a friendly goodbye gesture or was it flirtatious? That son of a bitch gets to walk around with bliss on his cheek all day now. Oddly enough, that’s what puts Din over the edge. A complete fucking stranger knows how your lips feel and he doesn’t.

Never in his life has he harbored thoughts like these. It’s downright pathetic. He feels corrupted.

“Fuck it,” he growls to himself beneath his breath.

“-Anyway, back to my point. I was considering having a port built for- hey!”

Before Karga has a chance to monologue further, Din has picked up his son from the edge of the desk—grubby hands still clinging to the bag of cookies—and has placed him right into Karga arms.

“I need you to watch over him for the night. I’ll come back for him in the morning.”

“Okay then? Fine by-.” Din doesn’t bother to listen because there’s no ending to that sentence that matters to him in this moment. He makes his exit, the slide doors opening as he nears them.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going all puffed up like that?”

“I need to settle something,” he tosses back before letting the doors shut behind him.

The sun is getting low and a few other vendors are starting to take down their signs and close their doors. You’re probably getting ready to close up for the day yourself. Hopefully he’s able to catch you before then.

Each step on the cobblestone is heavy with purpose. And it's not unoticed the way several people on the street see an armor clad Mandalorian and scurry out of his way with a petrified look on their faces. But right now he doesn't particularly care. Right now everything in his head is clouded with the exception of one objective.

From a couple stores away, you catch him approaching from your peripheray. And he's not sure how to describe it, but it's like something in your body language softens when you see him. Your shoulders become less tense, your eyes gleam, and you cast him that bright toothy smile that could stop any man's heart.

“Ah! Hey! It’s been a while, Mando! How’s-“

“I need to have a word with you.”

Both your expression and your hand freeze momentarily in place, minus a suspicious quirk in your brow.

“Okaaay, you have my attention,” you chuckle, but there’s a nervous tone riding on it. “What can I do for you today?

“I need to speak with you," you tells you bluntly. "Privately.”

Confusion paints across your face and your smile falls a bit. Understanding how serious his request is.

“Like, right now,” you ask hesitantly.

“Preferably, yes,” he answers.

“Ok, yeah sure. Um… I’m just about to close up and we can head upstairs in a minute.” You start to turn away but then quickly turn back to him and immediately add “or we can go somewhere you’re more comfort-“

”It’s fine,” Din quickly interjects, stopping that train of thought. “This won’t take long anyway.”

You blink at him a couple times and give him a quiet “ok then” before turning around and preparing your shop to close.

Seems that Din’s command from his last visit was taken seriously. Regret over those words washes over him. If he’s being honest, being inside your home again sets off several red lights in his head. But he’s already on the verge of blurting out something teetering on the edge of his brain. Better to wait until he’s behind closed doors and away from any prying eyes. Or flirtatious vendors. This shouldn’t be complicated. He’ll make it quick.

He decides to wait around the corner of the shop where the stone steps meet your front door. He leans against the wall with his arms crossed and his finger nervously tapping his arm brace. After a few minutes you round the corner with your bag over your shoulder and lead the way into your home. Instinctively, he looks around for any eyes before entering and closing the door behind him.

“So where’s your boy,” you ask, tossing your bag on the couch and walking towards the kitchen. “I have to say I’m kind of surprised not to see him on your hip. You seem inseparable.”

Your voice is chipper but he can tell by your stiff body and lack of eye contact that you’re not entirely comfortable. For a moment Din reconsiders this encounter. But no. The sooner he this bug out of his system the better.

“He’s… spending the night with a friend,” he answers. Grabbing one of those ceramic cups from the cabinet, you fill it with water from the sink and he’s starting to think that you’re only doing that to keep your hands busy.

“Aaww, a sleepover? Is it his first-”

“If you don’t mind,” he cuts off. “I’d like to get to my point.”

“Oh… Y-yes, I'm sorry. I’m rambling,” you say sheepishly. “I’m just…,” you take a deep breath, rest the cup of water on the counter, and lean back against it. Eyes fixed to the floor.

“…it’s just what you said the last time you were here. And the way you approached me earlier, you seemed kinda… I don’t know, upset? I know you don’t wanna be here so I’m wondering what I did to upset you that you’d come here.”

Damn it… He’s such an asshole.

He should’ve never said that. You've been thinking this entire time that you’re at fault for his shitty social skills. Truthfully, with the way that wine had his head so deliciously foggy, he had to leave before his body did something it was aching to do, begging him to do. But how does he even begin to explain that?

“You didn’t do anything,” he answers immediately. But thinks on it once more. “Well… technically you did. But I’m not upset with you.”

“You’re not,” you ask him sheepishly.

“I’m not,” he assures.

A beat passes in silence as you chew over his words.

“Okaaay,” you say with a smirk, “now you really got my attention.”

That mischievous tone travels through Din’s helmet, in his ears, and settles warmly in the pit of his stomach. Something about the combination of your sweet voice and relaxed shift in your body language makes this whole interaction even more nerve wracking.

“Sooo, you wanted to talk to me about something I did?”

“Right.”

“Okay, sooo...” He feels you urging him to continue but now Din finds himself more cautious of his words now. If you’ve been silently worried about offending him the last thing he needs is for this to come off wrong way.

“It’s… a bit hard to explain,” he exhales. If he could pinch his brow right now he would. “To put it plainly, the night we drank together, you said something that’s been… stuck in my head.”

“Was it the thing about the name?”

“N-no.”

“Was it the Pantora story?

“No.”

“Was it the comment about knowing my liquor? Because I like a drink from time to time but I don’t have like a problem or anything-“

“No- Can I finish,” he asks impatiently.

“Okay, okay. Sorry. Go ahead.”

“When we were drinking, and talking… we said a lot of things and got into some deep conversations. And at one point, you asked me if I ever kissed anyone before. I said no back then because… I've never given it any thought in the past. But now it’s got me… curious.”

Your quirk your brow at him.

“Curious how?”

“I want to know what it’s like,” he answers plainly.

“… Sorry, what?”

“I need this… curiosity out of my head. It’s driving me crazy and I need it out of my system. So I figured… since you’re the one who mentioned it in the first place, you can help me kill it.”

“You’re… Okay so, hold on…,” you say with a shaky breath. “Are you… asking me to kiss you?”

“That’s… an oversimplification. But yeah.”

“You’re asking me to be your first kiss? Am I understanding you right?”

Maker, you ask a lot of questions. Are you always like this? You did the same exact thing when he gave you the wine. On any other day it would’ve been endearing but he didn’t anticipate the conversation lasting longer than a minute. Now his request sounds more and more lecherous with each passing second.

“I won’t bother you again after this. You have my word. It’s completely casual. Just killing a curiosity.”

“There’s a preeetty common phrase about curiosity and loth cats that goes differently.” A giggle tumbles out of your mouth on the tail end of that sentence and humility crawls under his skin.

“Sorry to waste your time.” He starts to turn towards the nearest exit when you step in to stop him. Placing a hand briefly on his arm in the space between his armor and the contact sends a current of electricity up his spine.

“No wait, don’t be like that,” you toy with him.

“I’m not laughing,” he spits. But you still have the nerve to giggle.

“It’s okay, Mando,” you laugh assuredly.

“No, it’s not. It’s ridiculous. I hate it. I hate that you put this in my head.”

You fold your lips between your teeth to try to hide your amusement. But you still can’t help but crack a smile a little at his frustration. He basically just confessed to having this obsession for months and he can tell by your smug expression that you’re enjoying how incredibly uncomfortable he is about this.

“You’re right. I’m… sorry,” you say under your breath. Trying to fix your face.

There’s a beat of silence. Stepping in closer, he tilts his head down to you. Locking you in his gaze. He takes pleasure in being nearly a full head taller and the way your breathing picks up before he says in a low gruff voice…

“No, you’re not.”

You smile behind your hand as your eyes dance across his visor, unknowingly locking eyes with the man beneath. You know you’re not sorry, just like he knows he’s not particularly sorry either. It’s not just this moment. It goes back to every interaction you’ve had together. The banter, the nicknames, the visits. He’s as much to blame as you are. And then… you slowly you shake your head, agreeing with him and confirming his suspicion.

Fuck, you’re cute. He hates that he loves how cute you are. He hates himself for not being stronger.

“Ok,” you nearly whisper. Looking up at him with the sweetest eyes. “I’ll help you.”

•

“Is all this really necessary?”

Din currently sits on the floor of your living room. The same spot as last time in fact. Your were the one that insisted on it and honestly he couldn't bring himself to tell you no. Since he sat down in the soft carpet, you've been flitting around your home turning off lamps, closing blinds, and covering any reflective items. Which, admittedly, he's greatful for. But the more time he spends here, alone with you, the more he's not going to want to leave.

“It’s not everyday you get your first kiss, Mando. I wanna make sure it’s a good one. I wish I could re-do mine.”

Gloves fingers flex and stretch restlessly on his knees as you approach the last lamp sitting on a side table in the living room and pause.

“Are you sure about this?”

Fuck no he’s not. But the sooner he does this, the sooner he can find some normalcy in his head again.

“Flip the switch," he says in a low modulated voice.

You fold in a growing smile before taking a deep breath and flicking the switch. Bathing the entire home in inky darkness. The silhouette of you through turns to hues of thermal green and red, carefully maneuvering through your living room by memory before finding your seat in the floor in front of him. And with slight hesitation, Din reaches up to remove the last barrier he has.

“Can you see anything?”

“Not a bit,” you answer.

With that confirmation, he unclasps the chin strap and slowly lifts the helmet up and off. He blinks several times to adjust his vision before finding the outline of the table and placing his helmet there. On the return, his head bumps into your outstretched hand. Not knowing that you had moved.

“Agh.”

“Sorry sorry,” you pull away. “Give me a moment, I’ll find you.”

Your hands search in the dark for him. He can’t see much but he can tell your hands land on nothing by the way the air between you moves and he doesn’t feel any contact on his person. So he reaches out, bumping into your arms and taking hold of them. Following the line of your forearm until he reaches your hands.

“Here,"  he murmurs. Gloved hands wrap around your wrists and gently lift them up. He guides your hands forward until…

You let out a small gasp when your hands find the warmth of his bare face. Soft and giving as opposed to the cold, unyielding beskar. Their movements are slow and explorative. Running your thumbs over his stubble. Surprisingly his hands don’t release their grasp. His leather clad digits press against the racing pulse in your wrist as his thumbs run over the back of your palm.

“This help?”

“Yes, thank you,” you whisper.

From sound of rustling on the rug, Din can sense your body leaning in. Your breath brushes over his skin for a moment before something warm presses against his chin and it takes a second to register that it’s your mouth. You ease him into the build up and he’s greatfull for it. Jaw. Then cheek. Then just grazing the furthest corner of his mouth.

And then… contact.

At first it doesn’t feel like much. Just something soft and warm pressing against his mouth. What most people refer to as a peck, he assumes. But it’s when you barely pull back and return for another that a shiver wracks his skin. Your lips lock in the return, molding together in perfect unison. And it’s fucking electric.

Just by feel alone, he senses that your lips are slightly open. So he mimics you. Giving his jaw just enough slack to respond as you go in again. The sensations have his mind in a thick fog. The soft flesh, the sweet taste, the faint suction. His skin feels like there’s live wires going off underneath. Giving in completely, he finally returns the kiss. Pressing into it with more confidence.

You hum against his mouth, and he dies a little inside.

That’s when the real hunger builds. There’s a slow simmering heat rising between you now. Without thinking, his hands grip your wrists a little harder. Pulling you in closer. The kiss grows a bit stronger with each return back into each other with no loss of contact. Lingering longer and breathing against one another.

He feels your head tilt more to the side and again he mimics your movement. The break only lasts a fraction of a moment. But in the re-entry, the tip of your soft tongue happens to brush his mouth. Sweet wetness coats his bottom lip and it’s in that instant Din feels all restraint leave his body.

Taking your face in his hand, he kisses you open mouthed, inviting you in. Your tongues slowly graze one another and if he fucking died in this moment he’d be ok with it knowing that he got to know how you taste.

The hunger becomes unbearable. Soon enough the breathing becomes heavier and the air becomes hot. Your arms end up wrapping over his shoulders, pulling him deeper and he’s more than happy to dive further. Another small noise escapes your throat and the vibration travels through his entire body.

He needs to feel you. To taste you. Devour you. He needs you.

A break for air is the only thing that throws him back into semi-consciousness as you pull away. The heat built up between you makes him dazed. Hot breaths fill the small space between your lips as you lean your forehead against his.

“Mando?”

“Yes,” he responds in a raspy whisper. A few moments pass as you collect your words and catch your breath.

“Is this really just about curiosity…?”

Your words lean more towards a statement than a question. There’s no point in denying it now. As much as he tried to convince himself or rationalize his strange request, he does feel a pull towards you. Much more complicated than just attraction. The more he sees you, learns about you, and talks with you, the more… inevitable you feel to him. There’s a gravity to you that he can’t escape from. Nor does he want to.

“Yes and no.”

“What does that mean?” The breath of your question brushes the heated skin of his cheek. And right now, he can't think of any answer that wouldn't give him up.

So he lets it fly.

“It’s not just the kiss I’m curious about.”

The silence in the air is thick. The only thing between you are the sounds of both of you catching your breath. It’s possible he might have ruined everything with that one sentence. But it’s the truth. It had nothing to do with the kiss and everything to do with you. Your kindness, your banter, your hospitality. All of it.

There’s no way of telling what you’re thinking at the right now. It’s in this moment that he wishes the lights weren’t out so he can at least read your expression. But then after what seems like an eternity, your forehead nudges against his and you blow a deep sigh of relief. Arms still draped over his shoulders.

“Oh good… I thought it was only me,” you confess with a skittish laugh.

And that tightly pulled restraint finally snaps inside him when he hears that.

Without any hesitation, he dives back in. Kissing you like a man starved. Just like that night, he feels drunk. Only this time it’s on the taste of you and the feeling of your hands finally on him. It’s that thought that drives him to rip off his leather gloves and toss them aside without breaking contact once. His bare hands find your waist and the strip of bare skin between your shirt and linen pants.

“Is this what you meant,” you pant. “When you told me not to invite you in again.”

“Yeah... it is.” He pants the confession as his mouth trails down the line of your jaw and finding your neck in the dark.

“That’s a relief,” you chuckle. “I was worried I offended you.”

“The only thing that’s offensive is that I can’t see that pretty pink flush on your face right now.”

“Should I get a blindfold,” you tease.

What a fucking woman. The mental image of you in a blindfold, only a blindfold, pours fuel on an already blazing fire. But for now, he’s more than ok feeling his way around tonight.

“Next time.”

It comes out of his mouth confidently and without hesitation. Because you both know there will be a next time. He’s bitten into the forbidden fruit and now he’s addicted to the taste.

With a simple shift, his hands dip beneath the thin fabric of your shirt and find the delicious heat of your soft belly.

"Lay down for me."

With your arms draped over his shoulders, you eagerly comply. Slowly dragging him down with you. He careful not to press all his weight on you—being crushed by beskar would definitely kill the mood—but it doesn't stop you from pulling tighter. Craving connection. All while Din rains wet kisses and soft bites upon your pulse.

So this is what your skin tastes like. Slightly salty, sweet, and smooth between his teeth. He might eat you whole if he’s not careful. He nips at the skin of your exposed collar bone and you writhe. Arching to press your chest to his. So he decides to give it some attention.

“Take it off," you pant with an neediness that drives him pull the damn shirt off in one swift motion.

His bare hand crawls up your sternum. Exploring the valley of soft skin free of any restricting fabric. The moment his fingers find the stiff peak of your bare breast he pinches eagerly. Earning the sweetest little whimpers from you as his mouth works on the other nipple. Biting and sucking the soft point. He can’t see a thing in the dark, but what’s lacking in sight is made up by sound with the delicious breathy moans you let out for him.

“Mando…”

Fuck, does he love the way you call out for him. Every touch, kiss, and  suck he gives elicites the most gorgeous sounds out of that perfect mouth. The sounds to straight to his cock, now painfully stiff. It's tempting to just dive into you right now. But he's waited this long. So why not take his sweet time with you. With his face still burried between your breasts and you fingers raking through his hair, Din feels a press of your hips against his armor. And he needs more.

“Shop Girl…”

The nickname doesn’t catch your attention. You’re either too lost in the moment or too breathless to answer. It’s only when he uses your given name that your body perks up and you give him a raspy “yeah?”.

“Do you want this," he asks.

His right hand has found its way to the waist band of your work pants. Ready and waiting for your answer. You try to grind against his hips but he presses your hips down firmly. He knows damn well neither of you want to stop. But he needs to hear it. There's no going back after this.

"Is this ok?"

He doesn't know if you're unsure. Or if maybe your trying to meet his eyes through the darkness. But there's a long pause. Only the sounds of heavy breaths and the pulse beating hard in his ears. And every second that passes has him hanging on the edge of madness.

"Yes...," you finally breathe. "I need you."

She needs me.

The words leave him winded. Months of questions and pining suddenly feel well worth the wait just to hear those words. They not only affirm going further, but the bond that's been steadily growing between you. Not a single ounce of hesitation survives after he hears that. And with one hand, Din loosens the tie of your pants and dives in beneath the fabric of your underwear.

By feel alone, Din manages to pull your pants down to your thighs and you kick them off your feet. His hands roam over all the smooth exposed skin and he can only imagine how perfect you must look if you feel this good. The tips of his fingers finds the dampness between your legs, running along the seam, and he slowly pushes inside until his knuckles meet your entrance.

You release a soft gasp and he swallows it with a deep kiss. You both sigh into each other's mouth. As if you need the other to even breathe. Din's lips never leaves yours as he does an experimental curl against the fleshy part of your walls and you arch your body against his.

“This where you need me," he huffs against your lips. "Right here?”

“Right there... Perfect..."

"I wanna taste you." The confession comes out before he can even think about it.

"Then taste me, Mando."

He can hear the smile in your voice. The taunt. And he's more than happy to reciprocate it.

He rises above you and you whine from the lack of contact. But the loss doesn't last long. Because before you even can register what he's doing, his head has already lowered between your legs.

"What are you- ah."

That gasp you let out when his mouth envelops your pussy is downright tortured. Good too know you were just as desperate as he was.

"Fuck! I thought you meant... You were gonna... Shit..."

No fucking way would he be satisfied tasting you on just his fingers.  The sweet tangy flavor explodes over his tongue and he groans. Fucking hell, you taste good. He doesn’t even know what the hell he’s doing but that’s sure as shit not stopping him. He drowns in you. Lapping and sucking on your swollen little bud and loving the way it makes you cry out. Two thick fingers pump into your wet heat as you melt in his mouth. Such a fucking treat.

You writhe beneath him. Squirming and clawing at anything to hold on to as he works you up. Eventually your hands finds his hair again. Taking a fistful and pressing his face further against your cunt. The sting on his scalp makes his cock twitch in his flight suit and he groans.

“You want me to make you come, Shop Girl," he mumbles against you.

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“Make me come, Mando... Please…”

He doesn't break pace, doesn't falter, doesn't change a damn thing what he's doing because he can feel close to the edge you are. You tighten around his digits as the pump in and out. And with a firm suck on your clit you let out a strangled gasp.

"Oh Fuck! Fuck! Mando!"

Your breathing becomes short and shallow. Panting so hard right before holding your breath and tipping over the edge with a strangled cry. You come long and hard. Trembling so much he has to hold you steady by the hips.

Through the waves of your climax, Din continues to eat you. Lapping at your perfect pussy like it's wine and he doesn't waste a single drop of you. Even sucking and licking his fingers clean as you lay breathless before him. They come out of his mouth with a wet pop and he can’t help but let out a small breathy laugh.

“I’ve always wanted to try that…” he confesses.

You let out your own exhausted little laugh and he can already tell he wants more. More laughter, more of those pretty sounds, more of you.

It's with that in mind that Din starts pulling his cape off.

Piece by peace, he silently removes his armor. And after a few moments, a second pair of hands joins in. You fumble in the dark with his chest piece first. Helping him out of his armor one section at a time. They fall to the carpet with a soft thud along with the crumbling pieces of the restraint he’s built since that first night.

There’s no signs of stopping. You keep giving him more. More heat. More yearning. More questions.

What makes you laugh? What gives you pleasure? What makes you feel good and whole and satisfied? He needs to know.

And now that he’s gotten a taste, there’s no way he’s leaving here tonight until you’ve both had your fill.

•

If this is what happens when you invite the Mandalorian into your home, let your door never close.

Getting to your bed was easier than you thought it’d be in pitch black darkness. The only thing keeping your ‘bedroom’ separate from the rest of the home is a wooden lattice divider from the ceiling to the floor.

He lays you down on the soft futon on the floor and you open for him like a flower. Two strong palms drag and paw all over your body as his mouth works magic on yours and it makes you dizzy with desire.

Maker, he’s so good with his hands.

His body separates from you only to remove his flight suit and you whine at the loss of contact. Naked and panting for him. Within seconds he’s back on top of you and the feeling of his bare skin against yours makes your head spin. With everything so dark you wonder if this is even real. Maybe this is all a fever dream.

“Are you gonna show me how Mandalorians fuck this time,” you tease against his lips. Calling back to when he showed you how they drink. With your bare legs around his hips, you tease his resolve by running your inner thighs over his sides and you’re rewarded with a low hum. The hand supporting your neck slowly drags forward to find the base of your throat.

“You don’t need to know how Mandalorians fuck.” His wide grip gently squeezes the sides of your throat, just enough for you to feel the power in those hands. “Just how I fuck.”

Holy shit. You thought him gripping your jaw was hot. But this? This might’ve awakened something you didn’t even knew you wanted.

A whimper escapes you only to be muted by his mouth again. His tongue swirls with yours with a hunger you’ve never knew was there these past months and it’s such a relief to know that you weren’t the only one pining.

Mando’s mouth travels to your cheek, then jaw, finally finding purchase on your neck. Biting and sucking as his body presses into yours. He’s insatiable right now. There's no doubt that you'll find yourself covered in marks when the lights come back on.

You’re so lost in the moment that you almost don’t notice when something hard and warm presses against your inner thigh. Out of nowhere, a thought you haven’t even considered before decides to pop into your head at the very last minute.

“H-hold on!”

Your hands find his shoulders, urging him to pause. His lips unlatch themselves from your neck the second you blurt it out. Instantly propping himself above you with his hands on either side of your head.

“You want me to stop?,” he pants.

“No… Hell no. It’s just…”

How do you even begin to ask this?

“Um… I know I probably should’ve asked earlier but… you’re human, right?”

Mando blows out a low chuckle, understanding your underlying meaning. He feels human, from what your hands can tell anyway. He could be like his kid for all you know. It’s not that you’re not willing to go Inter-species, but your experience is mainly human. Plus with the lights off it’d be pretty difficult to figure out fitting things.

Taking your hand from his shoulder, he presses it against his chest where you can feel a dusting of hair. His skin is hot, damp with a thin layer of sweat and his breathing is heavy. He continues to lead your hand further down his torso so you can feel every hill and valley of his muscles. Eventually your hand hits a trail of hair down the middle and then…

Oh shit.

His hand guides you along the length of his cock. Encouraging you to explore every ridge from the thick base all the way up to the damp tip. He’s stiff and hot in your palm. When you give him a firm squeeze he groans and twitches in your grip.

Oh shit.

“Does that answer your question?”

The human part, definitely. Fitting is still debatable.

He lets you handle him. Giving you free rein to tug and tease as he bucks into your hand. He groans with pleasure and the power trip you feel knowing exactly how you affect this fiercely disciplined man makes the pulse between your legs throb harder. After a minute, his hand snatches yours to a halt, making your grip around his cock tighter.

“Show me where you want it,” he demands in a gruff breath. And you do just that. Pressing the damp tip against your clit. The contact sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine.

“Inside,” you plead. “I need you inside me.”

With an impatient huff, his hand comes down to take hold of your leg behind the bend of your knee. Spreading you wide and teasing your entrance before pushing himself inside. You gasp at the initial stretch, digging your nails into his shoulders. Mando curses under his breath and as he pushes you worry for a moment if there’s an end to him.

It’s slow, deliberate. Feeding his cock into your tight cunt until he’s pressing the limits of your walls. You shudder together when he’s completely sheathed and his hands grip your hips so hard his fingers dig into your flesh.

“Mando…” You throw your head back. Arching your whole body, waiting it to adjust to him. “Fuck!”

“I knew it,” he pants. “Fucking knew you’d feel good…”

He splits you in half and before you’re even ready the first hard thrust hits you. You whimper from impact and he thrusts again. Pinning you down by your hips to keep you at the perfect angle. Soon he sets a steady pace as he fucks you into delirium. It’s too much, he’s too much. Yet you moan and whine for more like each thrust might be the last. He feels incredible and you can only claw at his trim waist as it moves for you.

“That’s it… Good girl… Taking me so well… I wanted this… I want you to know every part of me.”

His words plunge into your chest like a dagger. Laced with a meaning that goes far beyond sex. Because you feel it too. You wanted him to be closer. You wanted him to know your name, know you. Even if it took this long to get here.

You feel one hand find your leg. Hiking it up so the back of your thigh lays flat against his chest. His hand drags up and down, caressing the soft flesh without losing a beat with his thrusts. A kiss presses on your calf and your head feels like it’s spinning. One moment he’s rearranging your insides and the next he’s giving your body sweet affection.

Tension builds in your core. Growing tighter and tighter with each hard thrust. Usually the second orgasm is more elusive to chase on your own. But this man is about to push you right into the next one not five minutes after the first one.

“Don’t… Stop…,” you pant. “Don’t stop, I’m so close, Mando…”

“Come for me... Let me feel you."

Then it comes. Tensing your entire body before coming down like a crashing wave. It’s spreads through every inch of your body, making you pulse and shake beneath his frame. You cry out in the midst of the euphoria, clinging to his shoulders, and everything feels so right. He moans along with you, feeling every tight pulse around his cock and letting you ride out the remaining waves.

“That’s two now, Shop Girl. You gonna give me a third?”

You let out a breathy laugh, still coming down from the clouds.

"I... I'm not sure I can," you chuckle.

"Yeah, you will," he pants. Amusement lacing his raspy voice.

Without out warning, Mando takes both your legs. Placing your calves over his shoulders as his leans forward. Folding you in half. And with one hard thrust, his cock drives back into you at a deeper angle. Your back bows and you swear you see stars in the blackness of the room. His lips land on the corner of your mouth and kiss their way to your lips. Offering a soft apology after the roughness. His strong arms are propped around you and you feel eclipsed under his broad body.

Soon his rhythm picks up. Becoming more desperate as he chases his own release. The room fills with the sound of your bodies meeting and you don't think you've ever heard anything more perfect. His panting picks up, his moans become louder, and the quivering breaths he makes when he finds a particularly deep spot will no doubt live in your mind rent free forever.

“You wanted me bare, didn’t you,” he huffs, pressing his damp forehead to yours.. “When you offered me that tea? You thought about me coming inside this perfect cunt, didn’t you.”

Caught red handed. Sure, you wanted to know if he had a partner as well. But the thought did cross your mind when he cornered you against the counter. You wanted to know how he felt bare, with nothing between you. Even dreamt a few times about it.

“Yes… Fuck, yes! Please! I want it!”

“You gonna come with me, Shop Girl? Hmm?”

“Maker, Mando! I’m right fucking there, please! I… I’m… ah-“

His firm hand grips your jaw. Whipping your face back to him so he can cover your mouth his. He kisses you deep, open and messy. No technique, just raw desire as he eats you alive. You moan and whimper against his mouth with each debilitating thrust he makes. He drives into you faster, harder. Relentlessly pushing you closer to the edge.

When it arrives, the orgasm hits you at full force. Wracking your whole body in convulsions as you scream, actually scream against his mouth. Your toes curl, your nails dig into his back and your cunt squeezes on to him for dear life like he’s never allowed to leave again.

Mando hisses through his teeth and he's right there with you. Ramming into you with relentless force as he chases his own release. His face dives into the crook of your shoulder and his arms scramble to take hold of you and he loses control. Letting out a sharp groan as he comes.

“Fuck.. Fuck,” he shudders in your ear. “Agh!”

His hips jerk against your body, driving himself as deep as you can take him. You feel his cock throb as he pumps into you again and again. Filling you to the point of spilling out and it’s... everything. Connected in such a profound way you’ve never felt before. In this moment, it’s hard to tell your bodies apart. You’ve melted and mixed and you never want to separate.

You ride it together, mold together, lose control together because you both knew it’d come to this. In the end this was inevitable. And in a galaxy filled with unknowns, in this you can be certain. A connection like this is few and far between. It’s real and raw and rare. Resisting that feeling was never an option, so why try?

Even in the climb down he doesn’t stop. Those hard demanding thrusts slow to a gentle drags as if he doesn’t want to finish yet. Hands glide all over each other’s bodies, soothing the other. All along his tense shoulders, you pepper soft kisses to his skin. Easing you both down from the clouds. He hums in the decent and it lulls you into an exhausted bliss.

Everything feels hazy and soft. You’re not sure how long you stay melted together like this. Minutes? Hours? But it’s needed. After a while, the breathing becomes steady and a soft, drowsy satisfaction settles between you.

“That’s the first time someone's come inside me,” you quietly confess. For a moment, Mando absorbs what you just said. Then you feel him prop himself in his elbows above you.

“Really?”

“Yeah…,” you breathe. Running your hands up the sides of his neck and resting them on his stubbled face.

“You know… since we’re sharing firsts tonight.”

He smiles and this time you’re able to know for certain by the feel of it in your hands. Leaning down, his forehead finds yours in the dark and you don’t think you’ve ever felt so whole before.

“I’m your first, huh,” he breathes. “I like that.”

There’s so many layers to this man. Quiet and withdrawn. Rough and demanding. Soft and caring. Each one is a trait you’ve come to cherish. You’re not sure if you love this man. But you’re definitely starting to fall for him. You can explore that treasure box later though. For now, you’ll take tonight for tonight and let whatever comes next between you arrive in its own good time.

“Me too, Mando...”

•

•

•

💕 THANK YOU FOR READING 💕

If you enjoyed my notes app delusions, please reblog, add a comment, drop insane reaction pics. I love seeing all your interactions, thoughts, and support on here. Might consider posting my works on A03 as well but we’ll see. Much Love! 🥰

[godmadeaterribleerror]

give me fever

✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!✦

✦summary: you and Bucky hate each other, so it's not unusual for him to act cold around you. but this is differant. this is... feral. and you're starting to wonder what's wrong✦

✦warnings/tags: bucky barnes x female!reader, enemies to lovers, ragebating Bucky Barnes, emotional angst, everyone's bad at feelings, fluff, sex pollen, sex pollen level smut, a little plot for the porn (dry humping, manhandling, bucky's feral, emotional sex, dry orgasm, truly foul dirty talk, hyperspermia, pussy eating like crazy, fingering, dumbification, dirty talk, sensitive reader, finger sucking, bucky gets nasty, body worship, overstimulation, sex pollen stamnia, mean!bucky, oral f!recieving, begging, praise kink, monster dick bucky, he fucks like a machine, breeding kink), no use of y/n, no descrption of reader✦

✦wc: 11.1k✦

✦Author's Note: i'm so normal about sex pollen✦

It doesn’t bother you. If you tell yourself enough, you’re really going to believe that it doesn’t bother you.

But he’s everywhere. 

There isn’t a corner of the damn building without Bucky Barnes. You go to the kitchen and he’s there making a sandwich, watching you move around the counter like he thinks you’re going to bite him. In the gym he’s at the weights and the punching bags, and you try to ignore him but he grunts and moans and you think he’s doing it on purpose. the living area he takes over the TV and watches whatever he wants to catch up with the times. No matter how politely you ask him to switch to something else, he always tells you to just wait. Then you try, but he’s spread out on the couch until your knees have to bump, and your face gets all hot, and you have to stomp away before you start acting on all your stupid thoughts.

Because it’s not just Bucky’s eternal presence and stubbornness and smirking that burrows under your skin. It’s that you like it.

That when you’re next to him on the couch, all you can think about is that place where your body’s connect. He’s warm. Tall and warm. Your skin tingles at the contact point, and whenever he shifts it’s like you’re being shot up with a drug.

“You’re squirmy.” He grumbles, glaring at you in the dark. “No one ever teach you to sit still?”

You stick your tongue out. “No one ever teach you to mind your own business?”

“Hard to mind my business when you’re movin’ all the cushions, doll-“

“Then go sit somewhere else, robot man.”

Bucky’s jaw twitches. “I’m not a robot.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m not-“

“You act like one.” You snap, and Bucky closes his eyes. Like he’s fucking praying.

“I was here first.” He mutters. You don’t balk.

“Congratulations.”

You hold his glare, and Bucky lets out a heavy breath through his nose. He narrows his eyes, tongue flicking over his lips. His full lips. Pretty and chapped, but in the perfect, soft way-

Get a fucking grip.

“There’s a chair over there.” You point across the room, sinking back into the cushions. “Go sit in it, if I’m so squirmy.”

Bucky scowls, and opens his mouth, but whatever jab he’s got for you, you don’t want to hear it. You reach over and unpause the movie—probably another one of Sam’s this is what you gotta catch up on, Barnes suggestions, because there’s no way Bucky picked out the Goonies himself—and fix your glower on the TV screen. You hate this movie. You’re going to watch it all the way through, just to show Bucky that he doesn’t bother you.

You spread your own legs wide, too. If men are allowed to do it, so are you. Bucky grunts as your knee pushes over his thigh, and you smirk at the TV.

It has nothing to do with the thick muscle you can feel under his sweatpants, that you keep your legs like that for the rest of the night. Bucky’s fingers flex a few times, and brush over the inner curve of your knee and the top of your thigh, like he’s thinking about just shoving you away. At one point, you hear him grunt, and look over with mockingly raised brows.

“Everything okay?” You almost simper, and he grunts and nods.

That’s all you get. Bucky fixes his anger on the movie, you win this round, and you get to be close to him without thinking about it.

You’ll think about it later. In the comfort of your own bedroom, you’ll think about it and think about it and think about it all night. You’ll think about it until your wrist hurts. But Bucky doesn’t get to know that.

As far as he needs to be concerned, you never spare him a second thought. It’s all he spares you. And you’re not going to be the pathetic girl who falls for someone who only thinks of her as a buzzing gnat around his head. Who worships the ground of a man who would step on her like a flower into concrete, not because he was seeking to hurt, but just because he didn’t notice you were there at all.

Although Bucky does seem to notice where you are.

The farmer does like to keep track of pests in his crops.

“You skipped the mission briefing.” Bucky grunts in the morning, glaring at you over a cup of coffee.

Something soft in you swells like a prodded bruise. He noticed where you were.

You ignore it in favor of flipping him off.

“I was busy.”

“Too busy for your job?”

“It’s not my job-“

“Your name was on the roster.” Bucky slams the folder down on the table, and your lips twitch.

“Have you been carrying that around all day?”

“That doesn’t matter-“

“Yes, it really does-“

Bucky hisses your name. There’s a fury under his tone, that makes your mouth snap shut. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“You need to be there, Steve was talkin’ about safety shit, and if you don’t know it you could get killed-“

“I know how mission briefing work, I’ve been here longer than you have-“

“Really? ‘Cause you don’t act like it-“

“I don’t act like it?” You snort. “Last I checked I’m ranked higher than you, Sargent.” You raise your chin, letting your lips curl. “Which is why I’m allowed to defer missions, and you’re not.”

Bucky blinks, recoiling slightly. “Defer? What, you-“

“I’m skipping.” You shrug, grabbing an apple from the counter. “And if I’m skipping, I don’t need to be at the briefing. But thanks for checking on me, dad.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow. You expect him to snap something about experience and you not being responsible enough or needing to care more.

But instead his fists curl and uncurl at his side. His nostrils flare. He grabs the counter, his scowl burning right through you. You take a large bite of your apple, and his gaze darts down. Juice drips down your chin, and you wipe it off with light fingers. That only seems to make him angrier.

“Why’re you skipping.”

You shrug. You should say none of your business. But part of you is childish. A very big, loud part that wants him to react to something you know he isn’t actually going to care about.

“I have a date.”

“A what.” It’s not a full reaction. He’s mostly staring at you like he didn’t understand the word. Maybe they called it something different in the 40s.

“A date?” You roll your eyes, a little meaner than you mean to be. He always bring that out in you, though.

Bucky always brings everything out in you. It’s incredibly annoying.

“You know.” You push mockingly. “Where you go out with someone. And flirt like people, instead of robots.”

“Robots flirt.” Bucky grunts, and you snort.

“Yeah, but they don’t have sex-“

The counter cracks. It’s loud, echoing through the kitchen. You start and twitch, and Bucky blinks at his metal hand, like he’s just as surprised as you are. He looks back to you, shakes his head, and takes a large step back.

“What’s-“

“Steve’s callin’ me.” He mutters, and you blink.

“No, he’s not-“

“Have fun.” Bucky ignores you. His words sound pushed through his teeth. “On your human date.”

Then he’s gone.

And you’re left in the kitchen with your apple and a cracked counter, staring at where he’d vanished through the door. You don’t care about the date.

You just need to know what the fuck that was.

There’s a part of you that feels bad, for the man Natasha set you up with. She’d picked him out specifically because he had a vague resemblance to Bucky—because you’ve never told her your secret, but you didn’t need to, she’s Natasha—but it wasn’t enough.

He didn’t have the underlying accent, or the gleam in his eyes. You made a sharper edged joke, and he just laughed. He didn’t spar. He didn’t push your buttons in a way that made you light up. He just smiled at you all night—wrong smile, too—and then didn’t pay. Bucky would’ve paid.

You have no evidence of that. It’s just a feeling, that comes from how he still opens doors for you, even when you’re at each other’s throats. All polite and handsome and insufferable. You hate him.

And there’s not a single point during the night, where you’re not thinking about him.

“We should do this again.” The Date—you’ve forgotten his name, and it’s certainly not a good time to ask—says at the end of the night.

You’re shivering. Bucky would’ve offered you his jacket. He did once, on a mission in the Andes. You got all cold and he rolled his eyes and muttered that he told you to bring another layer, but still gave you his jacket all the same. This man is just grinning at you after not calling you a cab and saying he wanted to stand outside in the misty, chilly night. He said he wanted fresh air, and now your freezing, and he thinks he’s getting a second date.

At the very least, you feel a little less guilty about only thinking of Bucky and the mission the whole time. He deserved it.

“Sure.” You smile, because even with superstrength, it’s easier to tell a man yes and then vanish than it is to deny them to their face. “Have a good night.”

He tries to hug you. Your phone buzzes, and you duck away to check it.

The mission is over.

Two days early.

Your jaw tightens.

Most people would think that a job being done early is a good thing. That it means the team was just so focused and coordinated that they sped through every single step, and ended in a total victory. But you’ve been on this job too long. Early mission conclusions only ever happen for one reason.

Something went wrong, and they have to come back.

You rush back to the compound with barely a goodnight to the Date. It’s mostly because you forget, in the blur of worry. You’d skimmed the mission files before they left, just to make sure it wasn’t anything too dangerous. Bucky had been mad about you not going with them. Maybe he’d thought they’d need the hands, but it had just looked like a retrieval mission. Old Hydra facility with some data Tony wanted. Nothing too hard.

But they’re back early.

And if someone’s hurt, you could’ve stopped it. You could’ve been there, instead of on that stupid fucking date. Which also means that Bucky was right, and that’s incredibly annoying. He’s going to weild it over your head, and the mocking is going to turn you on more, and you’ll have earned it which isn’t going to help anything at all. 

You get back to the compound, and it’s not in lockdown. There aren’t med staff flooding the grounds or emergency sirens blaring. You go right to the hanger, and find that it’s already been cleared out. The jet isn’t being quarantined.

Maybe they really did just… Finish early.

You’re heading back to your room when you slam right into them.

Steve and Bucky, standing in the middle of the hall, arguing in hushed voices.

“You need to go, Buck-“

“I’m fine-“

“No, you’re not. You can lie to the docs, don’t lie to me-“

“I ain’t lyin’, I’m fine-“

Your too lost in your own head, barely even hearing what they’re saying. You barrel straight into Bucky’s back.

He goes rigid. You stumble a little, and he grabs your upper arm.

His hand is hot.

Not sexy hot—although it’s also that—but literally, physically hot. Almost searing, against your shivering skin. You look up at him, and swallow.

He’s flushed. There’s sweat clinging to his brow, and an exhausted shadow over his features. His eyes are so blown out they’re almost fully black. You blink at him, and his mouth falls open in a ragged pant.

“Hi.” You whisper.

His throat bobs. “You’re back.”

“I- I got the alert.” You glance over to Steve, who’s gone oddly pale. “Did the mission go okay? It was fine that I wasn’t there, right-“

“Yep!” Steve almost shouts, and you blink. “I mean- We were all good. Wish you were there, we all missed you, but- We were fine. Right, Buck?” Steve grabs Bucky’s shoulder. “We were all good.”

Bucky doesn’t look away from you for a single second. He grunts, and his grip tightens on your arm.

“Let go.” Steve mutters, and Bucky shoots him a glare.

He releases you like you burned him, then wipes his hand on his pants. You scowl. He was the one touching you.

“I was gonna.” He grumbles, and Steve sighs.

“I know, but-“ You get a weary look. Like Steve doesn’t want you to hear their conversation. “I think- You know what I think-“

“Steve-“ Bucky cuts himself off with a groan, running a hand over his face.

He still hasn’t looked away from you. Or moved that far out of your proximity.

“I’m fine.” He says, low and under his breath. You’re rooted to the ground under his gaze, unsure what you could even think of to say. “It’s- I’m fine.”

Steve’s lips press in a thin line. Bucky takes a large, jerking step back. Like he’s dragging himself away.

“How was your date?” He grunts.

“Bucky-“

“I’m just askin’ a question.” He snaps, still not sparing Steve a look.

The attention is getting to be too much. Bucky is looking at you like he wants to eat you alive, and it’s making your body almost buzz in anticipation. You want to jump on him and feel those hot hands all over your body. His nostrils flare like he can smell your arousal. If he can, you might jump off a bridge.

You hope he’d catch you, then fuck you until your can’t even walk.

Get a fucking grip.

“Bad.” You cross your arms over your chest, trying to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest. “He sucked.”

And that’s the kind of thing Bucky would usually mock you for. Skipping a mission just for a bad date.

But a low, rumbling growl falls from his chest. His tongue darts over his lips. He takes a half-step forward, and you lean in to the gravity of his stare.

“We have debriefing!” Steve shouts, grabbing the collar of Bucky’s suit. “Bye!”

Before you can even register it, Steve’s dragging Bucky down the hall. You swear you hear another feral noise, and a crash after they turn the corner.

Something had to have happened on the mission. You just have no fucking clue what.

Bucky’s only been acting stranger. You’d pretend it didn’t bother you, if you could get away from it for a single fucking second.

You walk through the compound, and he’s somehow more everywhere than he was before. Around every corner, in the library, on the grounds, even in the control room while you’re going through the mission files.

“What’re you doin’.” He grunts, and you sigh.

You’re not surprised he’s there. It’s the fifth time today that he’s snuck up on you.

“I’m going through the reports on the mission.” You drawl. “Don’t you have better things to do than follow me around?”

Bucky grunts. It seems to be a no. You roll your eyes and go back to poking through the system. It’s hard to pretend that you can’t feel his presence behind you. There’s heat almost rolling from his body, and thick, spicy and musky scent that’s filling the room. It’s making you a little dizzy. It’s all you can do, not to look back at him.

That would be dangerous. He probably still looks feverish and animalistic. You might moan.

You find the files for the mission, and try to open them. Big, read access denied, contact your handler for permission to these files flashes over your screen. Your mouth falls open, and you whip back to glare at Bucky before you can think about it.

Mistake. Just like you’d thought, big mistake.

He looks even worse and better than you thought. He’s wearing just a t-shirt and sweats, and they’re clinging to his sweaty body. His eyes are hooded and his lips are parted. His attention is so wholly fixed on you that it almost makes you fall out of your chair. You almost forget you’re annoyed with him. Every single nerve in your body is alight, and your fingers are itching to comb through his sweaty hair.

You somehow—just barely—fight it.

“Why can’t I access these files.”

Bucky leans over you, his nostrils flaring. If you reach up, you could trace the stubbled line of his jaw. It’s hard to maintain your glare.

“Barnes-“

“You weren’t on the mission.” He mutters. “Not your files to see.”

You scowl. “I can access the files of every other mission I was on-“

“Steve should change that.”

God, you wish he wasn’t so pretty. It would be easier to think about punching him.

“I know something happened out there.” You hiss, sitting up a little taller. “You can’t hide it from me. I’ll figure it out.”

Bucky chuckles. It’s a low, raspy sound that runs through your body, making you shiver.

“Sure, doll. Have fun with that.”

You shoot to your feet, and Bucky lurches back. Another one of those deep, rumbling growls rolls from his chest, and for a second you think he’s going to pounce on you.

And then you blink, and he’s gone. Leaving you with only that hazy smell, and desire rolling through your veins.

You wish that was the extent of it, but it’s barely the start. And it only gets worse.

Bucky doesn’t do his movie nights anymore, which means you get the TV all to yourself. You watch what you want, and try not to look at the spot next to you. Where your body feels like he’s supposed to be. You stretch out your legs, but they ache strangely without his touch. You get more restless without him. Around midnight, you shuffle to the kitchen, hoping one of those soothingherb thingys that Wanda says help with her nightmares will be there.

Instead, you find Bucky. 

He’s drinking a glass of ice, with a little bit of water. He freezes when he sees you, and moves further behind the counter.

You sigh. You’re too tired to fight him.

“Can’t sleep?” You mumble.

He just nods.

You sigh, and walk over the cupboard.

“You want hot chocolate?”

A grunt. Better than silence. You make two mugs, one for you, one for Bucky.

And maybe it’s just that you’re really starting to worry, but you don’t bother pretending to hate him. Your fingers brush when you pass him his mug, and his body seizes like you shocked him, but you just offer a tiny smile.

His mouth falls open. He stares at you like he’s spent years only looking at the muddier reflection of stars in the water, and has finally thought just to tilt his head up. You let out a small, shaking breath. He’s still burning up. You can feel it from your place a foot away. But you don’t dare to push it.

Not when he’s looking at you like this. The way you’d always, secretly and shamefully, dreamed he would.

“I’m watching Star Wars.” You mumble. “You wanna…”

You trail off, and Bucky’s throat bobs.

He nods again. A new tendril of worry blooms, overlapping with the growing tangle of them in your gut. He might not be able to speak.

But he follows you to the living area, and takes his place on the couch. His knee pushes against yours. He’s breathing awfully shallow, but you’re a selfish coward that wants him close, so you don’t mention it.

You barely pay attention to the movie. All you can focus on is Bucky at your side. How he doesn’t even seem to be sparing the TV a glance. He’s not really touching you, save for that place where your thighs are always pushed together, but every time you shift he grabs your knee. You blink at him, and his throat just bobs. He still hasn’t said a word. You’re afraid that when he does, it will break this fragile illusion.

That he wants to be here.

Near you.

He passes out near the end of the movie. His head falls against your shoulder and his body goes limp, almost a blanket over yours. You don’t move, just staring at a lit up, black screen. He looks more peaceful than you’ve ever seen. His fever isn’t breaking, but it does seem to be easing. You run your fingers through his hair, and he makes a low sound like a purr.

Then he takes a deep inhale, right against the crook of your neck, and a different noise leaves him.

It’s almost a moan.

You swallow. Suddenly you need to move. You don’t know what’s going on with him, but this can’t be what he actually wants. To be asleep almost in your arms, purring and moaning. That’s not a part of him you get to have.

But when you try to move, his grip around you tightens.

You feel almost sick.

It takes almost an hour, to roll off the couch without him pulling you back. When you’re free, you still cover him in a blanket and press a hand to his brow. Just to check. You can’t really help it.

His fever is building again.

You wish he would just tell you what was wrong. Even if he thinks you hate him, he can’t think you wouldn’t care enough to help.

When you start to walk away, he moans again. You could swear it sounded a little like your name.

You force yourself to go to bed. You’re not sure if you want him to remember in the morning.

If anything, you just pray he gets better. It’s hard to hide your undying care for him, when he’s in pain. Impossible to ignore how much it bothers you, that he’s hurting. ‘

But it is Bucky.

And he’s never going to make anything that easy.

You walk out of your room in the morning, and he’s right there. Lingering in the hallway, staring at you with those blown-out eyes, working his jaw like he’s trying to bite his own tongue off.

“Hi.” You say lamely.

He stumbles back like you punched him. “You- You’re-“

“Bucky, are you-“

“’M fine.” He says it mostly to himself again. There’s sweat gathering on his brow and bags under his eyes.

You’re not going to tell him, but you’re getting worried. This is the third morning in a row you’ve found him here. The first night you asked if he’d slept there, and he’d scowled and stomped away.

But from the look of him, you don’t think he’s been sleeping at all.

“Do you need something?” You ask. You sound soft, but you can’t help it. The worse he looks, the more your heart tightens. “I can call Steve-“

“Don’t get Steve.” He steps back. The same jerked movement from the first night. It’s the only way he’s been moving around you, lately. “I’m fine.”

You give him a doubtful look. His tongue flicks over his lips. You take a step forward, and he takes another step back. Like you’ve got a polarity field around you. Like he can’t even stand to breathe the same air.

And yet he’s here. Outside your door, and breathing through his mouth like an animal.

“Bucky-“

“Don’t.” He shakes his head, stumbling another step back. “Just- Don’t.”

You swallow, and don’t give chase when he walks away. Jogs away. He yanks himself away, then runs like he thinks you’re going to catch him and drag him back. You won’t.

But you do go right to Steve.

“What happened on the mission.”

Steve flinches, gagging on his sandwich. You’re glaring down at him with your hands on your hips, and you think he knows his little charming smile isn’t going to work on you here. That doesn’t seem to stop him from trying anyway.

“Hey, um- Do you want a cookie-“

“Steven.” You hiss, and he swallows. “What happened.”

Steve winces, avoiding your gaze. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”’

“What do you mean you’re not supposed to tell me-“

“I mean I- I can.” He mutters. “But then Bucky will kill me. And I don’t want Bucky to kill me.”

You scowl. “Tough shit, because guess who’s going to kill you if you don’t tell me?”

Steve sighs. “Is it you?”

“Yep.”

He stares at his sandwich, like it’s somehow going to get him out of this situation. You wait for him to realize it won’t. You have plenty of time.

“I’m really not supposed to tell you-“

“I really don’t care.”

“Well- You will.” Steve looks up with a sad little puppy eyes.

You don’t have the same reservations about punching him in the face, that you have with Bucky. He’s basically asking for it right now.

“Steven, I swear to fucking God-“

“I can’t tell you.” He cuts you off with a shake of his head, and you scoff.

“No, you just won’t tell me-“

“That’s not- I can’t, okay? Please stop asking me to-“

“Why, because Bucky doesn’t want you to?” You leer. “Because last I checked, you’re the Captain. And if Bucky is your friend, you should be telling his teammates he’s in danger so they can help-“

“That’s the problem!” Steve shouts, and you blink. “You- Look, you’re going to want to help, and I can’t let you.”

“You can’t let me help?” You echo, and Steve winces.

“I know how it sounds-“

“Do you? Because what I’m fucking hearing that your best friend is in danger, and you won’t let me fucking help-“

“Why do you even want to help?” Steve fixes you with a pointed look. “All you ever do is complain about Bucky and how he’s annoying you. I would’ve thought you didn’t care.”

You narrow your eyes, and Steve raises his brows. You know what he’s doing. Smug fucking asshole. 

“That won’t work on me.” You grunt, and he shrugs.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Steve-“

“But,” he says causally. “If I did, I’d say that’s why I can’t tell you. And you know that.”

You hate it when he speaks in riddles. Like you’re just supposed to read between the lines when your brain is fogged with worry about Bucky.

“I- I don’t-“ You let out a slow breath, looking down to your shoes. Heat is flooding your cheeks. It’s annoying. “It’s not- I’m just- Please.”

Your voice cracks suddenly. You’ve been losing more sleep over this than you’re ever going to tell anyone. You almost feel ill with it—like the worry is an infection, knotting up your stomach and making your heart pick up—but that might just literal exhaustion. Something happened. No one will tell you what. It’s making you feel useless and hopeless and torn up to tiny, useless shreds.

“Bucky.” You say slowly. “Is- He’s not okay. I know he’s not okay.” You force yourself to meet Steve’s gaze. “Just- Lie to me and say he’s fine, and fix it, or tell me and let me help. But I- I can’t just-“

You don’t even know how to finish the sentence. There’s a burning feeling behind your eyes and a lump in your throat. You’re so worried. Worried this is something that’s going to kill him, and you’re going to lose him forever.

And there’s pity, in Steve’s gaze. It’s enough to make him break, his voice softening completely.

“Alright.” He murmurs. “But- You can’t tell him I told you.”

You nod quickly. “I’ll say I just got into the files, or- Something- Please.”

Steve sighs. “Okay. Okay.” He shakes his head. “It was on the mission. Bucky was distracted the whole time, and when we got jumped he wasn’t being controlled with his punches. He swag to hard on an Hydra agent. Knocked them back into some vials, and- Well they burst. All over both of them. We put the agent in containment, but he was displaying worse symptoms. Bucky- I think it’s the serum, or just… Bucky. But he’s been controlling it better.” Steve grimaces. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not still knocked up with stuff.”

You nod slowly. That’s not that bad.

But Steve didn’t want you to know for a reason.

“What are the symptoms?”

Steve won’t meet your gaze. “Fever. Nausea. Hormone flares. Um- Increased… libido.”

Your eyes widen, your mouth falling open. “What.”

“Hydra makes some weird stuff. Tony thinks this was, um- A breeding drug. We don’t know why they were developing it, but- There’s no other name.” Steve’s nose wrinkles. “The agent- His cell is disgusting.”

“But- Bucky-“

“I told you, he says he’s got it under control.” Steve shrugs, but doesn’t really sound like he’s convinced himself. “The agent has been, ah… begging for anyone. Bucky doesn’t have the same liberty with what will help. He says it’s going to pass, and he’ll be fine.”

“And will it?” You breathe. “Pass?”

Steve shrugs. “It did for the agent.”

“Before or after the mating?”

Steve’s silence is an answer. You swear under your breath.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me this, Steve? We- We need to get him to someone, this could fucking kill him-“

“I know that!” Steve snaps. “I know that just as well as you do! As he does! But- Jesus.” He shakes his head. “He won’t take anyone. He’ll only- Well- You know.”

“I know? I don’t fucking know, none of you have been telling me shit-“

Steve says your name plainly. You blink.

“What-“

“Nothing. Just- Why do you think he’s been lingering around you?”

You stare at him. He raises his brows, and you swallow.

“Steve-“

“I didn’t say anything-“

“Yes, you did-“

“Nope.”

You press your lips in a tight line. He can’t mean what you think he means. That would be to easy. Too good. “Bucky- He doesn’t- That’s not how he feels about me.”

Please don’t say it is. It’s not fair if you’re lying.

“Funny.” Steve shrugs. “He says the same thing about you.”

This is a bad idea.

Bucky hasn’t left his room in a day. You’d spent all of last night replaying your conversation with Steve, trying to pick it apart for a single reason he didn’t mean what you thought he did. What you hoped he did. What you’d always hoped for, only in the dead of night where no one would ever find out.

But it didn’t matter how you turned or picked at Steve’s words. There was only one conclusion. The beautiful, horrible one that you can’t even fully wrap your head around. It would mean you spent years hating him for no reason. Year thinking about kissing his stupid face, when you could’ve been actually kissing him. If Steve’s right, you’re going to kill Bucky.

After you fix this for him.

If Steve means what you think, you can fix this for him. He just has to let you.

Which is why this is a horrible idea. If Bucky turns you down, you’re going to have to quit your job and change your name and  move to Indonesia.

But if he doesn’t turn you down…

You steel yourself and knock on Bucky’s door. It’s worth the risk, just for him. Always just for him.

“Fuck off, Stevie-“

“I’m not Steve!” You call, and for a second there’s no response. 

Then there’s a muffled banging, and you almost fall forward when Bucky yanks the door open.

He looks even worse than before. And better. And hotter, and oh God, your knees are already weak.

His shirt is gone, and his broad, muscled chest is shining with sweat. His hair flops over his eyes, mussed up and soft looking. He’s breathing through his nose, even as his swollen mouth hangs open. His metal fist is curled against the door, making the wood crack under his fingers. Standing through his sweatpants is the long, proud outline of his cock.

You swallow, your mouth watering. Bucky says your name, and you can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a plea or a prayer.

“You shouldn’t be here-“

“Steve said you need me.”

You stare at each other. Bucky’s tongue flicks out, and you chew on your lower lip. This is it. If he turns you down, you’ll walk away and live. A new life, across the world. You’ve never been to Indonesia, but you hear they have good food and community, and you’re sure you’ll be able to fit right in over time, and if you don’t at least Bucky will never find you to make you relive this humiliation, because it’s been almost two full minutes and he hasn’t said anything, so you should probably pull out your phone and start researching Indonesian names-

“Steve shouldn’t have told you anything.” Bucky growls, and you swallow.

“I- I made him.”

He sighs. You could swear his dick twitches. “Of course you did.”

“I was worried about you-“

“You don’t have to be, doll. I’m-“

“If you say I’m fine, I’m going to fucking punch you.”

Bucky scowls. You scowl harder. You have a feeling neither of you are going to back down.

“You’re sick.” You say plainly, and Bucky lets out a sharp exhale through his nose.

“Maybe. But it’s not the kinda sick you can help with-“

“Steve says it’s the kind of sick only I can help with.”

He’s silent again. You risk a tiny step forward, and he takes one back, muttering your name. It’s a warning. A plea.

“Don’t do this.” He mutters, fists balled at his side. “Not outta pity, not for me-“

“It’s not pity.” You stop in his doorway, making your voice soft. “I want to help, Bucky. Let me help.”

He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, you- You just- You don’t feel like that for me-“

“You don’t feel like that for me.” You breathe, and Bucky’s body locks up.

“Who says?”

“You’re an ass to me-“

“You’re an ass to me.”

“I don’t mean to be.” You whisper. “I- I don’t- I’m not good at… You know.”

Bucky’s throat bobs. He still doesn’t move.

“Me neither.”

You nod. “But…”

“Yeah.” He swallows. “Yeah. I do.”

You take a deep breath. His whole room is filled with that musky, spicy smell. The heat is almost rolling off his body.

“Please ask me to help.” You don’t bother to hide the desperation in your voice. He needs to know that you mean it. “I- I want to, Bucky, I want you so bad-“

Bucky muffles your pleas, crashing forward and pressing his mouth over yours.

It’s not the soft, loving kiss of your fantasies. It’s rough and desperate, the kiss of a man finally letting his leash snap. He grabs your neck and scrunches his fingers in your hair, dragging a moan from the back of your throat. It turns into a hungry cry, when he pushes his tongue between your lips. Your knees wobble from the bruising force of it. You grab his shirt for balance, scrunching the fabric between your fingers.

Bucky grunts, pressing further over you. One arm drops to wrap around your waist, and the other slide up to cradle the back of your head. The touch his shockingly gentle, for the demanding way he’s almost eating your kisses. You’re standing nowhere near a wall, but he’s caged you all the same. There’s nothing to do but feel the way his cool, metal fingers dig into your hips, and the unrelenting heat of his mouth.

You kiss until your breathing is ragged. He tastes like mint and salt, and it’s a little addictive. Even after you’re light-headed and whimpering, Bucky sucks on your lower lip and takes just a little more. You whimper, gasping for air that he doesn’t seem to need. He tugs on your hair, forcing you to tip your neck back, and he plants open, hungry kisses over every place he can reach.

“You gotta be sure.” He murmurs against your skin. “Tell me you’re sure, doll, ‘cause- I don’t think I can go easy.”

And oh God, isn’t that lovey thought. Bucky not going easy. Combined with his tongue flicking over a pulse point, you almost fall over from the pure thought of it.

But he’s asking real permission. His hold on your hip is getting tighter, and his shoulders are squared and tense. He’s keeping himself from taking what he really wants, until you give him total permission.

You didn’t know you could want him more.

“I- Oh-“ Your eyes flutter, as he nips on sensitive skin under your jaw before kissing away the hurt. “I’m sure, Bucky, I- I don’t want you to go easy.”

For some reason, that only makes him more tense. He takes an uneven breath, pressing his brow against your head and almost pulling you off your feet as he hugs you tighter. You wait, slowly wrapping your arms around him and dragging your nails soothingly over the nape of his neck.

Bucky draws himself back, his expression unreadable as he scans over your face. You offer him a tiny, nervous smile, and he lets out a shaky laugh.

“You- You got no idea, do you?”

Your face falls to a pout. “I have a lot of ideas-“

“No, you don’t.” He drops his brow over yours. “You got no fuckin’ clue, what you do to me.”

And your brain stalls. It gets all gooey and soft, as you just blink up at him. You’re already on unsteady legs. You never thought he’d catch you if you fell, but with the way Bucky’s looking at you right now, you think he’d dive off a cliff to be at your side.

“Bucky…” You breathe, and he drops his forehead against yours. Your noses bump. His gaze darts between your lips and eyes, and you think you might be burning alive.

“You smell so good.” He mutters, before leaning down to press a soft, sweet kiss to your lips. “Taste better than I imagined.”

“You-“ You almost whimper, when he pulls away. “You imagined?”

He chuckles, kissing just your upper lip. You’re already putty under his hands, and you might turn to just a steam of desire if he doesn’t stop kissing you so softly.

“Didn’t you?”

You nod, and Bucky’s lips twitch.

“Bet I imagined more.”

And you doubt that, but Bucky’s kissing you again before you can tell him that you imagined so much it scared you sometimes. The way you were sure that you’d never be able to recover, from an addiction to a drug you’d never even taken.

You’re certainly never going to recover now. Kissing Bucky is even better than you’d let yourself dream about. His lips are just as soft as you thought. Even with the way he’s holding himself back, his touch is possessive. He traces your sides like he’s trying to memorize them, and kisses you the same way.

“Got no idea what I’m gonna do to, either.” He rasps against your lips. “If you let me, doll… You shouldn’t- But-“ He groans, pushing his nose into your cheek, kissing over the slope of your jaw. “Fuck, I want you to.”

You want him to. You want to feel those sloppy, devout kisses everywhere, to get that infernal tongue between your legs. His cock is almost bursting through his sweats, protruding into your thigh. He’d be heavy on your tongue, and split you better than the toys that you’ve used in his place before. The ache in your core throbs from just the idea, and you can feel your heart trying to burst all out of your throat with confession of desire and adoration. But you’re not sure if he’s going to believe them.

“Tell me.” You whisper. “Tell me what you’ve dreamed about doing to me.”

Bucky pulls back, and you worry you’ve stepped on an invisible landmine. That you’re going to be shoved out of the room, the door slammed in your face instead of behind you, locking you out of the room you’ve longer to be in since you met him. Bucky stares at you. You open your mouth to apologize and take it back, but he loves to move faster than your lustdrunk mind can understand.

You squeal as he walks you backward, but not out of the room. He kicks his door shut as you pass it. It slams, right as Bucky pins you between against the wall. He kisses you before you can protest or ask questions, and keeps going until you’re squirming against him and unsure if you should pull him closer or push him away. His kisses wander your cheeks, over your nose and hairline and back down to your ear.

“I wanted you just like this.” He chokes out, and your swallow. He sounds wrecked, and you’re not even kissing anymore. “Wanted you everywhere. Would see you in a meetin’ and think about bending you over the table. You’d get under me on the training mats and I’d wanna get in a headlock between your legs. Bet you taste so good.”

He shudders, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. His dick has shifted to push right near your core, and it’s almost too much pressure, while not being nearly enough.

“Would sit next to you on the plane and think about gettin’ on my knees.” He rasps, beard ticking against your skin. “Worshipping your pussy like it deserves. Makin’ you- Fuck- Call my name-“

Bucky moans, his hips jerking forward. A tiny moan escapes your lips, and Bucky almost whines and does it again. You don’t think he can help it.

“Wanted to stuff your pretty little lips with my cock.” He thrusts again, his whole weight almost collapses over your body. “You’d get all mouthy and I- I jerk off to the idea of puttin’ you over my knee or gettin’ you lying in my bed. I’d- I’d fuck you so nice, doll, I swear I’d be good, but- Fuuuck-“

He’s rutting between your thighs, and seems to forget the story he’s supposed to be telling you in favor of sucking on your neck. You whimper, pushing your hand between your bodies. Not to stop him—never to stop him—but to wrap your fingers around his cock through his sweats.

Bucky moans, his voice breaking with raw, starved relief. You try to pull him back to kiss him, but he just wraps closer around you. He’s almost shaking. You think he’s trying not to fuck your hand.

You can’t have that.

“It’s okay.” You drag your fingers over the line of his cock, and he whimpers against your neck. “I- I’ve thought about it too.”

Bucky slams forward, and you smile at the air.

“Wanted you to shove me down and fuck me stupid. Wanted to ride you until I passed out. I bought a dildo, baby, just to pretend it was you.”

You use your free hand to pet the back of his head, slowly sliding his sweats down to give yourself better access. Bucky’s thick and heavy in your hand. Your fingers don’t even come close to wrapping fully around, and whenever your nails graze his balls, he bucks forward with a strangled moan.

“Wasn’t as big.” You breathe, stroking his dick in long, tight motion. “You’re so big, Bucky, I don’t think it’s gonna fit.”

He grunts, his teeth grazing your neck. “Gonna- Fuck-“

You squeeze him at the base, and he doubles over. He’s almost fully collapsed against you. You want to feel him come apart.

“Gonna make it fit.” He hisses in your ear, and you hum.

“How?”

“Open you up.” He mutters, words slurred like he’s drunk. “Get you all over me, doll- Wanna watch you cum over and over and- God-“

His dick is twitching, and you giggle. He’s working himself up.

“You think this is funny?” He rasps.

You smile, swiping your thumb over the weeping slit of his dick. “A little. You wanna make me cum but you won’t even touch me.”

He makes an annoyed sound, and tries to push off of you. You tug his cock a little harder, and he falls back over with a moan. You giggle again.

“You- You’re a fuckin’ brat-“

“I’m helping you, Barnes.” You whisper in his ear.

He chuckles, and the sound rolls through your body. “Helpin’ me would be sitting on my face- Fuck-“

Bucky’s whole body shakes, when you squeeze him one last time, and his control slip. You pet him through his orgasm, unsure if you want him to notice how you press your legs tighter to try and get more stains of his cum. He pants and groans against your skin, his lips latching back around that one bruise he seems to be obsessed with.

There’s so much cum. Bucky grinds into your fist, and it just keeps coming and coming and coming until your fingers are sticky and drenched. The idea of him doing that inside you is almost a little terrifying. You’ve never wanted anything more.

A choked sound like your name comes out, muffled against your skin. You smile, leaning back to try and meet his gaze.

Bucky seems to need a second. You hope you didn’t already wear him out.

“You okay?” You whisper, and he tenses.

Bucky pulls back, and your pulse picks up into a drum.

Whatever he’d been before, it had been tame compared to this. His jaw is clenched, his attention fixed on you like a predator. His chest heaves, his hands limp at his side. You swallow, feeling a lot smaller than you did a second ago.

You can’t stop yourself from looking down. It only makes things worse.

He’s bigger than he felt. His cum is dripping down his thigh, and it’s barely been a minute, but he’s already getting hard again. You drag your eyes up the expanse of his chest—all flushed skin and muscle—and realize he hasn’t stopped staring at you. You lick your lips. He mimics the movement.

“It won’t fit.” You says again, but your tone has lost all the teasing mockery of before.

And Bucky’s smirk is dangerous. A thrill rushes through you at the sight of it. You’ve gotten exactly what you wanted.

“Gonna make it fit.” He growls.

You yelp, as he grabs your wrist and yanks you forward. You don’t even slam into his chest before he’s lifting you off the ground with another mind numbing kiss. It’s a distraction. You know that. You don’t really care, though, returning it in a second.

Bucky carries you like you’re a doll, your knees bent like some princess and his warmer arm locked around your waist. He leans over, lowering you to the mattress with a shocking care. For a second you’re fully lost in him. The gentle motion of his lips over yours, the way his hands wander and map your body as he settles you into the mattress.

“So soft.” He mutters. “All that bite, doll, but I knew you’d be so fuckin’ soft for me.”

You’d like to protest, and say that you’re not soft. But Bucky’s kisses are making your head spin, and no single, clear word can make it out of the daze. All you manage is a high, long whine.

Bucky chuckles. His hand pushes under your shirt, almost tickling over your sides.

“You like that?” He tease, his knuckles tracing over the underside of your boobs. “You like bein’ my sweet girl?”

You are not sweet. You try to snap that, but it mostly just comes out a feral grumble. You don’t know how he’s the one with a sound mind right now. You’re not under a sex drug.

You’re just under Bucky. Where it’s very, very warm, and sticky, and nice. His cum is dripping over your clothed core and midriff. You shiver as it hits bare skin, and Bucky smirks against your lips.

“Say it and I give you more.” He rasps. “Say you like it.”

And it’s a game. You know that you like it. He does too. But he’s poking and teasing you, trying to get you spar with him. To get you to play.

So you glare at him when he leans back, spreading your legs wider at the same time. You keep your mouth stubbornly shut.

Bucky grins. He traces the curve of your hips with massive hands, his thumb angling to smear his cum over your navel.

“Look at you.” He mocks. “Beggin’ for me and then can’t even admit she likes it.”

You wrinkle your nose, turning up your chin. Bucky smacks your inner thigh, then rubs his metal palm right over your pussy. The sudden sting then harsh pleasure make your hips push off the bed with a cry. Bucky takes his hand away to splay it on your abdomen, shoving you back down.

“You like gettin’ tossed around, too?” He laughs, and heat floods right to your core. “I’ll toss you around, baby. Make you into a nice little cockslut for me, even let you put my in that pretty mouth.”

He grabs your jaw, and you part your lips in a second. Bucky groans, his cock getting impossibly harder.

“Already listen so well.” He mutters, teasing his two forefingers over your mouth. “Just can admit you fuckin’ love it, do you? Can’t be a good girl and tell the truth.”

You narrow your eyes in defiance, and pretend to bite down on his fingers. It’s not a real bite. Just teeth grazing knuckles. But Bucky understands what it means.

Permission to go further.

His eyes gleam. His cock is already leaking with pre-cum.

“Alright, babydoll.” He rubs your thighs, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. “Have it your way.”

In a single second, Bucky rips off your clothing like it’s paper. You barely have time to feel the cold of the air before he’s grabbing your waist, flipping you onto your stomach, and dragging your ass up in the air. You yelp, fisting your hands in the sheets, and try to twist and see where he is.

A dazed part of your brain that doesn’t remember his hands on your hips sees no one behind you, and almost freaks out.

Then the first stroke of Bucky’s tongue hits your pussy, and you collapse fully into the sheets.

“Oh my-“ Your eyes roll back, as he teases the very tip of his tongue around your clit before dragging it through your folds. “Oh my God-“

“Sensitive fuckin’ pussy.” Bucky muses, and you feel the stubble of his cheek pressing against you thigh. “Barely even touching it. Wonder if I-“

 His thumb drags circles just around your clit, and you squeak. He kisses the curve of your ass, going a little fast. You whine trying to drag your own ass in circles to match his motions. You can’t see him. Can’t know if you’re doing well outside of his lips tracing your thigh, and the pleased hums against your skin.

Bucky jerks his thumb suddenly to the side, pushing directly over your clit. You scream, your knees sliding back. Bucky grabs them and pushes them back up, fully exposing your pussy to the air.

“Look at you.” His breath is warm, over that most sensitive spot. “Bet I don’t even need to fuckin’ prep you. You’re so wet, you’d just…”

He makes a deep, rumbling sound, and you almost sob as he drags his tongue right back between your puffed pussy lips. You clench around nothing, his stubbled scraping your clit. Bucky angles his face, letting his tongue flick over your clit. It goes back and forth and back and forth, toying with it before pressing flat. He sucks, hard like a lollipop, and you almost sob into the mattress.

“Sweet.” Bucky whispers, his metal arm wrapping around your legs. “So fuckin’ sweet.”

“Bu- Bucky-“

“Shhh.” He kisses right over your pussy. “Wanna taste, pretty girl. I gotta fuckin’-“ He moans, and the vibration shoots right up your spine. “Gotta taste-“

Bucky presses his face fully into your cunt, and the sound that leaves you almost isn’t human.

He’s good at this. So good at this. It’s a little unfair. Your mouth can’t do anything but hang uselessly open, as Bucky works his jaw against you. He eats you like he’s starved for it. Like he’s a man that wants to drown of an insatiable thirst.

Two hands hold you up in the air, as his tongue plunges ruthlessly in and out of your cunt. You keen, trying to push further back, and the warmer hand wraps up to your spine and shoves your stomach down. It’s a tighter fit like this. Bucky drags his tongue around, and it hits every sensitive area. His beard tickles and scratches, and cold fingers tease your skin.

You get more and more sensitive, with every flick and suck and groan. You’re so wet it’s almost drooling down your legs, mixing with the stains of cum he’d gathered from your midriff and smeared over your legs. The dual heat with his cold hand makes all your nerves stand on end. You pussy clenches again, and Bucky chuckles.

“That’s right.” He mutters, making out with your clit as you gasp for air into the bed. “That’s it, baby, you’re already lettin’ go, aren’t you.”

You whine, and Bucky nips at your ass.

“Aren’t you?”

“Ye- Yes.” You mumble. “’S good, Bucky- So good-“

“I know.” He grunts, pressing his cold, metal thumb down into your clit. “Fuck, baby, I know.”

You whimper, and Bucky starts up on your dripping pussy again. He’s lapping at it, pushing his tongue into your tight hole as he plays with your clit, and white lines your vision.

“I- I’m gonna- Fuck- Bucky-“ You scratch at the sheets. “I’m gonna- Oh God-“

He smacks your clit, spits onto your pussy, and resumes with double the effort. You cry his name, as your orgasm wracks your body. You can feel yourself seizing around him, twitching and writhing in his tight grip as your vision lines with white.

And Bucky doesn’t stop. You’re making a mess all over his face, and he’s rising up, but it’s just pushing you further into the mattress. You whimper, your cunt too sensitive, but he doesn’t even come up for air.

“Shit- Bucky- Oh- Ohhhhh-“

The ache quickly fades into pleasure again. Blinging pleasure that’s just on the wrong side of too much, but pleasure all the same. You squeal, and Bucky just moans against your cunt.

Then you hear it. The slam of his fist against his cock.

He’s jerking off while he eats you out.  He’s fucking himself so hard you can hear it, hear the slap of skin, feel all his little moans and grunts right against your pussy, and the thought sends you right over the edge again.

Bucky moans louder, as you cum on his tongue. Just like before, it seems to make him more and more feral. You have a feeling what lucidity that let him tease you before is gone. He’s eating you out the same way he’s kissed you, with rough lips and a fervor that’s almost animalistic. You’re boneless and whimpering into the sheets, taking it over and over as Bucky just keeps working his mouth against your cunt, and fucking his hand.

Then, suddenly, he’s gone. You whine from the lose, trying to roll over and look at him, but he just shoves you back down with a growl. The sound of his hand is getting faster and faster, and a hot weight drops over your back. Bucky presses his face into your neck, and takes a deep breath. You whimper, and he groans. His hips must be rocking, with how the bed is shaking.

“Smells good.” He rasps. “Gonna- Fuck-“

Bucky snaps back up, and you feel him cum more than you even hear it. Hot ropes spurt over your ass and back, seeping down the back off your thighs and into your pussy. You moan at the sensation, pushing back on trembling hands. There’s always just more of it, until you’re so marked up with him you’re sure you’ll never be able to wash it off.

You don’t want to.

With how Bucky grabs your hips and spreads the stain over your skin, you don’t think he does either.

“Shit.” He breathes out, and you hum in agreement. “Gotta- Flip for me, c’mon-“

Bucky helps you roll over. His touches are gentle again, but the gleam in his eyes hasn’t faded. You blink at him, flat on your back with your legs spread. Bucky traces the lips of your cunt, then slowly pushes two fingers inside you. Fucking his cum back into your tight hole. You mewl, eyes fluttering. Your head tosses back, and Bucky smiles

“Good girl.” He coos.

You try not get all gooey and weak just from the praise. Bucky laughs, and you think you might’ve failed.

“Strangling my fingers, doll.” He teases, pulling them right out.

You whimper. You’re too wet and ready not to take something. It’s really not fair to make you wait.

“I know.” He kisses your brow, voice rough. “Trust me, I fuckin’ know. You just gotta tell me you like it, then-“ His cock drags between your folds, and you keen. “All yours.”

You blink at him, opening your mouth to comply.

But you’re at an advantage.

Bucky’s hard again. His body is wound so tight above you, and his every word is thick. Like it’s an effort to speak. He’s still trying to fight against the drug running through his veins.

You want him to give in.

So you close your mouth, and give him a defiant glare.

Bucky growls again, and there’s no more teasing.

His mouth pushes over yours, and it’s not a loving kiss. It’s rough and quick, stealing your breath in seconds and distracting you as Bucky grabs your knees and shoves them back. You try to chase his lips, when he pulls away, but he shoves you back down with a grunt.

“Wanna be a brat.” He grunts. “Gonna get fucked like a brat.”

You almost beam. Yes, please.

Bucky folds you under him, your knees pressed to your chest and your cum-stained pussy on full display. He doesn’t waste time, tapping the head of his cock against your clit before slamming right inside. You’re so soaked you take it with only a hitched breath, but that doesn’t mean your eyes don’t roll back.

He hits right against you pelvis, when he bottoms out. His heavy balls sit on your ass, and the stretch of him is just enough pain to heighten the pleasure. Bucky kisses all over your face as he lets you adjust, but your pussy is greedy. He’d prepared you too well. You’re more than ready within seconds.

“Bu- Bucky-“ You gaps out, and he growls against your neck. “Move.”

If he’d told you to wait, you wouldn’t have been surprised.

But the drug seems to have overtaken him again, and all you get is a noise like a snarl against your throat before Bucky draws almost all the way out, and slams back in.

The air is knocked clean from your lungs. This time, he hit right against your g-spot, and your whole body seizes up. Bucky makes a low, deep noise, and repeats the motion. Again, he drives right into that gooey spot deep inside of you. You clench around him, and he doubles over, rutting deep inside of you.

“The- There-“ You whimper, fingers scrambling in the sheets. “Fuck, baby, right there-“

Bucky grunts an agreement, and starts to fuck you into the mattress. The angle is so deep you’re worried he’s going to permanently rearrange your guts. Every slam of his cock into your makes you see heaven, and Bucky pants over your, his eyes locked onto yours as your face contorts with pleasure.

He’s not even fucking you like a brat. He’s fucking you like a doll. He grabs at your limbs and moves them below him like you’re just a sleeve for his dick, and he needs you into just the right spot. One hand fists in your hair, forcing your neck a little up so you can watching your arousal gleam on his cock every time he pulls out. He moans every time he pushes back in, and you watch your cunt swallow his dick whole. A wet, smacking sound filling the room as he drills into you. He bends you even further to kiss over your neck and breasts, his tongue dragging in rhythm with his dick.

You try to clench around him every time he bottoms out, but your head is sort of empty, and now you’re just a drooling pussy around his massive cock, moaning his name and happily milking every bit of pleasure.

“Oh- Oooooh-“ You mewl, smiling like a cockdrunk idiot at the air. “Buuuucky-“

His mouth presses back over yours, and the kiss is strangely soft. His fucking hasn’t slowed or relented, but there’s a care with how his lips move over yours that makes you feel worshipped.

That’s what he’d said he’d do. Worship you. And you can really feel it here.

Bucky draws back, and the hand that had been fisted in your hair moves to your jaw. He squeezes again. You open for him easily, and his lips twitch.

“Good girl.” He coos, even if the words are tighter than before.

He spits into your mouth. You swallow obediantly, and open again when he squeezes your cheeks. Bucky slams forward with a groan, looking like a man wrecked.

“You fuckin’ like it, don’t you-“

“Love it.” You gasp, unable to even think to deny him again. “Love you, Bucky- Oh- Oh my god-“

Bucky makes a ragged, choked sound, and cums almost without warning. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, as he pumps you full of his release. It feels like even more than before. Like you’re going to burst with how full you are, spurts of it still being forced out as Bucky fucks you through. You’ve never felt so totally claimed, with him all over every inch of your skin. He kisses you and you giggle, dazed and almost high on the feeling.

And he’s not even done.

The period of lucidity between orgasms gets shorter before it gets longer. Bucky’s ability to control himself almost vanishes all together. You get a kiss and broken mumble of your name before you’re being flipped back onto your stomach and fucked from behind. There will be handprints on your ass and thighs in the morning, and the sheets are stained with your drool from how Bucky railed you from behind.

You’re dragged into his lap right after, and he pushes his thumb into your mouth, then ruts up into your gaping cunt. You’re all moans and ditzy smiles by that point. When rolls you back onto your stomach and sits up on his knees, you just take it with moans and giggles and cries of delight.

He hasn’t just ruined you. He’s pulled you apart a million times over, until you’re just a puddle that sings his name.

You don’t even fully realize he’s done, when he kisses pulls out that last time. You whine, and clench around nothing, but expect to get filled right back up.

Then Bucky kisses you, and it’s slow. Savoring and sweet. Romantic. His voice is hoarse, but it’s lost the strained quality. He’s fully teasing again, smiling against your lips.

“So soft.” He coos, rubbing your thoroughly abused pussy with his warm hand.

You writhe, trying to get further and closer at the same time. Bucky chuckles, and kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Jesus, doll. You’d think you were the one that got sex drugged.”

You try to glare at him, but forget why the moment you see his pretty eyes, shining on yours.

They’re blue again.

“You’re back?” You breathe, and Bucky grins.

He ducks down, and presses another quick kiss over your lips.

“I’m back.”

 You’re ordered not to move, while he cleans up. You don’t think you could if you tried. Your body is jelly, everything is sore in the best way, and your head is spinning with too many thoughts of what the fuck happened.

You told Bucky you love him. You told Bucky you love him. You’d never even fully admitted it in your head and he just fucked it right out of you. You said it fast, too fast, he thought you hated him four hours ago and now he must think you’re some kind of freak for just saying you love him.

He makes you drink water and go to the bathroom. Draws you a bath and brings you a snack and changes the sheets. You manage to find the strength to stand out of the tub and dry yourself off, wrapping the towel around your body before shuffling out in the center of his room.

God, he’s so handsome. All tan muscles and scars you want to trace with your tongue. Too bad you fucking blew it, and now you’re never going to get to touch him again-

Bucky turns, and smiles when he sees you. You swallow, bracing for the worst as he crosses the room.

He takes your face between his hands and kisses you. Deep and gentle and maybe he just forgot-

“Love you too.” He says against your lips. “Just- Uh- While we’re saying it.”

Oh.

Or that. That’s nice.

You throw everything you have into kissing him back, but end up tackling him down onto the bed with the sudden surge of strength. Bucky chokes out a laugh in surprise, wrestling you over onto your back with kiss and wandering hands. You giggle, trying to push back, and he nips at the tip of your nose.

Then he pauses, and pulls up with a small, worried frown.

“You’re stayin’ the night, right?”

You almost snort. There’s no getting rid of you now. You’re going to stay forever, and as long as he’ll allow after that.

“Yeah. I’m staying.”

✦End note: this was longer than my college thesis btw. and i. put more effort into it.✦

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[starling-in-the-sky]

the love drug

Jack Abbot x Resident!Reader

Summary: After an unfortunate mixup of pain medication and your friend's party substances at Pitt Fest, you're rushed to the Pitt and placed in the care of Jack Abbot. As he oversees your care, you get a little too touchy, and a little too honest. 

Word Count: 6.6k

Content: accidental drug use (MDMA), mention of alcohol consumption, age gap (reader is mid 20s), fluff, comfort, a hint of smut (18+ MDNI) - literally like two seconds of thigh riding, mention of ovulation

A/N: listen… I’ve never done MDMA. I did a lot of research, but I had to fudge some stuff for plot. don’t do drugs kids

Pitt Fest was not your idea. When your friend Beth offered you her spare ticket, you waffled at first. You're not really a crowds person, or a partying person. Beth was always the partier in college. But you do like live music, and she pointed out that your top Spotify artist from last year is in the concert lineup.

So you’d caved.

That decision is coming back to bite you in the ass, and bite hard.

It’s hot as balls outside. You’re covered in sweat, which mingles in a sticky and unpleasant mix with the sunscreen you’ve been dutifully applying since the afternoon to avoid frying like an egg. When the sun finally set, you no longer had to worry about the burgeoning threat of skin cancer, but the heat doesn’t break. In fact, it almost seems to get worse, because more and more people arrive to crowd you as night descends and the bigger names with larger fanbases grace the stage.

You’re waiting for Beth outside of the bathroom facilities. She's been ingesting a steady stream of margaritas since sundown, so she leaves you holding the bag, literally. At least it's a nice excuse to separate yourself from the throng of jumping, sweaty bodies gathered by the stage.

It’s nearly two in the morning. You’re hungry. Your feet are killing you. You have a headache from the festival’s sugary cocktails. You’re sweating through the top Beth lent you. And on top of everything else, your ovulation cramps are kicking in like a motherfucker.

Growing desperate, you dig through Beth's bag, searching for the little Altoid tin that she always keeps her pain meds in. At long last, your hands make contact with the metal tin at the bottom of her tote. Nearly crying with relief, you pop an aspirin in your mouth and wash it down with the tepid bottled water you’ve been clutching for the last hour.

Beth's voice rings out from behind you, talking over the din of the nearby DJ set. “What are you doing?”

You turn towards her, and see Beth staring at the tin in your hand. “I have cramps,” you explain, and just as you’re about to shove the tin back in her bag and hand it to her, she grabs your wrist.

“…please tell me you didn’t just take one of those,” she says urgently.

You raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because those are not aspirin, babe.”

Your blood runs cold. Your brain quickly does the math — Beth had told you how much she’s looking forward to meeting up with her rave friends tomorrow for the second night of Pitt Fest. Beth has always been quite the partier. And she often partied with her good friend Molly.

Your eyes widen in horror. “Oh no.”

Pitt Fest, as always, is a huge pain in the ass for the night shift.

Handoff gets messy. There's a shit ton of substance cases, even more of heatstroke. Robby stays longer than he should and snaps at everyone, clearly in his feelings remembering last year’s Pitt Fest. Understandable, yes, but it also makes everyone’s life that much harder when they’re within sniping distance of him.

Needless to say, Jack is already over this shift, and it’s not even halfway done. It doesn't help that his favorite resident happens to have the night off, which deposits his mood firmly in the hospital basement. Which, coincidentally, happens to be the location of the morgue.

Now that Robby has been politely ordered to go the fuck home, Jack feels like he can finally focus on his job instead of doing damage control with the med students. As he walks down the hall, Lena catches his attention from the hub desk.

“We have an ambulance two minutes out with a mid-20s female, collapsed at Pitt Fest,” she informs him. “Probable dehydration, likely drug-related, because, well… Pitt Fest.”

This festival truly is the gift that keeps on giving. Jack cracks his knuckles and eyes the ambulance bay doors. “All right. Let's get ready to receive the party girl.”

A few minutes later, the gurney is wheeled in by two paramedics and received by Lena and Parker. Parker shoots an alarmed and confused look over her shoulder at Jack, who steps forward to supervise.

“Dr. Abbot!"

Of all the things Jack expected to see tonight, this is at the bottom of the list. You're strapped to the gurney, scantily clad and gleaming with sweat, a goofy smile on your face and your pupils blown so wide they nearly swallow your irises.

Jack scrubs a hand through his hair. “You're shitting me.”

This is quite the surprising turn of events.

After Lena sets you up in South 16, Jack discreetly shoos away Parker so he can handle your examination himself. He doubts you would be comfortable with one of your fellow residents seeing you like this, considering your condition and your current state of dress.

Jack closes the door behind him and saunters over to you. His eyes snag on your tight, strappy top, and the strategically placed cutouts baring sections of your midriff and chest. He’s holding onto his professionalism by a thread, especially with the way you’re shifting around on the exam table, causing the hem of your miniskirt to ride up.

He has no choice but to focus up. You need medical attention, not the kind of attention his brain and body really want to give you right now. First, Lena takes your temperature and shows him the number on the display. 100.2 degrees F. It's coming down from what the paramedics recorded in the ambulance, and not so high that he’s still worried about heat stroke. But you’ll need cooling down regardless.

“That’s quite the outfit you got on,” he mutters as he gently raises your chin and shines his penlight into your pupils.

“Do you like it?” you ask, beaming up at him even as you squint. “I borrowed it from my friend. She’s so nice.”

Your pupils are so dilated that your eyes are almost completely black.

“Yup.” Jack clicks off the light and sighs, turning to Lena. “She’s rolling, all right. Let’s get a tox to make sure there’s nothing else to be worried about.”

You don’t seem to even register the pain of the needle prick, but you let out a delighted little hum when Lena smooths a bandage over your arm and adds gentle pressure over top of it.

“That feels good,” you murmur with a lazy smile.

“I bet.” Jack crosses his arms and tries to give you a stern look. “Can I ask what my best resident is doing taking ecstasy at a music festival?”

“I didn’t take it on purpose, I swear,” you protest, your eyes widening in a brief panic. “It was my friend’s. I thought it was aspirin, for my cramps.”

“You’re menstruating?” he asks, picking up his tablet and sitting in the edge of the exam table next to you to amend your chart.

You shake your head and say matter-of-factly, “Ovulation cramps.”

His eyebrows shoot up towards the ceiling in surprise. 

You continue babbling, unaware of the grenade you just lobbed at Jack. “She tried to get me to throw it up, but I couldn’t because I don’t really have a gag reflex.”

Jack takes a deep breath to prevent his brain from completely short-circuiting. 

Your face breaks into a sheepish smile, and you giggle, “Oops. Sorry, that was probably too much information.” Leaning forward on the exam table, you bring your face inches away from his and observe with a sigh, “Your eyes are really pretty.”

From behind him, Jack hears Lena snickering under her breath. He clears his throat and straightens up to standing.

Avoiding Lena's eyes, he instructs her, “Let’s, uh, get her some fluids and cooling packs, huh? Maybe a Saf-T-Pop, too. Keep her mouth occupied, so she won’t say any more nonsense she’ll regret in the morning.”

Lena just shoots him an amused look and heads off to gather supplies. Nurses, he thinks ruefully to himself. They see everything.

Movement and sound draw his attention back to you. You're laid back on the exam table, eyes fluttering closed. And you’re running your hands through your hair, letting out a pleased little noise like the sensation is better than sex. 

Jack breathes carefully through his nose. He needs out of this room with you, before this becomes mortifying for everyone involved. His phone buzzes in his pocket, giving him the perfect excuse for escape.

His voice is thin when he speaks, and for a moment, he’s glad you’re too high to notice. “You sit tight, sunshine.” 

As he turns to leave the room, your hand catches the edge of his scrubs.

“You’re leaving?” your mouth turns down into a pout, those huge eyes shining up at him. He very nearly gives in, very nearly reaches out a hand to stroke a thumb across your cheek just to hear the kind of sound it would pull from you. But his phone buzzes insistently, so he briefly pats your knee instead.

“I have other patients to see. But I'll be back before you know it,” he assures you, pulling open the door and diving headfirst back into the glorious chaos.

At least it’ll be a convenient distraction from the thought of you, eagerly waiting in south fifteen for him to return.

He shakes his head in disbelief. Ovulation cramps. You’re gonna be the death of him.

An MVA, a ketamine overdose, and a cardiac event later, the Pitt finally slows down enough for Jack to breathe. Enough to check your tox screen and sigh with relief that the MDMA you mistakenly took wasn’t cut with anything. Alcohol is the only other thing in your system, in levels not high enough to be concerning. Although, combined with the ecstasy, it means you probably won’t remember much of this exciting little escapade.

At long last, he manages to find some time to check on you. 

In his absence, Lena had set you up with a gown to preserve a little more of your modesty. You’re laying on the exam table amongst the cooling packs, an IV attached to your arm and a Saf-T-Pop in your mouth that’s turning your tongue red. 

A smile breaks like sunrise over your face as soon as you see him.

“Hey there, sunshine,” he greets you, approaching you with a little more warmth now that Lena's sharp eyes aren’t here to observe.

“Hi. I missed you,” you sigh.

Jack smirks. “Did you now?”

You nod happily. “Mm-hmm.”

“How are you feeling?” he asks, his gaze attentive, checking you over.

“Cold,” you answer, wrapping your arms around yourself.

He reaches up a hand to feel your forehead. Still warm, but still steadily coming down over time. He’s satisfied enough with your progress. You'll be out of here in no time.

The prospect disappoints him just a little.

“Yeah, your body is having trouble regulating its temperature,” he explains, his thumb stroking delicately along your hairline. “We’ll need to keep these cool packs on you a little while longer.”

Just as his hand retreats, your hand catches his wrist. You press his palm to your cheek, almost nuzzling into it like an affectionate kitten.

“Your hands are so warm,” you murmur, eyelids slipping shut as you revel in the sensation.

The gesture catches him off guard, but he doesn’t pull away. He couldn’t even if he wanted to, and he certainly doesn’t want to.

“Easy there, gorgeous,” he chuckles softly. “I need that hand for doctoring.”

Your eyelids flutter halfway open, and you look up at him with a lazy grin, clearly pleased as punch. “You think I'm gorgeous?”

Jack freezes for a moment. The word had slipped out without him even registering it, familiar and endeared and entirely too revealing. 

“I plead the fifth,” he replies, warmth creeping up his neck.

You giggle again. God, that sound does things to his heart that are medically concerning.

“I think you’re gorgeous,” you mumble dreamily.

Jack blinks in surprise.

He’s been a little too fond of you for a while now, been staring a little too long when you brush past him in the halls. And he’s suspected before that it might not be completely one-sided. He sees how you receive his attention and praise differently than the other attendings, how you look at him with more than just the admiration of a mentor. But suspecting it and having it be confirmed are two different things. Especially since you wouldn’t be saying any of this if you were sober.

He tries to laugh it off before his ego can run away with the compliment. “I think you’re high.”

You shrug. “Maybe. But I always think you’re gorgeous.”

Removing his palm from your cheek, you examine it with fascination, running a finger along the deep set lines. “I think about these,” you say thoughtfully. “All the time.”

Jack is a little ashamed at how quickly that comment goes straight to his cock. His favorite resident, fantasizing about his hands, maybe even touching yourself to the thought of them, wishing your own fingers were his—

He drags his free hand over his face and mutters, "Jesus Christ."

“Can I tell you a secret?” You peer up at him again, that goofy, starstruck smile returning. “I’ve got, like, the biggest crush on you.”

Unfortunately for Jack, there is very little time to process this very interesting information before his phone buzzes again. Just beyond the doors, he can hear the familiar sound of what is likely a high-priority trauma heading into the bay. Voices overlapping in urgent tones, gurney wheels on tile floor, grunts and yelps of pain from a patient.

Jack crosses to the door in two steps, and speaks over his shoulder to you. “Hey, baby, I gotta handle something. Stay out of trouble, okay?”

As the door swings shut behind him, he just manages to catch the sound of you happily mumbling to yourself, “He called me baby.”

Which is how he heads into Trauma 1 with a smile on his face, entirely too cheerful for a man facing down a compound femur fracture. 

The shift that would never fucking end is almost fucking over. And all Jack can think about is you. You and your moony, lovey-dovey eyes and your wide, childlike smile. You gazing up at him and crooning I have the biggest crush on you. You giggling and telling him point-blank that you’re ovulating.

As he rolls out of yet another demanding trauma, Lena updates him on your condition. You’re rehydrated and back to a normal temperature, pretty much ready for discharge if you can be released to someone who will take care of you. He returns to your room, finding you unhooked from your IV and cold-pack-free, happily set up with another lollipop.

“Jack, you’re back!” you exclaim, and then laugh at your accidental rhyme.

Still rolling, he thinks. He checks his watch. According to your best guess of when you took the ‘aspirin’ in your friend’s purse, it’s been about four hours. You'll be due to start coming down anytime in the next two hours or so. He's due to head out, but he can’t bring himself to go home until he knows you’re leaving in capable hands.

“Hey, sunshine.” He offers you a tired but warm smile. “Seems like you’re in pretty good shape here, and you should be tapering off pretty soon. You got anybody to take you home, keep an eye on you?”

A little crease forms between your brows as you think hard. “I don’t know where my friend went when the ambulance came. And I think my phone died,” you add pathetically, gesturing to the device in your lap and its terminally black screen.

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose. He can’t in good conscience leave you to your own devices, especially when you’ve never taken ecstasy before. At worst, there’s still a chance you could have some kind of reaction. At best, the comedown is sure to knock you on your ass. 

He can only think of one thing to do. It's not the best idea. It might not even be a good idea. But his brain is too addled from the long shift to come up with anything better. And you need someone to take care of you.

“Jesus. Okay,” he mutters to himself, then sits on the edge of the exam table, bringing his face level to yours. “Listen up, sunshine.”

You gaze at him intently, attention vacillating occasionally between his eyes and his mouth. Jack has a feeling that what he’s about to say will go in one ear and right out the other. But there’s a chance you’ll retain it, so he says it anyway.

“You're gonna have a pretty serious crash when you come down. All those happy little chemicals that are making you feel good right now?” He gives you a soft little tap against your temple, and you giggle softly. He continues, “They’re gonna go on vacation for a day or two. I don't want you dealing with that on your own. So I'm gonna take you to my place, just to watch out for you until you’re feeling a little more like yourself.”

You’re quiet for a minute, your brain catching up and computing the meaning of what he just said. When it finishes, the lightbulb goes off behind your eyes, and you ask excitedly, “We’re having a sleepover?”

Of course that would be your takeaway. 

He chuckles as he helps you to your feet. “That's right. You got it.”

When Jack drapes his hoodie over your shoulders and guides you out of the Pitt to his car, he’s reminded of all the reasons that this is probably a terrible idea.

He sees the watchful eyes and the knowing smirks of the nurses. He sees Parker and Crus snickering behind their hands. He sees Shen counting up his winnings from the betting pool, because he wrote down molly and tripsitter Abbot.

And he feels your hand clinging to his bicep, sees how you gaze up at him with a dreamy expression as he walks you out to his car. He’s knows he’s really going to need to behave himself for a few hours, because there’s a very good chance that you won’t, and Jack doesn’t want to accidentally take advantage of your… impaired judgement.

You spend most of the ride with your face by the cracked car window, feeling the wind on your face, eyes blissfully closed. Jack thanks his lucky stars that he thought to give the apartment a once-over before shift, so he isn’t bringing you into a total mess.

He walks you into his bedroom and gestures to the en-suite. “Bathroom’s there, if you want to take a shower. I'll find you something a little more… comfortable to wear,” he adds, peeling his eyes away from your tiny little shirt and how you’re already fussing with the straps.

As he turns to his bureau to find you a t-shirt, he feels arms wrapping around his middle, your body molding to his back as you embrace him with a sigh. “Thank you for being so nice to me.”

Jack swallows and delicately removes your hands, stepping out of your embrace and ushering you in the direction of the bathroom.

“Go on, then,” he instructs you. “While you’re still upright.”

You barely even register it as rejection, heading towards the shower and wiggling out of your top before Jack even has the chance to close the door behind you. Which he does, quickly and with his eyes glued to the floor.

His instincts were right. He will very much need to behave himself while you’re here.

He busies himself while you shower by changing out of his scrubs and assembling a meal. It's a humble offering — just a couple of sandwiches and frozen french fries heated up in the oven, but it’s better than nothing. 

After about twenty minutes, you emerge from the bedroom with damp hair and your face scrubbed clean, clad in one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers, smelling like his soap. You lean on his kitchen island with a contented little sigh. 

Jack repeats it to himself like a mantra — behave yourself.

“Time to eat something,” he says, sliding one of the plates toward you.

“I’m not hungry.”

“I know. But I'm trying to set you up for success here, so you don’t feel as awful when this is out of your system. When's the last time you ate?” he asks.

You rest your chin on your hand as you think back. “I had… lunch.”

“Thought so.” He puts the plate into your hands and steers you in the direction of the couch with a hand on your lower back. “You and I are gonna eat these sandwiches, drink some water, and watch Planet Earth.”

You gasp in delight and plop down onto the couch. “I love Planet Earth!”

He knows you do. You'd gushed about it being your favorite docuseries at work, and he’d bragged about owning the box set. It had been the first day you and he had really started to bond.

Once the tv is on, it thankfully keeps you occupied. You chew your food slowly, enraptured with the beautiful imagery on the screen. Managing a decent effort with the meal, you eat half the sandwich and most of the fries before you start to lose a little steam.

You abandon your plate on the coffee table, then take Jack completely by surprise as you lean over to lay your head in his lap.

He goes still for a moment, unsure if he should be allowing this. But he doesn’t have the heart to push you away, so he puts his plate aside and lets a hand come to rest on your shoulder.

You sigh happily and snuggle closer.

It's been so long since Jack has taken care of someone like this that he’d almost forgotten what it feels like. How good it feels to be needed. The easy intimacy of sharing a space, sharing a meal, of letting someone melt against you after a long night.

Affectionately, he brushes a stray lock of hair out of your face, and you practically purr in response, leaning into his hand. So Jack keeps doing it, keeps gently stroking his fingers through your hair, preferring to watch your relaxing form instead of the polar bears on screen.

The two of you spend nearly an hour like that, until your breath starts to take on that even, drowsy quality and Jack’s own brain starts calling for rest. He gently eases you off his lap to sit up, takes you by the hand and leads you to bed, already resigning himself to the aching back that a couch nap is going to earn him.

Jack sets you up with a glass of water and the best blankets in the linen closet. As he turns to head back to the living room, your hand grabs his arm, pulling him back.

“Stay.”

Your voice is low and warm. You're sitting up in his bed, his sheets pooled around your knees. Your eyes are dark, tempting, pleading.

Jack knows dangerous territory when he sees it.

Still, your serotonin is due to start dropping any time now, and hurt feelings are only going to be worsened once it does. Jack sits carefully on the edge of the bed, maintaining a few inches of distance, his other hand gently cradling your cheek.

“Sorry, sunshine. Not a good idea.”

You move closer, your gaze fixed firmly on his mouth. “Why?”

Best behavior, Jack. 

“Because you’re still tapering off. Plus, I just worked a long shift and I need to sleep.” He takes in a deep breath as he feels your hand slide across his shoulders. “And I've got a feeling I won't be getting much rest next to you.”

In a move so surprising that Jack is momentarily powerless to stop it, you rise up onto your knees and shift to straddle one of his thighs.

“What if I promise to be really, really good?” you murmur sweetly.

Jack knows he should stop you, and he almost does. But then you rock your hips on his thigh, the tiniest little life-ruining movement, and you let out the softest, neediest little sound. Suddenly, Jack is hanging onto his sanity and self control-by a thread. And that thread is fraying rapidly.

“Baby,” he whispers, half warning and half plea. His hands come to your hips, torn between stopping you and spurring you on.

Your hips rock again, more purposeful this time. “Please,” you beg quietly, so close now that your lips just barely brush against his.

For a few shameful moments, Jack forgets about his fatigue and the ache in his leg and he wonders… how morally reprehensible would it really be to just let you get off on his thigh? You’d said yourself that you’re ovulating, probably making you even needier. Fuck, he can feel how badly you want it, wetness soaking through the boxers you’re wearing and Jack’s sweatpants. Would it really be so awful of him to sit passively as you hump his leg to get the relief you’re clearly so desperate for? To take pity on you and let you use him for your pleasure? 

But he knows it would be wrong, because he’d be getting off on it even if you didn’t touch him. You're not in your right mind, and he doesn’t want to make you come for the first time when you’re whacked out on MDMA.

Summoning the will from deep inside himself, he stills your hips and eases you off of his thigh, ignoring your whines as he nudges you back onto the pillows.

“It wouldn’t be right. I'm not touching you until you’re sober,” he says firmly.

Jack gets to his feet and tucks the blankets around you. “I’ll see you in a few hours. Wake me if you need anything.” He laughs softly at the pointed pouting look you shoot his way. “Other than that.”

“You’re no fun,” you call after him as he retreats into the living room.

Once the bedroom door is shut behind him, he collapses on the couch and wrestles off his prosthetic, punching a throw pillow a few times to soften it before going horizontal. Even after what felt like the longest shift he’s had in months, he’s unsure how much sleep he’ll actually manage to get knowing you’re in the next room. Probably snuggling one of his pillows as if it’s him, probably squeezing your thighs together until the last of the drugs leave your system.

He groans and rolls over, willing his body and his still half-hard cock to go to sleep.

You wake feeling like death warmed over.

You’re in a bed that doesn’t belong to you, but smells familiar and comforting. Same with your clothes. A few memories make it through the fog, blurry and out of order. Planet Earth. Jack’s hand, warm and pleasant on your cheek. An ambulance ride. Lena ruffling your hair and handing you a lollipop. A shower with a chair and a grab bar and soap that smells like Jack.

You’re at Jack's apartment, you realize with a start.

Checking the time groggily, you observe that you've slept from the early morning until late afternoon. Thank god you’d asked for tonight off as well, anticipating you’d need recovery time after Pitt Fest. 

You can vaguely recall the warm, fuzzy feelings you’d experienced last night. In the abstract, at least. Now, you feel mostly guilt and shame and embarrassment and anxiety. How could you have been so stupid?

Sounds of life echo from the kitchen, which means Jack has woken up ahead of you. Your guilt sharpens. Jack is spending his hard-earned downtime taking care of you, because of your own carelessness.

Fatigue clings to your bones as you shuffle to the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror is less than kind. Dark shadows frame your eyes, worse than the usual bags worn by the night shift crew. Your hair is a mess, and you sigh as you comb your fingers through to tame it.

Time to face the music.

You trudge out into the kitchen, where Jack is wearing an apron over a t-shirt and sweats and cooking an omelette, looking awfully chipper for having slept seven hours on the couch. He looks so good that it briefly makes you angry. Fuck him for looking so good, while you look and feel like utter dogshit.

Of course, that annoyance turns to guilt again when he looks up and smiles.

“Hey, lover girl,” he greets you warmly as you lean on the kitchen island. “How are you feeling?”

You rub your eyes and groan, “Like I got hit by a Mack truck.”

He squeezes your shoulder fondly and grabs a plate from an overhead cabinet. “Let’s get some food and water in you.”

“Thank you,” you mutter sheepishly. “I’m sorry about… all this.”

“Don't even worry about it, sunshine.” 

Jack hands you a glass of water and starts making you a plate. You accept it with a grimace. “I'm not feeling very sunshine-y right about now. I can't remember half of what happened after I went down at the concert.”

“I hope we’ve learned not to go digging for meds in that particular friend’s purse.” He smirks and sets a plate in front of you. A vegetable omelette and buttered toast. Your appetite hasn’t yet returned to its normal levels, but your doctor brain knows that you really need to eat, so you reach for the toast first.

“Never again,” you vow as you take a bite.

In the light of day and out from under the influence of Beth's ‘aspirin,’ you get a good look at Jack's apartment for the first time as he assembles his own plate. It's not spotless, but it’s generally tidy, and it’s a very nice place. Good furniture, great windows with better blackout shades, a nice floor plan. Its niceness only makes you feel smaller.

You poke at your omelette, stewing. “Jack?”

“Yes?”

“Don't take this the wrong way, but…why am I here?”

He plates his own omelette and leans a hip against the kitchen island. “You’d never taken MDMA before, and I knew you’d be in for a hell of a drop. I didn't want you to be on your own.”

You resist the urge to frown. This whole saga is doing nothing to remedy your tragic crush on him. Did he have to be so nice and caring on top of everything else? It feels a little unfair at the moment.

“That’s… very considerate,” you mumble.

“What can I say? I'm a considerate guy.” He pops a bite of omelette into his mouth with a wink.

A thought occurs to you that briefly makes your stomach turn. “Does the whole Pitt know?”

Jack's expression tells you everything you need to know before he even speaks. “There… might have been a betting pool on the subject. Shen cleaned up.”

You drop your face into your hands. “Awesome. That's really awesome.”

Every single one of your coworkers knows that you spent the night rolling. Tears prick at your eyes beneath your palms, which only worsens your humiliation. The last thing you need right now is to cry in front of Jack Abbot. Even if it’s just because the chemicals in your brain are out of whack, it doesn't make it any less embarrassing.

“Hey.” Jack's hand finds your shoulder again. “Don’t worry about it. They're good people, no one is judging you.”

Despite your best efforts, a mortifying little sniffle slips out at the kindness in his voice. 

 “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Come here.”

You can’t bear to look up, but your breath hitches in surprise when Jack pulls you into his arms. Instantly, your brain begins to quiet, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the reassuring weight of his arms around you, the slow arc of his thumb rhythmically stroking your shoulder blade.

It's medicine. Oxytocin and dopamine, feel-good chemicals produced by physical touch, bolstering your brain against the sapped well of serotonin the ecstasy left in its wake. It also makes your heart flutter pathetically in your chest.

He holds you for a long moment, his grip tightening when you finally loop your arms around his waist and return the embrace.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whisper, allowing the comfort to sink into your skin and fill your lungs. 

“Of course.”

Jack only pulls away when you do, gently swiping a calloused thumb underneath your eye to banish the straggling tear that managed to escape. 

“Let’s get comfortable on the couch,” he says, a hand settling on your back to guide you. “You’re still on the comedown.”

You worry you might be overstaying your welcome. But Jack seems to be in no rush to get you out of his apartment, content to let you rot on his couch as long as you need to. Surely he must have better things to do on his night off than take care of you, but he sits sentry at your side without complaint.

After some consideration, Planet Earth is tabled for the time being — even if you’ve seen it before, animal death is sure to bring back the waterworks in your current state. Flipping through channels, you settle on a cheesy mid-2000s rom-com that you’ve seen before and snuggle back into the couch cushions. 

Through it all, you feel the comfort of his steady presence, his hand rubbing idle circles on your back, like an IV drip of Vitamin Jack straight to your brain. You give into the feeling, too worn out to fight it, curling into his side. Eventually, you feel a gentle graze at your scalp as he idly plays with your hair. It surprises you for a moment, but you’re not complaining in the slightest. You melt into it, eyes fluttering closed until you’re slipping in and out of a light doze.

Afternoon fades to evening, to dinnertime, to nighttime, to bedtime. Even after your intermittent sleep, your fatigue is still bone deep, and Jack insists you can stay the night. You really try to convince him to let you take the couch, but he refuses, insisting that your body needs proper rest to return to baseline. At the end of the night, he sends you off to bed with a smirk.

When you wake up in Jack's bed for the second time, it’s much less disorienting. It helps that you’re much clearer than you were seventeen hours ago. The clock reads 9:05 am — you have the whole day ahead of you to shower, change, and steel yourself for the humiliation ritual that is bound to be your shift tonight.

You stumble into the living room, bleary-eyed. Jack is reclined on the couch with a laptop and readers perched on the end of his nose. Ugh, fuck him again for looking so good.

His eyes find yours over the edge of the screen. “Hey there. You sleep good?”

“Mm-hmm,” you reply, stretching. “I'm feeling much better, I think.”

His mouth curves at the corner. “Good.”

Leaning on the edge of the couch, you sigh and glance at the clock on the wall. “I should probably head home soon, get my life together before shift tonight. Would you be able to drive me home?”

“Sure thing, sunshine.” 

After you eat breakfast and shower off the cast of bedrotting from the day before, you change back into the clothes you arrived in, which Jack took the liberty of washing for you. As much as you appreciate the gesture, you blanch at the idea of Jack handling your underwear, and try very hard not to think about that mental image.

As the quiet car ride progresses, you ponder your looming fate, mentally preparing yourself for the teasing you’ll get from the nurses and other residents. It's disorienting to not know what you’re walking into, to have been mentally absent for most of it.

You can’t resist the urge to ask anymore. “Was I a total mess?”

He nods, amused. “Yes. But a very cute mess.”

“God, this is so embarrassing,” you groan. “What did I say?”

“Are you sure you wanna know?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

That makes you pause, glancing at him warily. “…was it bad?” 

“You got a little fixated on hands for a while.” Jack pauses, like he isn’t sure how much to reveal, if you’re ready to handle it. “Said you think about mine all the time.”

Suddenly, you feel a bit sick, even though the car is headed in a straight line down the road. If that's just where it starts… if that’s not the worst of it, then what is?

“Oh god,” you whisper in horror. 

“You said you think I'm gorgeous,” he continues, voice thick with amusement. “And that you have a big ol’ crush on me. And… you might’ve tried to seduce me a little at bedtime.”

Your cheeks flare hot. This is quite possibly the worst outcome of the situation aside from death. At the moment, death feels preferable.

You stare straight ahead, sinking in your seat and pressing your hands to your forehead to try and keep your brain from exploding. “Excuse me, I'm just gonna open the door and go lay down in traffic.”

He laughs, the sound warm and fond and doing absolutely nothing to temper your embarrassment. “It's okay.”

“It is completely not okay, Jack,” you protest, turning your body away from him and towards the passenger side door, like that will save you from this conversation.

Jack places a hand on your thigh.

All the systems in your brain go down simultaneously.

His palm rests just above your knee, not high enough to be too inappropriate, but it’s intimate. Especially because your choice of garment for Pitt Fest leaves your leg bare and exposed to his touch. Never once does he take his eyes off the road.

“It was flattering,” he says coolly, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knee. “And extremely cute.”

He lets the assertion hang in the silence, and he doesn’t move his hand, letting it rest warm and comfortable against the soft skin of your thigh.

After some considerable effort, you remember how to breathe. Once the oxygen makes it to your brain, you manage to peel your hands away from your face and peek sideways at him. 

“…really?” you ask, because you need the confirmation. Does Jack Abbot — your mentor, the object of all your desires, and the man who just babysat you through an unwitting MDMA trip — really think you’re cute?

He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze. “Really.”

There isn’t much else to say for the rest of the car ride. Jack keeps his hand on your thigh until he turns down your street and throws the car in park. You try and fail to suppress a smile the whole way, and allow him to walk you up to your building’s front step, palms tingling with anticipation.

“I’d like to do this again sometime,” he says as you unlock the main entrance. “Minus the party drugs.”

You grin up at him, slightly emboldened by the revelations that occurred in the car. “You wanna have another sleepover?”

“Very much.” His eyes crinkle at the edges when he smiles back. “See you tonight?”

“See you tonight.”

You turn to head inside, but Jack catches your elbow. “Hey. One last thing.”

Before you have time to register his closeness, a hand slides along your waist, another cupping your jaw, and Jack is kissing you.

A warm, pleasant feeling floods you from top to toe, a high rivalling the chemical one you’d experienced twenty-eight hours ago. He kisses you like he’s been thinking about it that entire twenty-eight hours. It's tender and hungry at the same time. By the time he pulls away, your lips follow after his and you almost stumble forward into his arms.

You open your eyes and blink up at him, feeling a little dazed and starstruck again.

“Had to wait until you were level,” Jack murmurs. He gives you a lingering peck at the corner of your mouth and descends down the front steps to his car.

You beam after him.

[ppaattrriizziiaa1]

The Winner Takes It All — A Harry Castillo Series

Pairing: Harry Castillo x reader

Series summary: Being a wife of the New York’s most wanted and successful CEO sounds magical. Harry and you are married for two years. Two amazing years… until they aren’t. You try to brave through lonely dinners, lack of touch and missed dates. But… how long can you be that strong? With the gap growing between the two of you… Will you find your way back? Will you start the family you once dreamed of so much?

Series rating: 18+, MDNI

Series warnings: swearing, angst, neglect, marriage falling apart, sexual tension, sexual content, struggles conceiving, adoption, miscarriage, alcohol consumption

Note: It’s my first series on this app, or even in my life😝 I’m not sure how it’s supposed to look, I just go with the flow. I don’t know how many chapters there will be, nor how often they will appear (I’m kinda lazy and life feels busy right now). But I just had this idea in my head and wanted to share it with the world. I am weirdly fascinated by the concept of a marriage falling apart (respectfully). Let me know, if there will be any warnings I should add or mistakes to correct. Please, do not copy my work. Thanks!🩷

| my main masterlist |

Chapter 1: My Man On His Willpower

Chapter 2: The Last Time

Chapter 3: Better Man

Chapter 4: You’re Losing Me

Chapter 5: No Easy Way Out

Chapter 6: Out Of The Woods

Chapter 7: Sweet Creature

Chapter 8: Why Does Anybody Get Married?

Chapter 9: False God

Chapter 10: Both Sides Now

Chapter 11: Mystery of Love

Chapter 12: Fix You

Chapter 13: State Of Grace

Chapter 14: The Manuscript

The series is finished. Let me know in the asks if you’d like any one shots connected to it🩷 It’s been a pleasure to write it.

[ppaattrriizziiaa1]

Take a Hit | Joel Miller

Pairing: boxer!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: As your brother gets ready for the boxing fight, you find yourself falling for his biggest rival, Joel Miller.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, reader is a woman in the men’s world, harassment (not by Joel), Joel being protective and sweet, sexual tension, reader not settling for less than she deserves, reader being called names (not by Joel), mentions of boxing fight, violence, alcohol consumption, reader studies pedagogy, Joel is in his early 30s and reader in her 20s, also I imagine this story being in 2010 but it’s not even mentioned, no Sarah and no outbreak here

Words: 11.7k

Notes: I had quite a break, but had a lot of fun writing this fic. Let me know what you think of it! I really like the idea of Joel Miller being a boxer. It just suits. I apologize for any mistakes, English isn’t my first language. Please, do not copy my work. Thanks!

Dividers by: @thecutestgrotto

| my masterlist |

You are sitting on a windowsill, watching your brother doing medicine ball throws.

Extremely interesting, isn’t it?

You’re bored out of your mind, but you’re the supportive younger sister. Right after your shift at the cinema, you always end up in a sweaty, full of testosterone gym. Which is exactly what a girl wants after an exhausting day.

But your brother, David, is training for an upcoming fight. He wants to become an Austin’s champion. To achieve that he needs to be first in the local rank. With that, he could go further, take part in regional tournaments and then… national. He always talks about how he’ll become the most famous boxer on Earth one day. That he’d beat Mike Tyson, or Muhammad Ali.

You’re not sure if that’ll happen. Of course you wish him the best, but your brother tends to be too aggressive and reckless. He lacks the stoicism that sometimes is crucial. When he’s on the ring, he doesn’t think.

Not like some of his opponents.

Speaking of them…

The best part of your day walks through the door with his manager.

Joel Miller.

Your brother’s biggest rival.

You feel your hands squeezing the edge of the windowsill a bit too tightly. It’s always like that when he appears. It’s hard to look away from Joel. He intrigues you with his calm demeanor and this restrained anger he lets out on the ring. His eyes speak in a language you wish you could understand. You wish you could know what he thinks when he glances at you during the training. Because… he does it sometimes.

Not like you care.

Of course not.

He is your brother’s rival and he’s a jerk.

And lately you didn’t see him much, because it’s him who David is facing on the ring in two weeks. Gentlemen hate each other so much, they can’t be in the same room. So, their coaches had to figure out the schedule, so they wouldn’t meet.

They’re fighting for the same dream. Fighting to get away from this sleazy gym in Austin. Sure, Joel and David won’t like each other.

„The fuck you’re doing here?” David throws the ball aside, already pissed with his opponent’s presence. You roll your eyes.

Before Joel responds, he steals a glance at you. It’s barely noticeable for others, but you feel the shiver crawl down your spine. It lasts just two seconds, Miller already looking at your brother again, clearly unimpressed with his behaviour.

„I came to box. It’s my hour now, so get out.”

„Like hell I get out.” David huffs.

„Kid, we really stayed longer than we should’ve. Come on.” Your brother’s coach chimes in, hoping to break the tension.

Joel throws his bag on the floor near the ring, showing he is not moving anywhere. And he has any right to. It’s your brother who’s childish again. He stands up. His jaw and fists clenched as he nears his rival.

„You old man, you think you’ll beat me? In two weeks I’ll show you who deserves all these hours on this goddamn gym.”

Joel sighs. He turns to David with that calm demeanor that always sets him on edge.

Joel is old for a boxer who tries to get into regional fights, it’s true. But you sometimes saw how he moves around the ring. He is not playing. He’s got experience your brother can’t have yet. He’s hardened by something else than just long hours exercising.

Does that sound like you root for him more than for your brother? Maybe.

„Just take your toys and get out of the gym, kid.” Joel says and you fight the smirk. What? You like when your brother gets humbled. It’s a normal sibling thing.

Completely it has nothing to do with how his rival’s voice got that low, sexy tone.

Not at all.

„What did you say to me?” David pushes him, but Joel doesn’t wait and also presses against his chest. Their coaches immediately rush to separate them.

„David, enough.” You finally say, jumping off the windowsill. „Just let’s go home.”

Men’s eyes land on you. Joel is smirking and David is irritated.

„Listen to your sis. She’s got more brains than you ever will.”

„Okay, enough gentlemen. Joel, we’ve gotta prepare you. And you guys just…” Joel’s coach waves you and your brother off.

„Go shower, I’ll wait here.” You say to David and he just huffs passing you, shouldering Joel on the way. His rival just shakes his head in amusement.

„You always this commanding?” Joel looks at you with that glint in his eyes. You don’t wanna go shy, but you really rarely talk to him. It’s one thing observing him from afar, other being with him face to face. It’s better to just watch him, because he has a reputation for being quite an asshole. But living with your brother and surrounded by men at the gym all the time… you learnt how to deal with assholes.

„Yeah, especially when I deal with men who act worse than children.”

His smile softens a bit.

„Yeah, you might be right… Look, I’m sorry for bringing disgrace to my gender.” He rests a hand over his chest with that stupid smirk. You really fight yourself to not let the corner of your lips lift as well. Joel is a jerk, but he has his moments.

„Stop flirting and get to work!” His coach calls. You look his direction, and around at other boxers here. Shit.

No one can hear things like that. You were not flirting with your brother’s rival. He’d get so mad if he heard any gossip about it.

Without another word, you just go back to the windowsill where you left your bag. You try to look busy, like you’re searching for some item, but in fact you can’t face Joel.

Or can’t look at him warming up shirtless.

Because, yeah, he just took off his t-shirt and shadowboxes on the ring.

God, just a little peek…

You tilt your head just enough. His grunts and breaths fill the gym, outstanding others. It’s like he is the only one here. Your eyes wander around his muscled chest. So sculpted and strong. You see all the muscles working with his sharp movements and it’s getting harder to look away with every second. People say he’s at his peak form. You actually see it.

Joel’s got the hunger that many boxers lack. His heart is burning with purpose and it’s clear as day. You find it admirable.

„Stay busy. Yeah… just like that.” His coach guides him through the punches. His stomach muscles flexing and it’s making you hot. Too hot.

Forcing yourself to look away, you miss the way Joel glances your direction. He falters in his movements which earns him a scolding from his manager. Miller curses under his breath. He can’t afford being distracted, but it’s damn impossible when you’re standing there all pretty in your shorts.

But you don’t see any of that, already focused on David who just left the locker room.

As you head out of the gym together, Joel is relieved he can continue his training without some unwanted thoughts.

As you could’ve expected, there’s no peaceful evening with your brother. David dragged you to hang out with him and his friends at the local bar. It’s a worse dive than his damn gym. But that’s all you get in this part of Austin.

You hope to get out someday. Move to the safer part of the city.

But for now… You have to deal with David’s jackass friends. You hate being the only girl at the table. Hate being squeezed between two big men whose hands like to wander. It’s disgusting, but you got used to it. Telling them to stop would only cause a wave of laughter at the table. They’d think you’re adorable. David’s younger sister. Or they’d even say you need their help to let some steam off.

And you’re hundred percent sure David would agree with them.

„Shit, forgot my phone.” Your brother sighs frustrated as he touches his pockets. „Must be at the gym.”

You look at him, seeing the opportunity to get out of here.

„I can go and grab it for you now, if you want.” You say.

„Yeah, do that.” David grins leaning back against the seat. Comfortable with his sister doing what he wants. He doesn’t see you’re just searching for an escape, which you’re pleased with.

„Damn, sugar, be my girl. I also want a cute servant like you.” One of his friends laughs and it makes your skin crawl. Bastard.

„Bet she’s like that in bed, too.” The other adds.

„Okay, shut up. No one gets my sister like that, hear me?” David finally says, but you see the amusement is written on his face.

„Oh, come on! Because of you, she’ll be a virgin in her thirties!”

You feel sick at the laughter that explodes at the table. You can try to shut down their comments as much as you want, but it will never work. So you just stand up ready to leave.

„I’m going.”

They didn’t even notice, or hear you, too busy with talking about stuff that doesn’t concern them at all.

The moment the evening air hits your nostrils, you breathe with relief. Walking alone the streets feels better now than staying and listening to David’s friends. You clutch your keys in your hand just in case and head to the gym.

The walk actually helps you clear your head. You know their words don’t define you, but it’s still hard to listen to all of those comments. A virgin. A bitch. A servant.

You hate those men. You wish you were seen for something more. For who you truly were.

You know you deserve more and that’s why you never actually had a boyfriend.

But for guys like David and his friends? It’s you who’s the problem. Too innocent. Too picky. They think that they’re a gift sent from God for women like you, but actually they’re just pathetic losers. You won’t settle for less.

Few minutes later you find the old, brick building where the gym is. You walk inside and the smell of sweat is the first thing you feel. Grasping the strap of your bag, you step in further. There are still some boxers training. The sounds of grunts, gloves hitting the punching bags and yells of frustrated coaches are loud and exactly not what you need right now.

Passing by the ring, you notice Joel is still here. Having a round with his sparing partner. Your breath catches at the view of his body glistening with sweat. You like the hair covering his chest and the way it’s heaving with the effort.

Holy shit.

Before he can notice you, you disappear behind the locker room door. Fortunately, it’s empty, but you can hear the sound of showers running. The last thing you want is to bump into some naked asshole.

Your eyes scan the room in search for David’s phone. Approaching his locker, you dial the correct combination.

„Are you lost, sweetheart?” Some male voice sounds from behind. A quiet sigh leaves your mouth. „Or maybe you were waiting for me?”

„No, just came to grab my brother’s phone.” You say, remaining calm.

Turning to the guy, you see he’s just in a towel wrapped around his hips. His eyes tell he likes seeing you here alone. Fucking great.

„You David’s sister?”

„Yeah.” You open the locker to find this damn phone. About to close it and get out of here, you are suddenly blocked by the arm resting against the other locker. You’re trapped with the guy’s body. You tense up, but try to not show that he scares you. „Could you step back?”

„Why? It’s you who came in here.” You can practically hear his grin.

„Yeah, to grab a phone. Now back the fuck up.”

„Ah, not the sharp tongue, sweetheart.”

The boxer steps even closer and you feel sick. His breath on your shoulder makes a shiver crawl down your spine. If being nice and then mean doesn’t work? With no options left, you have to turn to your last resort.

You elbow the guy in his stomach with all the strength you have. He groans in unexpected pain, stumbling just a bit. You think you might have an opportunity to get out of here, but the punch made him angry. He grasps your arm and pushes you onto the lockers. „You bitch!”

„Get your hands off of her.” Suddenly you hear a sharp voice behind him. You recognize it immediately.

„Stay out of it, Joel.”

„Hands off her.” He repeats stepping closer. He has just finished his training, but he wouldn’t mind punching this bastard the right amount of times. „Mind your business, Miller.” The guy grunts and in this exact moment Joel tugs him backwards by the shoulder. He stumbles, completely taken aback. But it’s Joel, of course he is not playing.

„You’ve got a problem?!”

„Yes, you’re harassing stranger girls.” Joel says.

The boxer rushes towards him, ready to start a fight. But Miller is not having it. Tired after a work-out he’s not in the mood to deal with a dickhead like that. He blocks the punch and cages the boxer between the nearest wall and himself. You’re still standing by the lockers, too stunned to move. The guy tries to move, but Joel’s grip is steel.

„Apologize to the lady.”

The other man tries to push him away, fight the strong silhouette that keeps him in place. In response, Joel presses his arm to his neck. He enjoys the way this guy didn’t even expect to be cornered like that, he finally notices some respect flashing in his eyes. The reputation of a hardass pays off.

„Apologize, looking into her eyes. And mean it.”

„I…” The boxer struggles to find the words thanks to the pressure on his neck. He looks over Miller’s shoulder to meet your gaze. You’re still standing here silently, even if you could just make your way out of here with David’s damn phone. You clutch the strap of your bag tighter. „I’m sorry.” He finally chokes out and after that Joel lets go of him.

„Good. That’s all we wanted, yeah?” He pats his arm. „Just some manners.”

He just nods and heads to his locker, grabbing his stuff and leaving in his towel. He knows not to mess with Miller. When the door close after him, you finally let yourself to take a breath. It was stressful. You actually have no idea what would happen if Joel didn’t come in here after his training. But despite your fear, you don’t want to show it. Joel is still a man.

„You alright?” He turns to you and God, you’re so aware of him being in just his shorts. You’re not sure, if you are more uncomfortable, or shy. Seeing guys boxing in here for so many times, you should be gotten used to it. But it’s always different with him.

„Yeah. I would’ve handled it myself, you know.” You act all unbothered, because that’s how you survive.

„No doubt. Saw how you elbowed him.” He smirks, but notices your closed demeanor. Understandable. „Listen, I’m sorry it happened to you. But for your own safety you shouldn’t be coming here alone.”

„Shouldn’t men act decent instead?” You raise an eyebrow.

„Yes, they absolutely should. But unfortunately, that’s not possible.”

„Can’t you give all of them your manners lessons?” You crack a soft smirk.

That’s when he chuckles. Joel likes your witty responses. Enjoys talking to you, because you always somehow manage to make him smile. Even if you’re just standing on the other side of the gym.

You realize how easy it comes to you. Joking and being playful whenever you two talk. And it’s actually rare. And it dawns on you… The only reason you feel brave enough to talk back to him is because you feel safe. Joel has never made any comment on your body, on your words, or didn’t undress you with his gaze. He’s always keeping himself to the side and steps in when necessary. He actually made a guy apologize for pushing you. It’s… a nice change. Compared to others.

„Hey, um… If you give me like five minutes to shower, I can walk you home.” Joel says. „Don’t want you walking alone this late.”

„Oh, you don’t have to, really… I’m heading to the bar anyways to give David his phone.” You lift your hand a bit, holding the said phone. „He sent you here alone to get his damn phone?” A crease forms between his brows.

„Well, I volunteered. Didn’t want to sit with him and his friends.”

„Now, that I can understand.”

You huff quietly with amusement. Joel, being David’s boxing rival, also met his friends and let’s just say they all don’t like each other. And you see why. Miller is completely different. You sometimes catch yourself liking him more than you tolerate your brother. But you can’t think that. You shouldn’t be even talking to him right now.

„Let me walk you to that bar, then.”

You see he’s being stubborn, but you’re not sure why he cares so much. Or maybe it’s some kind of a trap? You met guys before who were nice at the beginning and then turned into biggest assholes. What if he’s the same?

„Okay, I see you’re hesitating. I’m going to a shower. If I come back and you’re still here, I’m walking you there. It’s up to you.”

After these words he just turns to the door and disappears to wash off all the sweat and the ache in his muscles. You’re not sure why aren’t you moving. You don’t know why you sit down on the bench instead.

It’s just something telling you that it’s okay.

It’s your heart that slowed down immediately when he first appeared in the locker room.

Waiting, you don’t even care that David is expecting you. Suddenly, all you think of is spending few minutes with Joel alone, just walking down the street. Nerves are humming beneath your skin. It’s everything - your brother’s friends, the fight in the locker room… the way Joel looks at you. It’s a lot to take in.

All you wished for was a quiet evening.

You hate that you always have to keep your guard up. Check if some guy isn’t too mad at you, or if you didn’t say something that might offend him. You want to just be without judgement. Without fear.

You used to believe that once David will start winning the tournaments it’ll all change. But now you’re not such a fool anymore. There won’t be any respect if you come from a place like this. If deep down you know, your brother is just the same.

So you study for yourself to do it by yourself.

You’re not sure if it will work either.

The door open and there is Joel, wearing only a towel low around his hips. Your breath catches as you look away.

„You stayed.” He notices.

„Yeah, whatever.” You choke out.

He stands by his locker to grab his clothes. You turn around in the other direction to give him some privacy. Jesus Christ. Every sound makes goosebumps on your skin clearer. Him putting on his boxers. The zipper of his bag. The quiet curse when Joel can’t find his sock.

It drives you crazy.

„It’s okay. You can look now.”

With a calming breath in you do so. He’s all in clothes now. Grey sweats and a loose hoodie that will keep his warmed-up body safe from the cool of the evening. And that soft, barely noticeable smirk. He’s really happy you stayed, but he won’t admit it.

„Ready?” He asks.

„Yeah.”

You stand up, put David’s phone in your bag and leave the locker room at Joel’s side. You pray others won’t pay much attention to you. It’ll be over if your brother found out you let Miller walk you to the bar.

Joel exhales the moment the fresh air hits his face. He spent a long time training today, his muscles are sore as hell, but God, wasn’t it worth it. And now he has a chance to walk with — in his humble opinion — the prettiest girl in town.

When he saw you cornered by that bastard, his blood nearly boiled. Sure, you’re feisty and strong, but guys like that are far worse. Whether he likes it, or not he spends a lot of time with them in the gym. He hears them talk often and it disgusts him. He also heard your brother’s friends many times. Talking about you. And that… He just can’t understand why are you still coming here.

His mother taught him better than that before she died. He might be an ass and grump, but he would never disrespect a woman.

„You cold?” Joel glances at you as you make your way down the sidewalk. It’s true that the air is chilly, but you don’t mind. „No, I’m good.”

„Okay.”

It’s quiet between you. Not because it’s uncomfortable, but because there is just no need to disturb this moment of peace. There are no noises of people boxing, no yelling. Just an upcoming night and warm light of street lamps.

Though, there are some people heading to the bars, or homes. Some already stumbling, because of the alcohol in their veins. That’s just how your neighborhood looks. Everything falls apart here. You and Joel gotten used to it, both of you spent here most of your lives.

„You will spend the rest of the evening at the bar?” He asks another question and it almost makes you laugh.

„I guess…” you sigh softly. „I don’t even want to. I should study now.”

„Then why not go home? You can give David his damn phone and I’ll walk you there.” He looks at you the same time you look at him. The way his eyes soften seeing yours… And that little smile ghosting on his lips… He seems so gentle now. Not like the guy who could break someone’s ribs.

„I mean… You’re probably right. I just don’t want David to get mad at me again. He says I’m not supporting his career enough.” You roll your eyes.

„And how exactly watching him getting wasted is supposed to help? It’s not like it’ll improve his shitty left hook”

That makes you actually laugh out loud. Joel didn’t expect that. But seeing that adorable grin tugging at your lips? Damn, he could offend your brother all night for that.

„I shouldn’t laugh. It’s wrong…” Your words trail off, because another wave of laughter overtakes you. It’s been a while since you could openly listen to someone talking badly about David. But now? It’s just you and Joel walking down the street. It hits you, you’re alone with his biggest rival and you’re actually having the best time since very long.

„But you have to admit your brother can’t use his left hand.” Joel also smiles, because your joy is infectious. „Yeah… he can’t.”

He can’t stop admiring your profile. Usually, your features are hardened and serious. Like you’re protecting yourself from all the world. Like you have so many things on your mind that there is no space for just breathing. Now, there is none of that left. It’s just you relaxing and maybe even… having fun with him?

As you round the corner, the bar grows before you. Just a bit more and your walk will be over. Suddenly, you feel sad. You don’t want it to end. Biting your lip, you try to think of pros and cons…

Fuck it.

„Um… You have any plans for now?”

Joel looks at you as hope flickers in his expression. He schools it immediately though. „Nah, probably just will head home.”

„So if I asked you to walk me home you’d say yes?”

Now that is what he wanted to hear.

„Sure.” He smirks, glad that it’s not really over yet. „What changed your mind?”

„Me staying won’t improve his left hook anyways, yeah?” You match his expression. „Yeah… Will our walk improve mine?”

That makes you chuckle again. He is so effortlessly funny. Teasing in that adorable, not violating way. It really is refreshing. „Let’s be real, yours doesn’t need any improvement.”

You actually said it. Will he realize that you secretly watched him on the ring when you had an occasion? You exactly know what you’re talking about, you know his fighting style. You could just say you’re observant. That wouldn’t be far from truth. But in reality, you longed for even a glimpse of him whenever you were at the gym with David. You know his left hook is perfect.

If Joel understood, he doesn’t make any comment on it. But deep down in his soul? He smiles to himself victoriously. She looks at me too.

A minute later you’re right outside the bar. You made sure you’re standing aside, so David and his friends wouldn’t notice you hanging out with Joel Miller. You look at the broad man before you.

„Will you wait here? I’ll just give him the phone.”

„Yeah, go on.”

Walking inside, you already feel the heavy smell of cigarette smoke combined with beer and piss. This is actually the worst place around, but it’s also the cheapest. And for some people it’s the only way to get wasted.

Let’s skip the fact David should avoid the alcohol if he wants to win in two weeks against Joel.

You find his table, his friends instantly cheering when they see you. Much drunker than when you left.

„Here.” You hand David his phone. „I’m going home.”

„Home? Come on, Larry had something to tell you.” He says nodding at his buddy. Others instantly laugh like it is some inside joke.

„I don’t want to hear it. I’m tired after work and I’m going home.” You turn to leave, but he grasps your wrist. „Don’t be such a bitch. I’m trying to find you a date here. Cooperate.”

You huff, yanking your hand free.

„No way I’ll ever look at this junkie like that. Leave me alone.”

With that you rush out, hearing whistles and boos at your reaction. You are sure David will not leave it like that and have his way with you at home. But you will never ever date any of his fucking friends. They’re disgusting and selfish. And you have some dignity left. At least you like to believe so.

The moment you step outside and see Joel leaning against the wall something soothes in you. He remained here, even if you suspected he might just leave. He stayed.

„Ready?” He asks, pulling away from the wall when he notices you.

„Yeah.”

The way you say it turns out harsher than you meant. But it’s just how your brother and his friends work on you. They let out what’s the worst in you until you wonder if you hate yourself.

„Am I in trouble?” Joel cracks a smile as you two head down the street towards your home. You bite the inside of your cheek in guilt. He’s been kind to you all day. He is always kind to you and you’re acting like a bitch. Maybe you really are a one?

„No… Not you. Sorry, it has nothing to do with you.”

„Your brother?”

You nod. „And his idiotic friends.”

Joel doesn’t say anything, just remains a steady presence by your side. You thought he’d start insulting them, or something. He hates them after all. But Miller is quiet, as if he doesn’t want to add up to your resentment. He inhales the cool night air, adjusting the strap of his training bag on his shoulder.

„It’s the next turn right.” You say, nodding forward. This part of the neighborhood is more silent. Just townhouses from brick and the garbage lying around. It’s actually nice having someone to accompany you here.

„You said before you have to study… What are you studying?” Joel asks curiously.

„Pedagogy.” You smile faintly.

„Really?”

„Yes… What? I don’t look like someone who likes children?”

„No, I just… Now that I think about it… It makes perfect sense. I bet you’re great at it.” He smiles. „Now you’re just trying to be nice.” You giggle.

„No! Really, I… You’re very sharp-minded and strong, but you have this soft side, too. I bet kids will learn a lot from you.”

„Soft side?” You raise an eyebrow, not sure if you’re supposed to feel exposed.

„You know… I sometimes saw you working at the cinema on weekends and… I saw you giving a group of teenagers more popcorn for free.” He looks away from you with that sheepish smile. „Or last week you helped some lady with carrying stroller up the stairs. I was just passing by.” He shrugs. „You’re just… You’re good. Caring.”

His words make you pause. Because… how does he notice all of those things? Joel seems so genuine as the soft blush spreads across his cheeks. You choose to believe it’s from cold. In your mind he was always the asshole rival of your brother that you liked to look at sometimes. This… this is not like that at all. You realize this the real Joel Miller and it’ll make it harder to just ignore him after this night ends.

„Well… Thank you.”

Soon, you slow down, because your house is just before you. Brick-built, small, but it has pots with flowers on the porch. Your doing. You make this place feel nicer than it actually is. The light bulb burned out and despite David promising he’ll change it, he never did. So the only thing that gives light now are the moon and street lamps.

„It’s here.” You stop and lay your eyes on Joel. His are so dark right now, but not in the scary way. You just see all the weariness from today that makes him seem much softer. Harmless.

„Yeah.”

Neither of you know what to say, but the tension is clear. But how to name it out loud? You shouldn’t have anything to do with him. Your brother would kill you. But… It felt really good just talking to him.

„I should go now…” You take a tentative step back towards the stairs. „Thanks for everything. Standing up for me and walking…”

„Yeah… Yeah, don’t mention it.” Joel puts his hands in his pockets. After that you make your way to the door, grabbing your keys. You are perfectly aware of his gaze on your back. He still battles with something in his head.

„Go on a date with me.”

It makes you pause right before turning the doorknob. The seconds pass as your mind races, wondering how to respond. This evening had many unexpected turns, but this? This is another level of unexpected. Joel Miller wants to…

It just doesn’t add up.

You slowly turn to look at him.

„Is that a question, or a statement?” You choose what’s safe. Wittiness.

Joel laughs and you sense just a hint of nervousness in the tone. „Whatever you’d like more.”

„That’s a very political answer.”

„Honey, I’m a boxer not a politician.” He joins you in this little discussion. Grins spreading across both of your faces.

God, how to say no to him?

„Joel…” A sigh escapes your lips. „I don’t think it’s a good idea. You have a fight with my brother in two weeks.”

„I don’t see a problem.”

He takes a step closer.

„Well, I do. It’s just not right…”

„What if he doesn’t find out?” He tries. So persistent it makes you huff.

„You can’t assume…”

„Okay, then let’s do it the other way.” He cuts you off. „If you change your mind… Please come to the gym on Sunday morning. It’s empty before seven and the owner lets me do my additional training then. We’d be alone.”

You hesitate. It’s nice how he tries, but you still have understandable doubts.

„I’m not promising anything. Goodnight, Joel.” You answer softly and with a final glance you enter your home, leaving him alone with hope slowly blooming in his heart.

„Yeah!” He pumps his fist in triumph.

Since that day Joel had a hard time focusing on anything except for you. His thoughts are constantly drifting to the way you laughed. It sounded so bright and sweet. The best thing he ever heard.

He’s mad, because he told himself to stay away. His coach always repeats that women are a bad distraction. And he really wants to win with David. He needs to. Why on Earth he has to be so attracted to the sister of his rival? He tries to force himself to keep his mind in line, focus on boxing and winning.

But how is he supposed to do it after that night? After that walk?

Your gently sun-kissed skin flashes in his head as well as those shorts you wore. It should be illegal to look so pretty. He is a gentleman so he won’t mention the way those shorts hugged your ass, or how he imagined running his hand down your thigh.

All those thoughts, doubts and dreams he tries to sweat away hitting the punching bag at the gym.

It’s a Sunday morning.

You’re not here yet and with every punch his hope drops.

Maybe you don’t want to have anything to do with him? It would be reasonable, something he couldn’t force himself to. Maybe that night you were just humming with emotions after that encounter in the locker room and that’s why you let him walk you home? There are so many questions swirling that his hits turn more and more aggressive. He grunts, clenching his jaw. Just forget about her. Just forget…

That’s when the door creak.

He stops abruptly, turning towards the source of the noise.

His face instantly softens when he sees you.

You’ve got a leather jacket and jeans, your boots click against the concrete floor as you tentatively make your way closer.

„Am I interrupting?” You ask, trying to not be obvious with how your eyes wander around his already sweaty body. This time he wears a t-shirt, but his strong arms are still on display. Very much to your pleasure.

„No… Not at all.” He exhales, still quite surprised. „You’re here.”

„Yeah. Thought you’d use company.”

You set your bag on the floor by the ring and climb up there. Joel watches as you sit with your upper half behind the ropes and your legs dangling from the ring.

„So… How’s your training doing?” You ask, looking at him like it isn’t unbelievable that you came. Miller recovers with a cough. „Good. Was going to jump rope now.”

He walks up to the shelf and grabs an old skipping rope. You’re not saying anything, just admiring him in his field. Usually he seems more stoic. Now it’s like something is humming beneath his skin. Is it the fact that you’re here?

You’re… making him nervous?

Joel stands in the middle of the gym, facing you as he starts jumping. A smile ghosts on your lips despite yourself.

„Can I know what got you into boxing?”

He looks at you as his legs keep smoothly moving with the rope. It’s like a dance. It’s admirable how a grown, beefy man can also move so lightly like he weighed nothing. This speed and flow are what create a good boxer. Muscles aren’t everything.

„Ugh… I guess it’s the only thing I’m good at.”

„Come on, that’s not an answer.” You tilt your head teasing. Your arms rest against the ring ropes as you wait for something more detailed. Joel’s jaw seems to clench for just a second. But he manages to relax, also stopping his movements, letting go of the skipping rope.

„I mean it.” He says. „I have a younger brother, Tommy. You probably know him. When we were kids, he used to get in a lot of trouble. I was the one getting him out of them. Usually with fists.” As his low voice carries through an empty gym, your smile seems to melt into something more serious. He is opening up to you.

And it must be hard for him, because since he started talking, he hadn’t looked at you. He just walks around, stretching.

„Our childhood wasn’t… it wasn’t exactly good. Not only I had to protect Tommy from school bullies… I had to protect him at home, too. Our dad… And just, sometimes I just feel like fists are the only way I know how to deal with the world. My high school coach took me boxing, because I was called to the principal’s office far too many times. He showed me I can hit without hurting. Since then box became my… I don’t know… Safe space? It’s stupid.” He ends his monologue with that self-deprecating chuckle that breaks your heart.

Without a word you jump off the ring and step closer to him. Joel still avoids your gaze, so you bring your hand to his cheek. It’s the first time you ever touched him like that. So softly like he could shatter. He doesn’t want you to think he’s weak.

But the moment your eyes meet?

His fear disappears.

Because there is no judgement in the way you look at him. There’s just calmness. Comfort. You’re not trying to say anything. Not that you’re sorry, not that it’s awful. You come from similar upbringing. Your parents also weren’t great, you actually barely remember them. So all you feel now is a deep connection that flows with understanding.

„It’s not stupid.” You whisper. „It was honest. I’m surprised you actually told me.”

„Trust me, I’m more surprised than you are.” He chuckles, making your lips curl in a smile. You both didn’t even notice that your bodies drifted closer to each other. It hits when your nostrils fill with his scent. Musk and sweat. It somehow doesn’t repulse you. Instead, you lean in even closer, like you were hypnotized. Joel is much taller than you, so you have to crane your neck to keep looking into his beautiful eyes.

He swallows, suddenly aware of how close you guys are. The tension is unbearable, but he tries to be logical. He shouldn’t… He really shouldn’t.

But it’s like his hand moves on its own when he rests it on your waist. He catches the hitch of your breath and how a shiver runs through your body.

„Joel, what are we doing?”

„I’m pretty sure I’m about to kiss you.” He whispers lowly, the corner of his lips lifting despite the heavy with desire air.

„We shouldn’t…”

„I know.”

That’s when he pulls you closer, crashing his lips against yours. The moan that escapes you is ringing in his ears. God, he wants to hear it again. But more he craves your touch, especially when your hand slides up his sweaty t-shirt, feeling his muscles beneath it. Your touch is so curious. So fresh, like he was kissing a girl for the first time in his life.

His large hand holds the back of your head, pressing closer. His tongue making its way inside and another moan leaves your mouth. You never had a kiss like this. Joel backs you until your legs hit the ring, he sits you on the edge, ropes pressing against your back. It’s an impulse when you decide to pull at the hem of his t-shirt. He understands immediately, helps you pull it over his head. That’s when his bare, glistening chest is on full display for you. You bite on your lip, but he kisses you again. Hungrily and at the same time he desperately wants to savor the moment. It wasn’t supposed to ever happen, but here you are making out in the empty gym.

„Joel…” You breathe as he slides your jacket off of your shoulders.

„You’re so beautiful, you know?” He rasps and pulls you closer by the hips.

It’s an instinct when you wrap your legs around him. The need to have him as close as possible is overtaking you entirely. Your nails scrape his back, making him groan into your lips. That delicious sound is your undoing. The desire you feel is like nothing else you ever experienced. It’s all of him. The sharp scent of his sweat, his sticky skin… His stubble grazing your face as you make out. It’s all so animalistic, so primal and you’re shocked that it doesn’t scare you.

In fact, you only crave more.

And when his lips find your neck? When he nips at your skin there… You feel like you could fly away on the wings born of his passion.

Joel is addicted to the feeling of you in his arms. You fit so perfectly against him and yet it should be so wrong, right? No matter what… he’s not letting go. He can manage training and having his mind full of you, because after the first moment your lips met, he knew you’re the best thing that ever happened to him.

And then your kisses wander to his neck, and lower to his chest. You lick the salty layer off of his skin, making his breathing uneven. Your eyes though… they don’t match the filthy things you do… You look at him with such adoration and trust… He should be afraid.

„Baby, why did you come here?” He rasps, resting his forehead against yours. His hands cradling your face like you’re the most precious thing int he world.

„Because I never felt the way I do with you…” You breathe. „And screw it. Screw it, if it’s wrong. I don’t care.”

„You drive me fucking crazy.”

He pulls you in for another kiss. This one is slower, setting all the emotions in the right place. You open your mouth, letting his tongue find yours. You let him guide you through the movements, because you never actually kissed like that.

It’s a second kiss in your life.

But you don’t say it. You don’t say anything, scared he’ll pull away. You hope nothing betrays the butterflies that flutter in your stomach. Finally you felt safe enough to let someone get so close.

So this is what all the girls talk about? This is this good feeling that everyone longs for?

Hell yeah.

From now on, you’re gonna long for it every damn day. Long for Joel and his lips. His rough, yet gentle touch. His heart.

You hope he feels the same.

His hand slips beneath the material of your top, but that’s when the floor cracks somewhere in the hallway. Someone’s here. You gasp quietly, pulling away from him. Joel is surprised by your startled reaction, but he steps back.

„I have to go.” You say. „No one should see us together.” Slipping your jacket back on, you pause to look at him. He seems completely wrecked in the best way. You dare to think this kiss meant a lot to him, too. And that little smirk making his eyes crinkle sweetly…

„Wait… When can I see you?” He watches you grab your bag, already slipping away from him.

„Ugh, I don’t know. I finish my shift around eleven tonight.”

In rush you head to the back exit, afraid that someone might walk in any second. You pass Joel, fingers gently grazing his stomach as you do so. All he sees is a soft smile on your face and then you disappear behind the door.

He can’t even recover after your electrifying touch, because some boxer walks in.

„Miller? You so early here?”

„Y… Yeah.” He chokes out too distracted.

Joel came to pick you up that night.

And then when you had the next shift, he also came.

It became quite a routine. At least for now, when the fight with David is approaching. You understand Joel needs to focus and also you don’t want to be seen with him. Your brother would go furious…

You want to wait until the fight.

Then… Let the fate decide.

Right now? You’re preparing to close up the cinema, sweeping the floor, you hum to yourself. Joel sits at the stool by the ticket counter. His eyes wander around the pages of the open notebooks that lay there. You always study whenever you have time. A night shift is perfect for that.

„You actually have to learn all of that?” His eyes widen with every word he reads. A chuckle escapes you.

„Yeah. It’s not as hard as it seems. Truly.”

You steal a glance at him and smile to yourself. He always comes here when you’re about to close, because he wants to walk you home. He never complains about the late hour, despite all his muscles being probably sore from the training. He could be anywhere now and chooses you.

„What the hell is a Cognitive Load Theory?” He frowns looking at the page. It’s sweet.

„Ugh… Good question, I should know it by know.” You huff, hating how little time you have to study between attending collage, work and supporting David. You stop, biting your lip as you try to remember. „It’s… It says that our working memory has a limited capacity and a lot of it is consumed by just our tools we learn from. A mind needs a clear instruction to learn the most, because the brain uses energy to comprehend both the tool and the knowledge. So the learning materials should not be complicated to save the mental effort for the actual information.”

Joel can’t stop admiring you as you basically recite him the theory. He really enjoys listening to you when you study. He never met someone so smart. Most people that surround him don’t go to collage. He didn’t go to collage either. And seeing you, having all this passion for the topics that interest you… It does something to him. He loves seeing you in your field.

„Can’t believe you remembered that. You’re so smart, baby.” He says, making your cheeks flush just a bit.

„Oh, come on… It’s nothing.”

„It is something. I would never be able to recite a damn theory, or go to collage. I’m not clever like you.” Joel really means it. Maybe it is a little self-deprecating, but mostly his words hold the deep admiration for you. He’s glad you can chase your dreams.

„Hey, don’t say that.” You rest the broom against the cabinet and walk up to him. „You are clever. Maybe not in the exact way I am, but don’t ever call yourself any less than you are.”

He huffs quietly as the corner of his lips lifts a little. The way you took his words so seriously, when he said them without a second thought is… Is adorable. You’re so caring that he wants to wrap himself around you and never let go.

„Darling, let’s face it. All I know is how to knock out somebody on the ring.”

„See? I don’t know how to do it.”

He chuckles, resting his hands on your hips. Joel still can’t get used to the fact he can touch you. Talk to you. Or kiss you.

God, how he loves kissing you.

Focus, Miller.

„I’m sure you do.”

You look at him for a while. The weight he always carries is often visible in his eyes. Just like now. You would never thought before that a simple boxer can be so complex and emotionally diversed. Joel can be everything — a silence before the storm, a safe sanctuary, a passionate lover.

Not that you know about the lover. You don’t.

But it’s felt in the way he kisses you. Like he’s pouring everything into it.

„Well… I like you just the way you are.” You whisper.

Miller’s expression softens. When will you realize you’re too good for him?

„And I like you. A lot, darling.” He pulls a strand of your hair behind your ear, so tenderly it melts your heart. This invisible attraction makes you step even closer between his legs. Your breaths mix and your heart hammers in your chest. Joel notices the way your ears redden. He already knows it’s always like that when you’re nervous. He never comments on that, though.

When he leans in, about to kiss you, you hear the credits song play from the screening room. That was the last movie for tonight and that means soon people will walk out. You step back from Joel and he curses internally.

It’s a small cinema in your neighborhood, so at least there aren’t many people. But that’s a bigger possibility it might be someone you know. And that… You don’t want any gossip.

So you go back to work, close the register and wipe the counter. Joel doesn’t say anything, just closes your notebooks and puts them in your bag to help.

Soon, two couples leave the screening room. Fortunately, because cleaning after a full theatre isn’t your dream.

When everything is set for you to leave, Joel grabs your bag and opens door for you. After you turn the lock, you’re ready to go home. It’s much nicer when you have someone to walk with you. Streets this late are pretty creepy. But you absolutely could walk alone. You’re not some girl to be saved. It’s just… Nice.

„Do you feel ready? The big night is this Friday.” You smile up at him.

„Yeah, I believe I am. Coach says I’ve never been in a better shape.”

Joel’s arm wraps around you, resting on your shoulder. He likes having you close like this. And you… You feel good when he makes it obvious.

„Can I ask you something?” You look at him.

„Sure.”

„Why did you start professional boxing just now?”

His eyes drift to yours quietly. You always ask the questions that strike something deep inside of him. Since you started seeing each other he finds himself more willing to actually speak… No one ever paid such attention to him, so it feels uncomfortable sometimes. But he’s willing to open up to you.

You make it easy.

„Well… As soon as I became an adult, I took Tommy and we ran away from home. Dad was a bastard and I wanted better for my brother. Since mom died it was only getting worse, so I made a decision. Didn’t go to collage. I wouldn’t get in anyway… I went straight to work.” He explains pulling you closer as you walk. „I dreamed about boxing, but trainings would take too much time. I had to put food on the table. Take care of Tommy. And I did.”

A pause. He collects his thoughts and you listen. You always listen.

„And now… Tommy joined the army. They sent him to Afghanistan. And I’m here… It just felt right to think about box seriously. I wanted to do something for myself. Check if I’m worth it.”

You nod, thinking about how young Joel had to become a provider. How he put away his dream only for his brother to have a better life. It’s a thing you admire about him. He never puts himself first. And the fact that he’s taking part in tournaments? That he fights for what he always wanted? You feel pride blooming in your chest.

You sneak your hand around his waist with a smile. Joel watches you and how beautiful you are even after a long shift and studying.

„And you…? Who are you rooting for on Friday?” He asks.

„Seriously?”

„Yeah… Come on, baby, tell me.” That smirk on his face will end you one day. And his question… is really hard to answer.

Because a loyal sister would immediately say David.

But the girl that slowly falls for his biggest rival screams Joel.

You feel awful that a guy you’re talking with for not even two weeks became more important to you than David. It shouldn’t be this way. Family is everything. After your parents’ death, David is all you have. You shouldn’t be even hesitating between him and Joel Miller.

And yet…

„Can’t I just be neutral?” You smile hopefully. You take a familiar turn onto your street. Like a habit already, you and Joel pull away from each other, now just walking side by side. You wish you could still be wrapped in his arms. You wish you could invite him in without David making a scene.

„Sure… I know it’s hard for you. Sorry.” He clicks his tongue sheepish. Deep inside he hoped you’ll say it’s him. But he is aware he can’t demand such thing. He gets it.

„Don’t be. We are just in a shit situation.”

With every step you get closer and closer to your home.

„And what happens after the fight? No matter if I win, or lose? We’d still just see each other in the cinema, or the gym? Still like a dirty secret?” Joel asks a bit rougher than he intended. You stop in the middle of an empty street. That was not what you expected to hear… And suddenly you are very aware how it might look from his perspective.

It looks the same from yours.

And you hate it.

You’re not even a couple yet.

„Joel…” You reach for his hand and he steals a glance. He can’t resist the warmth of your touch. „I care about you.”

These words. The way you say them…

He’s not angry at you, he could never be. But Joel just doesn’t understand why on Earth you’re so worried about David finding out.

„I care about you too. And I thought I made myself clear, but… I want you to be my girlfriend. I want to be your man, care about you the way you deserve. I don’t get it why your brother is such an obstacle? He’ll get mad and then he’ll come around. My feelings won’t disappear, though.”

„It’s… Joel, he’s my only family. He’s an ass, but… I’m all he has.”

„You’re all I have, too.”

His voice laced with emotion he didn’t know he’s capable of. And when he sees the way you freeze…

„Shit. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it… You don’t owe me anything.”

You’re looking at him, at the man who feels sorry for expressing his feelings, because he believes they make you uncomfortable. And the only reason it’s true is that you actually know who your heart longs for, and you feel like you have to punish yourself for it.

„Joel, please.” You grasp his arm. „Look at me.”

Clenching his jaw he lets his eyes focus on you. On how desperate you look. The fear that he might leave you fills every part of your body. These days with him you were a better version of yourself. You smiled, laughed and let yourself feel something more than obligation and stress.

„I don’t wanna lose you… You make me so happy. And whatever this is between us? I don’t want it to end.” You say.

„Me neither.” A quiet sigh leaves his mouth. It sounds on the empty street, carrying the truth. You both feel it. The care about each other came way too easily for you.

But it was always there.

In the stolen glances. Shared looks.

„Focus on the fight, babe… And after? We’ll figure it out. But I’m not leaving you.”

He searches your eyes for any hint of hesitation, but finds none. You mean it. So Joel believes you.

„Okay.” He whispers and you take a tentative step closer. His arms sneak around your waist to wrap you in a hug. It feels so good being enveloped by him and his scent. Joel really fast became a very special person in your life. You’re not sure how you’re gonna solve your problem, but you really don’t want to let him go.

„On the ring, when you glance towards David’s corner… You’ll find me rooting for you.” You whisper against his chest and his heart skips a beat.

Rooting for you.

Joel squeezes you tighter, because you’re the only person he wants to see there. He’s been lonely after Tommy left and your presence really brought some light into his life again. He has another reason to fight for.

The Friday comes.

That means, on the evening, the fight between David and Joel takes place in a local hall. It’s not a big event, but people from around really like this type of entertainment.

You spend the day in classes and later join your brother to support him.

He’s riled up, hungry for victory over his biggest rival. You just stand quietly aside, but are honestly worried. Not about Joel. You know he’s in a great shape. But it’s just this silent care… An unexplained anxiety about this evening, because many things can go sideways.

When you’re already in the arena with David and his crew, the need to see Joel becomes unbearable. But people start to fill the hall… And he’s in the other changing room now with his coach…

You grab your phone and search for the right contact, hoping maybe Joel will pick up. You step aside, preventing from anyone overhearing the conversation. After few signals a voice sounds.

„Darling?”

„Yeah… Wanted to hear you before the fight. How are you feeling?”

„Ready.” He instantly sounds more positive. „And now that you called it’s even better.”

„I’m glad. You’ll see me soon. I’ll be there looking at you.”

„That’s really encouraging, baby. Gonna feel bad when I smash your brother.”

That gets a quiet giggle out of you. David’s coach glances at you, but looks away too focused on prepping him.

„Please, don’t hurt him bad. And remember he has a shitty left hook.” When Joel practically hears you smile something loosens in him right away. He can’t wait to see you, even if you’ll be in David’s corner.

„I will. Listen, I have to go. See you soon.”

„Sure.”

The call ends and for a moment you just press your phone to your heart. Some anxiety eased in you. The situation you’re in is still difficult, but at least you know Joel is looking forward to seeing you. At least he knows you do, too.

„Who the hell was that? Get over here and stop gossiping with your friends.” David says and you go back to reality.

„Sorry, brother. What do you need?” You respond casually.

„I need my sister to support me, goddamnit. Be useful.”

„I’m right here. What more do you want?”

„I don’t know, maybe stop being so bitchy. What got into you lately?” He growls.

Your jaw clenches. Of course when you start to set some boundaries, David immediately calls it being unsupportive and bitchy. Since you can talk so openly to Joel, you lost some of your restraint with others as well. And they don’t like it. Especially your brother.

You just sigh and sit on a plastic chair that’s there. It’s going to be a long night.

The arena is filled with cheering people. The tickets are sold out, because two biggest local favorites are fighting tonight. Your brother and a man who is on your mind all the time.

You are sitting right by David’s ring corner. You just walked in to some Eminem’s song playing and everyone went ecstatic. David jumping around the ring, warming up before Joel enters as well. You are on tenterhooks, waiting for the other boxer.

It’s so loud when Joel and his crew make their way to the ring. It’s a small event, but with a committed crowd. You clap as well and a ghost of a smile appears on your face. He looks good. Stoic and ready for what’s to come. His face doesn’t give anything away. Just calmness before the storm.

He climbs up on the ring in his red boxing trunks and gloves. He also moves to warm up and when the opponents look at each other, it’s clear it’s going to be a fierce fight.

As Joel shadowboxes his eyes wander around the crowd. You instantly straighten up in your seat, hoping he’ll notice you. And like on cue… he does. For just a moment the stoic facade disappears, replaced with softness. You look beautiful with your hair in a braid and that pink tank top he likes so much. For you, he’ll take any punch of tonight, just so you could look at him like right now.

The referee grabs the mic and introduces everyone again. The atmosphere is humming with excitement. The ring is full of tension.

When the boxers touch gloves, the opening bell sounds.

They circle each other carefully at first. David is more fidgety, while Joel assesses his opponent. They have ten rounds and need to win over a knockout, or points. Joel counts on a knockout.

The first jab is thrown by your brother. You relax, seeing Joel slipped it. And smile when he lands a right hand.

That pisses David off. He came in here so sure of the victory and he’s gonna do everything to win. But Joel does, too. The men move around the ring, your brother throws more punches, clearly impatient. Joel on the other hand tires to keep distance, provoking him further.

The first round ends without any big injuries and dangerous situations.

The real game begins later.

David chases after Joel, whose light footwork carries him around the ring. He’s such a tease there, just like he is in the real life. They throw jams and hooks, fighting for dominance. The atmosphere gets heavy when Joel is on the ropes, clearly in trouble. He has his guard up, but gets hit on the ribs by David. You cover your mouth scared.

„Get off the ropes, Miller!” His coach yells.

And just like that Joel pushes your brother enough to get away. He attacks immediately leaving series of jams and finishing with a left hook. He’s got angry.

David tries to fight back, but Miller corners him.

And just when another hit lands, the bell rings again.

They get separated by the referee and sit in their corners.

„This motherfucker ain’t surviving the next round.” You hear David as he spits the water. His team cleans the bruise he’s got on his cheek. „Gonna destroy him.”

As the words land, you look across to see Joel. His chest is heaving, covered with sweat, but his eyes are full of determination. He must sense you’re looking at him, because for just a second his gaze settles on you. You don’t know it, but you’re really helping him. Just a look on your face is enough to bring back his strength.

The fifth round begins.

David is mad, which makes him more clumsy. In comparison to Joel, he’s just a kid who has a lot to learn yet. But that doesn’t make him any less dangerous. He throws a right hand that sends Joel to the canvas.

„Oh my God.” You breathe standing up. The crowd goes crazy. Joel lays for two seconds as the referee keeps David aside. He counts, but Miller stands back on his feet. You’re relieved to see he’s okay, despite the cut on his brow. He’s fine.

This round ends without fireworks, but the opponents get clearly tired and frustrated. Joel knows he has to make rougher moves and win this. David is angry he didn’t knock him down yet.

You? You can barely sit in place, you wish you could talk to Joel. You wish you could kiss his bruise and hug him. It tells you a lot about your situation outside the ring.

You want to be in his corner.

And you’ll tell him this after the fight ends.

The crowd cheers as the sixth round starts. Joel is not playing anymore. His moves are calculated and he is not waiting. He goes hit after hit, even if David keeps up with him.

„Come on.” You whisper to yourself, biting your lip in nerves.

The series of serious punches lands, David barely stands on his feet. He uses the clinch to slow Joel down, but the referee steps in to break it.

Separate, Joel dances around the ring. That’s how you call it, because he really seems to be in his element now. He sees David is nearly done. He sees he’s swaying and it’s a sign for him to attack again.

Your brother attempts a jam, but misses. Joel uses the occasion perfectly.

One second you’re watching a simple punches exchange, the other Miller lands a brutal right hook right to the jaw.

You gasp.

David is knocked down.

Everyone in the arena holds their breaths. You clench your hands together waiting. Joel catches your gaze as he stands aside, waiting for the referee to start the count.

„One… Two… Three…” David attempts to stand up, but slips. The hit was really strong, it’s no wonder it’s hard to recover from. „Seven… Eight…”

You stopped breathing on five. It’s like every cell in your body is humming with anticipation. Your heart slow down and the hope raises slowly.

„Nine… Ten… Knockout!” The referee raises his hands, ending the fight.

The spectators cheer loudly, clapping, whistling. You jump up with a laugh, not caring that your brother’s crew might notice. They’re too busy collecting him from the canvas. You watch Joel’s shoulders slump in relief. Grinning like an idiot, satisfied with his work. He did it. He really did it.

He won.

Not thinking much, you try to get closer, but others already are there. The commotion makes it impossible to see him. People cheer and push through excited. You lose sight of Joel.

„Joel Miller wins by knockout in the sixth round!” The voice sounds in the arena.

Then you see your brother as they guide him off the ring. His face is already swollen a bit. Of course, you feel bad for him, but also are perfectly aware Joel was just better. You realize right now you won’t make it to him, so you follow your brother’s crew to the changing room.

There, the atmosphere is tense.

David is completely stunned by the turn-out of the fight.

„Fuck!” He yells, punching the locker. His coach sits him to have a better look on his face. You stand aside, observing.

„Calm down, David. Told you to avoid his right hand.”

„You gonna lecture me?! I want a fucking rematch with this bastard!”

The mere thought of your brother trying to beat Joel again makes you chuckle involuntarily.

It’s your mistake, because the second the sound escapes you, his eyes shift to you.

„The fuck you’re laughing at, bitch?”

You tense up, but don’t back down.

„Nothing. You’re just not thinking clearly now. Focus on getting better.”

„You’re not gonna tell me what to do! This son of a bitch is gonna pay for this. And you? You better shut up. You have no say about it, you know shit. Just stay quiet in your corner as always.”

„Okay, kid, that’s enough.” His coach tries to calm him, but you see clearer than ever. It’s not how he’d react if he had won. It’s how he acts when he loses. Just like now. You never did nothing wrong, you were there, supporting him, even if you were secretly seeing Joel.

It has nothing to do with human decency. And you’re so fed up with David’s behavior.

„No, he’s right. I’m going.” You say, grabbing your purse.

„What?”

„You heard me. I have someone important I need to see.”

And without waiting, you leave his locker room and head to Joel’s. Most people already went home after the fight, so it’s easier to get there. You don’t have any certain plan. You just know you want to be at his side now. And it’s not, because he won. But because you know that if he lost, he’d never act like your brother.

You open the door and find him there with his team. They all look up confused except for Joel.

He smiles.

„Guys, could you leave us for a second?”

They do, stealing glances at you. They all know who you are and wonder what the hell is going on. But no word is said.

And when the door close? A big grin grows on your face.

Stepping closer, you see the relief in his eyes. „You won!” You say excited and when you’re close enough to where he sits, he brings his hands to your hips.

„I did. All because of you.”

„Come on, it was all your doing. You did great.” Your hands run through his wet hair. „I’m so proud.”

„Yeah? Not mad about your brother?” He smirks.

„No. He deserved it. I don’t care anymore what he feels… I’m here now.”

That makes him pause. Despite being beaten, sore and tired… This is all he waited for. He waited for those words. It feels better than winning this fight. The knowledge you’re here and not going anywhere… Without any warning he cups your face and pulls you in for a kiss. You need to bend a bit, but instantly melt into the feeling of his lips against yours. Not caring about the sweat, or anything you hold onto his shoulders, deepening the kiss.

Both of you are smiling.

And when he leans back, resting his forehead against yours… sure that you’re right where you want to be… He asks a question that’s been on his mind for a while. „Does that mean I can finally ask you out on a date?”

You chuckle, feeling like the happiest girl in the world.

„Yes. Of course, you can.”

A/N: Thanks for reading. Let me know how you liked it😝

[peepawmiller]

Summary: Joel takes you on a date. And then he takes you home.

Pairing: Contractor!Joel Miller x Married!Reader

Warnings: Porn with some Plot?, unprotected piv (please for the love of god wrap it up), cunnilingus, fingering, dirty talk, Joel works for reader, adultery, but reader's husband cheated first so it doesn't count and i stand by that, divorce, Joel has a big dick, light choking, dom!Joel if you squint, reader is down bad for Joel, shitty marriage, 18+ only, reader is afab,

WC: 6k

A/N: Looks like I'm turning this into a mini series thanks to popular demand (by me, I kept thinking about this). thanks for reading pals :)

Part 1 | Ao3 | Masterlist

The chime of the doorbell makes your heart jump in your chest, the staccato rhythm picking up as you approach the front door.

After Joel had fucked you next to your pool, he gave you a kiss, left you there to sunbathe, and returned to the meticulous task of assembling your kitchen cabinets. You spent the entire time exchanging heated glances with him where you lay, still naked and reeling from being fucked so thoroughly.

This time, he made no attempt to hide his perusal of your body and it heated your skin more completely than the sun ever could.

By the time the sun began to dip behind the towering trees lining your property, he’d finished the cabinets and covered them with a canvas tarp to protect them overnight. You watched as he wiped his forehead with the end of this t-shirt, giving you a peak of his tummy. You licked your lips — something he quickly noticed even from across the yard.

Sauntering back over to you, he sat on the edge of the lounger and ran a hand from your hip, up your tummy and between your breasts before landing at your neck. His thumb circled your pulse point as he leaned over to kiss you.

“M’ gonna go home now, darlin’. Shower. Put something decent on. And then I’m comin’ right back. That sound good?” His voice was like gravel, deep and rough and it made your entire body tingle. It did sound good, but you wanted him to fuck you again.

All you could do was nod as he kissed you again and then helped you up. You wrapped yourself in your towel and took his hand as he guided you through the house. Your stomach fluttered as he brought those soft lips down to you again and kissed you goodbye.

It took you a long time to process everything that happened, and when you finally did, you couldn’t stop smiling. The thrill of dinner with Joel carried you on a cloud of anticipation as you showered, primped, prepped, and dressed in a baby blue sundress that reached the tops of your thighs, thin straps, and a sweetheart neckline. 

You even had time to paint your nails — a matching blue with small white polka dots. 

Now, you bite down on your lower lip to stifle your smile as you open the door to find Joel on your front porch, a bouquet of pink, orange, and white wild flowers clasped in his large hand.

The corner of his lips tick up as you take each other in, his eyes roaming you hungrily, nostrils flaring at the sight of you. He doesn’t say anything yet, and you’re equally as speechless.

He’s swapped his dirty boots for a pair of worn but carefully maintained ones, his jeans black and faded instead of the ones he normally wears that are always covered in dust, paint, and plaster. His green button down brings out the hints of gold shimmering in his eyes, the top few buttons open and providing you a glimpse of his hard chest. 

You don’t even want to go to dinner at this point, and it takes every ounce of self restraint you have to keep yourself from pouncing on him.

“You look gorgeous, darlin’” he rasps, voice quiet and low. It sends ripples of heat straight to your core. He steps forward to hand you the flowers, but something snaps between you and he’s wrapping you in a heated kiss before you even realize that you’re the one who leapt first.

He grunts as he presses you closer, one hand still holding the flowers while the other knots in your dress at your waist. He’s being respectful, not ripping your clothes to shreds or even touching your ass yet. But his tongue is right there, pushing past your lips and pulling a moan right from you.

Joel has the awareness to pull away before you do, breathing heavy, neck flushed with want.

“Gotta treat you to a nice meal before I fuck you again,” he reasons, setting the flowers onto the table by the door.

It’s sweet how he thinks you need that. Sweet that he knows you yearn for a little bit of romance. And even if there wasn’t the promise of him taking you home and fucking you senseless, you think you’d still love the idea of dinner with him. 

Getting to know him. Opening him up and taking a peek at his thoughts. His wants. His needs. Giving him the same. You haven’t dated in years, but the thrill of it is still the same with one exception. You know he’s good and he’ll treat you right. You’re sure of it.

He nods behind him at the open door, the beat to shit red pick up parked on the street, engine sizzling, “After you.”

You can’t resist. You stretch up to kiss his chin, nipping with your teeth and snickering when he growls low in his chest. You snatch your clutch from the hook by the door and saunter out to the truck. He opens the door for you and helps you up to settle on the comfortable seat.

It’s surprisingly clean for a guy who works construction and likely tracks all kinds of debris into his vehicle daily. 

“Cleaned it up real nice, just for you,” he says after climbing in and starting it.

Your skin heats, his thoughtfulness doing unspeakable things to you. 

The drive is quiet, but comfortable. If there’s one person who knows how to exist in easy silence, it’s Joel. You like that about him. He doesn’t feel the need to fill the space with inane chatter. Like Jeremy. Always eager to hear the sound of his own voice.

When Joel parks outside a small Italian bistro, your grin widens. It’s quaint and out of the way, tucked behind a copse of trees that doesn’t make it immediately visible from the busy street if you aren't looking for it. 

He helps you out of the truck and rests a hand at your lower back as he guides you inside. You can’t remember the last time you were treated with such care.

He tells the hostess his name and uses her momentary distraction to drop a kiss to your bare shoulder like it’s a habit he’s been waiting to fulfill. Your cheeks feel hot as you look up at him, his eyes twinkling in the dim candlelight of the restaurant. 

The hostess confirms the reservation and takes you to your table. It’s an intimate place, small tables dispersed throughout the room, white table cloths, a small vase containing a single white rose on each one, warm, flickering candles decorating the room.

There are a handful of other couples already seated, relaxed, enjoying their meals. But you pay them no attention as he helps you take your seat and finally settles in across from you. 

You can’t help but compare each and every one of his behaviors to Jeremy. You don’t want to, but you do. Jeremy would never pull your chair out. He’d never help you into the car. He’d never plan a romantic evening out. He’d never touch you the way Joel touches you.

He offers a tentative smile, tilting his head, “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, trying to fight the urge to beam at him. He may or may not be aware of just how thoroughly he’s romancing you.

He looks down at the menu, “How do you feel about wine?”

“Love it.”

“White?”

“Perfect.”

When your server flits by the table, he orders a bottle of Chardonnay that she quickly returns with to fill your glasses. The moment she steps away, you catch the amused glimmer in his eyes.

“So, you’re married. And I fucked you in your backyard.”

Very direct. Just as he was after he’d done it.

You almost choke on the wine, but are able to carefully arrange your features into a neutral, unbothered expression, “Yes.”

“He’s a piece of shit.”

It’s not a question or an assumption. He knows, heard Jeremy yelling at you the last time he was home, heard the derision in his voice, the malice. You nod.

“He cheated on you?”

Again, you nod, your eyes flashing with the briefest flicker of pain you’re unable to control. Even if your marriage had been failing long before you discovered Jeremy’s infidelity, it still hurts to know how deeply you’ve been betrayed.

“I’m sorry,” he offers, his voice soft and silken. He reaches across the table to thread your fingers together.

You want to climb into his lap and kiss him. His words are sincere, not placating, but genuinely apologetic about your husband’s indiscretions. About how it must make you feel. 

“Don’t make it right – what we did,” he says quietly, “What we’re doin’.”

You take another measured sip of wine while you formulate your response, nodding slowly, “No. It doesn’t. Does that mean you don’t want to do it again?”

“Didn’t say that. Just said it ain’t right.”

The candle flickers across his expression, briefly illuminating the way his eyes have dilated, his lips tightening, his jaw ticks. You stare across at him, admiring the shape of his tension and the intensity of his gaze.

“Don’t know if I can stop myself now,” he admits.

You suppress a laugh, “Why? You seemed perfectly in control before I got naked and told you to touch me.”

That gets a low growl out of him, half grumble, half chuckle, “Tommy was there. Couldn’t very well go around flirtin’ and touchin’ you with him around. Anyway, he told me to stay away from you.”

You suck in a sharp breath, “Why?”

“You’re a client. Wouldn’t be right.”

“I think I can decide what’s right for me and what’s not,” you answer stubbornly, annoyed at Tommy’s intervention. Would Joel have fucked you sooner had Tommy not meddled? Probably not.

“Mm, I know, darlin’,” he says with an appraising nod. He sips his wine and purses his lips, disgruntled.

“We could’ve ordered something else,” you acknowledge, realizing he probably isn’t a wine drinker.

“‘S no trouble. You like it,” he says simply, forcing another sip.

That makes your chest ache, your need for him growing. Drinking something he doesn’t like just because you like it? Another point for Joel.

“So, Tommy is a meddler.”

Joel huffs, “Yeah. Always has been.”

“He told me to stay away from you too. Said you’re a grumpy old bastard,” you tell him.

His smile drops into a scowl, “I don’t care if he’s a brand new daddy, I’m gonna wring his neck.”

“Stop! Your niece or nephew can’t be fatherless!”

“Nephew. Benji. He’ll be alright. Better off, if I’m honest,” he grumbles. You know he doesn’t believe it, which makes it funnier.

You snicker into your glass, hidling your smirk just as the server approaches to take your orders. Joel looks across to you as you recite your selection. He orders the same and hands the menus to her with a gentle thanks.

“Big fan of ravioli?” You ask, resting your chin on your fist. “Would’ve pegged you for a steak kind of guy.”

He shrugs, “Ain’t no harm in tryin’ somethin’ new.”

“Hm, like fucking a client?”

“That’d be new, yes.”

“Is that so?”

His ears turn red at your inquisition, but he quickly settles his features into a calm, severe look as he leans forward to look at you properly, “Swear on my life. This is the first I’ve ever laid a hand on a client. Promise.”

Pressing your lips together to hide your smile, you nod, satisfied with his answer. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it. Were you unique? Does he do this with all his clients? He’s single, after all, according to Tommy. 

“‘M I the first tradesman you’ve fucked?” He asks suddenly, making you blanch and laugh louder than what is appropriate in a tiny little restaurant like this. He grins, clearly very pleased with himself.

“Oh my god, yes. Jesus, Joel, don’t do that,” you gasp through your laughter.

Dinner is easy after that, relaxed and smooth with the difficult topic of your ill conceived exploits out of the way. He pours each of you another glass of wine, devours his ravioli, and smirks across at you as you run your heeled foot up his leg to tease him. 

He plays with your fingers, his smile coy and shy despite having already fucked you within an inch of sanity. You finish the bottle of wine together, the alcohol warming your skin, cheeks hot with its effects, and with the way Joel makes you blush with his heated looks and dark eyes.

The candlesticks in the room shrink into nothing and soon, you and Joel are the only people left in the restaurant. When he realizes this, he signals for the check.

He’s a gentleman when he pays for your meal and helps you out of your chair. He’s a gentleman when he guides you out to the parking lot with a tender, warm hand on your lower back, then opens the truck door for you. But as you’re about to climb inside, he yanks you back, spins you around, and kisses you.

You lean up to meet him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he clutches at your dress, tangling his fingers in it like he wants to lift the skirt and fuck you right here in the parking lot. You really wish he would. Don’t really care who sees. You’ve been aching for him since he left you lying naked and trembling by your pool.

“You’re trouble,” he mutters, your back hitting the side of the truck, “Wearin’ this skimpy little dress. Lookin’ prettier than anythin’ I’ve ever seen.”

His beard scrapes against your cheek as he plunders your lips, tongue seeking yours while his hips pin you in place. You can feel the hard outline of him through his jeans and you shudder at the thought of sucking him off as he drives you home.

Despite his fervor, he doesn’t lift you up and fuck you against his truck in the parking lot of a little Italian bistro regardless of how desperately you want it.

Eventually, he tears himself away from you and offers you a heated look before finally helping you into the truck. His hand remains firmly planted on your thigh the entire drive home, his fingers steadily creeping upward each time your hips shift.

”Patience, darlin’,” he chastises, giving you a warning look as he drives toward your home.

The moment he parks in the driveway, you don’t wait for him to open your door like the gentleman he’s been all night. You hear him chuckle as he follows you up to the front door, wiggling your ass a little just for his benefit. 

As you fumble in your purse for your keys, he stands a respectable distance behind you, hands tucked in his pockets so the urge to paw at you doesn’t hinder your hunt. You find the keys, get the door unlocked, and skip inside like the excited little minx you know you are. He chuckles again.

“Someone’s eager,” he rumbles, shutting the door behind him and finally reaching for you.

Your purse gets tossed aside as your arms come up around his neck, his lips finding yours like a homing missile. He shuffles you in the direction of the stairs until your ankles hit the bottom step. Since he’s been working on your house for the better part of three months, he’s become intimately acquainted with its layout, making it easy for him to navigate while he guides you along and turns your legs to jelly.

In a stunning display of brute strength, he lifts you up, hooking your legs around his waist so he can carry you up the stairs. You break apart with a gasp and clutch his strong shoulders to stabilize yourself.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, hands under your ass, powerful legs climbing higher. 

“Nothing,” you squeak, instantly soaked at the ease with which he carries you. What girl doesn’t want to be whisked away and fucked within an inch of her life by the rugged handyman building her house? You’re a simple girl with simple needs that he’s extremely adept at handling.

His lips curve into a smile that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He doesn’t set you down until he crosses the threshold to your bedroom, his lips on yours again, this time tender and slow like he’s trying to savor you. It weakens your knees and your fingers curl into his shirt to hang on.

“You understand what this means, don’t you?” He asks, big, strong arms curling around your waist while he backs you toward the bed.

You look up at him with wide, curious eyes, his meaning unclear.

“If I fuck you in this bed. In your house…” he lowers his head, lips brushing your ear, breath hot on your cheek, voice dripping with power, “You’re mine.”

Your entire body shudders at the possessiveness soaking his words. You were a goner the moment he laid his hands on you.

You nod, fingers curling in his shirt, “Yours.”

He lunges then, capturing your lips, sinking his tongue between them, devouring you wholly and completely. His big arms wrap around you, pressing you closer, making you whimper into him as he guides you toward the bed. Before you can fall onto its surface, his fingers find the zipper at your back and tugs.

He slips the straps off your shoulders and lets the dress fall to your ankles, leaving you bare apart from the scrap of lace covering your pussy. Joel breaks the kiss and takes a step back to admire you.

“Darlin’, you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he growls, eyes dark and hungry as they take you in. With one, thick finger, he skims a path from your belly button up to your chin, stopping briefly to play with each of your nipples before continuing on. He lifts your chin gently, assessing the way your breathing changes, lips swollen from his kisses, thighs squeezing together, “Your husband fuck you in this bed yet?”

Once Joel and Tommy had completed the renovation of your upstairs, you had opted to redecorate the space with all new furniture, art, accents, everything – mattress included. You’d only slept next to your husband once since then. And he hadn’t touched you. Not a single graze of flesh, or a tender caress. 

Shaking your head, you bite your lip, “No. He hasn’t fucked me in over a year.”

Joel’s eyes flash, something dark and dangerous in them that makes your thighs clench, “That right?”

”Too busy fucking his secretary,” you admit, leaning into his touch, his thumb tracing your plump lower lip. Your tongue darts out for a taste.

He allows it, and then grips your chin between his index finger and thumb, tilting his head, “You usin’ me to get back at him?”

You can tell by the question that he doesn’t like the idea of that. That he’s just some pawn in a battle between you and Jeremy. But it couldn’t be further from the truth. You shake your head, eyes softening.

”No, no, I promise. I want you, Joel,” you whisper, fists still clenched in his shirt as you press yourself against him, “I don’t care about getting back at him. I just want him gone.”

”You send your divorce papers yet?”

“Tomorrow. First thing, my lawyer will serve them.”

”Good girl,” he says lowly, giving you a brief kiss, “You still think fuckin’ me while you’re still married is a good idea?”

You nod, “Yes, I need it, Joel,” you whine, feeling the slick between your legs, the soaked fabric of your panties rubbing against you, “I need you.”

“You need to get fucked?” He nips at your chin, then moves down to your neck, making your legs weaken, “You need your pussy filled to the brim?”

Speechless, you nod frantically, hands flattening on his chest as he takes your waist and turns you to putty with his lips on your throat. “Please…”

”Alright, darlin’, lie back for me,” he grumbles, peeling himself away from you and helping you lie on the bed. When you position yourself in the center, he clicks his tongue and takes you by the thighs to pull your hips to the edge of the bed. Joel drops to his knees, and your stomach does a flip. “Need to taste this sweet little pussy before I fuck you.”

You’re not complaining.

His thumbs hook at the hem of your panties and he drags them down your legs slowly, your entire body lit with anticipation and a fresh wave of desire.

With his wide hands, he spreads your thighs gently, peppering kisses along your skin and inching his way methodically up to your center. The scruff of his beard tickles your skin, hips lifting in search of any sort of contact. It seems Joel isn’t in the mood for teasing today, because after parting your folds with his thumbs, he drags a slow, deliberate stripe up the center of your pussy.

He groans into you, your body overcome with sensation as he does it again. And again, and again, and again.

“Taste so fuckin’ sweet, baby,” he says, moving his hands to your hips to pull you further toward the edge of the mattress. 

He drinks you in like a man possessed, his tongue strumming your clit effortlessly and drawing out the most pathetic noises from the back of your throat. You writhe and arch, his movements slow and precise as he licks you. Your toes curl, fingers digging into his mess of curls. Fuck, he’s good.

He uses his tongue on you like he can’t get enough of the taste of you. Like he’s been desperate to make you cum on his tongue all evening. And maybe he has been. Maybe it’s all he’s thought about, because you know damn well it’s all you’ve thought about.

Before you can even register anything else, two, thick fingers press into you and you have to slap your hand over your mouth to keep from crying out.

Joel lifts his head and scowls, “What are you doing?”

You blink, hips moving to the slow, steady stroke of his fingers, “I — I —“

“Nuh uh, I wanna hear those pretty little sounds you make. You understand?” He asks, voice hard and stern like you’ve made a grave mistake.

You nod, whimpering a little when he crooks his fingers just right.

“Words, baby. Use your words,” he rasps, “Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” you insist, letting loose a sound that would make a porn star blush when he starts pumping his fingers steadily. His tongue is back on you, and in the next instant, you’re careening toward your orgasm.

Your skin is hot and your blood electric in your veins as you cum, a strangled moan puncturing the quiet of your bedroom. Joel grunts into your pussy and licks and laps at your release until you’re sure you can’t take it anymore. You’re still trembling when he pulls his fingers from you and moves up your body to give you a kiss.

Tasting yourself on his lips, you let out a faint sigh, pulling at the buttons on his shirt and pushing it off. His tongue is heaven on your pussy, but infinitely more devious when it slips between your lips. It’s dirty and slow, like he’s building you up just to shatter you again and again. Your entire body still tingles with the aftermath of your climax.

Your hips lift against him, clit scraping against denim. His cock is hard in the confines of his jeans, and all you want is for him to be inside you. 

With searching hands, you map out the contours of his muscles, built slowly over time by his craft. His tummy is soft, but underneath, you feel his muscles clench as your fingers continue their perusal. 

As much as you enjoy kissing him, you need him to fill you up, so you begin the delicate task of undoing his jeans and shoving them down his hips. They’re barely down past his ass when you arch up again, and dig your nails into his lower back to get him closer. His cock is thick and heavy against your pussy, making you both groan.

“So fuckin’ needy,” he growls, pushing his hips against you and creating a friction so overwhelming you swear it’ll make you cum if he does it again.

All you can do is nod, because you are. You need him so bad, you think you’ll die if you don’t get him inside you soon.

He grinds against you again, the underside of his cock stimulating your overworked clit. You squeal, arching into him, both somehow seeking more and less at the same time. Joel takes your hip in his large hand, thumb pressing into you to still your movements.

“Ask nicely, darlin’.”

It takes a few seconds for your brain to catch up with his words. You sound needy when you say it. Desperate and fucked out. “Please, fuck me, Joel. Please, I need it so bad.”

The sentence hasn’t even fully left your lips before he pushes into you with a low growl. Once he’s seated with the coarse hairs at his base nestled against you, he flexes his hips, pushing just a bit deeper until there’s nowhere else to go. You’re so full of him, aching as he settles against you, his girth splitting you wide open. 

Your nails rake down his back, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“This pussy’s so fuckin’ tight, honey,” he hisses into your ear, withdrawing an inch and pushing back in. “Fuck.”

Under your hands, his muscles tremble with either the effort of holding himself over you, or with the restraint of not fucking into you like you want him to. Either way, you’re flattered and tilt your hips to take him deeper. 

“Don’t fuckin’ do that,” he warns, pushing his hips against you and making you gasp at the intrusion. Your walls flutter around him, practically screaming at him to move, pussy leaking with your arousal, “Ain’t bein’ polite.”

“S-sorry,” you whimper, nails digging into his lower back, “I need –”

“What do you need?”

“Need you to move, Joel, please fuck me,” you beg, sounding so pathetic to your own ears, you almost cringe. But the slow smile and jut of his hips makes you forget in an instant. 

“Yeah? Need me to wreck this pretty little pussy?” He hums, the low vibrato of his voice sending you into another simpering fit as you try to move your hips against him. “Careful.”

He gives you a hard kiss before sitting up to tower over you, knees braced on the edge of the bed as his hands roam your body. The steady shift of his cock inside you has slowly eased the ache, but you need more. He feels so big, your cunt practically drools around him.

“You’ve got such good manners, baby,” he huffs, arms hooking under your thighs to lift you higher, pushing his cock deeper. Your hands fly out to cling to the comforter, eyes hazy as he withdraws and pushes in again, so fucking slowly it’s driving you crazy. It’s the same position he took you on the lounger by the pool, the same heavy stare, the same dark look and powerful body looming over you.

When speech evades you, he simply smiles and adjusts you again before he begins a steady, rhythmic pace that’s both hard and easy all at once. His hips smack into you, before he slowly withdraws, then fucking into you again like he’s trying to make you cum on force alone. And it’s working.

Each push of his hips elicits a little gasp from you and a spark of arousal pulsing through you. Sweat gleams on his forehead with the effort of his control, so you’re not surprised when he abandons his subdued pace in favor of quicker, deeper thrusts. 

“Takin’ my cock so good,” he grunts, pulling you up higher, “You gonna cum on it like a good girl?”

You nod frantically, already on your way to your own undoing. When his thumb circles your clit and his cock hits you just right, your vision goes dark and your back arches. Your moans are obscene and loud, and you’re certain your neighbors can hear the way you scream for him. But you don’t care. The pleasure coursing through you crests while he fucks you through your orgasm, his groans faint and labored.

The moment you come down, he pulls out, making you suck in a sharp breath at the loss. He flips you onto your stomach while he lies prone on top of you and pants into your ear, “This sweet little pussy is gonna be the death of me, baby.”

In one, brutal thrust, he’s back inside you, making your back arch against him. He takes the opportunity to wrap a large hand around your neck, holding you up as he takes his own pleasure and gives you everything in return. Even after two orgasms, the size of him burns through you, fire coiling tight in your belly with each plunge.

Your walls clench around him and he growls into your ear, his breath hard. His lips find your throat and he grunts with each push, “Tryn’ to make me cum before I’m ready to be done with you, darlin’?”

You shake your head, voice broken and barely there, like he’s fucked the will right out of you, “No… no, I swear.”

His fingers squeeze around your neck, not enough to cut off your air supply, but the pressure is there, and it’s exquisite. His pace is relentless, his cock so deep, filling you so completely, all you can do is writhe and cry under him. A large hand lands on your ass as he growls into your ear, “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

You don’t even hesitate, not for a second, “You, it’s yours. It belongs to you.”

“What belongs to me?”

“My p-pussy,” you cry out, another crack of his palm against your ass. “Joel…”

“I gotcha, baby,” he breathes into your ear, his beard scraping your cheek, lips and teeth adding sensation to your skin as his cock stretches you out. His restraint snaps then, and he begins pounding into you with a force that makes your eyes roll back into your head and your entire body lock up. “That’s it, honey. I know you’re about to cum. Give it to me.”

It’s remarkable how quickly he’s become attuned to your body and its signals. He adjusts his hips, pushing deeper, harder, faster than what he should be capable of. His breath ragged in your ear, muscles tight against your back, cock dragging in and out of you. When he releases your neck, you slump to the bed, only for him to plant his hand next to you, while the other sneaks underneath you to rub your clit in time with his thrusts.

It undoes you so quickly, you scream into the sheets, hips pushing against him as you cum. Your climax washes over you so completely, you think you lose consciousness for several seconds. You’re nothing but sensation and bliss.

His deep growl reaches your ears, breaths coming in short bursts as he fucks you through it, “Fuck, feels so good. Pussy is grippin’ me nice and tight baby. I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum inside me,” you plead, words muffled by the bedding. You can feel him trembling above you, holding himself back, and then a rush of warmth as he fills you, cumming with a bone shattering groan that makes your entire body tingle. You love the way he sounds, love that you can do this to him. Wreck him just as thoroughly as he wrecks you.

His thrusts slow, then ease to a stop, and he bends over you to kiss along your shoulder and down your back until he’s withdrawing from you completely. A quiet whimper leaves you, devastated at the loss. 

After wiping up the mess you two had made, Joel settles in bed next to you, drawing you against his chest and giving you a tender kiss. It’s slow and thoughtful and lingering. There’s no intent behind it other than to claim and cherish.

“I can’t stay,” he says when he pulls away, “Gotta be up early for a job tomorrow.”

You sigh and nestle deeper, chasing his lips, “I don’t want you to go.”

“Mm, I don’t either. But my client is extremely demanding. Gotta get to the site on time to make her happy,” he mutters, tongue swiping against you. Your heart flutters, cheeks warming as he pulls away with a smile, “I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Stay a little while longer?”

He answers by pulling the sheets around the both of you, his arms cradling you against him despite the sweat you’ve both worked up. Joel kisses you again, his hand sliding up your back to rest at the base of your neck.

He’s warm and solid against you, his breathing heavy and deep, but you know he’s not asleep yet.

“Joel?”

“Mm?”

“Are you gonna tell Tommy?” You ask, not out of fear or hesitancy, but simple curiosity. If he tells his brother, what will that convey about the two of you? 

He lifts his head to peek down at you and arches an eyebrow, “Do you want me to?”

You shrug, truly unsure. You’re still married. He’s still technically working for you, and you’re not sure what this means for either of you. 

“Don’t see that it’s any of his business. But I meant what I said earlier. I don’t do shit half way, darlin’. This ain’t some game to me,” he tells you, resting on his elbow to look down at you. You look up at him with wide, glimmering eyes, “You either want this, or you don’t. But you better tell me soon so I –”

“I like you too,” you blurt, cutting him off so he doesn’t spiral. You’re growing accustomed to his directness. He doesn’t want to play mind games like some men. Doesn’t want to string you along. It’s refreshing. “I – I don’t want to tell Tommy, though. Not until you’re done… working for me.”

A sly smile creeps onto his face, “You don’t want him to know I’m fuckin’ the boss?”

“No!” Your skin heats and you bring the sheet up to hide your embarrassment, “It’ll look like I’m taking advantage of you.”

“Darlin’, if anyone’s takin’ advantage, it’s me,” he chuckles, pulling the sheet down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Saw you walkin’ around in those skimpy little outfits and couldn’t help myself.”

“I didn’t exactly give you a choice, Joel. I basically stripped naked and threw myself at you.”

“Still,” he shrugs, “Could’ve said no.”

You look up at him with a slight smile, his eyes warm and gentle, softened in the dull light of the bedroom lamp, “Glad you didn’t.”

He smiles back. “Me too.”

The next morning, you wake to an email from your lawyer telling you that the papers have been delivered to Jeremy. He was confused and pissed off, but it’s done. The weight of it shifts something in you, the relief burning at your eyes. 

Joel left sometime during the night, but you wish you could reach for him, celebrate with him, kiss him. Because of him, your life has changed drastically in the past twenty-four hours. You want to thank him.

You get the chance to do just that over the course of the next few days, kissing him when he arrives to work on your house for the day, sitting in his lap while he eats lunch, begging him to fuck you before he leaves for the evening. It’s pure bliss, and for the first time in years, you feel something dangerously close to happiness. Something Jeremy hasn’t given you in so long, you forgot what it felt like.

You should’ve known, then, that it would all come crashing down.

taglist: @vickie5446 @pedroncigarettes @isabellaboo2025 @milla-frenchy @rosebuds-and-moonlight @dani111 @wildthyng @saralovesjoelmiller @cuteanimalmama @pedrofan @madpanda75 @faceache111

[aurorawritestoescape]

LET ME TEACH YOU

boyfriend’s dad Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: your boyfriend begs you to have anal but knows jack shit about the act. Much to your surprise and pleasure, his dad steps up and teaches him. By example.

Tw: +18, mdni, smut, age gap, soft!Joel, consent king Joel, reader calls him Mr Miller bc she’s respectful and bc it’s hotttt, size kink, competency kink, pussy/ass fingering (different fingers ofc), cuckolding, ass play, rimming, anal, lots of lube, f!masturbation, creampie, praise kink.

Word count: 5,4k

A/n: I think this is the porn-iest story I’ve ever written ahah It’s very depraved but also sweet in some places. I had a blast working on it and I hope you’ll like the result♥️ Soft Joel kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 Dividers by @/saradika-graphics 💞Enjoy, my lovely freaks🍑

MASTERLIST

“Number one rule of anal sex is ‘No rush’,” Mr Miller says to his son. The older man is sitting by your side, his hands gently kneading your naked asscheeks. You hold your breath when he spreads the globes of your flesh and exposes your pussy slit and butthole. Both entrances clench.

You’ve been going out with Jack Miller for almost a year and you know his dad Joel relatively well. He’s single, works as a contractor, loves spending his free time playing the guitar, woodworking, watching old action movies and going to the bar with his brother Tommy. What you haven’t known before tonight is how good his fingers feel when he pushes them into your asshole. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

It all started with an argument. Jack was getting on your nerves, begging you to have anal.

“C’mon, baby,” he said, clinging to you like an annoying lap dog. He had just fingered you as a foreplay so you were sweaty and sleepy, lying naked on his bed. As always it had taken him too long. He had trouble finding the right rhythm and the right angle like he’d never touched your pussy before. While he was fiddling with your lady parts, a slideshow of your favorite porno scenes was playing on a loop behind your tightly closed eyes until finally you reached an underwhelming orgasm.

Probably relying on endorphins clouding your judgement, Jack began his anal pitch. He was promising you heavenly pleasure and an unforgettable experience, mostly turning himself on - a pole was proudly tenting his sweatpants.

Despite the passion in his voice, you were adamant in your decision. You’d never done it with anyone before and doubted that Jack was experienced enough to show you a wonderful world of anal.

“It’s not that simple, Jack! Jerking off to anal porn is not enough! What if you hurt me! You need to educate yourself first. You need to know… stuff.” You pulled the cover over your naked breasts and crossed your arms.

“What stuff?” Jack frowned.

“Exactly!”

You stared at the ceiling, contemplating getting dressed and going home. You were sure he wouldn’t let it go. And he didn’t.

“I’ll be careful, I promise. Just a tip first, you won’t even feel it. I’ll be super slow and then bam! I’m inside.”

BAM! No one in the history of mankind wanted to hear Bam! and their ass in the same sentence. So you shook your head and gave Jack an alternative,

“Why don’t you fuck my pussy?”

Jack palmed his clothed boner with interest but then shook his head, doubling down.

“Baby, pleaseeeeee..”

Nothing extraordinary would have happened if Jack hadn’t kept nagging and whining, pleading you to give him your butt. You kept saying ‘no’, he kept begging. It got so annoying that you decided to leave but before you sat up there was a loud knock on the bedroom door.

“Dad,” Jack grumbled and got up. He adjusted his hard cock and you pulled the bed cover higher, covering your chest.

“What’s up, dad?” Jack said, annoyed by the interruption.

“Can I …?” Mr Miller stepped into the bedroom. You swallowed loudly. It was weird to be completely naked under the sheet in front of your boyfriend’s father.

“Sorry for intrudin’, sweetheart,” he said, turning to you and then to his son. “Jack, I can’t listen to it no more! Don’t you get what she’s sayin’?”

“Dad, what the hell?” Jack’s cheeks grew red, he was shifting on his bare feet, throwing nervous glances at you. And you definitely shared his confusion.

“I wasn’t eavesdroppin’ I swear. These fuckin walls are cardboard thin. You were whinin’ like a little bitch, son. Sorry, sweetheart,” Mr Miller apologized to you again and then said the words that you’d never expected to hear from your boyfriend’s dad.

“Let me teach you anal.”

Jack was shocked and embarrassed. He was gawking at his dad with widened eyes while the older man was standing by the bed, towering over his son, feet planted firmly on the ground. He kept saying that he only wanted to help, gesturing with his big hands. To your surprise you immediately pictured those hands on your naked body.

You wondered how Mr Miller would teach you. Maybe he’d watch Jack and you, guiding you both, giving advice, or maybe he’d take matters (your ass) into his own hands. Those huge veiny hands. The thought made your core pucker and while Jack was asking his dad to leave, saying that he lost his mind, you pressed your thighs together under the cover, trying to alleviate the ache in your pussy.

“I couldn’t hear the TV, Jack! Only your pathetic attempts to put it in her ass. Sorry, baby,” Mr Miller looked at you, his hands raised palms to you.

“Don’t call her that,” Jack grumbled. He looked and sounded like a boy who didn’t want to share his toy truck.

“‘K,” his father nodded and turned at you. “Jus’ wanna help.”

He dropped his hands by his sides, his sad puppy eyes moving from his son and to you and back. Your heart swelled. Your pussy throbbed.

“Ok,” you said, surprising your boyfriend and yourself. Jack gawked at you.

“What do you mean ‘ok’?!”

“You want to have anal, yeah? But you got no clue what to do, don’t even lie, Jack! Let your dad teach us.”

That’s how you ended up in a position you couldn’t imagine being in your wildest dreams — lying naked on your front, your legs spread, your boyfriend's dad playing with your butt.

“Help ‘er relax,” Mr Miller says to his son, his voice soft and soothing, his tone casual as if he’s teaching Jack how to fix a lawn mower. Your boyfriend is seated in a gaming chair a foot away from the bed, his arms crossed, eyes narrowed. When his gaze meets yours, you quickly look away. He doesn’t seem pleased, rather mortified. Whatever. You always thought that Mr Miller was hot, in a rugged and dilf-y way.

Once you had a dream about blowing him in their kitchen, your mouth full of his fat cock, his fingers tight in your hair, no Jack and his cuck gaming chair in sight.

“Draw ‘er a nice bath, give ‘er a massage, somethin’ like that,” Joel says as his calloused palm glides up and down the back of your thigh. You’re one big goosebump, his touch is electrifying.

“No harsh movements.” He carefully pushes on your inner thigh until you bend up your leg. Your hips open and slightly rise off the bed. “She needs to be pliant, ready to take you in her most vulnerable place.”

Jack swallows hard. Your cheek is resting on the pillow, your head turned away from Mr Miller, but you are seeing him perfectly in the wardrobe mirror that stands lengthwise the bed. He’s wearing his usual flannel, sleeves rolled up, and dark blue jeans. It’s not his home clothes and you wonder if he dressed like this for you.

Mr Miller’s salt and pepper locks curl up at the nape, he needs a haircut, but you like his hair longer. You imagine running your fingers through his curls, tugging on them while he’s plowing your wet needy …

“Are you comfortable, sweetie?” Joel interrupts your dirty daydream with a question, his voice soft and raspy. It could have lulled you to sleep if not for a finger that grazes your butthole, making you flinch.

“Uh-huh.” You don’t sound too sure.

“We’ll get there,” he says with a little smile and adds, “Together.”

While you’re slowly melting into the bedsheets from his gentle tone, Mr Miller turns to Jack.

“Another important thing is lubrication. You have some?”

It looks like Jack’s using all his energy to dissociate at the moment thus he misses the question.

“Huh?”

“Lube? You have it or I need to go get mine?”

You widen your eyes, picturing Mr Miller squirt lube on some lucky lady in his master bedroom. And to think you considered him almost celibate!

Your boyfriend blinks a few times, then gets up. You hear him rummaging through a mess in his nightstand drawer, mumbling the word ‘crazy’ before he throws a little bottle on the bed and returns to his chair.

“It should be warm,” Joel says, rolling it between his wide palms.

“May I?” His reflection points at your ass in the mirror and you nod with a quiet ‘yes’. Mr Miller opens the lid with teeth and moves your left asscheek to the side for better access.

“Oh!” You gasp when a slight cold glob of lube lands on your tight ring.

“Bit more.” Joel adds another squirt and then starts spreading the liquid around your ring with a tip of his finger.

“Ahhhh,” you whimper and bite your tongue immediately. Jack’s chair creaks.

“Feels good?” When Joel asks you the question you don’t see a point in lying so you say “yeah.” Wet arousal pools in your core, it’s a matter of minutes before it slides out of your hole and reveals how insanely horny Mr Miller is making you.

“We’re just startin’ and look at her response,” Joel says with pride in his velvet voice while his finger is slowly drawing circles over your asshole. “She’s enjoyin’ it. Even if we stop now she’ll remember the act as something pleasant.”

“Maybe we should,” Jack mutters but neither Joel nor you pay it any attention. Hot flames are licking at your core, the ache in your pussy growing so fast, you roll your hips against the bed, searching for friction.

Adding gasoline to your horny fire is the sight in the mirror in front of you — Joel’s sexy hand moving rhythmically over your ass, his plush lips slightly parted, his dark eyes focused on your puckered hole.

Mr Miller lowers his voice and asks, “Growin’ needy?”

Your eyes lock in the mirror. Fuck! A hot flash burns your lower belly when his black pupils meet yours. Sparks flying, gazes drawn to each other for a few long seconds, promising pleasure and trouble. The intense eye contact does something to you, drowns you in an ocean of lust, pulls you so deep you panic and hastily flick your eyes to your boyfriend who seems very pale.

“Sweetheart,” Joel calls you as if hating to share your attention with his son. You hum but don’t look at him.

“Do you give your permission for the next step? To open you up I need to eat your ass. Is that alright?”

“No!”

“Yes!”

Both you and Jack answer but you are the one calling the shots.

“Yes!” You repeat louder and raise your brows at Jack. Your boyfriend lets out a defeated sigh and drops his head.

“Good,” Joel says and gives your butt a light pat before cupping both asscheeks and spreading them apart. Cold air laps at your holes and you shiver. Joel smiles, probably noticing goosebumps on your skin.

“We’ll start slow.” In the mirror you watch him unhinge his jaw, stick his tongue out and lower his head.

You gasp when Mr Miller slowly licks your tight butthole. “Oh my God!”

Joel chuckles and repeats the depraved action. Soon he’s licking your asshole gingerly, his fingers digging into your flesh with passion. You’re softly moaning, your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. You’ve never had your ass eaten and the sensation is incredible. You wish he’d get lower and take care of your leaking pussy but fuckkk you can come just from Mr Miller’s tongue dancing over your little butthole. So when he parts from your ass, your needy whine rings in the room.

“I’ll be right back, sweetie.”

His wet lips are curled up at the corners, pride sparkling in his blown out eyes, Joel glances back at his son and announces,

“Now we gonna start openin’ her up with a tongue.” Your breathing hitches. You don’t see Jack’s expression because you can’t tear your eyes off Mr Miller in the mirror. “Gently push the tip inside her just so” — Joel leans down and his hot tongue prods at your ring, your mouth forms an O as you moan.

Joel mutters, “Slowly go in,” then his head begins moving up and down while his tongue slides into your ass deeper with every bop. He’s salivating onto your crack, the wetness dripping down to your pussy, covering your folds with the warm spit.

You are losing your mind over how amazing it feels, meanwhile Joel alternates between licking your ring and tongue-fucking it for what seems like hours or so you wish. His lewd slurping fills the room and mixes with your soft noises. You apply all your willpower to stop yourself from moaning like a whore out of respect for your boyfriend who is now sitting with his legs crossed, probably hard but too shocked to accept it.

“How you feelin’, baby?” Joel asks, licking his spit-covered lips.

“S—so good, Mr Miller,” you stutter, staring at him in the mirror with your half lidded eyes.

“See, she’s already gapin’ a little,” Joel says, showing your asshole to Jack.

“Hm-m,” Jack hums, his brows furrowed, his suspicious gaze trained on your ecstatic face.

“Now let’s add a finger.”

You squeak like a little mouse and your holes clench. Joel notices.

“Hey, don’t be scared, babygirl. You’re open nicely now. And I’m gonna be gentle, yeah?”

“Ok,” you reply and hold your breath.

“Nuh-uh. None of that. You should be breathin’, sweetheart.” He puts his warm heavy palm on your back, between your shoulder blades and rubs it up and down, giving you a rhythm.

“In— out—in— out.”

You follow his direction and soon your muscles relax, your eyes flutter close, your jaws unclench. It seems like your body is seeping into the mattress.

“I’m puttin’ one finger in.”

His voice is so quiet you barely register his words, barely notice his finger going inside your ass, miss a slight burn of the stretch, that’s how serene you are feeling.

When you finally open your eyes you see Mr Miller’s reflection thrusting his index finger in and out of your butthole, his eyes on your ring, his lip between his teeth.

“Wow,” you mutter, in awe of the hot sight and the new sensation. All your holes clench again and again, your pussy pushing your generous slick out and you catch yourself wanting Joel to fuck you.

"Another finger? Is that alright, sweetie?" With your heart pounding in your ears, Joel's raspy voice seems both close and far. You nod and mumble a shaky 'yes' before he inserts a second digit into your lubed up asshole. You moan, Joel growls, both at the same time. Your boyfriend curses under his breath.

"Hooooooly hell," you exhale against the pillow, clenching bedsheets with your clammy palms while Joel's scissoring your tight ring open. "This … it's amazing."

Joel pulls his fingers out of you and chuckles yet it comes out strained. You know it takes everything from him not to whip his cock out and fuck you right now. Jack seems to feel it, too.

"Dad, maybe that's enough?"

"No."

"No!"

Your yell drowns out Joel's reply. Your cheeks burning, lust clouding your mind and overtaking your body, you lift your head off the bed and glare at Jack.

"Mr Miller needs to... we need to learn what to do next. Right?"

Jack crosses his arms, his lower lip sticking out.

Completely disregarding his son's suggestion to stop, Joel nods at you and asks Jack as if it's some depraved sex ed class.

"She's nice and ready now. What's next?"

Jack blinks at his dad, a mixture of frustration and confusion plastered on his face. He shrugs. "I fuck her."

"Wrong!" Joel sits up straight and gives him a disappointed look. "Son, the most important thing about anal is consent."

You drop your head back on the pillow and nod with the 'obviously' expression meanwhile Joel continues.

"Even after you did all the necessary prep, you ask her again. And if she says 'no', you stop! Got it?"

You watch Joel in the mirror, his bushy brows furrowed, two obsidian eyes piercing Jack. He's not fucking around.

"Yeah."

"Huh?"

"Yes, sir," Jack mumbles. He looks so pitiful now you get scared of your pussy turning into the Sahara so you hastily move your eyes to the mirror with Joel's reflection in it.

You watch and feel your boyfriend's dad lean down to you. His hot breath fans your naked back, sending chills down your spine, as he asks,

"Can I fuck your ass now, baby?"

Your voice is wanton and needy, you're almost drooling onto the bed, as you reply,

"Yes, Mr Miller. But..?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Can I be on my back?”

Joel kisses your shoulder and coos,

“Sure thing.”

Your body buzzing with want, you slowly and awkwardly roll over. Your exposed tits jiggle as you get comfortable and Joel takes you in— your puffy pussy, your heaving belly, your nipples hard as diamonds, desire plastered on your face.

Jack nervously clears his throat and leaves his cuck chair.

“You ain’t really doing it, right?”

You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or his dad but Joel is the one who answers,

“I’m teachin’ you two. And this is the most crucial part. You wanna go in now and ruin all the progress?”

Jack closes and opens his mouth, but when you shake your head at his attempt to intervene, your boyfriend plops back in the chair, looking gobsmacked.

“This is insane,” he murmurs and you have to agree. You’re feeling insanely good.

With a nonchalant expression on his flushed face Joel grabs a pillow.

“Raise your hips for me, baby.”

You do what he asks and he quickly places it under your butt. When your hips are raised Joel hums in approval.

“Grab your knees for me, please.”

Like an obedient student you do it immediately.

“That’s it. Good girl.”

His praise, his scent - manly and dizzying, his warm smile, his obsidian eyes set between your thighs — all of it makes your blooming pussy contract and a drop of clear slick beads at your entrance.

Joel smirks, his dark gaze darts to yours and then back to your leaky hole. He opens his mouth but words die on his lips.

Instead he takes a sharp breath and climbs on the bed, grunting. With your body trembling in anticipation you watch Mr Miller kneel by your propped up butt, unzip his jeans, his back now to his son.

Just for your hungry eyes, he pulls his cock out. Big, veiny, hard as steel fuck machine. Hnggg!

You clench your jaws, killing a moan that rises in your throat from the sight of his manhood. You see a drop of precum on the slit and your mouth waters.

“Need more lube.” Joel squirts a generous amount on his hand and then strokes his cock spreading the liquid.

You squirm on the bed, fear and excitement coursing through your veins. He wants to stick that huge thing where?!

Joel seems to read the worry on your face. With one hand around the base of his stiff shaft, he brings the other to your knee and gives it a light squeeze.

“If you want me to stop I will.”

You don’t reply, just stare up at him, fear and desire playing tug-of-war in your heart.

“See?” Joel gets his son’s attention but doesn’t look away from you. “This sweet thing is unsure but she’s bein’ brave and doesn’t stop me.”

Jack sighs with relief from behind Joel’s broad body. He probably hopes that you’ve changed your mind.

Then the older man addresses you.

“You don’t have to be brave for me or anyone else, ok?” You hum while warmth spreads in your belly, reaches your clit and makes it throb. You open your mouth but words don’t come out. Joel gives you a knowing smile and offers,

“How ‘bout I open you up again with my fingers? Two steps forward, one step back.”

Jack’s chair creaks unhappily when you breathe out, “Yes, please.”

Joel gives you a curt nod and sits on his heels, his cock still hard and waiting. His strong hand circles around the back of your thigh as he keeps it steady for you.

Jack’s view is blocked by Joel so he doesn’t see when his dad traces your pussy hole with his fingers and brings the wetness down to your ring. His eyes dart up to yours just for a second, you see lust and mischief there.

“Alright, here we go,” he mumbles to himself, easing two lubed up fingers inside you. This time you take them easily, dull pain of the stretch is present but also welcomed. You moan.

Mr Miller closely watches your face twisting with pleasure while his fingers are fucking your butt. You watch him back, suddenly swept by a feeling so strong, you forget how to breathe for a second. There's no one else in the room, in the whole world, only you and this big older man, giving you an unforgettable experience, filling the hole that’s never been filled and you don’t want it to end, hate for him to stop. Stop giving, taking, watching you melt for him.

Ahhhh! A scorching heat floods your belly and hits you like a tsunami. Your core walls clench once, twice, your head digs into the pillow underneath, your eyes close and a loud moan slips out of your mouth. You’re shaking and crying ecstatic tears, your ass squeezing Joel’s thick digits, your pussy contracting around nothing.

“D— did you just come? Jack’s cold tone brings you back to reality as if a bucket of icy water was thrown over your head. Still jerking with climax you snap your eyes open, your breathing heavy, and see Joel’s lopsided smile in front of you.

Fuck! Your cheeks and neck burn and you cover your face with your hands, embarrassed by unraveling in front of your boyfriend’s dad. With his fingers in your ass.

Joel comes to your rescue. He gently rubs your thigh with his paddle of a hand and coos,

“She’s one of a kind, Jack. The anal stimulation isn’t as pleasurable for women as it is for men. In the right hands though… you did wonderful, sweetie.”

You bite your lip, hiding a grin that’s about to bloom on your face, and grip your knees tighter.

“We can stop now if…,” Joel starts.

“No!” You cut him off and push your knees to your chest. “I want to be ready. For the real thing.”

“I’ll give you the real thing,” Joel whispers so quietly it’s barely audible but you hear. Your eyes lock as he plants his palm on the bed by your side and hovers over your lower half.

“Ready, sweetheart?”

After you say ‘yes’ Mr Miller glances back in the direction of his son.

“Jus’ the tip at first. Maybe only. Depends on how she takes it.”

He looks down at you with that soft but feral gaze of his and talks to Jack.

“Watch her face closely when you push inside.”

Joel’s hot leaky cockhead kisses your pussy hole and you gasp, your entrance winking at his manhood, inviting it to come in. Joel whispers,

“Only teasin’.” You smile and shake your head at the man. He gives you a wink and drags his tip down along the delicate skin between your pussy and asshole and then nudges your tight ring.

“If she scrunches her pretty nose, stop. Means she’s hurtin’.”

Joel presses his crown against your asshole and applies pressure. Your mouth parts when he starts pushing it into your asshole, the stretch far bigger than with his fingers. You take a few deep breaths, not stopping him, craving to be fucked.

“Yeah, breathe for me, baby. In and out. Like I taught ya.”

In! in! in! your pussy screams and throbs with the rhythm of your heartbeat, your body desperate to be ruined by your boyfriend’s dad.

Mr Miller pauses and closes his eyes, his forearm muscles tense with restraint, the veins of his hand that’s wrapped around his shaft are bulging. He speaks, trying to keep his voice steady.

“The most difficult thing now—is to control yourself — all you wanna do — is shove your dick deep inside her— to the hilt—- she feels so fuckin’ good.”

His arousal and your desire merge together and form an electric cloud around you two, the scent of sex heavy in the air. Mr Miller moves another inch deeper and you whimper.

“But you musn’t,” he grunts to his son or to himself. “You should be in control— think of her first and your pleasure second —Yeahhh?”

The last word sounds like a moan and you smile dizzily, ecstatic to see how much bliss you’re giving him. Joel pushes in some more and then looks into your eyes. “Wanna see?”

You nod eagerly and place another pillow under your head, propping it up to get a better view.

The sight before your eyes takes your breath away. Joel’s big hand wrapped around his girthy cock, the veins on his shaft thumping, glistening with lube. But the best thing is your stretched asshole, hugging Joel’s tip buried inside.

“Wow,” you breathe out. Joel smirks, his smile lopsided and boyish. He drops his head to your butt and asks,

“Wanna stop here? Done so good already.”

You crane your neck and glance at Jack, expecting him to scream ‘Yes! Stop! Now!’ but he’s hunched over in his cuck chair with a blank stare, chewing on the nail of his thumb.

You bring your gaze back up at Joel and purr,

“I want all of it.”

Joel nods and thrusts in.

Mr Miller’s fucking your ass like it’s been made solemnly for this purpose. His hands are gripping your spread thighs, leaving marks on your soft skin, his hips snapping against your asscheeks, drowning the room in the lewd Slap slap slap! Sounds.

By now you’ve lost all the composure and your loud moans are flowing freely from your lips, mixing with Joel’s animalistic growls.

“Yeahhhh.. good girl…she’s a fast learner… takin’ me like a champ.”

“Thanks, Mr Miller,” you mewl with your eyes rolling to the back of your head when you feel a second orgasm building. Hungry for it you lick your fingers, reach for your throbbing clit and start rubbing it while Joel’s steel shaft is massaging your insides.

“Lemme… want some help?” Joel asks, consent king as always.

“Yes, please.”

Not minding his son watching you two from the back, Joel brings his calloused thumb to your puffy clit and starts drawing infinities over it.

You arch your back, losing your mind over how amazing it feels. Your ass is full of Joel’s cock, but your neglected pussy hole is crying desperately. You look for your boyfriend behind Joel’s broad back. He still looks shell shocked, his widened eyes lowered, and you realize that he’s watching his dads heavy balls slap against his girlfriend’s asscheeks.

Opps.

“Mr Miller,” you whisper, staring at the older man again, “Could you..?”

You lift your hand, stick two fingers out and move them up and down, fingering an invisible pussy.

Joel flashes you a knowing smile.

“Gotcha, sweetie.” He glances back at his son and raises his voice, talking to you,

“You strugglin’, baby? Ok if I help you relax?”

You consent loudly so Jack could hear and the next second Mr Miller changes hands and his dry index and middle fingers easily enter your sopping pussy.

Yeahhhh! You whimper, so full of his fat cock and digits, it feels like you’re going to come apart at the seams.

Joel’s massaging your g-spot with two fingers, his thumb working your clit, his cock relentlessly rutting into your ass. You’ve never been fucked this good and you try to hold off your second climax, hating for the sex to end.

But Joel’s too hot, too experienced and soon you come with a wail, arching your sweaty back off the bed and clamping Joel’s hips with your thighs. Blinding ecstasy is coursing through your body, your cunt pulsing around Joel’s fingers, your asshole choking his cock so hard he stills.

“Here— we g—goooHngggg….” he roars, retreats his fingers out of your pussy and covers you with his huge frame. He pushes his face into your sweaty neck but holds his weight over your thrashing body.

“Where?” He chokes, his chest rumbling with groans, and you wrap your arms around his broad back and press your naked tits to him, mumbling into his ear,

“Inside my ass, Mr Miller. Please.”

His whole body tenses up over you and he begins squirting his hot cum deep inside your butt. The warmth of his load fills you more and more, every erratic thrust of his cock pushes the sticky spent back into you and you hold him tight, wishing to be stuffed to the brim. It doesn’t take long with how much he comes and soon his jizz covers your asscheeks and his balls, sticking them together like glue. You feel filthy and sexy, with your boyfriend’s dad busting inside you, the former having a perfect view of your asshole sucking the older man’s cum in. Too abundant it rolls down your crack and onto Jack’s bed.

Both of you are panting when Joel carefully pulls his cock out of your asshole and falls on the bed next to you, still fully clothed except for the pulled down jeans and boxers.

“Dad, put your dick away,” Jack grumbles.

“Yeah yeah.” Joel tucks his cock back in, leaving his jeans open. He sounds exhausted. You cover yourself with a sheet suddenly remembering that you’re naked next to your boyfriend’s dad.

You turn your head to him resting next to you, his forearm covering his closed eyes, his chest rising and falling quickly, his leg dangling off the edge of the bed. He’s so handsome you want to bite him. The man had a full day of work and then rocked your world. You find it incredibly hot but also feel guilty for exhausting him even more.

You watch Mr Miller for a few moments, warmth spreading in your belly and chest, until he takes a deep breath, opens his eyes and turns his head to you.

“Dad?” Jack calls impatiently, hurrying the man to leave but Joel doesn’t spare him a glance and asks you,

“How you feelin’, baby?”

He nods down at your pussy but you know he’s asking about your butt.

“I’m ok.” You squirm on the bed, trying to access your state. “A little sore but good.”

“Good,” Joel repeats with a warm smile. You’re staring at each other silently, his gaze soft and warm, grinning like two fools. You want to kiss him but stop yourself. It’s inappropriate.

Then you remember where his cock was just a few minutes ago and giggle.

“What is it?” Joel asks, his eyes dart between yours and then slide to your lips.

You shake your head, silence thick and loaded between you two.

Jack rips it apart as he clears his throat.

“Thanks, dad. Fucking hell. You can go now.”

He gets up from the chair and crosses his arms, frowning at the two of you. You wonder if he’s going to break up with you after this. Whatever.

Joel sits up with a grunt and gets out of the bed. He sways a little and you smile proudly — you did it to him.

“Thank you, Mr Miller.” You sit up, holding the sheet over your body. He zips up his jeans and winks,

“Don’t mention it, baby.”

Jack scoffs. Joel heads to the door but as he passes his son he pauses.

“Get her a wet towel. And some water,” he commands. “So .. if she took my cock, she wouldn’t even notice yours. You’re welcome.”

With that he pats his son’s shoulder and leaves.

Who needs Jack, amirite? Maybe Joel can teach them something else?🤔 Thank you for reading! Please, leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed the story💞

MASTERLIST

Story tag list: @hanahleah @iwas19 @thewitchflowcr @classybroad2 @elinaxxxxx @ivoryandflame @mysterialee @604to647 @reddrippysocks @madridisms @suburban-panic-smut @disco-fairy75 @ningaispunk @/time-for-my-weekly-spanking @littlepadika @max--phillips Milla @gutter-noise @hauntedinkk

Tag list: @/milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @keylimebeag @pascaltesaye @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name @tateypots @pedrofan @chloeee20 @ess-evo @upintheclouds95 @ashleyfilm @shadowqueen2024 @time-for-my-weekly-spanking @libre-sol @iamladyp @somebody-get-me-rehab

Joel tag @/libre-sol @roserxein

[baronessvonglitter]

Guitar Gig

dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader | 2K | read on AO3

Summary: You show up for Joel's gig when your dad can't make it.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Dbf!Joel/Divorced!Joel. Age gap (reader is in her 30s, Joel is in his 50s). Gray sweatpants are their own warning. Singer!Joel. Alcohol. Jealousy. Fake relationship if you squint. Making out. Grinding. Unprotected piv. M!oral. Creampie. Reader is in her thirties, able bodied and has breasts/vagina. Feel free to picture Game Joel or Show Joel ❤️

A/n: This has been in my wips for ages and I've been chipping away at it a little.. when I checked on it today I realized it was finished 🎆 This is just a little slutty something from when I fixated on what Joel's calluses would feel like after playing that six-string all night 😏

dividers by @/fae-and-wolf 👑

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

"Joel has a gig tonight," your dad reminds you at breakfast. "I can't go 'cause I've gotta work out of town. So I want you to be there for him."

You frown over your omelet. Your dad's best bud Joel moved in recently when his wife got their house in the divorce. It's different having another man around, especially one who has memories of you from when you were five. "He doesn't need a babysitter," you mumble.

"'M not sayin' that. I just mean you go and just clap for 'im a lil' bit. He ain't got nobody else."

"What if I have plans tonight?"

Your conversation is cut short as Joel appears, a faded Longhorns t-shirt adorning his broad frame and gray sweatpants that immediately draw your attention to the outline of his dick. He seems to only wear them when you're around.

"Mornin' Bud, mornin' Sunshine," he greets smoothly and you make a face at your nickname.

"Baby's gonna be at your show tonight," your dad announces. "They called me in for an extra shift, so I won't be able to make it."

"Oh that's too bad." Joel's eyes are on you, and he doesn't sound sorry at all. "I can give you a ride up there if you want," he offers.

Joel has been in kind of a slump lately, and you feel bad telling him no. "Sure, that sounds good to me."

"Be ready by ten. We'll leave then."

By the time you're ready to leave with Joel, you've showered, fixed your hair, added some makeup and spritzed a little perfume. In a black pleather miniskirt, cropped band tee, and your favorite pair of Docs. When Joel sees you coming down the stairs he has to clench his jaw to keep it from dropping. "Ready?" he asks, hoping his gruff tone will downplay how you're affecting him.

You take off in his truck. Downtown Austin is already packed with traffic, but Joel knows a shortcut, and he swings around to one of the back parking lots. You're let in through the back entrance and Joel starts to set up.

"Good luck out there," you tell him, giving him a smile before you go find a seat.

"Thanks. I'll need it," he says jokingly.

You order a drink at the bar and bring it back to a table up in front close to the stage. Joel's onstage, seated on a stool, his guitar upright in his lap. "Good evenin' everyone. I'm Joel, and uh, here's a couple songs. Hope y'all enjoy."

He clears his throat and strums a chord before starting his song. His voice is deep and rich, almost sensual. The song is about a lost love, a woman who wouldn't stay, and you wonder if he wrote it about his ex wife. He finishes to a semi-enthusiastic round of applause. It's early and the bar isn't that full. People aren't drunk enough to cheer so loud.

His next couple of songs are covers, some Tim McGraw and Alan Jackson. The crowd gets more excited. It eases the transition for Joel to sing another one of his own songs, keeping the crowd enchanted with his deep vocals and fun lyrics.

After finishing his set the crowd roars in appreciation. He thanks them, casting you a glance and a smile as well.

"Joel, you were incredible!" You hug him as you welcome him back to the table.

"Thanks, I'm glad you enjoyed it," he responds, looking shy, his face pink and slightly glistening with sweat from the stage lights. You can tell he's feeling good about himself. You settle in to watch the other acts performing that night when you're interrupted by a couple of women who approach Joel and start flirting with him. They're attractive, closer to his age. A little uncomfortable, you excuse yourself to get some drinks at the bar, watching Joel flirt with the women. A strange feeling settles in your stomach and leaves a sour taste in your mouth. Beers in hand, you march back to the table and plant yourself on Joel's lap, staking your claim. "He's taken," you announce to the women as you swig your bottle.

The two women sport amused grins as you catch Joel completely off guard. "Oh really? By who?

"Me. I'm the girl he's taking home and fucking tonight."

The other girls scoff their way into stunned silence. "Joel, babe, you're coming back to my place, right?" You give him a wink. It's technically true because you rode up together.

"Yeah," he answers quickly. "Definitely."

The two women pout and exchange glances, rolling their eyes and silently communicating their departure. "I guess we'll see you around then."

"Not anytime soon, sugar tits," you call out as they leave. Joel chuckles at your bravado.

"You have a dirty mouth," he says.

"I'm awfully rowdy when I drink," you say with an innocent shrug.

There's heat in his gaze as he watches you, studying you in a way he never has before, and you meet his gaze in a flirty challenge.

"You know.. I've been wondering.." You slowly trace your fingertips on his arm.

"About what?" he asks, bristling at your touch in a good way.

"Your fingers. They're probably pretty rough from playing guitar."

He chuckles. "Yeah, the tips are covered in callouses." He traces them over your soft palm. "See? Feels like sandpaper."

You smile. "I think it feels good. Might feel good in other places too."

"Wanna find out?"

You're back at the truck, his guitar fitting nicely in the backseat and you fit nicely in his arms as he kisses you, your tongues chasing each other under the crackling glow of the neon sign over the exit.

"You like when I touch you like this, don't you?" he asks, trailing his fingers on the insides of your thighs under your skirt, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin. "I've been wanting to do this for weeks," he confesses.

"Really?"

"Oh yeah," he murmurs, leaning down to place kisses on your neck. "Bein' under the same roof, watchin' you walk around in those shorts and tank tops.. it's been drivin' me crazy."

"Fuck, I don't want to wait til we get home.."

"We don't have to wait. Get in the backseat."

Once you're both in he pulls you on top of him, straddling his lap. You feel his hardness beneath you and grind down, teasing him. Joel groans and grits his teeth. It's taking everything in him not to immediately pounce on you. His hands grip your hips, guiding your movements as he grinds up into you, his dick in need of more than just friction. "Fuck," he moans, head thrown back against the headrest.

"Oh, I will.." You smirk, kissing down his neck.

A shiver goes up his spine; one of his hands wanders up and tangles itself in your hair. "God, the things I want to do to you.."

"Let's do them now," you say in a sultry voice.

"Really?" He sounds hopeful.

"Absolutely." You lift your skirt, taking off your panties.

He quickly unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down. You straddle him again, aligning yourself with the thick head of his cock. His grip is tight on your hips as he presses inside. You slide down on him, lips parted in an O as he fills you up inch by inch until he's bottomed out inside you. He gives you a moment to adjust to him before gently rolling his hips against yours.

"Fuck," you sigh. He's stretching you deeply, your hips undulating against his in rhythmic motions. He guides you, one palm on your hip, the other gripping your ass, squeezing it as you ride him. Kissing him again, you suck on his tongue - he tastes like beer and tangy lime.

He holds you in place, undulating his hips against yours, guiding you. "Keep goin'.. just like that.." he groans in between kisses. He pulls away a little, watching himself go in and out of you, his thick glistening length pistoning. You watch with him, turned on by the sight. It's the hottest thing you've ever seen.

"Fuck, you're so naughty," you gasp. "Does my dad know what kind of person his best friend is?"

"He trusts me," Joel grunts out.

"Even with me?" You giggle as he speeds up, moaning rhythmically.

Joel stops suddenly, lifting you up, pulling nearly all the way out of you. You whine at the loss of him. "If he knew what I was doin' right now, he'd probably kill me."

"And me.." you try to grind down on him but he's preventing you. "But if my last fuck on earth was the great Joel Miller, I wouldn't complain one bit."

"You got a sassy mouth," he mutters.

"Mhm.. what do you think I should do with it?"

His thumb caresses your cheek. a smirk on his lips. "A girl like you already knows."

The little smirk, the quirk of his brow gets you going, and you lift off him and sink to your knees on the floorboard before him. Joel groans as you put him in your mouth, head tipped back as his fingers tangle in your hair, pulling it back so you can look up at him, your mouth stuffed full with his cock. He holds your head still and thrusts in, and you moan, feeling him at the back of your throat, your eyes watering as you try not to gag around him. Your mouth fills with saliva as Joel gently pulls your head all the way down on him. "Good girl.." he sighs, leaning back against the headrest. Your cunt clenches at his praise. He keeps you there until you tap his thigh and he lets you up for air, still slobbering over him, pumping him with your fist. "So messy," he whispers, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"You like it messy," you reply, flattening your tongue against his thick root, licking all the way up and dribbling more saliva onto him.

"Get on up here," he growls, pulling you up by your waist. "I wanna blow my load where it counts."

He impales you on his cock, driving in easier with how wet you are and how stretched he got you before. Your slick is already dripping down to his balls, which slap against your ass with each enthusiastic thrust. You're both careless and sloppy, the truck bouncing with your movements.

"Fuck me, Joel! Fuck me, Joel!" you're moaning, his hands keeping their iron grip on your hips.

"Come for me, baby girl," he grunts, trying like hell to hold back until you come all over him. "I know just what you need to get you there." He brings his calloused fingers to your clit, swiping and pressing, circling and teasing until your pussy grips him so good his vision goes white. "You're so close, ain't ya? Let go for me. C'mon and soak my lap, sugar."

"Joel!" you gasp, body seizing up as your orgasm crashes over you, electricity shooting through your limbs as you come apart under his touch, under his cock still driving into your sopping cunt. You squeeze around him and still he holds back. "Tell me where you want it," he grits out. You tell him to come inside, to fill you up the way you both want him to, and he obliges, moving you up and down on him like a fuck toy invented just for his pleasure, slamming you down on his cock until he shoots his cum so deep inside you'll be dripping him for days.

The aftermath is far from peaceful. You're still panting like dogs in heat, a few rough laughs escaping as you try to gather your thoughts during the comedown.

"You're gonna be a real handful, ain't ya?" he mumbles jokingly.

"Me?" you ask innocently.

"Yeah, you." He presses a hot kiss to your neck. "C'mon, let's get out of here and get some food in you."

🎵taglist🎵 @missadangel | @time-for-my-weekly-spanking | @604to647 | @maryrhodalouandted | @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 | @moonyyymoon | @ace-turned-confused | @emmdog2999 | @dugiioh | @yrdsstiny | @sophx58 | @madpanda75

[lvely-prose]

— summer loving

pairings: joel miller x fem! reader

synopsis: you’d known mr. miller forever. he was your fathers best friend after all. until one night you acted on your crush for him by kissing him under the fireworks. since then, your relationship remained a secret. you two were good at playing pretend—just wouldn’t stop him from loving on you.

word count: 4.7k

warnings/content: age gap (20s and 50s), fluff, dbf trope, mentions of nudity, suggestive sexual content, implied sex

pae speaks ~ happy joel miller summer! i hope you all enjoy <3 divider from @lariesographic !!

You hadn’t meant to kiss him.

Well…

Yeah, you did.

For as long as you could remember, Joel was just your father’s friend and nothing more. A very helpful friend. In high school, you struggled to get your license due to an overwhelming anxiety about car crashes and drunk drivers. So, you asked the steadiest man you knew to drive you to and from places.

Joel Miller.

You found yourself in his passenger side more often than not, feet kicked up on the dash and wind flying through your hair. He never seemed amused. Just sat there and drove without a single complaint. With how many years you’d known him, you knew he had a soft spot for you. And you teased the heck out of him about it.

It wasn’t embarrassing being seen around with Joel. He never did anything weird or anything to embarrass you. He just wanted to keep you safe. Always had.

After you graduated and left for college, you didn’t see Joel anymore. Once you secured a license, there was no need to hitch a ride with him, especially now that you were across the state getting a higher level of education.

Then summer of 23’ hit.

You had come back to your hometown for the hot season to visit with old friends and family. Your father welcomed you home with open arms, so happy to see his little girl now all grown up with a life of her own.

Then there was Joel.

You had practically leapt into his arms when he showed up in his truck—the one you were very familiar with. He had no idea what to do with himself when you came back all womanly and absolutely beautiful. Joel hated the way he thought about you since he’d never had before.

You had always been his best friend’s daughter.

End of story.

But as he held you, all those new curves and the scent of your expensive perfume wrapped around him, Joel felt his heart stir with feelings that weren’t completely friendly.

As for you? You didn’t think it could get much worse.

Not having a crush on Joel was nearly impossible. He was the classic hot neighbor next door that worked outside all day, knuckle deep in the hood of his truck with oil and grime plastered on his forearms, shirt plastered to his body with sweat. The type of sight that made mouths water and bodies grow ten times hotter on an already scorching summer day.

Your friends loved when you showed up to the functions with Joel as your personal chauffeur. They didn’t even try to hide their ogling. And every time they made comments about how you had him all to yourself, you giggled and shut the idea down.

That all changed when you saw him again.

It was supposed to be Barbie summer. The long anticipated movie was on just about every single girls mind since it’d been announced.

But instead, it was Joel Miller summer.

The entire month of June, the two of you made every and any excuse to be around each other. Driving somewhere? He let you drive the truck. The A/C not working? He let you sleep in his spare room. Nothing to do? You sat in his garage and watched him work.

Things were shifting between you two and neither of you had any plans to stop it.

The Fourth of July was just about everyone you knew‘s favorite holiday. Every house on the block had American flags flying, decorations all in red, white, and blue. Families and groups of friends lined their cars down the street, rich families hosting parties with bathing suits, barbecues, and insurmountable amounts of lemonade, hamburgers, and hot dogs.

You didn’t really celebrate as hard as the people around you did. You just liked dressing cute and handing out refreshments to the people your father invited.

But every year you only looked forward to the fire works.

Yet, it felt a whole lot different with Joel by your side.

Fireworks popped across the sky in a mosaic of bright blues and reds and pinks and golds. It turned the night sky into a massive canvas of crackling colored lights.

A glass coke bottle sweated in your hand, the rim imprinted with red lipstick. Joel was beside you with a beer but he wasn’t focused on the fireworks.

He was looking at you.

When you caught his warm gaze, you gave a smile that was only for him. Then you grabbed his hand, pulling him to the front yard where it was free of any guests.

Just you and Joel.

Both of the glasses were set aside as he tugged you under his arm. It stirred something within you. Something that felt dormant and had been waiting to spark for years. His head tilted down to look at you. That’s when your lips connected to his.

As the night sky crackled with bright colors, Joel held you closer than he ever had before. In that moment, it didn’t matter your dad was only in the backyard while his best friend kissed up on his daughter.

It changed everything.

And you loved it.

The sun was shining high in the clear blue sky as Joel pulled up to your fathers house. You were staying there for the summer. It felt like old times. Except now, he was here for you.

You were lounging on the couch, feet propped up on a small ottoman with a book in your hands. You were excited for the day and couldn’t really focus on the words, reading with your eyes but not actually retaining any information. Ever since the Fourth, you’d been giddy just about every time Joel came around. There was no label on the two of you and you didn’t feel the need for one.

When the knock came from the front door, you practically jumped off the couch, not bothering to fix the flannel hanging off your shoulder. It was one of Joel’s, too big and drowning you. You only ever wore it when your dad was at work so he wouldn’t suspect anything.

Before you could reach the door, Joel was already stepping inside. He practically lived here.

Without hesitation, you threw your arms around him with a wide smile.

Joel caught you effortlessly, stumbling only a little bit on impact. “Hi there, sugar.”

“Hi,” you said, eyes roaming over his weathered face.

“Your daddy home?” He asked but could assume the answer was no since you were being all clingy.

You shook your head before grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the stairs. Joel was used to you tugging at him like there wasn’t enough hours in the day to get things done and tried to smother his smile.

Once in your room, you pulled out a gingham bikini top. You turned your back to Joel, pulling the flannel off and as much as he was disappointed to see it gone, he admired the new view just as much.

The A/C unit kicked on, cooling Joel’s hot skin if only for a minute. As a way to beat the heat, he planned on taking you swimming before back to his place for the night. Your father wouldn’t care. He knew you enjoyed Joel’s company—just not about the part where you slept in his bed.

Your fingers fiddled with the strings of your top. “Joel, can you please help me?”

Without question, his rough fingers grazed your shoulder blades as he began to tie the strings into a neat bow. He always jumped at the chance to help you. Most of the time you never even had to ask.

Before he stepped away, his large hands settled at your hips. His beard gently scraped against your bare shoulder, fingers toying with the waistband of your sleep shorts.

A tiny smile made your lips twitch. You had purposefully left his mouth untouched just because you knew he wouldn’t let you leave the house without a kiss. He always got touchy when you didn’t give him what he wanted and you knew it. He just wouldn’t admit it out loud, instead of showing you through his actions.

You turned around and gave his lips a small kiss.

He instantly latched onto your waist. “C’mon, that was weak.”

You gave a small laugh. “Weak? I’m just trying to keep us from being late.”

His thick fingers slipped into the band of your shorts, using his other hand to undo the button. “We have plenty of time.”

Heat crept up your neck as he slowly maneuvered your shorts down your legs. For as old as Joel was, it seemed he was willing to get you under him more often than not. And most times you’d let him.

But you weren’t sure when your father was going to be home and you were really excited to go to spend the day with him.

“Joel,” you said in a whine as he massaged your hips through your cotton panties.

“Darlin’,” he replied like he wasn’t doing anything.

“Behave.”

With a reluctant huff he pressed a kiss to your temple and reached for your bikini bottoms. “Yes, ma’am.”

After finishing dressing you like you were a doll, you slipped into some overalls, leaving one of the straps unclasped. Joel not so subtly watched as you fixed up your hair. Some days he felt like an old pervert for being so fixed on you but it was like he couldn’t help it. He was addicted to your sweetness. How you could love an older man like him and still stay true to yourself. You were a vitamin he needed to take everyday to keep himself from getting so grumpy. And it worked.

Joel started up the truck while you finished getting ready to make sure the seats weren’t sizzling. Texan heat was unbearable.

“Okay, I packed extra sunscreen and water.”

Joel looked over as you pulled yourself into the truck, slinging a crotchet bag into the middle seat. “You’re very prepared,” he stated bluntly.

“Well, yeah,” you said, turning to look at him with a smile. “It’s too hot out here.”

He settled a hand on your bare thigh. “You’re not wrong about that.”

On the way to the pool, Bruce Springsteen played through the speakers and you let the wind blow through your loose hair, arms folded on the frame. Joel squeezed your thigh every so often, usually when one of the lyrics reminded him of you. He never sang. But sometimes you’d catch him mouthing the words and you’d trace your thumb over the back of his knuckles.

The community pool was packed considering the weather but you managed to find two lounge chairs near the pool edge. Joel was already ticked off as you guided him through to the chairs. Little kids zoomed past his legs and he made it his mission to avoid trampling one of them. He wasn’t a fan of public spaces, especially when there were so many children with the lifeguard yelling at them to walk.

You knew he wasn’t thrilled about it and gave his hand a light squeeze. A way to say thank you for putting up with me.

Yet Joel would do it a million times over if it meant getting to see a smile on your face.

“Seems like this is the place to be.” You put down the bag, glancing around as you took your overalls off.

“Think I need to invest in installing one at the house,” Joel grumbled, peeling off his shirt and leaving him in a dark pair of swim trunks.

You grinned at him, admiring his physique in the golden rays. His belly hung slightly over the waistband and the salt and pepper dusting of hair on his chest made your heart flip. Gosh, he looked too good. Suddenly you wished he would invest in that at-home pool just so you could have the sight all to yourself.

Meanwhile, Joel was struggling not to ogle at you in that little bikini. You looked comfortable in it which was all he cared about.

He grabbed the sunscreen can.

“I can do it,” you said, reaching for the can but he quickly grabbed your arm and turned you around.

“Let me. You won’t be able to reach your back.”

You squealed slightly as the cold spray hit your heated skin. “That’s freezing!”

“Hold still,” Joel said lowly and you instantly stopped squirming.

Music played over hidden speakers, kids screamed as they splashed around, and adults chatted with each other with their feet dangling into the water. It was a lively space, bringing summer to life with colorful bathing suits and swaying trees.

After Joel sprayed your body down, you rubbed some sunscreen onto your face. He watched closely to make sure you rubbed it all the way into your skin. He was always looking out for you even when you weren’t aware of it.

You glanced over at the pool bar and gasped when you saw they were selling popsicles. Before you could rush off, Joel caught your chin between his fingers and smoothed a patch of white into your face.

“You don’t need to baby me,” you said, looking at him through your lashes but really, you weren’t complaining.

“I’m not babying you,” Joel replied, slipping you some cash. “Just taking care of my girl.”

You blushed before kissing his cheek. “Do you want a popsicle?”

“No thanks. Get what you want.”

You headed over to the pool bar and bought a cherry flavored popsicle. The taste made you sigh, the coldness feeling amazing on your tongue as it cooled you down.

You headed back over to Joel who was practically panting like a dog. You sat on the lounge chair beside him, sucking on your popsicle happily. “There’s a pool right there you know.”

Joel squinted his eyes at you, trying and failing not to stare at where the red ice disappeared into your mouth. “I ain’t goin’ in without the woman who dragged me here.”

You gave him a look before handing him a water. “At least drink this.”

He didn’t put up a fight as he cracked open the bottle and took a long drink. It felt nice going down his throat but he still couldn’t help himself from looking at you as your tongue swirled around the popsicle.

You laid back on the lounge chair, hoping to get a bit of a tan. Joel felt damn near hypnotized by you, eyes tracing every dip and curve of your body. His hand extended despite his efforts not to, settling on your shin and gently running his rough palm up and down.

Sugary red liquid dribbled down your chin, leaving a pinkish stain in its wake. Joel’s jaw clenched, shifting in his seat to try and contain himself.

Were you trying to make this impossible for him?

The sun blazed down, perspiration breaking out across his body. Forcing himself to look away, his gaze found the clear waves of the pool. It looked so refreshing that when you finally finished the popsicle and said you were ready to go in, he practically jumped at the chance.

Chills spiraled up your legs as you stepped onto the first step. The water was only at your ankles. Joel was practically already waist deep, holding out a hand for you to take to help ease you in.

“It’s so cold!” You exclaimed, holding your free hand to your chest.

“It’s only cold cause you were hot, baby. It’ll feel better once you get used to it.”

You looked at Joel and as reluctant as you were, you trusted he was right and waded in more. You sucked in a sharp breath as the water splashed against your skin.

“There you go,” Joel said lowly, coaxing you into the deep end.

You were mindful of the people around you as he slowly pulled you further into the water but now the coldness felt very refreshing. Joel didn’t care about the child splashing around to his left or the group of friends conversing to his right. He just focused on you—the water cutting around your frame and how pretty you looked under the afternoon sun.

You never let go of Joel’s hand as you made it to the deep end, your feet no longer touching the rough bottom of the pool. He was still standing though since he was taller, slipping an arm around your waist to keep you from treading the water.

As he held you there, you glanced around at all the faces. None of them seemed too familiar but when your arms wrapped around his neck, you were hit with the fact that any one of these people could be friends with your father.

What would they tell him if they saw you hanging onto his best friend?

Joel brushed a piece of wet hair behind your ear. “What’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours, huh?”

You briefly glanced at him. “Just… there’s a lot of people here. What if… what if they know my dad?”

His gaze softened slightly before tightening again, the wrinkles between his brows creasing. “Sweet girl, we talked ‘bout this. If they gotta problem then I’ll handle it.”

“Joel.” His name came firmly from your mouth.

“Sweetheart.” His strong hand lifted your leg so that you wrapped them around him.

“We have to be careful,” you said as he slowly dragged you through the water. “You know that. If my—when my dad finds out, I want it to either come from me or you. Not some random person I’ve only met once.”

“I know.” Joel glanced both ways before pressing a hand against your spine. “But you don’t need to worry. They can be nosy all they want but I got you. This is about you. This is about us, okay?”

You looked at him before reluctantly nodding. “Okay.”

Joel laid a kiss to your sun-kissed nose. “Good. Now let yourself have some fun.”

As the day wore on, Joel’s shoulders were sunburnt and your hair was a tangled mess he kept trying to comb through with his fingers to no avail. You felt energized from all the sun but soon enough the heat seeped in, making you feel sleepy.

Joel noticed, already beginning to pack up your tote bag, securing everything inside.

“You ready to go?”

Squinting, you looked over at him with a nod and began to slip back into your overalls.

When you got back to his house, Joel wanted to skip dinner and take you straight to bed. But you needed a shower and you were hungry from all that swimming.

And Joel always put your needs before his, taking care of his girl always top priority.

He wanted to follow you into the bathroom but refrained, deciding on starting dinner was the best decision just to speed things up.

He loved you so much but never knew how to tell you without embarrassing himself or sounding like a complete idiot. Which was why he was grateful he worked with his hands a lot to make things for you and show you how much he loved you through touch.

By the time you were done with your shower, you were pretty sure you’d just raised Joel’s electric bill by a hefty sum of money. You didn’t mean to, you just wanted to deep condition your hair to make sure all the chlorine got out.

You went to his room, which pretty much posed as both your room at this point, and began to get ready for the night. That meant lathering your skin in vanilla scented lotion, moisturizing your entire body after the full shave you just did in the shower. You did your skin care routine and then coated your lips in cherry flavored chapstick, smacking them together a few times before smiling.

You loved that Joel let you have your private time, especially in the summer when the heat made everything overstimulating.

You dried your hair off before putting on some red panties with a little bow and pairing it with his red flannel.

Tonight was supposed to be a movie night but after your teasing all day, you felt he deserved some relief.

Finally, you padded into the kitchen where Joel was at the stove, cooking up dinner with all the concentration of a drill sergeant.

You came up behind him, sliding your arms around his waist. “What’s for dinner tonight?”

Joel was dumb for looking over his shoulder because now he was afraid he’d never get the food done. Every time you wore his clothes it was like he remembered that you were choosing him no matter if he was your dad’s best friend. It was moments like this that made that fact feel completely irrelevant.

“Baby girl,” he said, voice now a low rumble as he set the spatula down and turned around to face you.

You looked up at him with a smile. “Yes?”

Joel’s gaze traveled everywhere visible to him before his rough hands settled on your hips. “You’re so damn beautiful.”

Your heart leapt in your chest. He always complimented you but every time it made you feel special. The flannel rose slightly up as you wrapped your arms around his neck and he groaned as your curves moulded into his weathered one. Even under that layer of soft pudge you could feel the muscle still there, just buried under age now.

His hands slid up, gripping your waist now before dipping his head down to brush his beard against your neck. “Look at you, baby. So pretty. My pretty little girl, hmm?”

You smiled into his shoulder, unable to stop yourself from reacting. “Mhmm.”

Joel pressed a kiss on your collarbone before releasing a low hum, his beard scraping against your skin. “What if we skipped dinner?”

With a small laugh, you kissed the side of his head. “No, thank you. All that swimming made me hungry.”

Reluctantly, he pulled back just enough to press a kiss to your forehead. “Alright, I’ll wait. Gotta make sure you eat first.”

Dinner was delicious—you should’ve learned to stop doubting Joel’s cooking skills. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you sat across from him, looking like a vision wrapped in sun kisses and warmth.

His girl.

After dinner, he insisted on doing the dishes while you could go lie down and relax. He didn’t let you argue, threatening to stuff your mouth with his fingers if you didn’t get off your pretty little feet.

Even though you didn’t mind having his fingers in your mouth, you listened anyway.

Settling down into his dark sheets, you instantly buried your face in his pillow. Maybe you were freaked out but you were sure you could get off just by inhaling the scent of him—sawdust, a hint of whiskey, traces of leather, and just a little bit of cheap cologne. Comfort washed over you, resulting in a sigh as you burrowed further into his bedding.

Not much time passed before the door creaked open. Joel stepped inside, already smiling to himself at the sight of you claiming his space as your own.

With a grunt and the sounds of his joints cracking, he lowered himself to sit at the edge of the bed. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t even make a joke this time. There was no need to. The age difference had been acknowledged long ago and now it was just something that you’d gotten used to.

And you loved your old man just as he was.

His shoes thunked to the floor as he slipped them off, followed by his socks. At the sound of clothes rustling, you peeked out of the pillow to watch as he stripped down to nothing.

Instantly, your mouth watered. His strong back flexed as he reached for some boxers, pulling them up and obscuring your view of his incredible ass.

Since Joel could sense your gaze from ten feet away, he turned around to see your glittering eyes gazing up at him. Adoration and desire welled in his chest, latching onto his heart.

There was nothing Joel Miller wouldn’t do for his lady and he knew he’d go to great lengths just to see you gaze at him like that.

You rolled onto your back as soon as his knees sank into the mattress, his large frame coming up to cage you in.

“Ya don’t have a clue how pretty you look like this,” Joel said, the words rumbling deep in his chest as his knuckles grazed against your sunburnt cheek.

Your eyes softened immediately. Every time you had your handsome man pressing you into his bed, nothing else mattered. Your father, his age, your secrets—they all vanished the second his hand brushed your skin.

“Yeah?” You breathed out dreamily.

His beard burned deliciously against your neck, using his nose to get you to put your head back. His fingers came up to tangle in your damp hair, keeping you exposed to him. “Uh huh,” his tongue licked a stripe over your pulse. “My pretty, pretty baby. All for me. Letting her old man touch her like this.”

Fireworks ignited in your stomach, the fuse burning quickly and landing hot in your lower belly.

Your manicured fingers—thanks to Joel paying for you—threaded through his salt and pepper hair to keep his head from moving away. His tongue lavished your skin with intense focus, his lips occasionally replacing the wet muscle.

One perk of dating an older man was how sensual they could be. Joel didn’t rush or pull or take unless you asked for it. Instead, he took his time, giving attention to every inch of your body.

“Joel—” you gasped as his free hand slipped down to grasp your thigh.

“Hmm, baby?” His words were muffled as they stayed stuck to your skin, licking up the sweet lotion. “You teased me all day. S’not a nice way to treat your old man.”

Whatever you were going to say got trapped in your throat as he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth. Your nerves were overwhelmed, trying to keep up with his hand squeezing your thigh and his tongue sliding against yours.

Suddenly, the summer heat felt like nothing compared to how hot he was making you feel.

Joel pulled back a little, reveling in how you chased his lips and your fingers went to undo one of the buttons on the flannel you were wearing.

“My baby wants me to love on her, huh?” He murmured, mouth still hovering over yours. “You been waitin’ all day, haven’t ya?”

“Yeah.” The word was practically just a breath as you continued to try and unbutton the flannel.

He didn’t know how he managed to get himself in this position. His best friend’s daughter underneath him, breathless and needy for him. For an old man twice her age who shouldn’t have thought twice about how well he knew your body, how much he was taken by you.

But gosh, Joel didn’t care that he felt like a dirty old man as his fingers moved to help you out of the garment.

Your breath caught as it fell open to reveal the roundness of your breasts, nipples pebbled even though the room was anything but cold.

Joel had to close his eyes, pressing his forehead hard against your shoulder. “Baby,” he groaned, curling his fingers hard into your thigh. His breathing was ragged now, teeth scraping against your collarbone like he was fighting to not cave into giving you what you wanted. You had teased him all day but right now he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“Look at you,” he panted, his lips sealing over one of the sensitive buds.

It drew a whimper from your throat, back arching already to press your breast further into his mouth. “Oh yeah…” you gasped again as he sucked, feeling as he massaged your thigh.

After giving the other side some attention, his face hovered back over yours. Honey dripped in the warm depths of his irises. One large hand smoothed over your hair before cupping your cheek as he pressed a loving kiss on your lips.

That night, as Joel made sweet love to you, one thing became very clear to both of you.

No matter what happened, no matter who found out, those two months of summer loving were worth every bit of it.

[maroonpascal]

SUB!JOEL MILLER - masterlist

Made your mark on me - Joel loves to let his guard down when he's with you, and you find all the ways to please him, making him forget everything else. || 4k words || +18 smut, MDNI

Maybe the stars align and maybe I call you mine - an unexpected trip in the middle of the night makes you realise that stargazing can be even more fun. || 4.4k words || he gets called daddy in this one, but this man can be a switch || +18 smut, MDNI

Pick your poison, babe, I'm poison either way - Joel is the person you hate the most, you could swear on oath; Joel could swear the same, but he would rather do that on his knees for you. || 5.9k words || +18 smut, MDNI

collar heart divider credits: @cursed-carmine

[dreamedaboutitinthedark]

Father's Day

Summary: The journey that led to Joel's best Father's Day.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Wife!Reader

Content warnings: modern!no outbreak!AU, Sarah lives and is 14, Joel is 36, reader is whatever legal age you want her to be, there are tense switches and they're intentional and a fun choice I made, discussion of pregnancy and pregnancy symptoms (nausea/morning sickness, libido, mood swings), domestic fluff, pregnant sex, praise kink, dirty talk, labor and delivery but it's just Joel recounting his thoughts on the experience in a non-graphic way

Word count: 4,141

Read on ao3 here | dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Author's note: you dirty hookers voted on "fluff WITH smut" 😒 no I'm kidding the smut flowed right out of my fingertips. one day I will write complete and utter fluff-no smut for Joel Miller because he deserves it, but Father's Day!Joel Miller? no, that man is getting FUCKED. so anyways here's Joel Miller getting the life he deserved! pls enjoy ily tell your sexy dad I said happy Father's Day!

When Sarah’s mother left, Joel thought that was it. It was just going to be him and Sarah with Tommy running in and out of his house every so often, and that was fine. He was only worried about giving Sarah the life that she deserves anyway.

Then he met you. You were using his company, Miller Contracting, to renovate your bathroom. You were subtle in your flirting. Too subtle for Joel to notice, but not too subtle for Tommy.

On the drive back to the office every day, Tommy would insist that you were flirting with Joel, but Joel would always brush him off.

By the end of the job, when Joel was doing a walkthrough with you to make sure you liked everything, you asked him, “Is there a rule against dating customers or something? And if there is, doesn’t that technically not apply anymore?”

Joel’s face went pale, and he thanked his lucky stars that Tommy was at the next job site, getting a head start.

“Um,” he began, “I actually don’t know for sure. I don’t… I… Well, if there is, I guess you’re right. Technically, it doesn't apply anymore.”

You smiled. “Good. So… You gonna ask me out to dinner or what, Joel?”

Over the last few weeks, Joel had noticed you were a pretty blunt person. When he presented tiling options, you didn’t pretend to like the one he said would probably go better with the cabinet colors you were dead set on from the beginning. You said you respected his professional opinion, but you didn’t like it and chose different tiling. In the end, Joel thought your bathroom looked pretty nice anyway.

He liked that. He liked that you didn’t beat around the bush. It made things crystal clear for him, so it was easy to ask you to dinner.

Sarah was apprehensive about you at first, but she was ten when you met her; a girls’ day spent at the nail salon and at her favorite restaurant later, she was proud that her dad was dating a woman as cool as you. 

When he and you told her about your pregnancy, she was over the moon. Joel, on the other hand, was nervous. The pregnancy stage is when Sarah’s mother started resenting him. 

By the fourth month, it was very clear to both Sarah’s biological mother and Joel that she wasn’t meant to be a mother. Divorce proceedings took place over the course of her pregnancy, and every time she saw him, she’d glare, mumble something about him ruining her. He wasn’t even allowed in the delivery room.

That broke his heart. Missing out on his firstborn’s first breath has always stirred something inside of him.

So when you told him you were pregnant, even though it was very wanted and five months were spent trying to conceive this baby, he was still anxious about the possibility of you resenting him for the nausea and the weight gain and the fatigue and all the other crappy symptoms that came with pregnancy.

To Joel’s surprise, you were the clingiest he’d ever seen you when you were pregnant. It was like you wanted to live in his skin.

In the first trimester when you were puking nearly every morning and cringed if your sweatshirt rubbed against your skin the wrong way, you were stuck by his side. If he was cooking dinner, which was usually the most bland food in the house so as to not upset your stomach further, you’d wrap an arm behind his waist and lean your cheek into his shoulder.

You and Joel ate an hour earlier than Sarah because Joel would suffer with you and stick to a diet of mashed potatoes and the saddest steamed broccoli he’d ever seen, but neither of you would let Sarah dread dinner. So after dinner, you’d go on a walk with your friend across the street while Joel cooked Sarah an actual dinner (that he’d usually eat with her because how is he supposed to eat mashed potatoes and broccoli every night?), and wait for you to get home.

In bed, you’d throw your leg over his lap and bury your face in his chest, like his pheromones were the only scent in the world you could stomach. He loved it because he loved you with all his heart, and it was the only intimacy you could tolerate. Sex was the only intimate act lacking in the first trimester. And if you were going to inadvertently make up for it by practically gluing yourself to him 24/7, then Joel could consider himself a lucky and content man.

One night, Sarah was dozing in the big armchair in the living room while you sat next to Joel on the couch, practically glued to his side. He wrapped his arm around you and leaned his cheek against the top of your head.

“Just a few more weeks of this shit,” he whispered to you.

“Two weeks and two days,” you mumbled in response.

“Mhm. Soon, you’ll be able to stand the smell of regular food again,” he joked.

You scoffed softly, but there was a gentle smile on your face that he knew was there without even having to look.

“I’m proud of you. You’ve been doin’ so good, baby. Still so sweet, pickin’ Sarah up from school, checkin’ her English homework. Still kissin’ me good night and good mornin’. I love you,” he whispered.

You hummed softly and buried your face against his shoulder.

“Love you, too. You smell good,” you said, your voice muffled.

He smiled.

The second trimester was filled with all kinds of food and all kinds of sex.

From donuts and milkshakes at 2:00 in the afternoon to vibrators and squirting at 2:00 in the morning, it was safe to say that both you and Joel thoroughly enjoyed the second trimester.

You were so happy, and you started showing, and neither of you could keep your hands off each other. For the first time in his life, Joel got to worship the body that carried his child, and he wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to do so.

The two of you once sat in the empty Dollar General parking lot next to the Sonic at midnight while Sarah was at a sleepover, and before Joel could even get a mozzarella stick in his mouth, you were pulling the console up and straddling his lap.

With your bump pressing against his gut and your swollen tits in his face, Joel was a weak man. He freed his cock from his sweatpants, and you slid your sleep shorts to the side and immediately sunk down on him. Though, to his surprise, you didn’t immediately start moving.

“Baby?”

“Gimme a sec,” you mumbled breathlessly as you reached into the paper bag on your seat for a mozzarella stick.

You shoved it into Joel’s mouth, then took a sip from your strawberry cheesecake milkshake.

Joel swallowed and mumbled, “Is it good?” with his mouth still full.

You shrugged.

“Can I have a sip?”

You shook your head, and Joel scoffed while he held back a smile.

After a few more sips of your milkshake, you set it down and started grinding your hips against Joel’s, pulling a soft groan from him as he swallowed the last bite of his food.

“So sweet to me, baby,” you purred before kissing him.

His hands were on your waist, slowly making their way to your breasts, full and unsupported and teasing him in the t-shirt you were wearing that you cut the collar off of.

“I love you so fuckin’ much, darlin’,” Joel breathed as he brought his hands up to cup your breasts.

“Mm, fuck. Fuck, I love you more,” you moaned in response.

He shook his head and slowly inched one hand down to rub on your clit. “Not possible. You’re carryin’ my baby, doin’ such a good job keepin’ her safe for me. You’re growin’ her and makin’ sure everythin’ is comin’ along the way it should be, askin’ me for help when you need it like the good girl you are…”

You gasped as he pinched your nipple in between words of praise.

“Shit, Joel. Fuck.”

“Fuck, you’re fuckin’ perfect, mama,” he continued. “Such a good wife, amazin’ mother to my girl, treat her like she’s your own flesh and blood. Fuck me, I love seein’ her light up when you do her hair and when the two of you paint each other’s nails while you watch those shitty movies she loves.”

“Hey, Kate & Leopold is a fantastic film,” you countered through breathy moans.

Joel chuckled softly and began meeting your thrusts with his own.

“I’m a damn lucky bastard, and my daughter finally has the mother she deserves, and my new baby ain’t gonna want for nothin’,” he panted, your foreheads now touching as the two of you fucked each other.

Your breath caught in your throat. He always knew exactly how to wreck you. You swallowed, reached into the paper bag, and pulled out a mozzarella stick. You took a bite out of it and sighed.

“I love you,” you mumbled with your mouth full. “And I love our family. I love Sarah so much that I keep forgetting that I didn’t give birth to her. Every time this baby does something new, I think, ‘Wait, did Sarah do that?’”

Joel shuddered and leaned in to press a kiss to your soft, greasy lips.

“You’re a fucking Goddess, woman,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Best fuckin’ thing that ever happened to me.” He sighed and brought his hand from your breast to your belly. “One of,” he corrected. “Sarah, you, and this baby. Don’t need nothin’ else.”

You only moaned in response and cupped his jaw to kiss him.

He moaned back and buried his hands in your hair as you started grinding harder on him.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” you moaned into his mouth. “Take such good care of your family, of me. Fuckin’ big ass fuckin’ arms, thick fuckin’ fingers, perfect fuckin’ cock… I’d let you knock me up ten more times if you keep treating me this nice, Joel.”

He groaned and brought his hand back to your nipple to pinch it in time with the rubs to your clit.

“Always gonna treat you nice regardless of if you’re full of me. This is just extra special because of how much shit you’re takin’ so we can grow our family. Amazin’ ass woman. You’re a goddamn superhero, y’hear me? Fuckin’ love you. Doin’ such a good job. You need the extra sweet shit right now,” he mumbled into your mouth.

You whined and leaned your forehead against Joel’s. “Gonna come.”

“Good. Fuckin’ squeeze me. Milk me, baby. Lemme fill you up again,” he said with a gentle rub of your belly.

You moaned and clenched down, gushing on his lap as you ground down, and he kept rubbing your belly and your clit. Your orgasm and the look on your face triggered Joel’s climax shortly after, causing him to fill you to the brim. 

As you slumped against Joel’s chest, he reached into the paper bag and pulled out two mozzarella sticks. He handed you one, and halfway through eating his own, you snatched it out of his hand for yourself, but he didn’t mind, given the sweet kiss you gave him.

The third trimester really gave Joel a run for his money. You were still horny and craved odd food at odd hours, but you now had a slight attitude problem.

Gone were the days of you constantly clinging to Joel like a second skin for either comfort or sex or both. Now, he was lucky to go the whole work week with a kiss every morning.

You were perpetually grumpy about how early you had to get up for work, and who got to hear about it? 

Joel.

When the batteries in the TV remote died, whose fault was it?

Joel’s.

When your maternity pants went missing after you neglected to put them in the dirty hamper, who got an earful?

Poor, sweet Joel.

But he was understanding. You had an entire human inside of you, and she was siphoning all your energy for herself. You were tired and hungry and just longed to feel your lungs fully expand again.

It wasn’t technically his fault; he didn’t pick out your pregnancy symptoms. He did put the baby inside of you that was causing them, though, so he took all of your angry outbursts and let them roll off his back. 

If you can’t bitch out your husband when you haven’t taken a deep breath in two weeks, who can you bitch out?

And what brought Joel comfort in those moments was the fact that you were nothing like his first wife. You didn’t glare at him and truly mean it. Every night, you’d still crawl into bed with him and let him feel the baby’s kicks and talk about everything and nothing and go to sleep with an “I love you.”

Besides anger, there was also the occasional sob fest. Sometimes you’d be cuddled up next to him in bed, your phone in your hand. A video about rehabbing stray dogs or something similar would pop up, and suddenly, you were inconsolable, sobbing into Joel’s shoulder while he patted your back or petted your hair, shushing you and telling you that everything was alright.

What really got you was when the nursery was finally complete. Joel kept Sarah’s dresser, which she still uses today, along with some baby clothes as a keepsake. Everything else was donated or sold for 40 bucks, so you had your work cut out.

You didn’t mind going to all the baby stores with Joel; you loved all of it. The one thing he didn’t want to buy was the crib. He was going to build it with his own two hands.

So after the painting and buying a rug and decorating every little corner, all the room was missing was the crib. For about two months, it had been in the garage, being perfected little by little.

When Joel finally moved it into the nursery, he guided you inside with his hands covering your eyes, and he moved his hands away and told you to open your eyes. “Waterworks” wasn’t even appropriate for the reaction you had.

You sobbed, full on, and dropped to your knees in front of Joel. He immediately got down with you and wiped your eyes, asking, “Baby, what’s wrong? Don’t you like it? Fuck, do you hate it? I’ll get rid of it if you do.”

You shook your head and wrapped your hands around his wrists and tried to compose yourself.

“Joel, it’s so ridiculously perfect. Seriously. I think I’m gonna die,” you sniffled, looking into his eyes through bleary ones.

He sighed a deep sigh of relief and kissed your forehead.

“Okay, well, don’t die over my craftmanship, honey. We still got a few more weeks before our baby girl’s done cookin’,” he joked softly, a hand going to the side of your belly where he was greeted with a gentle kick.

“What, all I’m good for is growing your kid?” you deadpanned.

Joel’s face fell, and you laughed before you could really commit.

“Jesus Christ, I’m kidding,” you laughed. “I’m… I know I’ve been a lot lately. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, and his hand started rubbing small circles on your bump. 

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he said softly, soothingly. “I know it’s all real overwhelmin’ for you right now. You’ve never been pregnant before; this is all new. And from my understandin’, even if you’re an experienced mother, it’s still a lot. Long as you keep limitin’ your outbursts to only be aimed at me, we’re good.”

You sighed and leaned forward to peck his lips.

“I love you. I don’t know how I got so lucky with you,” you whispered.

Joel scoffed. “I believe it was you who got me to ask you to dinner. I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

The last few weeks of your pregnancy were the worst, mostly because you were hardly ever awake. Even with the baby constantly dancing on your bladder, you managed to stay asleep for about two hours and go right back to sleep after using the bathroom.

The naps were constant, but Joel couldn’t stand to be away from you for too long after getting used to you being so clingy over the course of the pregnancy. If you were napping in bed, he’d grab a book and sit up against the pillows next to you. If it was on the couch, he’d watch reruns of The X-Files with the volume low. 

If you went to bed early, he’d shower and brush his teeth and kiss Sarah good night, but his circadian rhythm couldn’t allow for a 7:30 bedtime, so he started listening to lots of albums he’d never listened to before and the occasional podcast.

Joel was just about to shut his phone off when you stirred.

“You okay?” he asked as you turned on a lamp.

You didn’t answer at first, then you got out of bed and stared at the sheets. When Joel looked, his heart sank to his stomach.

“My water broke,” you mumbled in your sleepy voice as you rubbed your eyes.

Joel had never dealt with a woman in labor, driven one to the hospital, and let her break his hand as she pushed. He was realizing right then that he was really fucking scared that he was going to be the worst partner throughout all this.

Then he heard you sniffle, and he was on his feet, rounding the bed to wrap you up in his arms.

“I got you. You hear me? You don’t worry about a fuckin’ thing, y’hear me? You focus on breathin’, and that is it. Nothing else is your responsibility. I’m gonna throw these sheets in the wash and call Tommy. He’s got Sarah, and he’ll put the sheets in the dryer. We got this. You got this, baby,” he told you, his arms around you more than reassuring.

You nodded, and he gave you a peck on the lips before he started pulling the sheets off the bed and heading for the stairs.

You grabbed some clean sweatpants and underwear and headed to the bathroom to clean up. You stuck a maxi pad in your panties and pulled the pants up, then headed to Sarah’s room.

After two knocks, she opened the door, her lamp on and her purple pajamas on.

“The baby’s coming,” you told her. “Your dad is calling Uncle Tommy, and when he gets here, we’re gonna leave. You need anything?”

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around you.

“Just give me a cute and healthy baby sister. Oh, and I did some research. Get an epidural; this one lady on TikTok said it was awesome.”

You chuckled softly and kissed her forehead. “Yeah, that’s on my list, kiddo. I love you. I’ll text you a picture when she’s here.”

“I love you, too. Good luck. And don’t let Dad get too anxious.”

Tommy showed up about ten minutes later and, after overly clear instructions about moving the sheets to the dryer once they’re done and Sarah’s schedule for the next day that he already knew with how much his brother yaps, Joel packed you up into your car and drove to the hospital. 

He installed the car seat a month ago. Your bags have been in the trunk for six weeks. Joel knew he did everything he could to prepare for this. 

A block away from the hospital was when you had the first contraction, and for the second time that night, Joel’s heart was in his stomach, and he no longer felt prepared. 

Check-in was surprisingly easy. You got an epidural within an hour. You fell asleep thirty minutes after your epidural kicked in. You were relatively fine. 

Joel was scared. It was all hitting him. He was becoming a dad again. This time, he had a willing partner. This time, he got to feel the baby’s kicks and fawn over his baby’s mother. He got to worship your changing body and make you feel possibly the sexiest you’d ever felt. 

He got to scramble as he cleaned up the sheets and gave Tommy instructions on how to care for the kid he and you were leaving at home, and he kissed his kid goodbye in an anxious and happy frenzy on the way out the door. He got to hold your hand through the few contractions you had the displeasure of experiencing. He got to keep holding your hand and look in your eyes and tell you that you’re brave and strong as the anesthesiologist administered your epidural. He got to make sure you had enough pillows and blankets before you fell asleep. 

He got to stare at you peacefully sleeping through all the contractions the monitors were telling him you were having. 

Joel leaned his elbows on the edge of the hospital bed, sat in the chair he scooted up to your bedside. He watched the small movements made by his child inside of you, the tightening of your abdomen each time a contraction occurred. 

He kissed your bump for what he figured was probably the last time and whispered against your skin, “I’ll see you soon, baby girl.”

When it came to push, it was almost 5:00 in the morning, and Joel still hadn’t slept, but he was steady, his feet planted firmly on the ground, one arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other being crushed by your hand. 

He whispered words of encouragement in your ear and let you curse him out and blame him for the situation you were currently in. 

He let you, because this was a man who loved you with all of his heart, and the swearing and the squeezing didn’t matter once the doctor placed that perfect baby on your chest. 

Joel kissed your cheek and the baby’s slimy head and flexed his fingers around your shoulder and whispered over and over how proud he was of you and how much he loved you. 

After the first hour, you hand your perfect baby over to Joel. She lies on his bare chest, and the world stops for a moment, just like it did when he was 22 and he stepped into the hospital’s nursery and the nurse handed his bundle of joy into his shaking arms. 

This time, he’s steady; he’s not alone, and he’s looking at you as you squint at your phone after the nurse steps away.

“What is it?” he asks, his hand gently rubbing against the baby’s back. 

“I just gave you the best Father’s Day gift of all fucking time,” you say, a soft smirk on your face as you type on your phone, probably sending a picture to Sarah or your mom. 

“What do you mean, sweetheart?” he asks softly.

“I mean I just delivered your second-born child on Father’s Day. It’s today, Joel.”

You giggle softly, and Joel smiles as he looks down at the baby.

“It’s a good thing she came today,” you laugh. “I didn’t get you anything.”

He shrugs. “Eh, I forgot about Father’s Day, too. No big deal. Besides, this really is…the best fuckin’ Father’s Day gift I could’ve ever imagined, darlin’.”

You smile and lean back against the pillows. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Tommy brings Sarah by around mid-morning, and she makes a beeline straight for you, wrapping you in the tightest hug she’s ever given you. 

“How are you?” she asks. “Everything go okay?”

You smile up at her and kiss her cheek. 

“You’re the sweetest kid, y’know that? I’m okay. She’s okay. You’ve got a cute and healthy baby sister,” you tell her. 

She smiles and rounds the foot of your bed to hold her baby sister. Joel carefully transfers the baby into his oldest’s arms and kisses Sarah’s head when the baby’s happy in her arms. 

“I love you. You’re still my baby girl, too,” he whispers against her forehead. 

“I love you, too, Dad. Oh, and happy Father’s Day. Your present is under my bed at home,” she tells him.

“Can’t wait to open it,” he says as he puts his t-shirt back on.

Joel sits on the edge of your bed and holds your hand while the two of you admire your oldest holding your youngest. 

“What’s her name?” Sarah asks, looking up at you and Joel.

Joel looks at you, and you nod, giving him the go-ahead. 

“Her name is Ellie.”

all works tags: @person-005 @madpanda75 @tearsweetenedtea @canonisoptional

Joel Miller taglist: @pleurspetal @saralovesjoelmiller @hystericalanduseless9 @mabelmiller @hoziersguitarr @bisexualmiserybaby

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[mcthsman]

*HONEY BABY: a joel miller x reader story.

Dating your boss had never been in the cards for you until Joel Miller; ever the gentleman, he decides to court and take things slow, not wanting to turn your relationship into even more of an hr nightmare than it already is. You don't want to wait— You want him, right now, no more waiting. Your TikTok feed gives you the perfect idea of how to get his resolve to crumble.

click here to join the TAGLIST. / click here for my MAIN MASTERLIST.

warnings: established relationship, modern!au/no outbreak, reader's age is not specified but joel is mid/late 30s, reader is afab and goes by she/her, boss/employee relationship, naughty polaroids, teasing, panty stealing, pwp, tommy is a menace, no use of y/n, smut (mutual masturbation, phone sex, fingering, dirty talk, edging, semi-public sex).

rating: 18+.

word count: 4.2k.

fox says: hi friends, thank you for reading! this is just something smutty that i wrote for @pedroscurls ppcu writing challenge! my prompt was joel miller + "why are you laughing? this is a very serious situation.". i was supposed to post this by may 31st but uhhhh yeah that didn't happen sorry lol pics are for aesthetics only and there is absolutely no description of reader! as always, pls let me know how we feel!

also available on archiveofourown.

Joel is different from every other relationship you’ve ever had. First and foremost, he is your boss: You’re working as a secretary — administrative assistant, he always says, as if that is any more imposing. — at the small contracting company he owns with his younger brother and because your relationship is an HR nightmare — or it would be, if the Miller Brothers Contracting was big enough of a company to have an HR —, Joel has decided to “take things slow”. He says it’s because he wants you to be comfortable with him and not feel pressured into the physical side of things but you think it might be because he’s an overworked thirty-something year old single father with way too many responsibilities that hasn’t gotten laid in more years than you’ve been legal enough to drink. 

So, after way too many months of hand holding and falling asleep together on your couch with all of your clothes on, you decide to take matters into your own hands. 

Joel is a gentleman, yes, but at the end of the day he is, in fact, just a man. 

You first get the idea from TikTok. You run into the trendy video about two months into the tentative relationship you have with Joel while doomscrolling one late night when he is stuck at work and you find that you can’t sleep until you know he’s home safe. The video is of a young bride that, on her wedding day, has her maid of honor hand deliver several naughty polaroids to the groom and record his reaction to them. You’re not even close to being married, but you giggle at the flustered look on the groom’s face while he tries to pretend he’s not affected by the surprise and the idea stays in your brain, simmering and festering and gaining ground. 

You log onto your Amazon account and you buy the stupidly expensive Polaroid camera just as Joel checks in, texting to let you know he’s home safe and sound.

The first photo is not that risqué. You’re in the tub, entire body covered by foam and bubbles and the only part of you that is visible is your legs, propped up on the corner of your clawfoot tub, the warm gold lighting from the candles reflecting on the wet glimmer of your skin. It takes you five tries to get the picture the way you want it to, the right bending of your knees and the right prop of your red-coated toes. 

You leave it on the dashboard of his truck the next day while he’s distracted filling up the tank, hoping he’ll notice it before Tommy does. Your phone rings ten minutes after he leaves to oversee some field work on the other side of town but you don’t answer— Instead you just send him a kissy face emoji when he takes a picture of the Polaroid and sends it to you with about seven interrogation marks. 

You escalate a little with the next one, a mirror selfie from your bedroom, the clunky camera covering your face, your nightgown being the focus: It’s deep burgundy, silky and flimsy and the hem ends at the halfway point of your thighs; you draw a little heart on the white strip at the bottom and then slips it on his coat pocket two days later. He catches you red-handed, and stares at it for a long moment before he leans in, his big hand squeezing your hip. 

“You look beautiful in red.” Joel whispers before he leaves for the night, and although that is the only comment he makes, the way his eyes rake through your body before the door closes leaves you tingling. 

You don’t take any pictures for the rest of the week, feeling stressed and bloated and frazzled from the overwhelming surge of deck renovations that comes in with the beginning of summer and every single client demanding a magic overnight build or to be bumped up on the waiting list or just being generally rude because they think they’re allowed to. Joel listens in silence as you complain about it, his lips pressed to your knuckles, warm eyes on your face, letting you vent until your throat is raw before he decides to drive for a late night dinner at your favorite food chain. 

You see the nightgown Polaroid inside his wallet as he pulls out his card to pay for the meal and that alone fixes all of your worries— The curly fries help, too.

The next photo is not exactly of you, but you like it anyway— You take it in your bathroom, a pair of see-through panties hanging over the round make-up mirror on the counter. The reflection is fogged from the too-hot shower you just came out of and it helps blur your body in the mirror: Just the foggy curve of your naked waist, with you angling your body just enough to keep most of it out of the frame. Joel doesn’t mention the picture but, the next time he leaves your house, you see the soft mint green of fabric poking from his backpocket. 

‘Did you steal my underwear?’ You text him later in the evening as your body thrums with desire and you can’t properly fall asleep. 

Joel takes a long time to reply and, when he does, it’s with a picture of his own: Your underwear on his nightstand, the flimsy fabric stained with thick ropes of cum. 

‘You’re not the only one that can use a camera’ he texts you right after the photo but you’re too busy with your hand between your legs to reply.

When Joel brings up a trip to a lakeside cabin over a three day weekend that Tommy is free to babysit, you say yes before you can even think it through— You make a joke about checking in with your boss for a PTO request and, cheekily, he tells you that there’s a lot of ways for you to earn as many days off as you’d like. Joel has never made a dirty joke regarding work before, has always been very explicit and firm when it comes to letting you know that your relationship would never affect your workplace and it makes you wonder just how much of his selfcontrol you’ve managed to chip away with your little photos.

You take the most explicit one just two days before the trip, your hand stuffed inside your underwear as you lay in bed, legs spread open; you’re in nothing but red satin panties and a pair of latex thigh high boots that a friend gave you for your birthday and you never found the courage to wear out in public. The picture doesn’t show anything above your navel, but you take the time to spread body glitter all over every bit of skin that is on display; there’s no way anyone can even tell it’s you, but you know Joel will recognize the gold bracelet he gave you when you had first started going out.

‘Thinking of you’, you write on the bottom, slipping it inside his wallet during a lunch break and making a quick exit before he can even consider looking inside, too embarrassed to see his reaction in public. 

Joel calls you later that evening, and this time, you pick it up.

“You’re killin’ me.” He groans as a greeting and you giggle, phone pressed to your ear, your face burning so much you think it might explode. “Just killin’ me, sweetheart.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Joel.” 

“Sure you don’t, you lil’ minx.” 

You giggle again, your fingers toying with the hem of your sleep shirt. “Did you like it?” 

“Yes.” He answers immediately. “Fuck, yes.”

You lick your lips, thinking back to the only photo he sent you. “Do you… Do you touch yourself to them?”

Joel hesitates just for a moment, enough that you know he’s considering lying. 

“Joel,” You whine, both a warning and a plea. 

“I did. I do. The one with the nightgown— That’s my favorite.” His breathing is shallow, his voice low and rough enough to make your body tingle. “Is that what you’re wearin’ to bed at the cabin?”

“Not really.” You answer, and it’s hard to hold back the grin. “I was thinking more like that lipstick you like and nothing else.”

Joel groans into the phone, the rumbling noise making your insides shake. 

“You have no idea what you’re doin’ to me.” He says, the Texan accent you love so much growing thicker. 

“Tell me.” You say before you can think it over, the tip of your fingers brushing against the hem of your sleep shirt. “Tell me what I do to you, Joel.”

“I’m rock hard right now, babygirl.” Joel says, and the picture it paints makes heat pool between your legs. “Had to jerk off twice at work today ‘cause I opened my wallet at lunch and saw ‘em pretty legs. Keep thinkin’ about what they’d look like spread open f’me.” 

“They’re spread open for you right now.” You follow through with it, your knees falling to the sides. Your hand teases the edge of your underwear but your voice quivers with a hint of shyness— You’ve never done this before with anyone, but the pictures and the thoughts of your upcoming trip  have you so worked up that you don’t even feel guilty for it. 

“Can you touch that lil’ clit f’me?” He asks and you can hear that there is more to it than just a request. It’s Joel’s way of getting you to consent, the way he can make sure you’re comfortable with finally crossing the line. 

“Yes.” You breathe out, your hand sneaking inside your underwear. You moan a little louder than you would’ve if you were by yourself, wanting to give Joel a little bit of a show. 

“Put me on speaker.” Joel orders. “Wanna hear how messy she gets for me.” 

Joel has always been bossy; with you, with his brother, with the men that work for him. He’s not overbearing or rude, just stern enough to make you comply without thinking, trusting that he knows what he is doing and that he’ll take the reins of the consequences if needed. So you do as he tells you, fumbling with your phone for a second and letting it fall on the bed near your hip. Your fingers dip lower, collecting your wetness before bringing it back to your clit; the modest cotton underwear you’re wearing dampens the sound a little so you hastily pull it off, the piece of clothing remaining stuck to one of your ankles as you run tight circles over your clit. 

“Feels so good, Joel.” You say, so wet that the sound reverberates through the room. “Wish you were here. Wish you were the one touching me.” 

“I will.” He says, his breathing labored. You can hear Joel spit before a rhythmic slicked sound takes over the speakers. “Two days, babygirl. Just two more days and then I’ll fuck you so good you won’t want me to ever stop.” 

You moan, a high pitched little sound that escapes your lips when your fingers touch a particularly sensitive spot at the very edge of your clit and the wet sound coming from your phone fastens. You picture Joel, sitting in his bed, his hand furiously rubbing at his hard cock. 

“I can hear you.” You say, your lips wobbling into a smile. You slide your hand a little lower, pushing your middle finger inside; the stretch it’s not enough, it’s not him, but it’s better than nothing. “You’re touching yourself too, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Joel groans, and you try to focus on the way he switches rhythms, going from fast to slow and then picking up speed again. “He can’t wait to meet you. Been cravin’ that sweet little pussy since the day we met.” 

You whine, slipping a second finger inside of yourself, working your pussy open with one hand as you clumsily thumber at your clit with the other. “Fuck, Joel, you can’t say shit like that—” 

“No, baby?” He coos, his voice taunting and breathless at the same time. “You don’t want to hear about how my cock’s been droolin’ whenever I think about you? When you show up to work in those jeans, perkin’ your tight lil’ ass at me? Bendin’ over my desk like a minx?” 

Your fingers speed up at his words, a loud keen of Joel’s name escaping your lips as you come, your breathing fast and helpless as you work yourself through your orgasm. Joel groans on the other side of the phone, a sound low and guttural and long enough to know he’s also coming. You pull your hand away from your opening but you don’t stop the slow circles on your clit, Joel’s heavy breathing almost covering up the wet sounds of your fingers. Almost. 

“Fuck, you’re still goin’, babygirl?” 

“Yeah,” you whine, eyes closed as you focus on the feeling— Slower this time, more intentional, taking your time. “I just need you so bad.”

Joel cusses under his breath, so low you almost miss it. “Talk to me, baby.” He pleads, his voice rougher than it’d been before. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.” 

“I—” You hesitate, licking your lips, unsure of just how much you can say before you scare him off. But you’re still so turned on, so wet and hot, so you just close your eyes and picture him there with you, the words leaving your mouth before you can think them over: “I want you to fuck me from behind, pushing me down on the mattress, your big— fuck, your big bicep wrapped around my neck.” 

You’re just a little ashamed at your own words but, to his credit, Joel doesn’t skip a beat. 

“Yeah? My sweet lil’ baby wants me to rough her up a lil’?”

“Yes.” You breathe out, your fingers slowly picking up the pace; you can see it clearly behind your closed eyelids: you, laying on your stomach, one hand grabbing the sheets, the other clutching Joel’s hair. The weight of his big body pressing down against you, his stomach slotted into the small of your back, that thick arm of his wrapped around your throat, pulling you backwards and holding you hostage all the same. 

You come just like that, legs sprawled on your bed while Joel eggs you on over the phone, tiny little black spots clouding your vision.

At first, the pictures had been just to tease him; they made you feel good about yourself, sure, and his reactions too, but it was meant to be just something to get Joel to break. And now that he has, you don’t stop. 

Because teasing him becomes fun. 

Friday morning, the day of the trip, Joel holds a meeting— It’s just a check in he does weekly with his crew, setting new goals for the coming week and handling any setbacks or complaining from the guys; it’s the most formal Joel gets as a boss, which means that he’s leaning against the table next to the coffee machine when he speaks, hands shoved in his pockets, talking gruff and fast before he lets the workers begin their day. 

Your heels clack when you walk into the container that is being used as headquarters on this particular job, the yellow hardhat hanging from the crook of your elbow— Joel stops halfway through a sentence, clearly not expecting you here, but you simply cross the room with a smile and your iPad in hands. 

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, Mr. Miller, but I need your help for a moment.” You turn the iPad, that had been clutched tight to your chest, so only he can see the screen— There, nestled in the corner and tucked against your thumb, is a polaroid.

It’s a picture of the wheel of Joel’s truck, a flimsy piece of powder blue hanging from the rearview mirror— On the mirror itself there is only the partial reflection of your face, your lips plump and glossy shining next to the reflection of the Polaroid camera itself. It’s a tame one despite the panties hanging from the mirror but you can see the way Joel’s body shifts, how he’s suddenly far too aware that he’s staring at your underwear in a room full of men. 

“When’s— When’s this from?”

“Few minutes ago.” You answer, keeping your voice light and professional. “It’s still wet.” 

“What’s still wet?” The question comes from Tommy, who is leaning too far away to see the iPad but you figure he knows his brother’s face well enough to make a good guess. 

“The cement.” You say, your grin matching Tommy’s. “Someone poured a load of concrete in the wrong place.”

Tommy’s eyes bounce between you and Joel, his shit-eating grin widening when Joel carefully plucks the polaroid from the iPad and shoves it into his back pocket as casually as he can. 

“I’ll deal with that later.” Joel says, clearing his throat. His face is impassive, professional, but his eyes burn when they turn to you. “Now, as I was sayin’ —”

“That’s okay, take your time.” You interrupt him, an innocent smile on your lips. “Maybe I can get Tommy or someone else to help me before it dries.” 

“No.” Joel barks before Tommy can even take a breath to answer, so hard and fast even some of the workers snap to attention. “Go sit in my car, I’ll deal with that as soon as I can.”

You hold his gaze. 

“Yes, sir.” 

The passenger side door yanks open and you yelp, hands clutching your chest when Joel’s head pops in. 

“Jesus fuck, Joel, are you trying to kill me?”

“No. Are you?” He asks, frowning when he pulls the polaroid from his pocket. “In front of my crew? Really?” 

You giggle. He sounds angry, yes, but not too angry— Not to the point where you’d consider apologizing. “It was urgent, Joel.” 

Joel wraps a hand around your ankle, pulling so you slide across the seat, your legs dangling off of the truck. 

“Urgent.” He mutters, disdain dripping from a single word. Joel raises his head ever-so-slightly, making sure there is no one around before he ducks in for a kiss. Your hands wrap around his shoulders, fingers digging into the hair on the nape of his neck; Joel’s been letting his hair grow out since you’ve started dating, his curls becoming more prominent when you started forcing him to properly care for them. 

“Had me rock hard in the middle of a meeting. All my men in the fuckin’ room.”

You giggle again, smiling against his lips and Joel pulls back at that, pinching your thigh— Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to have you swallowing down your laughter. 

“Do you think any of them noticed?” You ask, biting down on your bottom lip to hide the smile threatening to come through. 

“Tommy sure as shit did.” Joel shakes his head. “Goddamn it, woman, I ain’t gon’ hear the last of this.”

“You should’ve seen your face.” You say, shoulders shaking with laughter. “I thought you were going to pop that vein on your forehead.”

“I was poppin’ somethin’, alright.” As much as he tries to be stern, you can see his lips fighting a smile. “Why are you laughin’? This is a very serious situation. Do you have any idea what it was like finishin’ that meeting when all I could think about was bendin’ you over the hood of my truck?” 

“There’s still time for you to bend me over the hood.” You tease, legs spreading just a little more. “My underwear’s still off. Won’t be for long, though. I have to go back to work and my boss—”

Joel’s hands drift higher, underneath your skirt, and you lose momentum with your words, stuttering an end to a sentence that wasn’t finished yet. He notices, of course, a lazy smirk stretching underneath his mustache. “What’chu were sayin’ about your boss?”

“He’s a real stickler for the rules.” You say, goosebumps erupting on your skin when Joel’s hands climb higher and higher. “Never lets me have any fun.”

“Oh, I think you’ve had enough fun.” He hums when his fingers find your bare core. Joel is struggling to keep his composure, you can tell by the way his shoulders stiffen when he slides his middle finger over your slit, his other hand gripping your thigh just a little harsher. “So fuckin’ wet. Did you touch yourself?”

“Nope.” You say with a demure shake of your head; he raises an eyebrow, unbelieving, but you simply offer him a toothy grin. “Got like this just from thinking about you.” 

Joel’s mouth crashes onto yours. The finger ghosting over your entrance pushes in with a little more intent, collecting your slick and bringing it up to your clit; it makes you gasp against Joel’s lips, your hands digging into his shoulders to ground yourself. He touches you slowly but firmly, reverently almost as the pads of his fingers circle your clit.

“Such a naughty lil’ thing.” Joel mumbles against your lips. “Teasin’ me like that. Could barely speak, thinkin’ about this wet pussy gettin’ off on my truck.”

Your hands slide from his shoulders to his chest, fingers digging into the hard panes of his torso before settling on Joel’s belt buckle. He mouths at your jawline, tilting your head back with his nose as he trails down your neck. You’re more than a little confused when Joel pulls his hand from your clit, pushing your hands away from his jeans. 

“Hands behind your back.” He tells you, pupils blown wide as he waits for you to obey. “You don’t get to touch me.”

“All the fun and none of the work?” You ask, giggling to yourself as you adjust your body in the position he’s asking for, leaning your weight back on both of your hands. “I don’t think you’re very good at the punishing thing.” 

The smirk Joel gives you makes your thighs tremble. He doesn’t answer, just pushing your thighs further apart and your skirt high up your waist, exposing you to him. Joel runs his fingers down your cunt, collecting the wetness seeping out of you before smearing it all over your clit in wide, lazy circles. You try to push your hips up, trying to get more friction out of it but Joel just pushes you down with his free hand, his weight hefty on top of your hip. 

“Hold still.” He barks, raising his head just once to make sure the parking lot is still empty before he resumes his movements. 

It’s torture. Joel moves his fingers for himself, learning the right pressure and speed that has you keening before he switches directions, plunging a finger then two inside of you before pulling both of them out entirely, flicking and pinching your clit until you have tears behind your eyes.

“Joel, please.” You say, out of breath, holding back a sound that is both a sob and a growl. “Please, just let me come.” 

He hums, slipping two fingers inside of you, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit. Joel stops moving then, pressing down onto your clit, two thick fingers buried inside. 

“Not sure you deserve it, baby. You’ve been so bad to me.”

“I’m sorry.” The words come out of your mouth almost instantly, even though you don’t really mean it. “I’m so sorry, Joel. I thought we were just having fun! I didn’t— Fuck, please. It wasn’t that serious—” He hesitates for a moment longer, and you barrel through, still talking, still trying to figure out what exactly he wants to hear from you. “Please, honey, I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to tease you like that— I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be good.”

That little sentence seems to be the golden one. Joel pulls his middle and ring finger almost entirely out before plunging them back in, crooking them upwards as his thumb flicks over your clit; you’re so overstimulated, so past the point of fully conscious that you barely notice the way your body locks when you come, one hand digging into the leather seat while the other flies to Joel’s hair, pulling him close when your spine arches, your mouth finding his in the middle of your high strung whines. 

His fingers pump in and out of you until your legs are shaking, your wetness sliding down your ass all the way to the seat. Your tongue laps against his, the kiss lazy but no less heated; you only pull back when you’re completely out of breath, a smile tugging at your kiss-bruised lips. 

“You really are terrible at doling out punishment.” You giggle, squirming away when Joel tries to pinch your ribs. But he can’t even pretend to be annoyed anymore, face flushed and smiley when he looks at you. 

“Don’t worry, baby.” Joel presses a kiss to your lips, tugging your skirt down. “I’ll spank you raw as soon as we’re alone.”

“Promises promises, Joel Miller.”

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[hsispunk]

tattoo artist! joel miller x female reader

warnings: 18+ smut: age gap (he’s 40s your 20s) joel is kinda mean in the beginning but ends up being soft, p in v (unprotected), cream pie, oral f&m receiving, dirty talk, pet names (baby/baby girl), praise kink, fingering, spanking.

summary: you go to Miller’s Ink for your first tattoo and get more than you asked for.

wc: 2.5k

A/N: okay so let’s pretend in the pic of joel he has a tattoo gun in hand😇 also i feel like i cld lowk make this into more parts like where she keeps going back to see him for tattoos & sex so let me knooowwww!!!

You never saw yourself getting a tattoo yet here you were.

Everyone around you had at least one. Your mom had a flower on her back, your dad had a cross on his chest, and your roommate, aka your best friend, Lauren, had multiple doodles all over her body.

Hers were all done by the one and only, Joel Miller.

Lauren had tried to get you to come with her multiple times, but you couldn’t ever commit. You were also scared by the idea of a needle repeatedly driving into your skin.

It wasn’t until a couple of days ago that you decided you were going to get a tattoo. You had this idea of a small, risqué tattoo that only a few would see.

You were hoping they took walk-ins, so you head on over to Miller's Ink.

Miller's Ink was owned by the Miller brothers, Joel and Tommy.

Tommy was Joel’s younger brother, but the work they both did was amazing. They were also easy on the eyes.

A bell chimes over the door as you walk through. A young lady looks up and greets you.

“Welcome to Miller's Ink! I’m Dina. Name for the appointment?” You look at her, and she sees it in your face that you didn’t make one. “That’s alright hun, we do walk-ins. Let me see if we have any openings today.”

She walks to the back, where the two brothers are currently tattooing people. They talk back and forth for a few minutes.

You make eye contact with the one you know as Joel. The rumors were true; he was hot. You start to feel hot under his gaze, but he looks away as Dina walks towards you.

“Alright, I got bad news and good news. The bad news is we have no more openings for today. The good news is that we can get you in tomorrow. It’s going to be closer to closing, though. Is that alright?”

You would take anything you could get, so you agreed on 6pm tomorrow night with Tommy Miller.

Although Joel was more known for doing tattoos, you heard Tommy was just as good.

You walk out of the shop, wondering what the hell you just signed yourself up for.

It was a tiny tattoo, but it would be on your body for the rest of your life.

You tossed and turned all night, thinking about how tomorrow you no longer would have bare skin.

It was the next day, and you woke up at 12 in the afternoon.

It was hard to sleep because of your anxiety for today, but the excitement started to kick in.

You took a shower and shaved in preparation for your tattoo placement. That was one thing you knew they would do, which was shave the hair off the area, so you decided to do it yourself.

It was hot in Jackson, even when the sun went down, so you wore a flowy mini skirt and tank top.

You didn’t bother with a bra because you didn’t have much boob anyway.

Next thing you know, you’re in front of Miller's Ink.

This time, it was on the empty side compared to yesterday. It almost looked closed.

The same girl who greeted you the day prior was coming out from the back with a purse over her shoulder. She looked like she was about to leave. “Hi! Good to see you again! I’m glad I caught you before I left. Joel is ready for you in the back.”

You look at her, confused, “Joel? I thought you booked me with Tommy.” It’s not a problem, you just wanted confirmation.

“Yes, sorry, originally Tommy was going to be doing your tattoo, but something came up. Joel was happy to stay and do yours.” She smiles. “Well, I’m on my way out. Good luck on your first tattoo!” And she walks out the door.

You look at the open hours on the sign at the front desk counter and read that they close at 6 pm. What? You think to yourself. You immediately feel bad that he was doing your tattoo after hours.

Behind the front counter, you see a man with his back toward you, prepping a tattoo station. It’s Joel.

You’ve never talked to him in your life besides hearing what others have told you. This was your first introduction.

“Hi? Joel?” You say with his back still towards you. He turns around and looks at you, then spins back around.

“I’m ready for you.” Okay, so maybe he isn’t the talkative type.

He instructs you to sit on the table, and you see your tattoo you had talked about with Dina yesterday printed out in multiple sizes.

Lucky You in cursive was what you would be getting on your lower back.

It was a little promiscuous, but you liked the idea of a tattoo being seen by very few people. Lauren was going to freak out.

“Lie on your stomach for me.” He tells you, so you do it. You feel his black rubber gloves hover over your lower back with an alcohol wipe. He swipes it over you before grasping the stencil. “I’m going to place it down, then you can confirm if it’s where you want it.”

The paper hits your back, and his fingers rub over it before peeling it off.

He walks you over to the mirror to check out the placement.

It’s exactly where you want it. It sits in the perfect spot and peeks out between your skirt and tank top. You love it already, and it wasn’t even tattooed on you yet.

“I love it.” You tell him. He doesn’t say much, just nods. “Definitely not a talker,” you say under your breath. He acts like he didn’t hear you.

He has you go back to the tattoo table, and you lie back down on your stomach.

The nerves start to build up that a needle is about to drag across your skin until the tattoo itself is finished.

“I’m going to do a test line for you to get familiar with the feeling.” He tells you as he lifts your tank top higher up so it doesn’t get in the way.

You feel his hands on your lower back as he brings the tattoo gun to meet your skin. The feeling is like a small sting, but nothing unbearable. If anything, his big hands on your bare skin have you feeling a type of way than the needle penetrating it.

“Is that alright?”

You look over at him. “Yes, not too bad.” And he continues.

He’s been tattooing you for about thirty minutes in silence when he decides to speak up.

“So what’s the meaning?”

You weren’t expecting his voice to break the silence, so you jolted. His hands were gripping you a bit as if he was telling you to stay still.

“The meaning?” You ask, confused.

“Yeah, girls always have meanings for their tattoos. So what’s the meaning of this one?” He sounds super uninterested in hearing what you have to say, but he’s probably just trying to make conversation.

“Oh, um, nothing really. I just thought it would be cute, is all.”

“Cute?” He questions. He wasn’t buying it.

You actually thought this tattoo was quite sexy. The idea of someone taking you behind while looking down at the ‘Lucky You’ above your ass, but you weren’t planning on explaining that to your tattoo artist.

“I wouldn’t call it cute.” You look over your shoulder at him.

“Then what would you call it?” You ask, and he finally looks up at you, putting down the tattoo gun on his rolling stand.

“Slutty.” He says as he wraps it up with some clear tattoo wrap and pats your lower back. “It’s done.”

Although you are in shock that he just called your tattoo ‘slutty’ the degradation from his lips turned you on. You see him walk over to the mirror.

“Are you going to look at it?”

You immediately get off the table and walk over. It’s perfect, Joel did an amazing job at bringing your idea to life.

As you’re looking at it, you feel Joel’s body right in front of you. You turn around and become face-to-face with him.

“You like your slutty little tattoo?” He smirks. Heat washes through your body and straight to your core.

You look up at him. “I do.” His hands wrap around your waist. “Want to know the real meaning behind it?” He nods, "It's a reminder for those who fuck me from behind to know just how lucky they are." Your foreheads are against one another now.

"Can I be one of those lucky fuckers?" he asks.

You answer by smashing your lips into his. He's rough with the way he moves his tongue against yours.

He reaches down to cup your ass, the feeling causing you to moan into the kiss. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth before breaking apart.

You keep eye contact with him as you slowly drop to your knees, your hands drag down his body.

Joel looks into the mirror that's in front of him. He has the perfect view of your tattoo as you kneel and undo his belt buckle.

He's big and girthy, you're not sure how you're going to fit the entire thing in your mouth, but you'll find a way. You want to make him feel good.

"You gonna suck on a cock of a man old enough to be your daddy?" You don't answer, just pull him out of his boxers and lick up his cock. "Fuck," He says as he places his hands in your hair.

Joel was older, you could tell, but that's when you knew they were good at sex. Older men always had more experience. You had been with one once before him, and it was the best you ever had.

You take his cock all the way, and your nose hits the hair on his base. His tip hits the back of your throat and causes you to gag. You stay there for a second before coming back up for some air. "Shit, baby, you're a little cock slut. Taking such a big cock in that tiny little mouth." Slobber spills out the sides of your lips.

His dirty words go straight to your pussy. You can’t help but squeeze your thighs to get a little relief as you take him in your mouth.

You swirl your tongue on Joel’s slit, the most sensitive part of his cock, before he rips you off and forces you to stand up.

“Don’t want to come yet, need to fuck you from behind.

He drags you where he had just done your tattoo and bends you over the table. You look over your shoulder at him.

“Gonna fuck me and stare at your work?”

He pulls down your skirt and panties as he gets on his knees behind you. His hands spread your cheeks before planting a slap on them.

“I’m gonna devour this pussy first, then I’ll fuck you.” He dives his tongue straight into your cunt, licking from your folds up to your hole. “What a wet fucking pussy. All this for me?”

“Shit, Joel!” You bite your hand from how good it feels. No one has ever eaten you out from behind, only fucked.

You feel his fingers travel down to your pussy, and one teases your hole. He pumps it in a few times before he’s completely wrecking you.

His tongue on your clit while his finger plunges in and out of you is over whelming your vision starts to go white.

“I’m gonna come! I’m gonna come!” And those were your last words before you came all over his finger and mouth.

You feel weak from that earth-shattering orgasm Joel just gave you. His rough hands grip your hips to keep you up.

“We’re not done, baby, gonna fuck you from behind now. Nice and slow.” He rubs his palms over your ass in a soothing motion.

You just whine and nod, too fucked out to say anything.

He takes hold of his cock, and nudges the tip against your entrance, “Take it, baby. I know you can.” He slowly pushes into you, pussy still pulsing from your orgasm. “That’s my good girl, just sucking me right in.”

He feels huge inside of you. You’re not sure how he’s fitting with how big he looked earlier.

“Mmm, Joel, feels so good.” You tell him. His thrusts are slow, but they hit all the right spots. He’s being gentle with you.

He looks down at the fresh ink covered by the plastic wrap. “Lucky me.” He says under his breath.

His hips start to pick up as he tries to reach his high. “Wish I could come all over this tattoo, baby girl. Would look so pretty.”

He hunches over you as he brings his hand in between your thighs and starts playing with your clit.

It’s still sensitive, so you shudder at his touch.

“Come inside me, Joel. Want you to fill me up.” You start to fuck back on his cock, wanting to reach your high too.

Joel’s view is erotic, your plump ass bouncing back on his cock, all while staring at his work that is forever on your body.

“Come with me, baby, come on my cock.” You still, as your orgasm hits you at once, Joel grips your hips to be flushed against his. “Fuck, just milking me.”

He paints your insides with his come, you feel so warm and full. You wish you could stay in this moment forever.

“Joel.” You whine as you pulse on him.

It’s silent in the tattoo shop, besides both of your panting. He pulls out of you, and you moan from the discomfort.

He stares at his come dripping out of you before he walks across the room and grabs a rag to clean you up.

“For someone who doesn’t talk a lot, you sure do during sex.” You say to break the ice.

He laughs and helps put on your skirt and panties.

You stand in front of one another, both fully clothed now. “Thank you.” He looks at you, eyebrows furrowed. “Not for the sex, the tattoo! Well, the sex too, but-.” He kisses you to shut you up.

“I get it, it’s all good.” He tucks a stray hair behind your ear, “I do free touch-ups, so whenever it starts to fade, come in and ask for me.”

His demeanor is totally different than when you first walked in here. He’s a big softie.

“I will.” You smile, and he walks you to the front door. You say your goodbyes, and you’re on the way back to your apartment.

Over the walk, you try to comprehend what just happened.

Joel gave you a tattoo. Then Joel fucked you. Not only that but he actually came inside you.

What the fuck.

You walk into your apartment and shut the door, not knowing Lauren is sitting on your couch.

“Is that a fucking tattoo?” You turn around so quick. Her face is in shock, jaw dropped.

“Surprise?”