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.
Summary: 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.
Warnings: +18 smut, MDNI, sub!Joel, outbreak, enemies to lovers, wounds, mention of death, handjob, pinning to the wall, a hint of degradation, edging, age gap, use of pet names (darling, big boy, good boy, sweetheart)
Word count: 5.9k
Notes: found myself writing this out of the blue, no planning or anything. Sometimes we just need a little bit of sub!Joel and that’s okay 🩷 lyrics in the title are from “imgonnagetyouback” by Taylor Swift
Dividers credits: @cursed-carmine , @cafekitsune
|| JOEL MILLER FICS || MASTERLIST ||
“We can’t keep getting away with this, at some point it will get us killed.”
But Joel hasn’t feared death in a long time, your words barely scratch the surface.
Always his challenging look on his face, the wrinkles by his eyes shaped by his anger, his killer instincts.
He nonchalantly wipes off the blood from his knife on the sleeve of his jacket, “Don’t act like you don’t like seeing me doing this and doing it by yourself.”
You look at your hands that might be even bloodier than his, the dark fluid staining them, getting on each fingertip, in every line of your palm.
“It’s Fedra, they come after ya. And if it wasn’t for this,” he gestures at the gun in your hand, “you would be the one laying on the ground.”
This is not you, you keep repeating yourself, this is an evil twin, an evil version of you that has taken over. This is not real, if you squeeze your eyes closed all the blood will disappear, the gun will vaporise and even Joel will disappear.
When you open them again the blood still drips from your hands, Joel now kneeled to collect a cloth from his backpack.
“C’mon, you’re alright.”
The cloth is cold when he applies it to your hands, wiping the blood away with a gentleness that seems coming from another man. Maybe even him is an evil version of his true self.
“You’re hurt, let me help ya.”
And suddenly the shot of adrenaline hits your bloodstream, feeling the skin cut open on your arm, letting the gun fall to the ground, its fall echoing on the walls.
“Fuck, fuck, I hadn’t noticed that.”
“I know,” Joel nods, taking a bottle of alcohol, “It happens that you can’t feel a knife going through, only seeing the wound after you finished fighting.”
It stings, Joel holding your hand with his free one, “Yeah I know, I know, gonna go away in a second.”
“Look at me, don’t look down.”
You lock your gaze on his face, his eyes though on your wound, working on it as you take in his peppered hair and beard, thinking that it’s the adrenaline that is making you look a little longer.
“ ‘s alright, ‘s not too deep, you will be alright.”
The shock of it doesn’t even make you realise that he’s already patched up the wound with gauzes and cleaned even your hands from the blood.
It’s when you’re standing on your own again that you look down at the bodies, the blood on your clothes and filling your nostrils with that smell of fear. It clings to you, to your clothes and it’s a smell that you can’t take away.
“Don’t make that face,” he nudges you, “Don’t play innocent,” as he retrieves the gun from the floor.
“This is not who I am Joel.”
Joel shrugs, “This is exactly who you are.”
“I wasn’t like this before you.” You want to take back those words but it’s too late.
His head snaps at you, “Before me? You mean when I found ya covered in blood and with this gun in your hand, that before me? Before I took ya in because you had been wandering like a stray and Fedra was chasing you?”
Your blood boils at him, “You think you saved me, that’s what you think you did?” You push his arm, shovelling him, Joel laughing bitterly.
“We’re part of those people who are beyond salvation,” he takes a step closer, “You needed me to survive.”
“I never needed you. I never asked for your help, I didn’t even want to survive.” You spit, Joel shaking his head.
“You wanted to, and you needed me. You still need me, just like I need ya.”
“We rely on each other.” He contends, now walking side by side, “And what are ya so stubborn about? That you can count on me?”
And this goes under the times you would want to shovel him against the wall. And not in a good way.
“I don’t need you.” You repeat through your gritted teeth.
“Oh sorry, what was that? Who’s gonna mend your wounds then?”
And you really can’t take it anymore, pinning him to the dirty wall of that hallway, a force in you you didn’t even know you had.
He doesn’t oppose when you take both his wrists, bringing them up his head, rather enjoying it.
He can’t take the smile off his face, a light laugh leaving him. If he wanted to, he could very easily get out of your hold, but why ruining the fun for you?
“What’s so funny, Miller? That I can pin you to the wall like this?”
He laughs, “That I’m letting you do it, that’s the fun thing.”
Your hands are already getting tired, he’s much taller than you anyway and the wound on your arm is unforgiving.
“Oh really? And why are you letting me do it, uh?”
Joel shrugs, biting then his bottom lip at the thought of what you could do to him in this position.
“You want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.” You mock, pushing more his wrists and Joel has to contain a moan, he’s enjoying the pain so much.
“We’re so proud of ourselves today, darlin’.”
“Isn’t that the truth, that you really want me?” You tease him.
Joel clicks his tongue, “Maybe it’s the other way around, the way you look at me, like you want to be-“
And you can’t stand that anymore.
Your lips clash, kissing him roughly, pinning him even more to the wall.
You bite his bottom lip, Joel parting his lips even more, arching his back towards you, your bodies attached.
“So much for hatin’ me, darlin’.” Devilishly laughing, his lip bitten and marked by a little stain of blood.
“I had to shut you up, Miller.” Your arms begging for mercy, but you just hold that grip even stronger.
He could reverse the situation in a second if he wanted to, he could pin you to the wall and block you like that, but that wouldn’t give him the view he has before him; all he sees is your satisfied look, the darker shadow on your eyes and that drop of evil that you share with him.
“Should I run my mouth more often then?” He wonders, tilting his head to the side, resting it on your forearm. And god, his hair is so soft, how can he manage to keep it like that?
You huff, still tasting his lips on yours, that goddamn sweet taste that you hadn’t savoured in such a long time. Hell, you can’t even remember who was the last person you had kissed.
But well, now it is Joel.
“You can try to do that, fuck around and find out.” You threaten over his lips, leaning onto him, bloodstained clothes colliding, and your lips clashing again.
You hate him, you repeate to yourself, you hate this man so much.
But your body doesn’t, your body loves him like he’s a sweet poison ready to kill you slowly.
You leave his arms, Joel frowning a little, but he switches completely the moment you grip the back of his head, curls between your fingertips, exposing his neck.
“Fuck,” he moans, pulling his hair even more, lapping your tongue onto his neck. There’s sweat, adrenaline and even blood from a little cut, closing your lips onto his skin.
His hands grip the wall behind, not daring to grab you.
“God you’re so pathetic, aren’t you? Giving up all your control for me.” You spit, Joel whining and you might have won the lottery.
“Letting me do all of this to you... wonder what else would you let me do.” You whisper, making him tilt his head towards you.
“Tell me what you want, Miller.”
But Joel’s mind is a puddle, all the adrenaline went down after he killed those people but now has risen up again, poisoning his bloodstream.
Your hands finally leave his curls, only because there is something else on your mind.
“Oh, what? You still wanted me to do that? You wanted to be pinned to the wall again?” You mock his frowning look.
His very dominant presence is going all away, leaving place for a Joel that seems to be in need of guidance, a version of Joel so foreign to you.
“But how would I be able to do this otherwise?”
And Joel flinches at the way you’re palming him through his rough jeans, breathing deeply.
He tries to grab the wall, not wanting to grab your wrist, not trying to stop you.
“All this time...”, you click your tongue, “You play the bold man part so well, but now look at you,” you grab his chin, “You don’t even know what to do with yourself, uh? You’re getting harder and it’s getting you crazy.”
You can tell how hard he is, Joel closing his eyes, he couldn’t disagree on that even if he wanted to.
“What should we do with this, Miller?” You smirk as you cup him, and you nuzzle over his neck, “Should we take down these jeans?”
And Joel nods, as you go back to pulling his hair, “You think you deserve that, big boy? You think you’ve been good enough for that?”
And Joel writhes against your hand, his hand grabbing your forearm in the desperate search for something to hold on.
“Y-yes,” he babbles.
Your hand squeezes him through the jeans, making him whine, “Oh I don’t think so, Miller. You haven’t been a good boy,” you shake your head, “Instead you’ve been very bad, done so many bad things.” You coo with a fake sad tone.
“But-but I can be good, I swear.”
You click your tongue, hovering his neck with your lips, “It’s too late, Miller.”
Joel places his head back on the wall, all his neck exposed for you. And you suck his skin, to the point that your teeth are gracing the tender tissue, Joel at loss for the way you’re not giving him a single break on his jeans, goosebumps all over his skin.
“How long it’s been since someone did this?” You unbutton his jeans, opening the zip painfully slowly.
“L-Long, so long.” He breathes out, lost among all that touch.
“Yeah, I can tell.” You respond as your hand makes its way into his jeans, Joel cannot resisting the urge to grab your arm, to hold onto something.
You keep tracing his length, grabbing him and palming him through the tissue of his boxers, and Joel cannot believe that at his age he’s being brought to his knees by what he could call a half handjob.
But he imagines the full thing, he squeezes his eyes closed to focus on your touch, those fingers seeming to push all the right buttons, imagining how it would be if they wrapped around him as a whole, how it would feel if you were pumping him properly.
He thrusts against you, writhing and a moan escapes his lips.
Your hand would slide over his length so perfectly, he would even lick your hand to help you, god he would do it all.
He feels you gripping him more, to the point that his hardness is becoming painful.
“What do you want, Miller, tell me.” Your tone assertive, which seems to make him even harder if possible.
“Take them off,” he utters, but you don’t like it that way.
“What do we say?” You scold him.
“Please?” He wonders, hope in his voice.
“Too late, they’re gonna stay on,” you mockingly coo at him.
“Arms up again,” you order, taking his wrists into your hand, which is barely covering them but that will do.
“Do you want to come?” You ask him, Joel on the verge of tears and that might be the very first time you see him this vulnerable.
“Y-Yes,” Joel’s brain completely turned off, you could ask him to kneel down and he would probably do it.
“Then beg for it, Miller.” You vigorously order close to his ear, pinning his wrists harder.
Joel whines loudly, and it will be a miracle if all this noise won’t get you both killed.
“Please, please can I come now?” He whines, writhing against the wall, somehow trying to thrust against your touch.
But you smirk at him, Joel tilting his head up to look at you, his flushed cheeks looking so adorable and he’s wasted on your touch, poisoned to the point he could cry.
“Hold it more, do it for me.”
And Joel’s eyes fall closed again, whimpering as he turns his head, closing and opening his fingers, desperately searching for something to hold onto.
“Hold still, be good.” You velvety say, placing chaste kisses on his jaw, that peppered beard under your lips, “You might get a reward.” You whisper over his lips, Joel’s lips gaping at yours, all bitten and vivid.
He holds everything, he tries to steady his breathing and also his thrusts, trying to move his hands but your hold on him is just getting stronger.
Until it vanishes, his arms are set free to go on his sides, searching for your hips to hold, your shirt, anything he can grab.
You lock your look with him, his lucid eyes on you, but he closes them immediately the moment you slip your hand into his boxers; a moan escapes his lips, thinking your touch could set him on fire.
“Fuck, darlin’, fuck,” He desperately cries, and you cannot help but smirk at how much he’s craving it all, how he’s desperate for you to give him some needed relief. Must be hard to go all this time without someone pleasing him when he likes it so much.
“God, you’re beautiful you know? I can’t stand you but you’re fucking beautiful.” You coo, looking down at his length and wrapping your hand around it.
Only that has him screaming internally, his hand is nothing compared to this.
“Please, darlin, I need to come, I will be good.” He pledges, a single tear marking his cheek.
“Yeah?” You urge, twisting your wrist and raising up your speed, “Then fucking come, big boy, fucking come in my hand.”
And he thrusts against your hand obscenely, imagining it was you, writhing desperately and all sorts of swearing words leave his lips messily.
Until all the heat is released from his body, warm white ropes staining your hand as he arches his back and holds his breath, only to moan loudly after.
He trembles in pleasure, his hand now pinned to the wall and he finally opens his eyes, seeing you still pumping him slowly.
“Is that all? Wanna give me more?” You tease him, as you keep stroking him.
He focuses on it, he truly does, until he can release more, panting as if he ran a marathon.
You’re gonna be the death of him, literally.
“Ooh there you go, that’s a good boy.”
You indulge a little more on his shaft, now all sleek in your hand, letting him ride his orgasm.
When you think he really has nothing more to give you, finally you leave him and you wipe your hand onto his jeans.
Joel’s breath is still ragged and all he can do is slowly sitting down on the concrete, following him and tucking him in, Joel flinching for how sensitive he is.
You cup his cheeks, placing a kiss on his forehead, “In case nobody ever told you, you did good, Miller, so good.”
You sit on his side, him letting his head onto your shoulder, as you bring some water to his lips.
“Take your breath, it’s alright,” your hand going to cup his face, Joel leaning more onto your shoulder, sipping on the bottle and then breathing deeply.
Your hand reaches the back of his head, little lines of sweat wetting his peppered hair as you tangle your fingers in those curls; you stroke his hair, letting him sink more onto your shoulder. He weights more than you and soon you have to lay down to sustain him, so that he can still enjoy being cocooned on your shoulder.
The pavement is dirty, the place still smells like blood just like your clothes, but to Joel this is the most peaceful the world has ever felt since the outbreak. It could all end in a second, a clicker, a Fedra bullet to his chest, but right now this is his peace.
He hugs onto you, his leg coming between your thighs, and it’s like having a big koala wrapped around your arm and shoulder, and well the colour of his peppered beard is almost the same.
The thought makes you smile, and you think that you were about to stab him, you’re sure you could have done something drastic if you hadn’t pinned him to the wall and shut him up.
Him and his mouth, look where it led you.
Joel sighs on your skin, knowing you both should really leave that place, but his limbs won’t respond.
“So you really enjoyed that, Miller?” You stroke the back of his head and then his neck, and you could swear you could hear him purring at your fingers.
“Yeah, I don’t know if it’s gonna go in my favour but...” His hand caresses your hip, brushing his nose onto your cheek, “I like to give up control, to let someone do something for me and to me.”
He shakes his head after, kissing your cheek, “I know it sounds weird, you’ve seen me always so cocky, and- and I like doing both, but if I can be vulnerable with someone then I want it to be like this,” his voice trembling in fear, and shame. It’s scary to be vulnerable in a world like this, it’s scary to let his weakness be bare in front of you.
You cup his cheek with your free hand since the other is still trapped by him, “It’s okay, Joel, it’s okay.” Switching to his name, Joel leaning more onto you.
“And I know that you’ve grown to hate me, to hate what we do together but I do hope you didn’t hate this.” He mutters, and you think of how much pain you both carry, a pain that has made you both hateful of everything and everyone, yourselves included.
And God, how can you hate him right now when he’s begging to be hugged, when he’s making himself smaller on your side?
“I didn’t hate it, okay?” You comfort, brushing his curls, letting your fingers through it starting from his forehead, Joel closing his eyes.
“You know I would hate you less if you were always like this.” You whisper over his forehead, Joel being shaken by a genuine laugh.
“We would be both dead by now.” He chuckles, you nodding at what is the truth.
It’s a world that doesn’t allow for softness, a world that has made you hate him even when all he wanted and wants to do is helping you. Hell, you even hated him when he saved you, still not forgiving him for that. He could have left you to bleed out, it would have all ended, but the glimpse of good in him made him do what he felt was right; he didn’t know he was doing something against you, and then you had to cling to him as you waited for your wounds to heal.
You still resent him, resenting what he does, but it’s only a reflection of what you do too.
“You want me to do somethin’ for ya?”
You don’t even know why he’s asking that, until you realise you’ve been involuntarily moving against his thigh, slowly humping on him.
You stop immediately, covering even your face with your palm, “Oh God, I’m sorry-“ you apologise, Joel chuckling a little.
“You don’t hate my body, that’s for sure.” He states, and he’s so right, as you can feel your panties having a wet spot.
“But I hate everything else, keep that in mind.” You tap his forehead, Joel shaking his head and slowly untangling from you.
“I know, I know,” he says, as he’s sitting up and you mimick him, actually standing up before him.
“Need a hand?” You offer, “Are we too old and lazy to be laying on the floor and then getting up, Miller?” Your words not so kind but there is a smile on your lips.
He grabs your hand, levering him and helping him getting up, “Lazy my ass, I’m 56 years old, darlin” he huffs, but he laughs with you right after, a little bit of all the stiffness melting off.
Hell, you just gave him a handjob, you could hate him a little bit less, but he knows that won’t be the case, and that’s alright, until you don’t point your knife at him it’s all good.
He holds onto that thought as you get out of the building, his truck just nearby with some of the last gasoline in it and a tyre he hopes will still make it for a couple of hundred miles.
That was always meant to be a temporary stop, just somewhere where to spend the night that didn’t turn out to be too safe, all before heading to your real destination, Jackson.
-
That night seems to be so far away now.
You really didn’t want to come here, you didn’t want to have a stable place where to stay, you liked at this point roaming and never settling.
But Joel couldn’t sustain all of that anymore, and one day he had told you that if you wanted to you could have parted ways forever and that would be it.
But he knew deep down you would have followed him, you hated him but still it was someone to have by your side, still there was a line tying you to him.
And now you’re here, in this town that has felt so foreign at first. Joel even got a house, a really nice house with two bedrooms, so that you could stay with him but not having to share the bed with him.
You would hate to admit it, but you love the house. It feels like home, even though nothing would feel like the home you had to leave behind, but this is a nice substitute; Joel has worked on keeping it nice and renovating few things, careful even that it would be of your liking.
Doesn’t matter though, there is still that fire pit within you that makes you resent him, and Joel knows that very well. He leaves you your spaces, your time, and some days he doesn’t even cross your way.
Your bones at least don’t hurt anymore from sleeping on the concrete or in the poor old truck.
Everything is so nice, except for the voices going around town: people are betting if you’re a couple or not.
-
It’s almost midnight when you go down the stairs, tiptoeing then until the kitchen; you’re sure Joel is still up, you’ve heard some noises while you were in your room, probably him tinkering with tools and wood even at this hour of the night.
There he is, sitting at the kitchen table where there are all sorts of tools scattered on it.
It’s his way of unwinding, of letting the night be easy on him.
He hears the footsteps, rising up his head from his works, and tilting it towards you.
“Can’t sleep?”
You nod, “Just a few things on my mind,” pacing around the table, back and forth.
Joel gives you a nod, never intruding, having learnt to keep his distance because that’s what you want. Or at least, what he thinks that you want. You’ve shared so much in the past year, now even sharing a house, so he just thinks you deserve your time.
You don’t leave though, now standing by the table, resting your hip against it, the soft light casted on his features.
“Do you know what they say in town?”
Joel’s furrowed eyebrows tell you already the answer.
“No, what do they say?” He goes back to using the scalpel on a rough piece of wood.
“That, well... that we’re a couple.” You let out all in one breath, ripping it off like a bandaid.
He drops the tool on the table, rising his eyebrows, “Is that just because we live together? It’s none of their business,” he wonders more to himself than to you.
“I know,” you ponder, still sometimes thinking about what happened in that old building.
You’ve never talked about it again, Joel deciding that it was up to you if you wanted to bring up the topic.
You bite your bottom lip, Joel reading your body now that you’re not saying anything anymore.
“Is there somethin’ else?” He asks, looking at you and sighing, wishing he could tell what’s going on behind your pensive look.
“I was just thinking...” Your hand smoothing on the surface of the table, Joel following the movement, “What if they’re right? What if there is really something else between us?”
Joel’s little tool ends on the table again with a low thud, giving up on his works for tonight.
“Darlin’,” he cautions, “I don’t think you really mean what you just said.”
You inch a little closer, until you’re able to take his chin, thumb brushing over his bottom lip.
“What if I told you I haven’t stopped thinking about that night? That my brain keeps going there, doesn’t matter how much I try to push it away?”
Just the plain truth, you’ve replayed it to yourself so many times, while strolling around town, while folding your laundry, not daring though to say anything to him; you thought about it even tonight, when just a little before coming down you were touching yourself to the thought of it, thinking it’s just your body that wants him, not your heart.
Joel moves nervously, the chair scratching the floor.
“Sweetheart,” and that’s a new one, he’s never called you like that, his breath itching at the close distance.
Your hand goes through his hair, pulling it a little backwards, Joel’s lips parting in a slight moan. You can remember clear as a day how much he liked it when you pulled his hair that night, how he went pliant in a second.
And you don’t know where this is going to lead you, you have no clue when even just a little touch gets Joel this way.
“Weren’t you dying to do something for me? To show me how good you could be? Don’t you remember that?” You whisper, hoping it’s not too much.
And his pulse quickens at the way you’re rubbing your hand on his crotch, Joel widening his legs instinctively.
“Still dying to do that? I wonder what you were thinking about when I gave you that handjob,” you exhale, kissing the shell of his ear.
Joel doesn’t answer, his heart beating so fast against his ribcage it’s becoming painful, but never like the way you’re pulling his hair and pushing on his sweatpants.
“I- I wasn’t thinking about that anymore.”
And if there is one thing, just one, that Joel can’t do is lying.
“Yeah? It never crossed your mind ever again the way I touched you?” You tease him, and he twitches under those pants, you smirking at that.
So much for not thinking about it.
“So now you’re also lying, Miller? I was told you would be good.” You shake your head, cooing at him but it’s more to mock him.
And all those questions are driving him crazy, his brain not able to process proper responses while you’re giving him no peace on his jeans and on his hair.
His cheeks are flushed with embarrassment, being caught lying wasn’t really on his schedule tonight.
“Alright, alright, you win.” He breathes, a hand grabbing your arm, “I’ve thought about it.”
“Oh you have...” you click your tongue, “Perhaps they might be right, we could be more.”
You leave his crotch, grabbing instead his thigh, your thumb stroking his muscle through the tissue, and Joel cannot resist to you anymore.
He tentatively searches for your lips, aching for you.
You back up a little and smirk at him, seeing Joel frowning and already a “sorry” forming on his lips.
But you’re just playing, a sweet smile draping on your lips before diving on him, kissing him like your life depended on it.
His arms swing around your hips, keeping you close as your fingers end run through his hair, cupping then his cheeks, keeping him close in all the ways you can.
And when you part your lips, Joel thinks of how you got here, from hating on each other to be kissing in the middle of the night.
“What did you want to do that night?” Your thumb brushing on his eyebrows, clearing him from all the thoughts crowding his mind.
He chews on his bottom lip, his thumb rubbing on your hip, “Anything that you wanted me to do.” His flushed cheeks telling you he’s not lying.
And you still have to get used to this version of Joel, the one that doesn’t dominate.
You can manage to hate him a little less this way.
“So...” you finger twirls around a curl, “If I asked you to go down on me, you would have done it?”
Joel lowers his head just a little, trying to take that image out of his mind, but your hand brings it up again.
“Talk to me, Miller.”
Joel might have forgotten all words for the way his head is spinning so much.
“Yes, yes I would have done it.”
You smirk at him, fingers tangling in his curls, “Oh that’s the good boy that I know,” you coo.
“You like to be called like that, don’t you?” Still stroking his hair, Joel slow blinking up at you.
He nods, he’s wished all his life to be called like that again. He never thought it would come from the person who’s hated him for the longest time though.
You lean onto him to kiss his forehead, “I could call you like that many times, Miller.”
Joel rests his head on your chest, still your caress going on. And he begins to kiss your skin, the night gown having some transparency and he can feel your soft skin under his lips.
“You know that I was thinking about it earlier?” You reach his ear, whispering, “Can you imagine what I was doing?” You take a curl away from his forehead.
Joel’s chest rises up quickly, and he twitches once again in his jeans. Your body might love him, but his body loves you even more.
“God, darlin,” he exhales, the thought forming in his mind but not daring to voice it, failing to have control over his thoughts. You could order him anything, and he would do it in a second.
“There’s something about you, Joel,” switching to his first name, “I can’t really understand it, I still resent you but I can’t get you out of my head.”
And maybe you’re the one lying right now, you’re becoming the unreliable narrator.
You kiss him, holding your breath and letting his hands go behind your thighs, bringing you closer to him, making you lower more so that you can kiss him better.
“Would you ever forgive me?” He sounds desperate over your lips, voice breaking. He never wanted to hurt you, he just wanted to do something good for you.
And you’re reevaluating what he did, you’ve been rolling this thought in your head. That maybe this was for the best, that you weren’t meant to be left at the mercy of Fedra, or at the mercy of your own wounds that would have killed you, one way or another.
All you wanted back then was for everything to end, to put a full stop to your wandering, to your loss. You had no one, but Joel showed up that night, right time and right place.
He would have left anybody else behind, but all he saw was a helpless girl with so much pain, he wouldn’t even know how to describe it, but it’s a pain that he recognised, it felt like looking in the mirror.
That same look that tasted like surrendering.
He had felt the same, so many times.
“I will, Joel, I will.” You utter, kissing his forehead and then his cheek.
He softly smiles, a bit of his guilt being lifted.
His eyes are glimmering under the soft light of the kitchen, his chest expanding with so much yearning for you.
And he can’t help it, but a single tear leaves the corner of his eye, ending on your arm.
“Hey, it’s alright, Joel, it’s alright.”
You hug him, an instinct telling you that it’s the right thing to do.
Your arms wrap around his shoulders, him hiding on your chest, somehow feeling protected. It’s a dull world outside, but right now it feels like an antidote has been put in his bloodstream, cleaning all the bad poison.
He said you were both beyond salvation, but those words don’t apply anymore, not when he’s holding your hand as you’re going up the stairs, heading for his bedroom.
They don’t matter anymore when he’s letting you in his space, in that room you had just seen when you first got in this house and before choosing the other one, never stepping into it again.
It feels like him, it might be the perfume, or the wooden artefacts around the room, either way it has his name written all over it.
He doesn’t leave your hand even when you reach the bed.
You climb the bedsheets, kneeling on his side the moment he’s sitting at his place.
“Are you sure about this? Don’t you want me to go to my room?”
Joel shakes his head, letting you lean onto him, kissing him briefly.
“I’m sure, darlin’,” his voice so soothing, filling the room and the darkness.
“So the people in town might be right,” he whispers over your lips, cupping your cheek.
You lips creep in a smile during the kiss, “Yeah, they might have seen it all before us.”
And you had imagined the ending to this night very differently, you thought you could have teased him and spend some time with him pleasing you, but this is better, for now.
You’re seeing his true self, there’s no need anymore for the mask of anger and for your constant stubbornness towards him. This house has mended those wounds, it has healed those parts of you both that you didn’t think were possible to heal.
“Come here, ‘s been a long night,” he offers, letting you lay under the bedsheets with him, covering you and it feels like a parallel universe.
And as you’re drifting off, Joel cocooned on your shoulder, a kind of peace washes over you, like a warm blanket.
You glance at Joel and the hate is vanishing away leaving place for something you know you will learn to name.
For now, you will enjoy having this untamed yet soft man by your side.
Everything else is gone, Fedra, the clickers, the outbreak... everything goes away the moment you look at him.
The answer to your turmoil has always been just in front of you, you just had to welcome him in your heart.
Summary: Bucky decides it’s time for a haircut, which you protested, but when he comes back, you just can’t hold yourself back.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI She/her pronouns for the reader. Pussy pronouns once (she). Smut. Oral (f recieving), fingering, hair pulling (pulling Bucky’s hair). Whimpering Bucky (yayy). P in V unprotected (wrap it up tho kids)
WC: 1.6k
“Bucky!” You whined as he grabbed his keys from the counter, “You can’t do this to me, your hair is so perfect.” You leaned your upper body over the couch and pouted, although his back was to you
“Doll, I haven’t had a proper haircut in decades. I think it’s time for this ratty hair to go.” When he turned around to face you, he couldn’t help but smile ear to ear at your frown. “It will be fine.”
“You don’t know what.”
“I do,” he walked closer and kissed your forehead. “It’s just hair if you don’t like it, I’ll grow it back.”
You huffed in protest, and he chuckled at you. “Baby, why do you even want to cut your hair?” You stretched up and wrapped one arm around his neck, pulling him closer, and your other hand went straight to his hair, running through it.
“Because I had this hair when I was...” he paused and cleared his throat, “Well, this hair is just no longer who I am. I want everything fresh, you know.”
Your eyes soften. You couldn’t argue with him, but you still couldn’t hide your pout. “Okay.” You kissed his cheek softly, and he leaned into you. “Just promise me you will not go bald, and you will find a woman in there and ask her opinion, and you will let her know you have a girlfriend.”
“Of course,” he smiled at you. “Stop pouting,” he said, kissing your lips softly. Instinctively, you smiled, but when he pulled away, you put on a fake pout
“You like it when I pout.”
“Not like this…and it’s too late, I saw you smile.” You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway as he kissed you gently one last time.
You tangled your fingers into his long hair and pulled softly, and he whimpered, “Yeah, I’ll miss that.” You both chuckled and said goodbye as Bucky headed out the door to get rid of one of the sexiest parts of himself.
…
About an hour later, you were in your bedroom folding laundry when Bucky came home. You hadn’t heard him come in over the music, but you gasped when a pair of arms wrapped around your waist. You gasped instantly, but relaxed when you heard his soft voice, “Hi, sweetheart.”
You smiled, “Hi baby,” you went to turn around to see the haircut, but his lips attached to your neck, keeping your face forward, and pinning you to his back. You chuckled, “Let me see!”
Without answering, he pulled out flowers from behind his back and put them into your hands. They were your favorite “Shit, Bucky, is it bad?” You closed your eyes in fear that your boyfriend would be bald for the next few months, but he chuckled behind you.
“I don’t know, actually.” Your eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. “Haven’t seen myself with short hair in maybe 80 years…I-I’m not sure if I look like me.”
“Can I see?” you asked softly. Suddenly, you didn’t care what it looked like. As soon as you heard the waver in his voice, you just wanted to tell him he looked handsome.
He took a deep breath, then nodded against you, letting go.
You turned around slowly, and as soon as your eyes landed on the new haircut…you were dripping. “Oh” was all you could manage
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, and you quickly jumped to fix your words
“No, no, not oh, as in bad oh as in … oh.” Your own tone of voice made his eyebrows raise
“So you like it?” Did you like it…you were ready to pounce any second. If he were willing, you’d let him get you pregnant just so you could pass down the luxurious hair gene
“Yeah fuck baby, I love it. Like I really love it,” he smiled softly
“Good, good. I was worr-” he started to turn around so he could walk over to the mirror in the bathroom, but you grabbed his arm, stopping him “What?” his eyes grew worried again.
You couldn’t even form words looking at him, so you just pulled him closer to you and kissed him roughly. It didn’t take Bucky even a second to kiss you back, his hands immediately finding your lower back.
As the kiss grew more intense, he walked you back towards the bed, until the back of your knees hit it, causing you to fall on the mattress. Bucky was quick to get on top of you, pulling away for just a moment to look at you.
“Bucky, you look fucking hot,” he smirked
“Yeah?” His Brooklyn accent was strong, and you clenched around nothing. You rolled your eyes at his teasing and pulled on his hair, and he whimpred again. “Feels good when you do that, had to make sure it was still long enough for you.”
You planted yourself on your elbows and kissed him again. After a moment, his lips attached to your neck and he bit down on the spot he knew was most sensitive. “Fuck Bucky. Need you.”
He pulled away quickly and got on his knees in front of you. “Need to taste you, baby, please.” his fingers slipped under the waistband of your sweatpants, and you nodded. He practically ripped them and your underwear off in one swift motion.
His big arms pulled your legs apart, making sure he had the perfect view of your cunt. “So pretty, baby.”
“Bucky, please,” you whined as your hands went to his hair, trying to pull him closer, but that damn super soldier strength kept him from budging. He chuckled, close enough you could feel his breath on your pussy, and you shivered.
“So eager, Doll. I want to have my fun,” he teased when you groaned. His hands ran up and down the sides of your thigh as his lips attached to your skin.
He left a trail of kisses as he made his way up to your core. He paused before kissing you where you needed it most. “Need you so bad. Please, I’ll be good.”
He looked up at you, and no matter how hard he tried to play tough whenever he was looking at you, he melted, and you could always see it in his eyes. “Yeah, my good girl. Just for me?”
“Just for you, Buck.”
He hummed, content with your words, and finally put his lips on your clit. You both groaned at the same time as he began licking you slowly. “She’s so wet for me.” His Brooklyn accent was strong whenever he was touching you.
“It’s the hair,” you teased, but it was the truth. His mouth was on you again, this time sucking faster and harder. Two fingers entered you without warning, and you cried out, encouraging Bucky to keep going.
You tried to buck your hips, but his big arms wrapped around your thighs, were keeping you in place for him. You pulled at the ends of his hair again, and he moaned against you.
His eyes lifted to meet yours, which sent you over the edge. “Fuck Bucky, I’m gonna cum.” The third finger he shoved inside of you was his way of telling you to cum for him.
You cried out as your orgasm hit you like a fucking train, and Bucky kept his tongue working as you let your orgasm take over you.
When you finally came down, Bucky took his lips off you, and you groaned, “Need to be inside you, baby.” He stood up and tried to turn you around, but you protested.
“Wanna see you.” he smiled, “Wanna see the new haircut” he smirked and moved you further up the bed.
He worked his pants and shift off quickly as you took off your shirt and bra.
He stood in front of you with his dick stiff in his hands. He spread your legs and pumped himself a few times before lining his tip up with your entrance. “‘m gonna fuck you so good, baby. Take good care of my girl, yeah?”
“Yes, Bucky, please,” you whined. Your whine was all he needed to push himself into you.
It was slow and deliberate, and you needed more. He could tell by the way your face schruhced so he pulled himself out and without warning slammed back into you, causing you to cry out, “You feel so fucking good, Doll. So tight for me.”
You could only moan in agreement as he fucked into you. His hands wandered up your curves before landing on your tits, gripping them. “So fucking perfect for me,” he pulled on your nipples, and you whimpred, “Love that sound.”
You could barely form words; everything felt so good. His eyes were glued to your face. As you tightened around him, he moaned, “Fuck, just like that ‘m gonna cum.”
“Fuck me too, Bucky.”
“Cum for me, angel. Let it all go.” It didn’t take much more for your eyes to squeeze shut as your body shook beneath his. “Yeah, that's it, let me feel you.”
He fucked you through your orgasm, his hitting soon after yours. As you both came down, his movements slowed until he was paused over you. Your chests rising and falling in sync.
Your hand made its way back to his hair, running through it. He chuckled softly, then leaned forward to place his forehead on yours, giving you a quick peck. “You really like the haircut?”
You chuckled, “Yes, Bucky, you look really good.”
He smiled against you, “Should have gotten it done months ago if I knew this would be the outcome.”
Summary: Your husband is unfaithful, and your contractor is hot.
Pairing: Contractor!Joel Miller x Married!Reader
Warnings: Porn with some Plot?, piv, cunnilingus, fingering, massage, 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, Tommy Miller, shitty marriage
WC: 8.2k
A/N: This really got away from me im so sorry. but low key lmk if i should make a part 2. Love to hear your thoughts :)
You didn’t set out to hire a contractor with the sole purpose of cheating on your husband. It just happened.
In all fairness, he cheated first. Consistently and repeatedly. His ongoing affairs are the reason you’ve found yourself in this situation in the first place.
In truth, it started long before his infidelity had. You knew marrying him was a mistake the moment he showed just how little he cared for you and your needs, miniscule as they may be, in your opinion.
You married Jeremy straight out of college, which was your first miscalculation. Guys your age never quite met your standards of what a healthy and loving relationship should be. But you married him anyway because you thought it’s what you had to do.
His job in finance allowed you to buy the house of your dreams, though it definitely needed some work. He promised you – insisted – that he could take care of the repairs himself despite having the financial means to hire someone else to do it and zero experience doing any sort of manual labor. Your career was just as lucrative as his, so between the two of you, there was no reason you couldn’t afford to hire someone to do the job. You lost track of the amount of times you’d fought him on the topic.
Just hire someone! No, I can do it myself! When? I’ll start soon, I swear!
He never started soon. And now, it’s been five years
The home itself was perfect – full of mid-century modern charm, large, bright windows, sleek, low-pitched roof, open floor plan. You loved it. You did not love the orange shag carpet or the lime green cabinets in the kitchen, nor were you a fan of the square teal tiling covering every inch of both bathrooms. But those problems could be easily resolved.
Your husband, cheating, vile, misogynistic scumbag that he is, was considerably less simple to deal with.
When you discovered his habitual adultery, you were surprised to feel nothing but anger. Not hurt. Not betrayal. Just pure, unbridled anger. You hadn’t been happy in years, and quite frankly, you weren’t sure you ever were.
It sparked a thirst for retaliation in you that couldn’t be quenched without taking full and total control of your life again.
First on your to-do list was filing for a divorce. You had all the proof you needed to back up your claims of his infidelity – texts, phone calls, receipts for motels – Jeremy was not smart, nor was he careful, which made the task incredibly simple. Seeing as he fucked anything with a pulse, you had plenty of evidence to go on. Your lawyer was astonished, either at his stupidity or the sheer amount of women Jeremy has been caught with, you weren’t sure.
Next, you gathered the funds you needed in order to complete the renovation to your home, and luckily, you’d been saving for that specific task. You wanted him to be dumbstruck when he saw the final product, and then you would hand him the divorce papers and tell him to get the hell out.
Finally, you had to hire the right contractors to get the job done. This proved to be your most ardent task yet.
It took you weeks to find a suitable contractor to take on your project. You vetted and price checked and examined their work with a scrutiny that would impress even the most seasoned detectives. You took recommendations, avoided certain ones entirely, and finally landed on Miller & Miller Construction.
Their website had no flair. No pizazz. No gimmicks. It was plain, clean, and it showcased their work in stunning clarity. You were impressed. The custom cabinetry was just what you’d been looking for, the craftsmanship simple, but precise. Their eye for design, their workmanship, everything spoke to you. You set up a consultation and met with them as soon as you could.
Joel and Tommy were two completely opposing entities that you weren’t quite sure how to read. Tommy did most of the talking, his smile easy and bright, immediately likable, while Joel sat quietly, eyes trained on you, not exactly frowning, but there was no smile to be had on his face either. You liked them, despite how quiet the elder Miller was, grizzled hair, trimmed scruff on his jaw and chin, mustache flecked with grey.
Something about him made you squirm.
You could tell immediately how their dynamic worked. Tommy was the salesman, the entrepreneur, the frontman. And Joel was the brawn, the craftsman – it showed in the rough edges of his features, his hands, his discerning eyes. Though, you’re sure they both put in their fair share of hard labor.
Tommy had a tablet in front of him, typing out the details of your project. Joel paced the kitchen, measuring, examining, testing. You watched him, admiring the slope of his broad shoulders, the sharp line of his jaw, the faint hints of grey in his beard, rippling muscles hidden under a flannel and a t-shirt.
You blinked out of your haze when Tommy spoke.
“Full-scale kitchen remodel. Custom cabinetry. Updated appliances. Marble counters – that won’t be cheap,” Tommy muttered, but you waved your hand.
“It’s covered. I’ve been saving for years.”
His grin flashed, warm and friendly, “Don’t worry, we won’t drain it all.” He types something else out, muttering, “Hardwood floors, new trim, drywalling, tiling..” he trailed off, listing out everything the two of you had discussed for the entirety of the house. When he was done, he looked across at you with a smile, “I’ll get you an estimate in about a week or so.”
You almost bounced in your seat, giddy with the prospect of your home finally coming to life. You were so ecstatic you almost forgot about the wreckage of your marriage.
“We’ll have our design team set up a consultation, pick materials, colors and such, and then we can get you a fixed timeline. Do you have any questions for us?”
Your eyes darted between him and his stoic older brother before shaking your head, “No, thank you so much.”
In all of your searches and meetings with various contractors in the area, it was the first time you felt seen. They didn’t ask if you needed your husband’s approval. They didn’t ask if he wanted input in the project. Didn’t even ask if you had a husband. But it was clear in your surroundings – the framed picture of you two on your wedding day situated right behind you on the china cabinet, the men’s tennis shoes discarded by the door, the ugly recliner just visible in the living room. Your wedding ring.
Your meeting with their design team went even better – though team was a bit of an overstatement. A woman your age, friendly, bright, excited to help you design your kitchen. Her name was Winona, and she was bubbly without being obnoxious, smart without being a knowitall. And best of all, she took your design ideas and turned them into something spectacular. You loved her.
Jeremy was on a business trip, probably fucking anything that moved, when you signed the final contract to get the house started. And the progress was swift. Efficient for two guys who did all the work themselves. You wondered, briefly, how many projects they normally took on. If they had a crew doing work elsewhere. But it didn’t matter. They were working on your house.
And Tommy was right. The estimate he provided didn’t drain all you’d saved for the project. You had just enough left over to tuck away for your lawyer fees for your inevitable divorce. Something you were wildly ecstatic about.
Over the course of two weeks, Tommy and Joel arrived at seven am on the dot, ripping apart your house piece by piece, hauling things away, cleaning up the site, and working at a scarily efficient tempo.
By the end of the first week, they’d had the upper level of your home completely bare, painted in the soft, off-white color you’d chosen for the hallways, and the corresponding colors you’d chosen for your office, bedroom, and guest room. You slept on the couch while the upstairs was under construction, and by the end of the second week, you were back in your bedroom, adding the decorative touches you’d been working on while they did the hard labor.
Now that your primary living space was completed, they’d moved on to the rest of the house, spending two weeks alone on the bathrooms, and another full day hauling debris from your house.
You enjoyed seeing them bright and early every day. Tommy’s friendly smile, Joel’s gruff nod. After just under a month, you’d grown accustomed to them. You offered them coffee, brewed in your home office instead of the kitchen, and had bagels and fruit out on the kitchen table for them to enjoy at their leisure. Tommy ate the bagels and fruit. Joel guzzled coffee like it would cure whatever had him looking so grumpy all the time.
You chatted with Tommy during your lunch breaks, and you were surprised to find that you enjoyed his company. He was charming and friendly and sweet and nothing like his quietly cantankerous brother. You were lucky if you got more than two words out of Joel in a day, but Tommy was quickly becoming the highlight of the entire project.
You learned a lot about him, and incidentally Joel, every time the two of you sat down for lunch. He told you about their construction company, the scale of their work, and how business has really picked up over the last couple of months. He told you about his wife, Maria, and how she was due to give birth any day now. He expressed his excitement, his trepidation, and joy at becoming a father. He’d had a lot of practice with Joel’s daughter, but she was grown now. That surprised you.
You couldn’t picture Joel getting close enough to someone to have a child with them.
While Joel cut lumber on your back patio, you lowered your voice and asked, “He’s married?”
Tommy took a heaping bite of his sandwich and shook his head, “Nah, wife ran off a couple months after Sarah was born. ‘S just him now that Sarah’s gone off to school in Washington.”
You could see Joel through the patio door, hunched over a piece of lumber, marking it with a pencil, brows furrowed in concentration, eyes focused. You hadn’t let yourself examine him very closely, but watching him work, you were struck by how handsome he was. You’d thought so when you first met the pair of them, but you were so focused on getting the project off the ground, you paid little attention.
His green flannel drew tight over his shoulders and biceps, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He tucked the pencil behind his ear as he maneuvered the piece of wood into place and ripped it through the saw. His forearms tensed, fingers deft and precise as he pulled the wood through. His jaw clenched as he examined it, flicked away the sawdust, eyes singularly focused on his task.
“Easy, sugar,” Tommy drawled, snapping you out of your trance, “He’s a surly old bastard. Don’t wanna get mixed up with that.”
You gaped at him, cheeks coloring, pressing a hand to your chest, “Excuse me? That would be highly inappropriate.” You tried to sound glib, but Tommy was right. You were attracted to Joel. And you were aching for someone to touch you.
You hadn’t had sex in nearly a year thanks to Jeremy’s exploits. You were not interested in contracting an STD from him, and you were so disgusted by him, the thought of having sex with him turned your stomach.
In the month since the project began, Jeremy had only been home twice, complaining about the mess and the dust and screaming at you for going through with the renovation when he’s perfectly capable of doing it all himself.
“Who’s paying for all of this anyway?” He asked derisively. You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him. Joel and Tommy were downstairs, completing the tile work for the guest bathroom, and you knew they could hear every word. “I bet they’re taking you for a ride. Women always get scammed by contractors, are you stupid?”
“Shut the fuck up, Jeremy!” You shouted at him, unable to contain your fury. “Why don’t you just go back to fucking your assistant and keep your shitty opinions to yourself!” You stormed out of the room, slamming the door in his face and retreating to the back patio where Joel was hunched over a wet saw, lining up a tile to cut with with the precision you’d come to expect from him.
He looked up at you, his face neutral, lips set in a firm line, dark eyes assessing.
“Everying alright?”
Stunned by his gentle voice, you’d been unable to speak, simply nodding your head and watching as he nodded back and hunched over the saw again.
Jeremy left, and hadn’t been back since.
Between your frustration at your husband, and Tommy’s comment about Joel, a spark of determination lit inside you like dry shrub in a wild fire. Your previously controlled, distant admiration of Joel transformed into a cloying, desperate urge, and he was the one and only thing on your mind.
But that didn’t mean anything would happen. Not with Joel’s sour disposition and gruff exterior. Talking to Tommy was easy. Talking to Joel – well, there was very little that came out of his mouth, so you weren’t sure it could be qualified as talking. Which is why it was so shocking to you that he’d spoken to you in the first place.
You tried. You really did. Every time he came to your office for a coffee refill, you immediately dropped what you were doing in order to strike up a conversation with him. But he never budged. Just grunted, gave one word answers, sometimes even just stared at you like you hadn’t spoken at all. You wondered why he even bothered coming into your office in the first place. Why not just send Tommy to get his refills if it was such a burden to talk to you?
His silence perturbed you. And you were determined to get his attention.
You were so desperate, you started wearing less. Instead of yoga pants and a conservative pull over sweater, you switched to shorts and loose t-shirts that hung off your shoulder. It was an easy switch to make as the last remnants of chilly spring weather finally succumbed to the prickling heat of summer.
If Joel noticed your slowly deteriorating selection of moderate clothing, he didn’t let on. And the more he ignored you, the more you wanted him.
Instead of letting him come to you for coffee, you brought the pot out to him, low cut, form fitting, spaghetti strap top displaying your perky breasts. Your shorts barely covered your ass. And he didn’t even blink.
“Coffee?” You ask coquettishly, lifting your chest just a touch. His eyes stayed on yours, steadfast, hard, and determined, as he held his mug out for you to fill.
“Thanks,” he grunted, taking a large gulp.
“Hot today,” you point out, the beginning of summer making its presence known. “You sure you don’t wanna come inside? Take a break?”
His eyes never strayed. Not once. He shook his head, “Tommy should be back with more lumber any minute.”
It’s the most words you've heard leave his mouth in a consecutive string. It emboldens you.
You nod at the comfortable, air conditioned living room just on the other side of the French doors, “Just a quick break. I can get you something cold to drink. Lemonade? A beer?”
You were pushing, and he wasn’t conceding, turning back to the makeshift work table he had set up under the shade of your patio; three saw horses with a large piece of plywood acting as the tabletop, “‘M alright, darlin’. Why don’t you go cool off?”
Darlin’. That subtle Texas drawl, syrupy smooth, deep and rich like honey. He’d called you Darlin’.
You shouldn’t devote too much thought to it. Tommy calls you ‘Sugar’ all the time. Even goes as far as ‘Sweetheart’ on some occasions. But it was natural coming from him. Harmless and utterly platonic. He’s a smooth talker and a schmoozer. From Joel, it was so foreign, so out of character, you didn’t know what to do. He’d hardly said two words to you in the past, and now he’s giving you sweet nicknames. Calling you Darlin’ was just as harmless as Tommy calling you Sugar, but it did something to you.
You left him on the patio and shuffled back to your office, dazed.
You liked it, you realized, skin flushed and heat simmering low in your belly. You wanted him to do it again. Call you by more endearing pet names. Even in your five years of marriage to Jeremy, he’d only ever addressed you by your name or a condescending ‘babe’. You hadn’t realized how pathetically you’d been yearning for more. Something softer, sweeter, kinder. Not until Joel.
But he didn’t seem interested. Should you be more direct? Ask him, outright, if he was attracted to you? Should you strip naked and throw yourself at him? No, no. That was too direct. You had more self respect than that. Maybe. Probably not.
Jeremy had neglected you for so long, your mind was spinning out of control. You want to be wanted. You want to be touched. And you want Joel.
When Tommy returned with the lumber, you watched them unload it from his pickup truck. Joel shed his flannel and was now clad in a white t-shirt that hugged his biceps, his back spotted with sweat and his muscles bulging with the effort of lugging wood into your home. Fuck, you couldn’t stand it.
You have to do something about this ache between your legs. The sudden, unquenchable thirst you feel for him. If skimpy outfits and shy invitations to join you for coffee don’t do it, you know what will. And it’s just about as close to stripping naked as you could get.
When Joel arrives the next day, without Tommy, you greet him with a smile, a fresh pot of coffee, and a question in your gaze that asks where his brother is.
“Wife went into labor late last night. I’ll be finishin’ up without him,” he grunts, though without any of the typical irritability that comes with the need to socialize. Maybe the birth of his nephew had softened him.
You’re a little sad you won’t get to see Tommy, but thrilled to have Joel all to yourself.
As you step aside to let him in, you don’t miss the way his eyes flit down your bare legs. You hadn’t bothered getting dressed, still clad in your oversized sleep shirt that barely hangs down past your ass.
As he sets about getting his bearings from where he left off the previous day, you pour him a cup of coffee and toast and butter a bagel for him, knowing he doesn’t much care for the indulgence of cream cheese or jelly. He thanks you with a grunt and shuffles his way onto the patio to get started. Your eyes linger on the way his navy t-shirt stretches across his broad, muscular back.
After you change into a revealing tank top and the shortest shorts you own, you coop yourself up in your office to get some work done. But when you’re done for the day, you can’t help yourself. You check in on him, peering through the back doors and asking if he wants something to eat. You expect him to decline, but when he graciously accepts, you bounce giddily to the kitchen to make him a sandwich.
Today is different. You can feel it.
When you present him with the sandwich, he dusts his hands on his jeans and nods at you in thanks, but doesn’t say anything. He only watches you, eyes flitting to your cleavage so quickly, you think you imagine it. But then he looks you dead in the eyes as he takes a bite of the sandwich and chews it slowly.
Something in you snaps and your blood heats, making your skin flush. You rush away from him, and as you retreat inside, you swear you hear him chuckle.
With your heart racing and an idea bubbling to life in your mind, you race upstairs and start digging through your closet until you find exactly what you’re searching for. If he wants to tease you, you’re going to tease him right back.
You pull on a white and blue bikini with strings that tie at the hips, around the base of your neck, and at the middle of your back. After applying a nude gloss to your lips and dabbing a light amount of makeup across your cheeks, you pull on a black sheer coverup, that flows down past your ankles, leaving it open. It does little to hide your scantily clad body as you tiptoe back downstairs with a book and a bottle of tanning oil in your grip.
You walk past the back door as deliberately as you can, making sure to catch his attention as you carefully maneuver your way through your deconstructed kitchen to fill a glass with ice water and lemon slices. With your sunglasses perched on the bridge of your nose, you finally step onto the patio, your tits on display, legs bare and gleaming, and smile coy and searching.
”I’m going to lay out by the pool for a bit. If you get hungry or thirsty, help yourself to anything you like,” you tell him, feigning disinterest. Acting like you don’t see the way his throat bobs and his eyes greedily drink you in. He doesn’t say anything to you as you take the three short steps down to your yard and traipse over to your pool.
The early summer sun is blazing hot, and sweat prickles your skin the moment you lay out on your teakwood lounger, the white cushion comfortable but warm from the heat of the day. Your eyes dart toward Joel to make sure he’s watching, and you slowly slip out of your coverup, intentionally dropping it and bending at the waist to pluck it off the stone pavers surrounding your pool.
It feels almost comically pornographic to resort to this type of temptation, but with the blatant way he watches you, it’s worth it.
You lean back on the lounger, snatching up your book and flipping to the page you’d left off on. It’s some tawdry romance novel with a shirtless cowboy on the front. Painfully transparent with little to no plot, but you’re not reading it for the plot, anyway.
Your skin prickles with awareness, your eyes darting toward Joel every few minutes to catch him watching you for the briefest moment before he returns to the meticulous work of assembling your cabinetry.
When your ice water is half gone and too warm to enjoy, you decide to take a brief dip into the pool. You stand, adjusting your bottoms, pulling them up just a touch, before wading slowly into the rippling water. The effect is instant, the water immediately cooling you and making goosebumps pebble across your skin, tightening your nipples.
You’re careful not to get your hair wet, brushing it aside as you drift further in, then back toward the shallow end. A quick glance in his direction makes you frown. His back is to you, broad shoulders leaned over his plywood table.
The power saw buzzes to life, then quiets. He blows away the sawdust, t-shirt damp with sweat. Biceps straining as he joins two pieces of wood together, fastening them with a clamp. You’re enraptured by his focus. Envious of your very own cabinets and wishing he’d look at you with such deliberate intent and concentration. House be damned.
When you can tell he’s about to turn in your direction, you climb out of the pool, allowing the water to trickle off your frame and slick down your body. You run a hand down your stomach, briefly toying with the pink jewel at your naval, then adjust your bottoms again as you strut back to the lounger.
Under the dark, impenetrable lenses of your sunglasses, your eyes dart to him. He’s staring, his throat bobbing, hands tight around the clamps he’s using to fasten the cabinets together.
You hide your smile, laying out on your towel to let the sun soak up the water from your skin. You feel his eyes on you more prominently than the moisture coating your body. With a sly smile, you push your sunglasses down your nose to look at him.
“Hey, Joel?” Voice dripping with honey and mischief.
“Yeah, darlin’?” He calls back, still watching. Not even bothering to pretend anymore. And he calls you that name again. Darlin’. Your core clenches.
Biting your lip, you give him a coquettish look that’s all sin and wicked intention, “Will you help me put on some sunscreen?”
Straight out of a porno. The oldest trick in the book. Painfully, achingly transparent. You’re inviting him to touch you. And even from afar, you can see his resolve snap. Eyes darkening, posture going rigid.
“You sure about that?” He asks, voice tight and rough.
You nod, biting your lip for good measure, “Uh huh.”
He shakes his head like he can’t believe what he’s about to do, and a devilish smile spreads across your face, triumphant. Joel dusts his hands off on his jeans, trudges down the patio steps, and prowls over to your lounger. His tall, broad frame eclipses the sun, casting shade over you. You grin and roll onto your stomach, acutely aware of the way your ass looks in your tiny bikini.
“Sunscreen, there,” you point to the bottle of tanning lotion on the teakwood table next to you. It’s more of an oil with UV protection, but the idea is the same: you want him to rub it all over your body, and then fuck you senseless.
The scent of pine and leather wraps around you as he sits on the edge of the lounger, careful not to touch you. He grabs the oil and huffs a laugh, “This ain’t sunscreen.”
“It has UV protection!” You argue.
“This is nothin’ more than body oil.”
“Still. Please?” You ask, looking back at him and resting your cheek on your arms. He shakes his head, cheeks dimpling against the smile he’s trying to fight off.
“Ain’t payin’ me to lather you up, honey,” he says under his breath, flicking the cap of the oil open and drizzling it along your back.
“That’s okay. You need a break.”
He hums, setting the bottle aside. Your entire body tingles with anticipation, waiting for his skin on yours. You wait and wait, feeling the oil drip along your spine, your shoulders. Then, finally, the coarse surface of his work roughed hand meets your skin and you shiver.
“S’it okay if I untie this?” He asks, voice so low, so smooth, you’re sure you imagined it. But then you feel his fingers playing with the ties at your neck and you nod, frantically, too eager. “Of course it is.”
You almost giggle. He knows what you’re doing and he’s still placating you. You wiggle a little when he unties the neck, then the back, leaving you bare from the waist up. The moment his hands are back on you, you gasp. Pressure firm, but gentle. Sure and thorough as he spreads the oil around your skin. Brushing your hair aside, he massages the oil into your neck. You peek at him to see that concentrated look on his face. Like tearing him away from his task would undo him.
Then, both of his palms press into your back, eliciting a moan straight from your lips. You clamp your mouth shut, but the pressure is so divine, you almost do it again.
“Feels okay?” He mutters, hands skimming down your body, your waist, your lower back, and then up again. His fingers graze the sides of your breasts and you nod again. God, if he stopped now, you think you’d cry.
Every pass of his hands turns you to jelly, and soon, he moves down to your legs, first starting at your ankles, then up your calves, careful not to go much further than the bend in your knee. You’re soaked. Skin humming with the effects of his firm, soothing touch, heated by the sun, and glowing faintly with the sheen of oil.
When you feel his hand inch up the inside of your thigh, you suck in a breath.
”Relax,” he coaxes, moving from the top of your thigh down to your knee and back up again. Over and over and over, pressing a little firmer on the way up, and stopping just short of the gusset of your skimpy bikini. “You told me to help myself to anything I liked.”
You did say that. And then you called him over to you to touch you freely. You grin, peeking up at him, cheek resting against your arms, “And you like me?”
His cheeks dimple, his smile so soft, so sexy, you almost say to hell with your little ruse. Something between a grunt and a laugh escapes him, “Darlin’, you got no idea.”
Darlin’. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of it. You feel yourself grow damp as he moves his hands to your other thigh, repeating the same, torturous ministrations. But this time, he goes so much higher, you think he’s going to graze the covered, soaked apex of your desperately neglected pussy. He never does. Massages right below it. There’s no reason to put oil there, but he does it anyway. His thumbs get closer, massaging circles into your skin, very nearly grazing you, teasing, refusing to give you what you want.
When his hands leave you, you almost cry out in protest, but then he’s nudging your hip, “Turn over for me, sweetheart.”
As you lift up to turn, you toss your bikini top aside, having no desire to feign modesty any longer. He knows it, and you know it. You want him to fuck you.
His eyes spark with interest as they land on your breasts, perky and waiting, nipples tight from your dip in the pool. You lie back, making yourself comfortable as he stares.
He chuckles, deep and smooth, “Not bein’ shy no more, are you?”
You grin in response as he grabs the oil and drizzles it over your chest, your stomach, and along your arms. He starts at your hands, making sure you’re fully covered, his large ones engulfing them completely in his grasp. The texture of his fingers is rough, but you like it as he moves his way up your wrists, your forearms, and then toward your shoulders, massaging along the way.
“Mm, Joel,” you sigh, his hands rubbing the oil into you completely before moving on. He presses his thumbs into your shoulders, then your collar bones, then the tops of your breasts. He still doesn’t touch you there, but then one hand wraps around your throat, resting, thumbing your pulse point where it hammers rapidly against your skin.
“Lookin’ so pretty,” he says quietly, keeping one hand on your neck while the other finally finally covers your breast. The initial touch is feather light, thumb grazing your nipple. Then, he presses firmer, his entire hand covering you with his palm while he kneads and massages. His hand leaves your neck only to cover your other breast, and you’re giddy with need as he works you into a whimpering, keening mess. “That feel good, darlin’?”
“So good,” you nod, grabbing his wrist to keep him there, demanding more.
He hums, keeping the hand you’ve now possessed on your breast, while the other moves down to rub oil into your tummy. His hands are a work of art, skilled in so many ways. You’re trembling by the time he reaches the top of your bikini bottoms. His pinky slips under the hem, making you gasp. He withdraws and does it again, rubbing back and forth until your hips move up to seek his touch.
“Want me to take these off?” He asks, tugging at the strings, already knowing your answer before you nod rapidly.
“Off, please. Take them off.”
His reply is a deep grunt, and you think that must be his grumpy little way of teasing you, “Needy little thing.”
The bottoms come off, and you’re bared to him, your center slick with need and ready to be fucked. But you just know he’s going to take his time. Simultaneously, you can’t stand it, but you also yearn for it. Being teased and molded into a whimpering mess, desperate for his touch. Your husband has never made you feel like this. Sexy. Desirable. Loved.
“Fuck, look at that pussy, baby,” he groans, still not touching you where you really, really need it. He’s massaging your hips now, leaning over you in a way that’s almost obscene as he gets closer to your slick heat. His thumbs press into your hips, then down your thighs until he’s rubbing oil into your legs, still neglecting you, even though every pretense of professionalism has all but burned up in the wake of your arousal.
“Joel,” you whine, arching your hips.
“Patience,” he answers sternly. And that’s that. Nothing more.
Every stroke up and down your leg is torture as he repeats the same teasing he’d done to the backs of your legs. Getting closer and closer to your pussy, but never fully touching. You’re so eager, your slick coats your thighs, and on a final pass, he rubs it into your skin before his fingers finally graze your clit. You suck in a sharp breath, your hand shooting out to grab him again. To keep him there. Because if he stops now, you think you’ll actually die.
You look up at him, his eyes dark, his grin wide. You’ve never seen him smile like that, and it’s blinding, warm, and teasing. He rubs circles over your clit delicately, not pressing too hard, not too light. It’s so perfect and you’re so on edge that it has you on the precipice of your orgasm faster than you can blink.
And then he eases up, halting your peak so quickly, your hips buck, making you moan in protest, “No, no, no, don’t stop, please, Joel.”
“Ain’t plannin’ on stoppin’, baby,” he says softly, “Just need to get a better look at you.”
And then he shifts, gently lowering himself to the ground, knees probably screaming in protest, and grabbing you by the hips to pull you to the edge of the lounger, slightly askew on the cushion, but still comfortable. He lowers his head, making you squirm, lips brushing against your hip, across your tummy, briefly pausing to kiss around the pink belly button piercing. You arch your hips, enticing him.
“So eager,” he grumbles, one hand spreading your thigh, hooking it onto his shoulder, the other running up your opposite leg, kneading and massaging you into a puddle.
“I need — I need—“ you breathe, one hand clutching the teakwood, the other reaching for him, digging into the muscles of his shoulder.
“What do you need, baby?”
Your chest is heaving as he plants another kiss below your bellybutton, still massaging your leg while his other hand keeps your thigh firmly planted over his shoulder.
“Fuck, you smell so sweet,” he sighs, inching down. It’s torture. It’s pure, unbridled torture — waiting for him. You’re a slick mess, oiled up, pussy wet, walls fluttering around nothing. “Tell me what you need,” he repeats.
“I need your tongue,” you gasp, the prickle of his beard on your skin driving you insane. You never would have guessed this. That Joel Miller is a fucking tease. That he’s slow and methodical. That he enjoys making you squirm. But here he is, peppering kisses all across your body, everywhere except your aching core, “Please, make me cum. Please, Joel.”
His chuckle is deep, a hint of red coloring his cheeks and neck, either from the sun or arousal, you don’t care.
“Since you asked nicely.”
And then his mouth is on you, hands spreading your thighs wide, keeping you open for him as he drags his tongue from your weeping cunt to your clit where he sucks, teasing you, making you gasp for air, arching your back off the lounger.
Your burrow a hand into his hair — it’s damp with sweat, but that doesn’t bother you in the slightest.
His mouth is devastating against you, licking stripe after stripe up your slit, pausing briefly to suck and nibble at your clit until you’re sobbing with need. And then, just when you think it can’t get any better, he pushes one, thick finger into you, stretching you. The burn makes you cry out, the slow drag sending prickles of lightning up your spine.
“This is what you wanted, right, darlin’?” He asks, voice rough with arousal, eyes nearly black as he slowly pumps his finger into you. “It’s why you’ve been walkin’ around lookin’ like that. No pants on. Shorts barely coverin’ you, askin’ me to touch you. Askin’ to get fucked.”
You can’t answer. Your voice stalls in your throat. You can only nod, frantically. He adds a second finger and it almost undoes you. You’re so fucking close. He pushes them deep, leaning down to tease your clit again with his mouth, sucking hard, groaning.
“How do you think your husband would feel if he knew his pretty little wife was gettin’ fucked by the help?”
He twists his fingers, curling them just so. He prods at the sensitive, soft spot inside you, making your arch.
“Ex. Ex — husband. Soon.”
He hums, “Judging by that ring, he’s no ex.”
It takes every ounce of will power you have to rip your hand away from him and tear the ring off your finger. It glints in the sun and clatters on the table next to you when you slam it down. Then your hand is back in his hair, urging him back to your cunt where he grins and licks you again, this time not pausing, not slowing.
Your orgasm is volcanic, blinding. You think you scream. You know your fingers clench around his hair so tight, you’re in danger of pulling it out of his scalp. And he just keeps going. Finger fucking you into oblivion, tasting your release on his tongue, moaning against you as you ride the waves of your climax into bliss.
You’re trembling when he lifts himself off the ground, fingers still probing deep, hunting for another orgasm. He leans over you, bracing his other hand next to your head, and kisses you. You whimper into his mouth, tasting yourself on his lips, tongues stroking and breaths mingling.
“Joel,” you moan when he removes his fingers, leaving you empty and limp. But he’s not pulling away. He’s kissing down your neck, sucking a spot just below your ear that drives you crazy that your husband always neglects, and undoing his belt.
“Tell me what you need,” he says into your neck. But he already knows. You know he knows. You’ve been begging for it this entire time.
“Fuck me, Joel,” you whine, hands searching for the end of his shirt. They slip underneath, and you moan at the way his muscles feel under your fingertips. He’s warm and rough and you want to see him. “Off.”
He hums, leaning up to pull his shirt over his head and toss it somewhere among your discarded bikini. He comes back to you, lips hot on yours while you concentrate your efforts on getting his jeans undone. He’s hard against your hand as you pull the zipper down, aching and needy.
Once his cock is freed, you break away to take him in, and you almost shrink. He is huge, leaking from the tip, resting heavy against your thigh. Even with how wet you are, you don’t know if he’ll fit. But God you want to try.
“Don’t worry, baby, I got you,” he grunts, shoving his jeans and boxers off. He straightens you on the lounger, making room for himself as he climbs over you. He’s golden and glistening in the sun, slick with sweat and your arousal shimmering on his chin.
The sight of his broad, hard form over you almost makes you cum again.
He catches you gawking and you could swear he’s trying to fight off a smug smile, but his lips only twitch in amusement instead. Taking his cock in hand, he drags the tip through your folds, making you shudder and reach for his hips, holding him as he hovers, nails pressing a little harder than you intend. He doesn’t seem to mind.
As his tip catches your entrance, he groans, “Nice and wet for me, aren’t you?”
You can only nod, speech evading you as he slowly, cautiously sinks into you. The stretch is everything. You’re so full, so wet, and inconsolable, it makes you mewl in delight.
“What’s that, darlin’?”
”So — so big. Your cock is so big, Joel,” you sigh, shifting your hips, taking him deeper. The burn is exquisite, but you need him to move. Need him to fuck you into another reality. ”Please..”
”Such pretty little manners,” he tells you, withdrawing slowly.
The first thrust is devastating. The second is mind numbing. And after the third, you’re holding onto him for dear life. It doesn’t take long for you to melt underneath him, arching your hips so he hits at just the right angle.
“Tightest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had, baby,” he pants, leaning down to mutter profanities into your ear, nibbling and kissing your neck, “That husband doesn’t take care of you at all does he?”
”No, no, no, never,” you chant, every part of you ready to snap.
“Bet he hasn’t fucked you proper in years,” he grunts, the sound of your skin slapping together downright obscene. “That’s all you needed, huh, darlin’?”
“Uh huh,” you yelp, almost a broken sob leaving you as he drives into you, “Fuck me, Joel..”
“Nothin’ to worry about now, I’ll take real good care of you.”
You could cry from the relief of it. The way his hips slam into you, how deep he is, how attentive. Even at the strongest point in your marriage, it’s never been like this, and it’s ecstasy.
Pleasure pools low in your belly, his cock hitting that sweet, sensitive spot inside you so perfectly, the precipice of your orgasm is on you in an instant. Just as you’re about to cum, he stills, breath heaving, your walls trembling, clenching around him.
“Joel,” you whine, breathless and wanting.
“Not yet, baby,” he tells you, voice syrupy and thick. Pressing a kiss to your neck, then your lips, he sits up on his knees, takes you by the thighs and lifts your hips to grind against him. The position is utterly indecent, back arched, him holding your thighs for leverage while he begins snapping his hips against you. And it’s like he never stopped in the first place.
Your orgasm crashes into you, hands reaching for his wrists to hold on as he towers over you, giving you everything he’s got. The power of his thrusts knocks the breath out of you.
“Take it, baby, fuck, you’re such a good girl,” he grounds out, sweat slicking his muscled chest, dripping down his temple. “You got me so wound up, darlin’, prancin’ around looking sexy as sin. Now I’ve got you all to myself.”
“Don’t stop, please,” you keen, desperately grasping for air, your climax driving away all rational thought and composure. “It’s so good, please, don’t stop.”
“Gonna make me cum, sayin’ things like that.”
You think, then, that you’d be fine with it. Letting him cum inside you, or paint your oiled up body with his seed. Mark you, stake his claim on you. He can cum wherever he wants, you decide, as long as he promises to do it again.
“Ain’t gonna let that piece of shit husband touch you again,” he declares, pinning you with a solid, steady stare, “You’re mine now, darlin’.”
You tell him, then, “Cum inside me, Joel,” nearly sobbing as his powerful thrusts drive you toward another orgasm with blinding speed. His movements are precise and deliberate, his eyes going dark at your words.
You know he wants to do it, that he can’t stop himself even if he wanted to. Even if you weren’t begging for it.
“Yeah?” He huffs, hooking his arms a little higher around your thighs to gain better leverage. You shift your hips, cry out as his cock goes deeper, spearing into you so completely you never want him to leave.
You’re almost sobbing with the approach of another orgasm, one that will undo you and wreck you for the rest of your life. All you can do is nod and gasp and hold onto him as he fucks you deeper. Your neighbors are going to hate you.
“Shit, darlin’,” he grunts, the buck of his hips frantic as he chases his release. When your nails bite into his forearm, the tight coil of his control snaps like a cable and you feel warm ropes of cum fill you. A final orgasm paints stars across your vision, and you faintly hear a guttural moan leave him as you tighten around him once more. He doesn’t stop fucking you until you’re both spent, your muscles aching and fingers sore from how tightly you have them wound around his wrists.
He collapses on top of you in a heap, your bodies slippery with sweat and oil. His hot breath fans over your neck, the weight of him both grounding and comforting. The scruff of his beard prickles your skin as he peppers kisses along your chin, down the column of your throat.
”Ain’t gonna be able to finish those cabinets today,” he grunts.
A slow smile spreads across your lips, ”Why not?”
He lifts his head to gift you with a warm smile of his own, captivated, even after the way he’d fucked you. Surprised that he gives it so willingly now that you’ve had each other in the most physical and intimate manner possible.
”Wanna take you out. Dinner. Will you let me?”
His offer stuns you into silence.
Yes, you’d practically begged for him to fuck you. Asked him to cum inside you. Told him you were as good as divorced. And yeah, you have every intention of having sex with him again.
But a date? That says something. It speaks volumes to his intentions. Which both frightens and thrills you.
Despite you throwing yourself at him for weeks on end and finally getting what you want, he wants more. And not just your body.
Your hesitation draws his eyebrows down, “We don’t have to ––“
”I want to,” you answer quickly. But there’s still that lingering sense of doubt. Of trusting someone with yourself only to be stabbed in the back. Betrayed in the most visceral sense. You didn’t have sex with him because you wanted to move on from Jeremy right into another twisted, sickly excuse for a relationship. You just needed attention. And Joel gave it.
He lifts himself off of you and pulls on his jeans, “It’s fine if you don’t wanna ––“
”Joel.”
”I’m too old to be playin’ games, darlin’. If I wasn’t clear before — I like you. More than I should. And I know you’re married, but that didn’t stop us, did it? So if you want this, I’m here. If not, no hard feelin’s.”
He’s half dressed now, jeans buttoned, belt still hanging loose, t-shirt hanging over his broad shoulder. His wide frame blocks the sun, allowing you to see him clearly. No man has ever been as direct and straightforward with his needs. Not like that. It’s… different. Refreshing. Almost unheard of.
You almost want to pull him back down and let him have his way with you again, but you’re a woman of control and poise. You can articulate your needs just as clearly as he has. And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least a little bit interested in seeing what manifests.
”Dinner would be lovely,” you begin, keeping your expression controlled, “When Jeremy gets back from whatever trip he’s on, I’m serving him the divorce papers.”
You can see the moment when your words sink in, the pleasant twitch of his lips, the way he leans over you and brushes his lips against yours. This kiss is tender and sweet in a way you haven’t experienced from your own husband in years. But it’s what he says next that turns your body into mush and your mind pliant and docile.
Summary: it’s a story about two people who are very dear to each other, but too scared to turn their friendship into something else. They search for each other in other people and places until fate brings them back together at the right time
Warnings: 18+ mdni. Childhood friends to lovers, post season 3 (Javi and reader are in their 40s), idiots in love, alt pov, time jumps, angst, arguing, smut, oral (f/m), piv, creampie
a/n: Ok, so yeah, Javi is a womanizer. But I deeply think he’s also one of the most protective and sensitive p boys. He cares a lot, we saw how worried he was about Helena. He’s just not really good at expressing his feelings. So yeah, another fic where I’m falling for soft!Javi 🧡
this is written for @time-for-my-weekly-spanking 2026 kinky challenge (masterlist), I chose Oral - Thank you for the event, V 🙏❤️ (I'm so late I'm sorry!)
Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing and always being here for me 😘💕💕 @sawymredfox for your wonderful ideas, always ❤️❤️ @/saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏
You
The first thing you noticed as you walked down the trail from Chucho's ranch was Javi’s lavender shirt. He’d always loved those bright colors, even as a teenager. Pink, green, blue, yellow, red— they all suited him, enhancing his sunkissed skin. Some stupid boys tried to make fun of his clothes in the past, but it never stopped him from wearing them. He had never been the impressionable type, even as a kid. He just didn’t care.
You, on the other hand, hated it.
“Don't waste your energy on them, cariño,” he’d say. “They're not worth it.”
Javi and Chucho were gathering materials to repair the fence, and you smiled when your eyes set on Javi for the first time in so many years. Jeans, dress shoes, his back drenched in sweat in that shirt while he was carrying wooden posts.
He couldn’t have been more inappropriately dressed for the task.
“Finally found your way back home, Peña?” you said as you approached, making him turn around and smile at you instantly.
“C'mere, cariño.”
You hugged as you’d done a million times before, yet it seemed like ages had passed since then. Now he felt much broader between your arms.
You had hoped that your emotions wouldn't engulf you too quickly when you had been mentally preparing yourself to see him again, but your heart already started to shatter, all those years weighing on you.
When you have a childhood friend, a real childhood friend, the perfect one that you only see in the movies, the worst thing you can imagine is life getting in the way and separating you.
And well, life really screwed you over.
Seeing him wasn’t a surprise. The surprise actually hit you a couple hours earlier, when you called Chucho first thing in the morning, knowing the fence was often damaged after a storm. You offered to come help him, as always. He thanked you then there was a moment of silence, before he finally said "he's here."
There was no need to say the name for you to realize who he was talking about.
Javi stroked your back, your bodies pressed against each other. “I’m glad to see you,” he said, his voice huskier than it used to be. You bit your lip before answering, trying not to show too much emotion in your voice.
“Me too, Javi.”
You missed him. So much. Probably more than he had missed you, but you weren't the one busy hunting down Escobar and then the Cali cartel.
And after all, you weren’t the one that left practically overnight. Or perhaps he knew long before he was going to leave, but chose to tell you only the day before. For a long time, your brain was torturing you, telling you that you'd never really been that close if Javi left so suddenly, almost like a thief, stealing a part of you and leaving a void in your heart that had never been filled since then.
You tried to shut that thought down. Javi was the impulsive type. Maybe he really decided to leave at the last minute.
You took a long breath before stepping aside to look at him, and how stupidly gorgeous he was, with that self-assurance only some men in their forties possess.
You noticed right away that his gaze was different than before. Grave, with a certain sadness he had always carried within him, but deeper.
His expression turned playful though, as you were watching him from head to toe.
“Are you checking me out?”
“You wish! So… you finally kept the mustache,” you said, smiling. Years ago you had suggested he let it grow and back then he had told you it was the worst idea ever, before finally giving it a chance.
“I did. You were right, it’s not that bad,” he replied, his voice as gentle as you used to, his gaze on you as kind and protective as it was. As if he had left only yesterday.
You, on the other hand, were not showing the same warmth. The wound of his departure had never truly healed, and the fact that the phone calls between Colombia and Laredo got rare quickly after he left, then fully stopped, hadn't helped.
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to call you in the coming weeks, cariño,” he had said. “I’m often out on a mission, between Bogota and Medellín. But don’t worry about me, ok? I’ll be fine.”
He never called back.
You can’t say you’d been surprised, though. You always saw him as a lone wolf, deep down. The only difference was that when you were children, then teenagers, then young adults, you thought you were allowed behind the walls he built around himself. The only one he let inside.
After he left, you weren’t so sure anymore, and a bitter taste stayed on your tongue since that day.
“Okay, that should do it,” Chucho interrupted you two, shaking his gloved hands, getting rid of the dust. “Come have lunch with us, Niña.”
Javi’s father was an anchor in your life, always had been, somehow having replaced your shitty, pathologically absent father throughout the years.
The three of you set the table, then Javi served the food, towel tossed over his shoulder, and you couldn’t help but ogle his forearms, the way his veins were working, how strong he seemed to be.
Seeing him there, in his father’s kitchen, felt almost surreal, even though his movements were so familiar.
You'd follow the news of the Medellín then Cali cartels being taken down on TV, but everybody knew it was a hopeless war. You wondered how long he would stay in Laredo before going back to his chase, and it really surprised you when he assured Chucho he was back for good. Time would tell if it was the case, but he clearly seemed emotionally exhausted. Drained. You couldn’t imagine what he had to face during all those years.
Sometimes Javi looked at you like he didn't quite know how to handle the situation. You didn’t know either, and mostly stayed quiet.
After the meal, Chucho settled on the sofa in front of the TV, and Javi suggested you two having coffee on the porch.
It was the first time you were alone together since the day he had told you he was leaving, nearly twenty years ago. You hated that the person who knew you best back then was now almost a stranger. You didn’t know anything about his life in Colombia, as he didn’t know anything about yours for the last decade.
“We have a lot of catching up to do,” he said, lighting up a cigarette. Then he casually threw his lighter on the table and sat with his ankle crossed over his knee.
“I guess,” you replied, getting closed off as your defense mechanism, nervously playing with the cup handle, your eyes set on the dark liquid.
“I know the way I left was a mess,” he stated, encouraging you to open up with a soft smile on his face.
“Yeah, we can say that,” you replied, accepting his cigarette and taking a drag.
“You started smoking again?”
“No,” you replied, and you both laughed, slightly easing the tension as a result. Javi brushed his lower lip with his tongue, the way he had used to do when he wasn’t sure about something, took the lighter, tapped it against the table and then finally said, “tell me, cariño.”
“Tell you what?”
He tilted his head to the side, and continued, “come on. Just tell me what’s on your mind. I can face it.” He looked so much like the Javi you had known right now. Direct. Honest. Brave.
You sighed, searching for the right words, not quite sure you were ready to dive into that conversation. Yet being aware that it had to happen at some point anyway, you decided to bite the bullet and be fully honest.
“I’m angry, Javi,” you dropped. “I’m happy you’re safe, of course, happy you’re back, but I’ve been mad at you since you left, for the way you left, for not staying in touch.” You paused, then added, “I’m angry with you because for years I had lived in fear of getting a call from Chucho with some bad news. I’m angry because I thought we were friends, best friends, and the way you dumped me so suddenly made me realize that maybe I was wrong all those years and we weren’t.”
Javi frowned, lowering his eyes, and then took another cigarette from the pack. He lit it and exhaled the smoke, searching for words.
“I left immediately after telling you because I wasn’t sure I’d do it if I discussed it with you, if I thought about it more. And… I don’t know,” he sighed. “I guess I needed to leave.”
“You’re not exactly helping your case by saying that,” you replied, slightly hurt.
“Probably. I’m sorry.”
“How long have you known? That you were gonna leave.”
“They offered me the job a few weeks before I left. A month, maybe? I kept wondering if I should take it, kept thinking about you…” he stopped talking and shook his head.
“I wouldn’t have asked you to stay if you’d told me you needed to leave,” you said coldly. “You just had to talk to me. I wouldn’t have been selfish, you should have known it. We were friends.”
Javi’s eyes filled with pain when you used the past tense, and you felt bad for being so harsh but couldn’t help it. You had never imagined what your reunion would be like, damn, you had never really been sure you’d see him again, but you certainly didn’t expect this. It all felt like a waste, and it made you sad.
“What about your eyes?” he asked after a long moment of silence, his voice barely audible, and you frowned in confusion, your gaze locked with his.
“My eyes? What do you mean?”
“Would they have asked me to stay?”
Your heart jumped in its ribcage. You weren’t ready to show such raw emotions. To be emotional in front of him. Not so fast, not now.
You looked at the cigarette between your fingers and its burning ashes, and stood up.
“I need some time, ok? Your return is sudden and part of me thinks that tomorrow, in a week or a month you're gonna leave again.”
“I won’t,” he replied, his brown eyes raised towards you. You shrugged and crushed your cigarette in the ashtray.
“See you later, Javi,” you said, before leaving him alone on the porch.
Javi
Of course, he noticed your reserve as soon as you looked at him near the fence. Moreover, he expected it. Just like in the morning, when the phone rang, he knew it was you, he felt it by the way his heart tightened. So he went to get his pack of cigarettes from the kitchen when his father answered the phone, to give himself some time.
When his father hung up Javi came back into the living room.
“She’s gonna help with the fence,” Chucho confirmed what Javi felt in his gut. “She always helps, Javi, you know? Always the same sweet girl she’s always been.”
“I know,” he sighed. “I know, ‘pa.” He knew his father never approved of the way he had left.
Javi lit a cigarette, thinking about the moment you’d meet again. He knew he hadn’t been fair to you, and that you didn’t deserve it after everything you shared together since you were 5 or 6 years old.
The truth was, Javi didn’t know how else to handle it. He figured a sudden break was probably best so you wouldn’t worry and wouldn’t think about him too much after some time. Even if deep down, he knew it was dumb. That he was acting like a coward. He always considered himself bad, with the way he expressed his emotions, but that really was the icing on the cake.
When Javi told you he was leaving the next day, your face couldn’t conceal your pain even though you tried to lock up your emotions. In the evening before his departure he hid in the shadows near your father's house. He stayed there, contemplating whether he should talk to you or not. He watched your silhouette pass by your bedroom window. Again and again.
He convinced himself that visiting you one last time would only make things worse.
He was afraid to take you in his arms, afraid to kiss you.
Afraid you’d kiss him back.
And then, what would he do?
That spark between you, which had never been discussed or even implied but that he was feeling deep down, couldn’t choose the worst moment to reveal itself.
Just like that morning when he was getting ready for his wedding, and realised he couldn’t keep lying to himself — Lorraine wasn’t the woman he wanted.
His eyes fixed on your window, he brushed his lip with his thumb, still hesitating.
“Goodbye, cariño,” he murmured in the end and left.
Javi called you a few times once in Colombia. But hearing your voice hurt him, made him miss you, prevented him from concentrating the way he needed to. He told you to not worry about him, then never called again, only getting news about you from Chucho.
One day he told his father he didn’t want to know more after learning that you were seeing someone, some guy who always tried to go out with you, but whom you'd always turned down. A guy he always referred to as “the prick”. Javi convinced himself you didn't need him anymore, and probably already forgot about him. He threw himself wholeheartedly into his job, and tried to forget about you.
It didn’t work, but his heart tightened when a few years later he realized he couldn’t recall the sound of your voice anymore. He never imagined your friendship would end like this, not when you solemnly promised to always be in each other's lives, as children. He forced himself to shrug it off, convincing himself that an end of a childhood friendship was one of the most commonplace things in the world.
“Todo Laredo está aquí” (All Laredo is here) Javi told his father when he came back for a few days to attend Danny's wedding.
But it wasn't true. You weren't there. He had prepared himself to finally see you, had thought about the words he’d tell you. Yet he wasn't ready for your absence there.
So he acted foolishly and talked to Lorraine. All he got in return was her bitterness.
There was a lone tree in the middle of a meadow, near Chucho’s ranch.
It became a meeting place for you and Javi when you were kids. You’d go there on your bikes after school and stayed there until the sun began to set. Years later, you kept visiting the place, hanging out in Chucho's truck, that time until the sun rose. It was your place, for the both of you.
“Somewhere only we know,” you called it.
When you were teenagers, that tree heard all your swearing and laughter, when Javi was lying with his head on your stomach. You always teased him that his head was too heavy and gave you a bellyache, anything to tease him, really, and both of you always laughed loudly.
As a young adult, you were usually the one with your head resting on his stomach, and sometimes he would brush a wildflower against your skin. You stopped looking at him when he did that, after you locked eyes once, and the depth and intensity of his gaze made you shiver. You were afraid that seeing his face lowered toward you would make you say something stupid. So instead you’d focus on how the leaves were swaying in the wind.
Moments of silence between you were never uncomfortable, neither of you ever felt obliged to fill them, and you were relieved that looking at the tree would never seem suspicious.
That was the spot where you found Javi, sitting under the lone tree in his wedding suit, smoking a cigarette, during the moment he should have said "I do" to Lorraine. He smiled when he saw you approach, as if he was waiting for you. You went there the second Chucho told you he had changed his mind about the marriage.
You had never really liked Lorraine. Not even now, when you ran into her in town with Randy and their kids, as she came to visit her parents. You hated that she knew a part of Javi you didn't. You couldn't say you were sad they didn't get married but you never expected him to leave her at the altar.
That day, you asked him why he changed his mind, but his answer had been evasive. You didn’t insist. You just wanted to be there for him.
Now
The tree was the place you went to on Sunday morning, a couple days after Javi came back from Colombia.
It had been a long time since you'd been there. You stopped going because it made you sad, because it seemed silly to go there as a grown-up, especially when that place didn’t have a reason to be special anymore.
The white fence surrounding the neighboring field had aged. Its color had faded, and the nails were rusted. In places, the wooden slats were half-loose. It tugged at your heartstrings to see this analogy of time passing.
As you walked toward the tree, you saw Javi sitting there, his back against the trunk, smoking a cigarette, his aviator sunglasses perched on his nose.
"I have something for you," he said when you reached him and handed you a bundle of envelopes tied together with an old-fashioned rubber band.
"What's this?" you asked when you took them.
"The letters I wrote to you when I was in Colombia," he said, exhaling the smoke.
“I… I don’t understand?”
“I never sent them.”
“But… why?”
“I didn’t want you to carry the weight of all this,” he shrugged. “What I was going through, what I was feeling. But I don’t want you to think I forgot about you while I was there. I never did. It’s just… it was hard.”
“Javi..” you sighed. “We were friends, I would have been here for you, no matter what.”
“I hope that one day you will stop using the past tense. I’m back, for good.”
You looked at the pile of envelopes. There were dozens of them.
“You don’t have to read them, if you don’t want to,” he said.
“I know. I will.”
You spent the night reading them.
Each letter was dated, handwritten and full of his thoughts as if he were confiding in you about his days and nights, as if he were right in front of you. Telling you about his missions, the shootings, the violence, without naming people.
He told you about his fears, and you had never sensed him being so vulnerable. So afraid, too. You could feel it in his handwriting, in the way the letters were formed.
Javi wrote about a woman he helped save from hell. It was the only person he named, kind of.
“H.”
You thought he must have cared about her a lot.
He wrote that Chucho had told him you’d been dating the guy he used to call “prick,” when you were teenagers and that’s how you realized he was talking about you with his father. Maybe he had asked him about you, despite what you thought. Despite what you kept repeating in your head, hurting yourself.
Several months later, he wrote “did you marry him?” A single sentence in that letter, as if he could only think about it that day.
He mentioned Randy's wedding too. The one you had chosen not to go, not being ready to see Javi again, to see him leave again.
"I wish you were here," he wrote. For the first time, a mixture of regret and guilt filled your heart for not going.
You pictured Javi in a room, in the dim light of a night, writing these letters. A cigarette in his left hand, or tucked behind his ear. A glass of whiskey on the table beside him.
A few times he ended his letters with “I miss you,” and your heart tightened. All those years, you thought he’d forgotten about you, and you realized how wrong you were. He was still your Javi, always had been, and you felt guilty for being unfair to him.
Finally, you opened the last letter.
"I'm coming back home tomorrow, and can't wait to see you, cariño. You're gonna give me a hard time, aren't you?"
It made you smile, as tears were streaming down your cheeks.
You drove straight to Chucho's place, without even waiting for sunrise, for a decent hour, and threw a pebble at Javi's bedroom window, like you'd done so many times before. You weren’t sure he was awake, but a few seconds later he opened the front door, as if he was waiting for you, and walked towards you.
"You're an asshole, Javier Peña, for leaving like that. I fucking missed you," you said before throwing yourself into his arms.
"Don't you dare doing anything like that to me ever again," you half laughed half cried, your arms wrapped around his shoulders. He chuckled in your ear, pulling you close. It was the sweetest sound you'd ever heard.
“Let's make up for lost time, cariño.”
Things became familiar again pretty quickly and old habits made their way back in your lives. Drinking beer in Javi’s truck, smoking on Chucho’s porch. Meeting under your tree.
Both of you changed after Javi left for Colombia and you were still getting to know each other again. Sometimes shyly, sometimes as if you were 15 years old once more. He didn't talk about his job often, and you didn't push him. He seemed tired, and at times, almost broken. He confessed how much working as a DEA agent changed him. Made him tough in a way he wasn't expecting. “I lost myself there,” he said. You hugged him close then, and he held you back even stronger.
Yet you quickly realized that beneath the thicker-than-ever shell he was wearing, your Javi was still there. All those qualities you had always loved about him didn’t disappear, they were just under the surface, ready to emerge after the slightest wave that was a little stronger than the others.
As a teenager, he was reckless. Always defending and stepping up for you, even if you never asked him to.
He’d always been reliable, and the coolest person you knew. He could have been the captain of the football team and had all the girls at his feet, but he never seemed to care.
Impulsive, too. Sensitive, caring.
Javi was there for you one night, picking you up when you drank too much, too young to buy your own booze, and he took you home to that empty house your father was increasingly avoiding.
He helped you up the stairs and into the bed, then lay down next to you.
"Who gave you the alcohol?" he asked.
"My friends," you replied, making him sigh.
"They're not your friends, cariño. They left you there alone. What kind of friends do that?”
"I know. You're my only friend."
You cuddled up against him, and he wrapped his arm around you, keeping you safe. You fell asleep, your head on his chest. When you woke up the next morning, he hadn't moved.
Some friends feel like home. They never ask you to be anything else other than yourself. Javi was your home, your warmth, your safety blanket.
And you wanted to be there for him as much as he was for you.
When his mother passed, you knew what it was like to lose a person who loved you most in the world. You had lost your mother many years ago, and it broke your heart to know what he was going through. How this would change him forever.
As you helped Javi with his tie before leaving for church, his look lost in the mirror, he asked if you would sit next to him there, and you hugged him, told him that, of course, you would be by his side.
During the service, you took his hand in yours. You weren't sure if he realized it until he intertwined his fingers with yours. You caressed his skin with your thumb and didn’t stop for a single moment, even when you felt his body tremble and heard sobs catch in his throat. You squeezed his hand a little harder, so he wouldn't forget you were there for him.
Before Javi left, one of your favorite things was watching movies together, him seated on the couch and you lying down, barefoot on his lap as he was massaging your feet.
With your friendship returning to its familiar and easy place, the idea of a movie night with pizza, popcorn and beers quickly appeared, so you rented two of your favorite films at the video store.
“Don't you like foot massages anymore, cariño?” Javi asked when you sat up next to him, instead of your usual place.
“I… Yes, I do, of course. Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
In the past, he usually mixed massages with light tickles, and you’d laugh and shake your legs, before putting them back. A billion years ago, when you were teenagers, when you were in love with him but never showed it.
But tonight, his fingers were soft, as if he was getting used to touching you again. Feeling his hands on you quickly gave you goosebumps. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything.
“So… you and that prick. It didn’t work out?” he asked casually.
“No, it didn’t, as well as with the others," you replied.
Silence settled between you, and you weren’t really watching the movie anymore. You wondered if he wasn’t either, still gently massaging your feet, before he let out “why did we never date?”
Calmly. As if his words weren’t a bomb.
“Because I friendzoned you,” you replied, trying to keep your cool, and his lip curled up into a smile.
“Because you were my friend,” you added.
“Was I?”
“Were you what? My friend?”
“A good friend,” he specified, frowning as if he doubted he had ever been, and you felt guilty. It was probably your fault, after being so rough with him when he came back.
“You were the best friend possible. In your own way.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, turning his head toward you.
“I knew I could come to you with anything, if I needed to,” you answered, then lowered your gaze. You couldn't look at him, let him see what you’d been hiding for so long.
“But I wasn’t sure you’d always come to me if you needed it. You're a loner. Always have been. I knew you wouldn't stay. You wanted to see the world, and Laredo wasn’t enough for you.”
“Pa told me the same things, not so long ago,” Javi said, raising an eyebrow. Unaware of the storm that was ravaging your heart, making it sway between dark, gigantic waves that were terrifying you. Javi seemed to be caught up in his own storm.
“Of course, he did.”
“Several times I didn’t come to you when I needed it,” he said, and you frowned.
“Because you thought I couldn’t help?”
“Because I was afraid you didn’t want the same thing as me.”
“What are you talking about? What are you doing, Javi?” you asked, sitting down next to him, forcing yourself to face the TV even if you were unable to watch it.
“We’re not teenagers anymore,” he said. “I don’t wanna spend my life wondering “what if?”
You finally looked at him. He was close, far too close not to see the emotion in your eyes, and his gaze dropped to your mouth when you nervously bit your lip.
“Why has it never worked out with the men you’ve dated?”
“Javi…”
“Tell me, cariño.”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Ok. You wanna know why all of my relationships failed?”
“Yeah,” you whispered.
“Because of you.”
“Me?” you answered, still not sure of what was happening. It was so sudden, too sudden, after so many years knowing Javi, and even more years being in love with him. You were looking at him, a beautiful mix of confidence and fragility, and he smiled at you. His eyes and his smile were so soft that your heart melted.
“It was always you. You were the girl I was thinking about, and then the woman I was thinking about.”
You felt as if your mind went blank, hearing him say this, hearing his confession, as if time stopped while your heart, on the other hand, was beating faster than ever.
Your gaze dropped to his plush lips, the ones you'd longed to kiss so many times. Fantasizing about how they would feel against yours or linger on your skin. And each time you pushed the desire away, afraid of it ruining your friendship with Javi. Better to have him just as a friend than not to have him at all.
And maybe he felt that you were at a crossroads right now. Maybe he knew that a part of you was still afraid of risking what you had, because he added, “why were you averting your eyes each time I brushed a flower against your skin?”
You always thought you had managed to fool him, all those years ago, and realized you’d been wrong and underestimated his emotional intelligence.
And you sensed something switch in you, like it was finally time to let go of your fears.
“Why didn’t you marry Lorraine?” you asked back, and the way Javi looked at you, the way his gaze deepened, gave you the answer you needed, without him saying a word.
At that moment all your barriers and fears crumbled.
You straddled him, brushed his cheek with your thumb and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear, the gesture all at once so familiar and so new. Mind blowing.
His gaze on you was dark and intense, and when he placed his hands on your waist perfectly covering your curves as if they were made for him, as if you were his, you shivered. He was exhaling sensuality, overwhelming your five senses, just by looking at you, touching you. Just by existing.
You fully gave up, leaned towards him and pressed your lips to his, which were as soft as you always imagined. You felt his warmth running through your entire body and a moan escaped your lips muffled by his. Your hands framed his face then moved to the hair at the back of his neck, finally free to feel every inch of him. His tongue brushed your lips, as if tasting them or asking permission to go further, or teasing you, you weren’t really sure, and you took a long breath before parting your lips slightly, inviting him. You moved your hips forward close to his bulge as your tongues mingled and a wave of desire coursed through your body when you felt his cock shift and swell beneath you.
You grinded slowly against him, trying to ease the tension in your core, and Javi groaned.
“Cariño, you’re driving me crazy,” he breathed, kissing you, teasing you with his lips, his tongue, his hands on your waist keeping you pressed against his crotch, then they moved to your asscheeks, cupping them with his large hands, and you trembled. You needed more, needed to feel his bare skin against yours, needed to feel his hands on you without any restraints.
Your forehead pressed against his, you told him to follow you, but as soon as you got up from the sofa you were kissing again, unable to stay away from each other, almost desperate in your movements.
You walked down the hall glued to each other, his mouth on your neck leaving kisses there before crushing against your lips, his hands roaming your curves, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, waves of desire running through your body.
Neither of you broke the kiss when your back hit your bedroom door. You searched for the handle, pushed the door open hastily and tugged on Javi’s t-shirt to pull him in. Then you took it off him and let it fall to the floor. Out of breath, you placed your hands on his chest, feeling his pecs and nipples hardening under your touch, and you thought back to the times you saw him in a pair of swim trunks and tried to not fall for him even more, tried to ignore the perfection of his body, his slim waist and broad shoulders. Now he was facing you, shirtless, his body reacting to your hands placed on him. It still seemed unreal.
“I don’t wanna lose you… I can’t lose you,” you admitted, anxiety pulling you under its shadows again, and he circled your wrists with his hands, keeping you against his torso. His gaze full of certainty locked with yours. “You won’t,” he said. “I promise.”
Javi squeezed your wrists lightly then released them and reached for the first button of your blouse. His eyes were fixed on your skin while he was unbuttoning it, attentive to the way you were reacting to his touch, to your chest rising up and down. He moved down to the next button, then the next, so slowly that time seemed to stand still again, and he was savoring every moment of calm before the storm that you could already sense, as if your bodies longed to deepen your connection, exceed your friendship, amplify it and make it grow.
Javi’s gaze turned obsidian as he parted the two pieces of fabric and his hands slid underneath to pull the blouse off your shoulders, his touch on you so sensual.
Your hands reached behind your back and you unhooked your bra before letting it fall.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, mesmerized by the sight of you. He raised his hands to your breasts and gently caressed your hard nipples with his thumbs, so lightly, like a summer breeze. His Adam's apple bobbed when you shivered under his touch. He seized your waist, pulled you towards him and kissed you again, your bare chests pressed together, then slowly guided you towards the bed.
When the back of your knees reached it you both lay down on it and your lips met. Your breaths were ragged, your hands on his neck, his caressing your sides. You could feel his hard-on against your hip, wondering what it would be like to finally feel him inside you.
“Baby,” you whimpered, and he stopped for a second, trying to catch his breath against your mouth.
“Say it again,” he grumbled, his dominance making your mind go blank and your knees shake.
“Baby…” you murmured, and he growled.
“Wanna touch you and kiss you everywhere,” he said between kisses. “Wanna feel you shiver and see your toes curl.”
He peppered kisses down your neck, your collarbone, to your breasts, taking his time. He took one of your tits in his mouth, lips circled around it and sucked, played with his tongue before moving to the other, then went down to your lower stomach, his soft moustache brushing your skin, his fingers reaching for your zipper. He knelt between your legs to remove your garment, leaving you in your panties and watched the way you were breathing while his fingers were lingering on your skin. The way he was taking his time, touching you slowly and sensually, was so overwhelming that you were relieved to be on the bed because you weren't sure your legs could have supported you. His thumb followed the elastic of your panties, from one hip to the other, and your legs parted a little wider under his touch. You could have sworn you saw his lips tremble before his fingers slid down, brushing your covered folds, feeling the wetness of your underwear.
Javi grasped the sides of your panties and slid them down your legs slowly, then kneeled on the floor by the bed and seized your hips to position you the way he wanted, legs bent and feet at the edge of the bed.
“I’ve thought about this so many times,” he said, his dark eyes peering up at you while his tongue traced a line along your folds, making your stomach hollow, your fists clenching the sheets. He placed your thighs on his shoulders, and his tongue licked and lapped, from your cunt to your clit, making a whimpering mess out of you. When his tongue was moving down your hole, his prominent nose was brushing against your clit, the double pressure quickly started to build a ball of warmth in your stomach. He probably felt you shiver under his tongue and hands, and buried his tongue deep inside you, drinking in every last drop of your arousal. You could hear him groan, as he was making out with your cunt, and your hips rolled toward him, pressing yourself to him and feeling him even more, right where you needed him the most.
Javi slid his hand from your thigh to your entrance, just beneath his tongue, brushed the tip of his fingers there slightly before pushing a digit inside along with his tongue. He caressed your soft spot with his finger curled upwards, and moved his lips towards your bundle of nerves. He circled it and sucked, swirled it under his tongue, then added a second finger in your cunt. You felt yourself drool down to your ass and then the sheets, wet sounds filling the room.
“Javi… I’m gonna come… Fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”
Your body started to shake, sheets were rustling under your feet, and you came, hands clasping his hair, holding him against you as you were unraveling long and hard, mewling, until the wave subsided completely, leaving you breathless.
Javi placed soft kisses on your inner thighs, giving you time to recover.
“Shit,” you murmured, lowering your gaze to look at him between your legs, his chin glistening with your wetness.
“Wanna taste you, too,” you said as you sat up, reaching the edge of the bed before grasping his jeans and unzipping him, pulling them down to let his cock spring free.
“Fuck… you’re… fuck..” you said, when your eyes landed on his thick cock for the first time. You spread the drops of precum over the tip with your thumb and sucked your digit, eyes fixed on Javi, then leaned forward and licked his shaft, tracing a line to the tip, along a large vein there. Your tongue played with its slit and his precum flowed into your throat. His fist grabbed your hair as he let out “fuck.”
You gave yourself time to get used to his girth, letting saliva run down the shaft until you were able to suck him off a little deeper, bobbing your head up and down. You looked up at him, lips wrapped around his cock, his fingers still in your hair, and he twitched when your eyes met.
“You feel so good, fuck,” he murmured in his husky voice. “I need to feel you,” he pleaded. “I can’t… can’t wait anymore.”
“I need to feel you too,” you replied, your breath caught in your throat when he laid down on you, seized his cock and slid the tip between your folds, coating it with your wetness. He nestled himself at your entrance, pushed in just the tip, and "oh god" escaped your lips. He released his cock, his gaze traveling over your body as his fingers brushed against your skin before gently taking a hold of your wrists and keeping them with one hand above your head.
Javi thrust gently, the crease between his eyebrows deepening as he felt your pussy tighten around him.
“I’ve thought about you so many times, lying down in my bed,” you said, letting him open up your pussy to let him in. He smiled, then said, “Yeah? You touched yourself thinking of me?”
“Yeah…” you replied, biting your lip as he pushed in a little further.
“You came, thinking about it?”
“Yeah, fuck… yeah,” you answered, feeling your walls being spread out by his thick tip.
“Me, too…I’ve ruined my sheets so many times thinking about you,” he added, gently kissing your forehead and rolling his hips softly. “Thinking about your neck, the delicate skin right here,” he said, kissing just below your ear. “Thinking about your fingers,” he kept talking, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them so sensually that you felt yourself squeeze him inside you.
“About your skin, how soft I knew you were.” He traced it with his fingertips.
“About your pussy,” he muttered, rolling inside you so slowly and sensually, brushing his crotch against your clit, making you moan.
“I thought about the little moans you’d make, too. I imagined them, but they’re even sweeter than I thought,” he finally said, bottoming out, making you feel unbelievably full.
“I’m right here,” he murmured, his hand on your belly. “Fuck, I’m right here, baby.”
His cock was rubbing exactly where you needed, in and out, slowly, perfectly. You felt a second wave coming, and it was almost too much, something you had never felt before. You were in love with him, had been for a long time, and the way your bodies were reacting so perfectly, as if they were made for each other, was overwhelming. A dream coming to life.
“I’m gonna come again…” you whined.
“Please, cariño,” he begged. “I wanna feel you come on my cock… You feel so good, baby…”
You pulsed around him, his forehead resting against yours. “Shit, I’m not gonna last. Where do you want it?”
“Inside, inside please.”
“Ok… Ok, fuck, baby… I’m gonna… Oh fuck, I’m…”
His words turned into moans, and you felt him shudder before he covered your walls in long, hot spurts of cum, filling your pussy until you milked him dry, shuttering around him, again and again.
He breathed heavily in the hollow of your neck then kissed it and lay on his side.
“Come here, baby,” he said, raising his arm.
You snuggled up against him, your hand resting on his chest, the beating of his heart resonating against your temple.
“Wow,” you finally said, and he laughed, pressing you even closer to him.
“Yeah, wow. I always thought it gets better with practice. But it was already so good...”
“Have we been idiots all these years?” you asked.
“Probably. I can’t even remember when I fell for you.”
You sat up when you heard him, looking into his eyes. “Say it again.”
“I fell for you. Hard. A long time ago.”
Your best friend was back and here with you. You didn't want to think that you had wasted all those years. You chose to tell yourself that you had found each other at the right time, and with all the time in the world to get to know each other fully. You lay down next to him, your hand sliding from his stomach to his side. Javi was your home, your warmth, your safety blanket.
He was your happy place, even more than before.
Soulmates aren’t just lovers, after all. Sometimes they come as friends too.
Javi p masterlist
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warnings: 18+ smut & angst ; riding, finger sucking, joel eating you out, cream pie. i hope i got everything.
summary: you and joel met in a bar one night after he bought you a drink. ever since you've been fuck buddies. it's been months and he still has yet to leave you like all your past arrangements. to you, it's more than just fucking each other, you have real feelings for him. the only problem is you're scared of what would happen if you asked him to stay, but you do it anyways.
WC: 1.4k
AN: this is my first time EVER writing smut so i ammm sooo nervous. so sorry if this is bad but this song will not get out of my head and it was giving cowboy joel miller so i had to write it out. ENJOY
“You're a wild horse
I always had a thing for cowboys, baby
California's damned
Lovers come and go, but could you stay with me?”
inspired by " West Coast Prayer " by Nessa Barrett
“Keep going, baby,” He whispers as his lips brush against my ear. “Don’t stop.”
I try to ignore the feeling I get when he calls me “baby”. I have to remember it’s just sex talk.
I keep rolling my hips back and forth to catch that tightness that builds in my lower stomach. I look up at Joel, who is watching me as I continue to ride him. He’s wearing a cowboy hat, so I take it off and put it on myself.
“You’re something else.” He murmurs with a smirk as he moves his rough hand from squeezing my hip up to my face.
He cups my cheek and glides his thumb across my bottom lip.
“Fuckin’ riding me like a cowgirl.” He grunts. “My little cowgirl.”
I giggle and take his thumb into my mouth. I moan while I bob up and down on it, twirling my tongue. I never break eye contact with him.
“Oh, fuck” I pant out as he starts to fuck up into me. I choke out a sob as he doesn't skip a single beat, his cock moving in and out of me.
This is normal for Joel and me. We’ve known each other for a bit now. I was sitting at a bar alone in Hollywood when the bartender set down a shot in front of me.
“I didn’t order this,” I told the guy.
“I know you didn’t, but he did.” He points over to the man in the cowboy hat at the end of the bar top.”
I always had a thing for cowboys.
I look over as he tilts his hat and gets up to walk towards me. “Mind if I join?”
He’s gorgeous. Tall, has the perfect amount of facial hair, and dark brown eyes. He’s older, I can tell, but that hasn’t ever stopped me before.
“I don’t mind at all.”
The chit-chatting lasted about 5 minutes until he was throwing me around in the backseat of his Chevy.
“Shit! Yes! Just like that–fuckkkkkkk” I cried out as Joel was fucking me senseless.
Ever since then, we’ve sort of become good friends that fucked. In the past, when I’ve had agreements like this, it lasted a week or two before the guy I was with got bored and moved on. With Joel, it felt different. It’s been going on for about five months now, and he has yet to leave me.
That’s the scary part. I don’t want him to leave me, but I could never tell him that.
“Ya’ gonna come for me, baby?” He takes his hand and pushes it between our sweaty bodies. I feel his fingers rubbing on my clit, and it’s like lightning shoots over my entire body. The feeling of his fingers and cock feels so good, I never want it to stop.
“Yes, Joel, keep playing with my pussy. God yes!” He does what I say.
My vision starts to blur, so I throw the cowboy hat somewhere around the room and bury my face into his neck as I release onto him. He’s right there with me as I feel him fill me up with his come. Something I’ve grown very fond of ever since I got my IUD.
“That’s my good girl. I can feel you pulsing around my cock. Shittt.” He says as he slows down his thrusts. He holds my body against his, both hands sprawled across my back.
I begin to place small kisses against his neck, hoping it sends him a sign that it's more than sex to me. I don't want to only be affectionate during intimacy, but outside of it.
He moves my face out of his neck and pauses right before our lips touch. We breathe in each other's air for a second while he stares into my eyes, then our lips finally meet. His tongue massaging against mine. He makes noises that go straight to my clit.
One hand stays on my back, while the other cups my breast. His fingers pinch my nipple, which makes me whimper into the kiss.
Our lips finally break apart, and he lifts my hips up off his cock. I hiss as he watches his come spill slowly out of me, dripping down my slit.
“That view never gets fucking old.” He takes his fingers to scoop some come up and push it back inside me.
It’s dirty, filthy even but it honestly just gets me wet again.
He lifts me off his lap and sets me up against the headboard. He moves to lay on his stomach in front of me and I already know what he’s up to.
“Joel, I’m too sensitive right now,” I tell him as I’m still recovering from that orgasm. He hums as he kisses up my thighs, getting closer and closer to my pussy.
“I’ll be gentle, baby. Let me clean you up.” I give in because the pain of the sensitivity starts to turn into pleasure. He licks from my hole all the way to my clit, and I’m already squirming.
He laps up his come that’s spilling out and swallows it. I feel his tongue start to fuck into my pussy, and I already feel another orgasm building up.
I bring my fingers up to his hair to hold his head in place.
“Shit Joel, you’re so good to me.” I jerk against his face.
And once again, I’m coming on him as he moans into my pussy.
“Fuck baby,” he breathes out, “I will never get sick of watching you come.”
He crawls up to me to give me a kiss on my forehead as he pushes his body against mine.
We sit there for a bit, him lightly running his fingers up and down my back while I have my hands playing with the ends of his hair.
It’s perfect. It’s all I want. To stay here in bed with him. To pretend like this is more than us messing around with each other. Just me and Joel.
Then the part I dread comes.
“I should probably go.” He sighs out. He says it as if it hurts him, but he does it anyways.
He starts finding his clothes that were thrown around the room from when we first got back to my apartment. I don’t say anything but turn my back towards him in the bed while he gathers his things.
“Y/N?” I don’t respond.
He walks over to my side and crouches down so we’re face-to-face. My eyes were watery with tears, and the feeling of him not wanting me.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” he says as he brushes my hair behind my ear.
There's that pet name again.
I stare into his eyes and see how they are filled with concern. He’s trying to get a read on me.
I can’t do this anymore. Not without my feelings getting hurt.
“Why do you always have to go? Why can’t you just stay here with me?”
He scans over my face. His lips part like he's going to say something, but nothing comes out. I roll my eyes.
"Forget it, Joel. Just go." I say as I realize my assumptions of him only seeing us as fuck buddies are confirmed by his silence.
"N-No, Y/N, ya’ just took me by surprise, is all." He looks worried. "Do ya' really mean it? Ya’ want me to stay?" He brings his hand up to cup my cheek and wipes a tear that I didn't know had fallen.
"I always want you to stay." I whisper under my breath.
"Oh, baby, I'm sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry.” He says as he climbs back in the bed next to me. His arms wrap around me as I start to sob against his chest. “Ya’ never asked me to stay. It hurt me every time I had to leave ya’ baby doll. I’m sorry that I never realized ya’ wanted me here.”
He holds me until my cry’s calm down. I think I even fall asleep for a short amount of time from just having my eyes closed and being exhausted from what took place before this conversation.
He breaks the silence. “It was never just sex to me, Y/N.” I want ya’ to know that. I was just trying to let ya’ take the lead. I never wanted to make ya’ uncomfortable. I would’ve stayed with ya’ every night if I could, shit, I should’ve tried.”
I move myself out of his arms and sit in front of him. “You could never make me uncomfortable, Joel.” I smile at him. “Never.”
“C’mere, baby.” He says as he moves to where I can straddle him. Our foreheads touching each other as we look into each other's eyes. “I’m not goin' anywhere.”
Summary: Javi survives the wedding ceremony. Barely survives the reception. And the second he finally gets his wife alone upstairs? Yeah… all that sexual tension they’ve been sitting on the entire night completely explodes. Honeymoon behavior starts early.
Warnings: 18+ (mdni), smut, dirty talk, kissing, mutual masturbation. fingering, unprotected piv sex, multiple orgasm, cum on body, creampie/cum play, wedding night sex, soft dom javier peña vibes, kinda praise kink, javier peña using the hand with his wedding ring for sinful activities
w/c: 2.8k • javi fic masterlist • taglist form
“Javi? You know what I can’t stop thinking about?” I lean closer to his ear while we slow dance, everyone around us watching our first dance as husband and wife.
“Hm?” he mumbles.
“About tonight… about you pushing your fingers inside me again. About you making me come with the same hand that’s only been wearing that ring for a few hours,” I whisper, lightly running my finger over the wedding band sitting on his finger. “The ring that says you’re my husband now.”
I feel him go stiff instantly. His heart starts pounding even harder against me. “Cariño…” he says through gritted teeth. “That is really not something I need to hear while your dad is standing five feet away trying to enjoy our first dance.”
But I know exactly what he’s thinking. About dragging me back inside. Throwing me onto his bed. Peeling this wedding dress off me piece by piece. I know him too well.
And the way his body reacts only proves it. He pulls me closer until my breath catches in my throat. And there it is. The hard bulge pressing against his slacks and fuck, the feeling alone sends heat straight through my stomach. God, I want him so bad.
But we still have the rest of the night ahead of us and I let out a quiet little groan against his ear. “Javi… I seriously don’t think I can wait that long…”
He laughs. Bastard.
I immediately make a face at him so he knows he’s annoying the shit out of me on purpose.
Javi just keeps smiling in that smug teasing way I love so much and honestly? I think the fact that he’s my husband now is turning me on almost more than anything else.
»»—— ⍟ ——««
I barely even remember how the rest of the night goes. Some guests already left, some are still staying. Perfect time to disappear. The backyard’s lit up with what feels like a hundred little lights, salsa still playing somewhere nearby. Not as loud as before, but the guests that are left are still drinking, dancing, laughing.
My eyes instantly find Javi.
He’s leaning against the bar talking to John, his best man. His shirt sleeves are rolled up now, bow tie slightly crooked. His hair’s a little messy and he’s got that look on his face that’s half tired, half happy. A look that’s honestly pretty rare for him.
And like I’m fucking hypnotized, my eyes stop on the wedding ring sitting on his left hand again. My breath catches. Heat immediately spreads low in my stomach. God, that ring looks so good on him. Fits him perfectly. On the hand that can be rough and gentle at the same time. The hand that carries a gun and flashes a DEA badge. The hand that knows exactly how to make me fall apart once the apartment door closes behind us.
And immediately my brain flashes back to the last time we had sex. A week ago. I genuinely don’t know how we survived an entire week without jumping each other, but… pre wedding stress. Which only makes me want him even more now. Need him even more. I press my thighs together like that’s somehow gonna help.
And right then, I feel his eyes on me. And I know he knows. I just know it. That stupid smug smirk appears on his face and he slowly runs the fingers of his other hand over his wedding ring on purpose. And yes. He’s absolutely doing it on purpose. He remembered what I whispered in his ear during our first dance. About wanting him to use the hand wearing proof of our vows to make me see fucking stars.
I stop processing anything around me after that. Thighs still pressed together, breathing getting heavier.
And just when I’m about to interrupt his conversation with John and announce that I’m stealing my husband for a while, Javi excuses himself first, pats John on the shoulder, and starts walking toward me. Finally. He steps right up to me, leans down for a kiss, softly brushing his hand along my arm. “What’s wrong, mi amor?” he whispers against my lips.
I pull back just enough to breathe out, “Javi… take me upstairs… please.” That’s it.
His pupils darken instantly, his whole expression changing, that dangerous little smile pulling at his mouth. And then suddenly he picks me up into his arms hard enough to make me laugh.
I swear, I love how playful he gets. But at this point I can barely wait for him to tear this dress off me.
Still laughing quietly, he carries me through the remaining wedding guests toward the house.
Everyone thinks it’s cute. Sweet. Nobody has any idea what’s actually about to happen once the bedroom door closes. And honestly? That only turns me on even more.
»»—— ⍟ ——««
The door to Javi’s old bedroom at the ranch barely even shuts behind us before he’s got me pressed against it, both hands on my face, kissing me hard. Deep, messy, hungry kisses. Like he’s been thinking about this all damn day and honestly? I think we both have. His hands are already all over me. He reaches for the back of my dress, fumbling with the zipper for a second before finally getting it down. Then he pushes the straps off my shoulders and the dress slips all the way down to my feet.
Thank fucking god I didn’t go for some giant princess wedding dress because that probably would’ve killed the entire mood right there.
Javi pulls back just enough to look at me.
I’m standing in front of him in nothing but my panties. And the way he’s staring at me immediately sends goosebumps over my skin.
“Oh fuck…” he mutters lowly. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” Then he’s right back against me again. His mouth drags along my neck while his fingers toy with one of my nipples, slow and lazy at first.
“Javi…” I breathe out against his ear.
“What do you want, cariño?” he whispers. His free hand slides down my stomach to my panties, thumb brushing slowly along the waistband before he taps lightly over my pussy through the fabric. “This what you want, hm?”
I push my hips against his hand without even thinking and the tiny bit of friction makes my whole body tense. Fuck. I’m already getting wetter.
“Mmm… so wet already,” Javi murmurs, sounding way too pleased with himself. “So perfect… so fucking mine…” His words go straight to my head.
I start unbuttoning his pants, where there’s already a very obvious bulge straining underneath. “Javi…” I gasp when he suddenly pinches my nipple a little harder. “That ring…” I mumble breathlessly while trying to get my hand inside his pants. “You’re not taking it off, right?”
He looks straight at me for a second like he’s enjoying this way too much. “Wasn’t planning to, mi amor.” Then he finally stops teasing me and backs me toward the edge of the bed. He pushes me down gently and I move farther onto the mattress on my elbows, still wearing my panties.
But since he keeps staring at me like that, I slowly start pulling them down myself. Slow. On purpose. I lift my hips and once they’re hanging around my ankles, I kick them off onto the floor beside the bed.
Javi watches every second of it without looking away once.
So I spread my knees for him. And fuck, I actually see him swallow.
He finally finishes unzipping his pants, the zipper I didn’t manage to fully undo before, then shoves both his pants and boxers down around his ankles. Now he’s standing there in nothing but that white shirt, a few buttons at the top still undone. Classic Javier Peña. His cock is hard as hell, standing thick and heavy against his stomach like he really fucking likes what he sees.
I slide my hand down between my thighs and start rubbing circles over my clit with my fingertip. Slowly dragging it between my folds while my other hand squeezes my breast. I’m turned on so bad at this point I can feel it everywhere in my body.
And it gets even worse when Javi grabs his cock and starts stroking himself slow, eyes completely locked on me the whole time.
I keep touching myself, already so fucking wet. The second I push two fingers inside my pussy, a soft wet sound fills the room and I let out a shaky moan. Fuck. It feels good. But I want his fingers more.
Javi’s breathing gets heavier watching me. Watching the way I finger myself for him. “Hermosa… fuck…” he mutters quietly, still jerking himself off. “You’re driving me fucking crazy like this… I love that sound you make."
My fingers speed up. In and out. In and out. And I can’t stop staring at the hand he’s using. The one with the wedding ring. The symbol of our forever. And god, I’m so wet now the slick sounds coming from between my legs just keep getting louder.
That’s what finally snaps something in him. Javi lets go of his cock and moves closer to the bed, climbing over me on his knees. The mattress shifts slightly under his weight.
I still have my fingers inside myself. Never stopped.
He keeps staring straight into my eyes the entire time. Even when he gently grabs my wrist and slowly pulls my fingers out of my pussy. Then he lifts my hand between us and looks at my wet fingers for a second. “Hm… this for me, cariño?” he says softly. And without breaking eye contact, he slides my fingers into his mouth. His tongue moves around them slowly, licking me off like he wants every last drop. Like he’s obsessed with the fact I’m this wet because of him. Always because of him.
After a few seconds, he pulls my fingers from his mouth and puts my hand back down beside me. “My turn,” he murmurs.
Fuck. Just hearing his voice like that sends heat through my whole body.
The empty feeling between my legs after he pulled my fingers out disappears immediately when he pushes his own fingers inside me instead.
I moan right away, one hand grabbing the pillow behind me while the other keeps rubbing my nipple.
Javi pushes that hand away too, pinning it above my head with the other one. He doesn’t say it out loud, but I know exactly what he means. Keep them there.
Then he starts moving his fingers inside me again. Slow at first. So fucking slow. He pushes them deeper and I feel the cold metal of his wedding ring brush against the inside of my thigh and somehow that turns me on even more.
Because holy fuck. This is the first time he’s fingering me as my husband. And god, I fucking love it. Javier Peña fingering his wife after their wedding with the same hand wearing his wedding ring is genuinely a deadly combination.
His fingers know exactly what they’re doing. Precise. Confident. He knows my body perfectly by now. Knows exactly where to touch me, exactly where I’m weakest. His fingers curl right against my G-spot and I can’t hold the sounds back anymore.
“Javi… please… mhm… don’t stop…” I moan helplessly. I catch the little smile on his face right before my eyes fall shut and my head sinks deeper into the mattress.
“Wasn’t planning to, baby,” Javi whispers. And right when he presses harder against my G-spot, he leans down and starts kissing and biting at my neck.
Fuck, I love this. I’m twisting underneath him at this point, hips lifting on their own.
“Stay still,” he murmurs against my skin, pushing my hips back down into the mattress.
I listen. Or at least I try to. But I honestly don’t know how much longer I can take this.
Javi starts moving his fingers faster now, harder, more intense, like he’s trying to completely ruin me. Like he wants me to feel him everywhere tomorrow. Every time I sit down. “Mm, love it when you squirm for me, baby… tells me how good I’m making you feel…” he whispers into my ear and fuck, I’m completely gone at this point.
Then his thumb presses against my clit while his fingers keep driving into that spot inside me over and over again. Slow circles. Hard thrusts. He wants to make me come. And the way he keeps switching between slow movements and rougher ones is driving me absolutely insane.
“Javi…!” I cry out when he pulls his fingers out for a second only to shove them back inside me again. One deep hard thrust of his fingers and pressure against my clit at the same time and suddenly I’m clenching violently around him as the orgasm hits me all at once.
I cry out loud and Javi doesn’t even try to quiet me down. I can feel my pussy squeezing hard around his fingers and the bastard actually spreads them apart inside me on purpose just to drag it out longer.
“Javi… I can’t… I…” I whine and gasp, practically crying at this point for him to stop while not actually wanting him to stop at all because the orgasms just keep rolling through me one after another and I swear to god I never want it to end.
But then suddenly Javi pulls his fingers out of me completely and moves away.
I let out this pathetic broken sound and my eyes fly open instantly, glaring at him. My knees are shaking so hard I can barely handle it. “Javi… please…” I don’t even care how desperate I sound.
He’s towering over me, cock still hard as hell, and I already know what’s coming next. And yeah.
Javi doesn’t make me wait anymore. He grabs my thighs, spreads them even wider, and drags me closer to him. And then he pushes his cock inside me. One hard thrust. "Oh baby, you're so perfectly wet... and tight... I love it so fucking much," he moans.
I sob out loud instantly, hands gripping the sheets beneath me. “Javi, oh my god–” I’m basically crying out nonsense at this point. I can feel my pussy tightening around him and I honestly can’t even tell if it’s still the aftermath of the first orgasm or if he already dragged another one out of me. My brain’s completely gone.
Javi starts moving inside me. Deep. Slow at first. Filling me completely.
I moan loudly and he leans over me, kissing me again while he fucks me, in and out, in and out, his rhythm getting rougher by the second.
Then his left hand finds mine.
My fingers immediately brush against the wedding ring on his finger. “I love you… fuck, I love you so much, Javi…” I gasp against his mouth.
Javi doesn’t answer. But I feel him smile.
And then his thrusts speed up and the sounds he starts making tell me he’s getting close. A few more deep thrusts and suddenly he pulls out of me with a rough groan, jerks himself a couple times, and then all I hear are his broken moans matching the waves of his orgasm. Hot cum lands across my stomach and pussy while Javi groans through it, emptying everything onto me.
And somehow that’s so fucking hot it makes my body clench all over again even with him outside me now. I moan and grip the sheets harder while another orgasm crashes through me.
I don’t even know how long it lasts. But eventually both our breathing starts calming down.
When I finally open my eyes, Javi’s hovering over me, hair sticking up everywhere, skin slightly sweaty, looking exactly like a man who just got off insanely well.
My pussy’s still stretched open around the entrance because yeah… Javi is definitely not a small man. Then he slowly drags the tip of his cock through my folds, spreading some of his cum there carefully. Not pushing back inside. Just teasing.
We’ve talked about kids before. Someday in the future. Not now. Although honestly… we’re clearly not being very careful either. The thought makes me laugh quietly to myself.
Javi grins and finally collapses down onto the bed beside me, pulling me onto his chest. Shirt still on, because obviously he never even bothered taking it off. “Next time…” he mumbles into my hair while I lay there breathing him in, “I’m bringing condoms with me because I’m not spending our entire honeymoon cumming outside you.”
Then he kisses the top of my head and I smile. I reach for the hand with his wedding ring and lace our fingers together.
Honestly? If this is what the honeymoon’s gonna be like, I’m suddenly even more excited for it.
Thank you so much for reading ♡ Likes, comments and reblogs always make me happy and help the fic find more people ♡
"We could slow dance to rock music, kiss while we do it / talk till we both turn blue."
— Lana Del Rey / "Freak"
❤︎ pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader / reader POV
❤︎ warnings: 18+ smut (mdni), age gap (implied), college student!reader, phone sex, dirty talk, guided masturbation, no outbreak au, Joel Miller is a good listener, strangers with benefits, oops! wrong number, mutual pining, the sexual tension is sinister, i need to be jailed, Joel Miller being so fine for no reason, #needthat, spanking mentioned
❤︎ word count: ~5k
You drank too much.
You know you did.
One drink with the girls over happy hour turned into two, and somewhere after the third, they started blurring together.
Then the crying started—the slightly too loud "how could he do this to me?" at the table making onlookers turn their heads. The pitiful stares of your friends, their hands running along your back in what was supposed to be quiet comfort, all settled in your stomach like a lead weight.
Against all odds, you somehow made it home without stumbling or throwing up in the Uber. Made it up the three flights to your front door. Dropped your keys more than once like the clumsy fool you are, all while the poor old lady across the hall was forced to listen to every expletive you could think of, muttered beneath your vodka-scented breath.
Now you're lying in bed, pajamas half on, phone in hand as you fixate on things you have no business dragging up.
An ex.
The ex.
Should you call him?
Definitely not.
Are you typing in the number you know by heart and pressing call anyway?
Absolutely.
If for nothing else than to tell him to go to hell, that you hope he's miserable without you.
That, or you'll start blubbering like a baby again and regret it like a shot to the head come morning.
You already fucked up royally by looking. Saw the tagged photos, the smiling selfies, the public softness he never gave you. The girl who matters more than you ever did under his arm.
What's another mistake to add to the growing list of ones you've made so far?
The line rings a few times before it clicks to life.
You blink, stare at the ceiling for a couple seconds too long, insides curdling before his name even makes it past your throat.
"...Evan?"
He sighs, low and deep, more tired than anything else.
You're crying before he can get a word out. Shudders that stay lodged in your chest quickly growing to the humiliating, telltale sobs that betray any composure you might have had left.
"I didn't mean to call," you lie, wiping at your eyes, sniffing quietly. "God, I'm just confused. Why did you even say you loved me if you were just gonna—"
You trail off, the words dying on your tongue, swallowed down with another shaky breath.
Joel toes off his boots, groaning quietly as he drops onto the couch, the springs creaking in protest.
The first time he's sat all day, and apparently this is what he's doing with it—listening in on something he's got no business hearing.
"He cheat?" he asks simply.
That voice, unfamiliar to your ears, shuts you up real quick.
You frown, pulling the phone from your ear to glance at it, your reflection glaring back at you in confusion. The number is exactly how you remember it.
Five-eight-four—
Fuck.
"Oh, my god," you groan loudly, face screwing up in embarrassment, palm connecting with your forehead sharp enough to leave a mark.
Maybe you deserve it, drunk-dialing some poor stranger just going about his business and spilling your guts out without hesitation.
"I'm so sorry. Wrong number."
"Just about," he says gruffly.
You're too far gone to say much else—cheeks flushed with humiliation, fingers twisted in the sheets.
"He do that often?" he asks suddenly, the question lingering.
"Do what often?"
"Make you cry."
Damn him for asking.
The question lands harder than it should, enough to make your breath catch, what was meant to be a quiet sob coming out mortifyingly loud.
Your free hand drags through your hair, fingertips snagging in the tangles it accrued throughout the night, the acrid smell of cigarette smoke still clinging to the strands.
"...Yeah," you admit reluctantly, voice small. "That's—"
You breathe deep, sinking further into the mattress.
"Yeah."
You scrub hard at your face, like maybe if you do it enough, the shame will come off along with the mascara streaked down your cheeks.
Joel doesn't say a thing. Not yet, anyway.
The silence stretches—not awkward, but not exactly comforting, either. Your laugh comes out brittle.
"This is so humiliating."
You sniff, dragging your sleeve under your nose with a grimace.
"You can hang up if you want."
He can.
He probably should.
This isn't his business and he knows it.
But Sarah's at a friend's for the night. The only alternative is the lonely hum of the radiator, a cold beer, and whatever game show rerun is on this late.
He exhales through his nose—slow, steady.
What the hell.
"Go on."
That simple permission from him does something to your chest, loosens it just enough for you to make it through the story without crying your eyes out.
He doesn't tell you you're a pain—doesn't make you feel small or stupid for trusting the wrong man. Just sits there, listening without a word.
"—then my friend said he was always a little ugly anyway, which honestly wasn't helpful, it only made me feel worse, 'cause, like, what does that even say about me—"
You trail off with a yawn, eyes heavy, the phone slipping slightly from your grip.
"And yeah..." you murmur. "That's what happened."
"Mhm."
The beer's gone warm in Joel's grip, phone resting on his chest as he listens to your breathing evening out on the other line.
His eyes are on the television, arm tucked behind his head, watching some poor bastard blow his Jeopardy winnings in the same damn category—like he didn't learn the first three times.
He waits for you to say something else, the silence growing longer.
"...you still there?"
When you don't respond, breathing deep and steady into the receiver, he scrubs a hand over his face.
"...Get some sleep."
Click.
Joel thinks about you all damn day.
Not in a dramatic, poetic way he'd ever admit out loud, but in little flashes that distract him more than he'd like.
The sound of your crying through the receiver while he rips out old drywall.
That small, embarrassed little thank you when he didn't leave you high and dry at your worst, coming to mind as he tries to drive a screw into place.
Your sleepy sighs when the night grew late as he lays down a tarp.
He tells himself it was a one-off—a drunk stranger, wrong number, end of story—but even Tommy notices something's off.
"You plannin' on starin' that damn drill to death or you gonna use it?"
Joel grunts, ignores him, throwing himself back into his work without a word.
But his head just isn't in it.
"Who's got you all distracted, brother?" Tommy asks, a sly grin growing on his lips, like he knows something Joel won't admit.
"I ain't distracted."
"Sure... Alright." He walks past, claps him on the back. "And I'm the Pope."
When Joel manages to get a minute to himself, he stares at his phone like the damn thing's liable to blow up any second.
One text. That's all he needs.
He types You okay? Decides it's simple enough. Hits send before he can tell himself what a damn fool he's being.
Meanwhile, you wake in a cold sweat.
Hair a mess, strands stuck to your damp forehead, feeling like you've just been hit by a freight train.
Popping a couple painkillers, you groan as you sit up, back slumping against the headboard.
Squinting one eye open, you pat around for your phone, digging it out from somewhere beneath your hip.
You don't remember much about last night.
The taste of liquor in your throat. Your friends trying to console you over Cosmopolitans and bad karaoke.
Crying.
Lots and lots of crying.
That much, you remember. But there's an odd feeling nagging at you, like you're forgetting something important.
Your phone vibrates in your palm, a new message jolting you from your thoughts.
— You okay?
You stare at it until your eyes dry out, and something happens in your chest you can't explain.
It's not panic—not yet. It's something quieter, an odd sense of relief that washes you clean.
The tension eases from your shoulders in waves, a calming breath leaving your chest.
He checked.
And only then do things start to click—the memory crashing in all at once.
The man on the phone. The shameless sobbing in his ear as you told him your whole life story like he asked for it. Him listening without a word.
Your jaw goes slack, mortification taking its rightful place in your expression as you drop your face into your hands with a silent scream.
You glance at the message again—fingers hovering over the keyboard— cycling through what on earth you could even say to make up for it, but nothing seems good enough.
Maybe he'll forget all about it.
What if he doesn't?
With a deep, steadying breath, you mull it over.
You'll call him tonight, you decide. Just the once.
Apologize and put this all behind you. Put him behind you.
Might be easier said than done.
You pace once, then back again—arms crossed tight over your chest, thumbnail caught between your teeth as your phone sits on the bed like a live grenade.
His number still open and waiting, the clock on your bedside reading nine on the dot.
This is ridiculous.
You're a grown woman. You can call a man and apologize for drunkenly unloading your entire tragic backstory onto him without needing to explain yourself.
It's a normal response. Reasonable, even. Entirely sane.
Just call, apologize, clear the air. After all, the worst he can do is not answer.
Or block you.
Or answer just to tell you to never call him again.
Your face twists, stomach turning.
Okay. Maybe not the worst.
You tell yourself he wouldn't have texted if that was the case, if he didn't care at least a little bit. So, before you can think better of it, you lunge for the phone and press call.
Your eyes widen in immediate regret, but your fingers are too slow to hang up.
"Shit."
You drag a hand through your hair, resume your pacing while the call connects.
It rings only once before he answers, like he was expecting you.
He was.
"Hi—"
His sigh is slow as it comes through. Not annoyed, but something warmer—light enough to stop you dead in your tracks.
"You makin' a habit outta this?"
"Of what?" you ask, swallowing around the sudden dryness in your throat.
"Callin' men you don't know," he says—like it's obvious.
Despite yourself, your mouth tips upward.
No irritation, no clipped impatience. Just warmth in his voice that loosens something in your chest.
"Technically, the first time was an accident," you counter in defense.
"Yeah? And what's it this time?" he asks, giving you all the space you need to answer.
Your mouth opens, closes, the words not coming out as easy as you thought they would.
You settle on the edge of your bed, your free hand running idly along your thigh as you muster a reply that feels right.
"Just wanted to apologize. For last night."
Joel sets his beer down, rests his elbows on his thighs, repositioning the phone at his ear.
You listen, wait patiently for something—anything—toying with a loose thread on your bedspread, gaze fixed stubbornly on it.
"Got nothin' to apologize for."
You huff softly. "I beg to differ."
A moment passes, your steady breathing filling the space.
"I don't even know your name," you add quietly.
His head dips, jaw working, staring at nothing while he listens to the way your voice shrinks around the admission.
"Joel."
You lift your head, eyes rising, the name warming your chest.
"Joel," you repeat.
You tell him your name in return—it's only fair. But it feels like you're handing over something more precious than it is.
Then he says it back, turning it over in that rough voice like he's testing the shape of it in his mouth, making sure it fits.
It does.
It sounds better coming from him than it has from anyone else.
You don't quite know what to do with it.
"Suits you," he adds.
You sigh, head hanging between your shoulders.
He pretends it doesn't do a damn thing to him to hear you like this.
Not upset. Not shattered over some asshole who didn't deserve you.
Just you.
But hearing you say his name—soft, relieved, almost fond—settles something in him he'd rather not think too hard about.
You talk for a while after that—about anything and everything. This and that. Nothing important.
Just things.
Somewhere between talking about work and him complaining about his daughter making him upgrade his phone, you find out he isn't married.
No wife, no girlfriend. Just him and Sarah. And when he talks about her, something in his voice shifts—softening around the edges with unmistakable pride.
Your heart likes the sound of it.
The hours pass quicker than you'd like, and it isn't long before you chance a glance at the time and wince.
"It's getting late," you say softly. "I should probably let you go."
"Yeah. Got work... and Sarah just got home."
"Sarah—right..."
The silence stretches once more, and you feel it then, hanging in the air between you.
Reluctance.
"Joel?"
"Yeah?"
"...Glad I called," you admit.
For a moment, all you have is the sound of him there. Just a quiet exhale through the line, softer than before.
"Yeah," he says then. "Me too."
Click.
You lay there a little while after, phone still flush to your ear—like if you stay there and wait, he might reappear on the other end, giving you more time to memorize the sound of his voice.
He doesn't.
And you realize too late you've begun to memorize it anyway.
Two weeks later, you're still calling, and Joel's still answering like it doesn't cost him a thing. But deep down, he knows it does.
He won't admit he waits by the phone now, soon as nine o'clock rolls around. That he lets it ring before picking up so he doesn't seem too eager.
Sarah's started to notice it, too.
Him smiling to himself about some unspoken thing, eyes drifting to his phone just before he puts her to bed.
He was right that it's become a habit, and if there's one thing either of you know about habits, it's that they can be dangerous little things.
This one feels like it might just be headed that way.
Before, you wondered if you were grasping at straws—fighting to keep something alive that didn't want to be—but he meets you halfway now.
And God, if that doesn't make you want to hold on that much tighter.
"How was work?" you ask, rummaging through your dresser, phone on speaker.
"Fine. Same as always," he replies, exhaling slow. You hear the sound of his throat as he takes a swig, the quiet drone of the TV through the receiver.
"How was school?"
"Ugh, it was boring," you scoff. "Two exams and the longest lecture of my life."
He snorts. "Brat."
You freeze.
It's the first time he's ever called you that, and it sends an unexpected warmth skittering up your back, lingering at your nape.
Gaping at the phone, a surprised laugh escapes you.
"Excuse you. I am not a brat."
"You are. Always talkin' back," he says, like that explains it.
Before you can get a word out, he adds, "See? There you go again."
A smile finds you anyway—slow and unbidden as it settles on your lips.
"You're so annoying," you mutter, hands stilling momentarily as you glance at his name on the screen.
Joel 🤍
The heart emoji next to it? Purely decorative.
That's what you've been telling yourself since it found its way there, anyway.
"What're you diggin' for?" he asks, pulling you from your sudden daze. "Makin' all that noise."
"I'm just looking for something," you say casually, trailing off as your fingers card through the drawer in search of the right thing.
You don't mention you're looking for a nightie you bought months back—pink silk with white lace. The same one you can't stop imagining him bunching up around your hips before he—
Woah.
No.
You're just going to change, lie down, listen to him talk about his day the way you always do.
And maybe you'll slip your fingers into your panties while you do, rub one out before he notices anything is amiss.
That's all. No big deal.
It's an innocent crush, is what it is.
"...Somethin' on your mind, sweetheart?"
"What?" you say—too quick, too breathy.
You shake it off, rest your hand on your chest to steady your heart. As if he didn't just catch you in the middle of a thought that grew legs and ran out ahead of you.
"No, nothing. Just—" your fingertips find home on the soft fabric, latching on instantly. "A-ha!" you exclaim, pulling it from the drawer with a satisfied grin.
He's silent for a moment, then speaks again, voice lower now—curiosity dripping from every word.
"What'd you find?"
Biting the inside of your cheek, you turn toward the mirror, smoothing the fabric over your frame.
"Mm... nothin' really."
You tilt your head, watching yourself. The words slip before you can stop them.
"You'd like it."
Joel pauses mid-sip, beer tilted against his lips as he registers what you said. The silence is a heady thing, stretching for miles between you, so palpable you can nearly taste it.
You can't help but wonder if he's imagining you the way you do him.
When it's late at night and he's on your mind, and your composure slips enough that it's his name you sigh into the dark—only to pretend in the morning you didn't step over that line in the sand that's been fading more and more by the day.
His voice darkens, dropping low enough to send all the warmth in your body pooling south the moment he speaks.
"Yeah?" he asks. "That so?"
The silk shifts against your bare legs—soft and delicate, too gentle for the filth that's suddenly clogging up your mind.
"Yeah," you murmur, confidence coming in like waves on a shore, tide growing high. "I think you would."
You hear the quiet clink of his beer as he sets it down, the rustle as he adjusts himself on the couch to get more comfortable. You close your eyes—let yourself picture him.
Big hands running up your thighs, rough and calloused from working hard, parting them just enough to get a good look at you. Beard scraping your skin as he kisses his way down your chest, lips finding your ear to rumble words that make you ache.
"You still with me, sweetheart?"
"Mhm," you hum, quieter than you need to be, not wanting to give yourself away.
Your fingers find the hem of your shirt, tugging it off, discarding it on the floor without a care.
Slipping the nightgown overhead, you pull it down as far as it goes—just above mid-thigh, hugging your body like a glove.
He hears it all.
The difference in your breathing, the sounds of you changing, clothes being tossed aside.
He's imagining you, too. With all the shamelessness a lonely man like him can muster.
Picturing what you might look like under him.
If your eyes would be blue or brown as they stare into his.
If your nails would leave light indents along his back, or deep, red scratches that would still be there come morning.
Then the obvious—if your face is as pretty as that voice of yours. If the little noises you'd let out when he makes you feel good would sound as sweet as he's envisioned.
"You changin' for me?"
Your heart thunders in your ears—loud and unruly—throat running dry, like cotton in your mouth when you try to speak.
You swallow. "Maybe."
It's been a while since your mind started chiding you for this, telling you to quit while you're ahead, but you don't listen. Enough to ignore it when it tells you this is something you can't come back from.
You know that.
And still, you couldn't care less.
"You wanna see?" you offer, eyes fluttering shut as you try to slow your pulse, breaths coming in quicker now.
His grip tightens around the phone, pressing it closer to his ear like it'll let him hear those words again.
You're offering something he should refuse, something he has no right to accept. But Joel Miller's quickly learning he doesn't have the honest strength to deny you a damn thing.
"Sweetheart..." he says, letting the silence speak for itself for a minute. "Don't do that unless you mean it."
You interject smoothly—so wound up, you're practically trembling where you stand.
You laugh to yourself, a huff of nervousness that makes your chest feel tight. "I mean it. Just—tell me you wanna see me."
It takes Joel a while to get the words out.
Not because he doesn't want to.
Maybe it's knowing what all it could do. A sweet thing on the other end of the line—something too good for the likes of him—offering herself up to his eyes without hesitation.
It's bound to change things, for better or for worse.
And he's never been a fan of change.
Even still, he can't say no to you. Won't.
Not when you're asking like you're half-convinced he'll reject you already, like a man who doesn't know what he's got.
"Yeah," he mutters finally. "Wanna see you."
Something in you draws up tight at that, a flutter in your stomach that knocks the wind clean out of you.
"Okay... Yeah, okay. Give me a second," you murmur, ambling over to your bed.
You settle onto your knees, sitting back on your calves, legs parted to reveal delicate lace panties you put on with him in mind. The silk slides under your fingers as you draw up the slip, until it sits resting high around your hips.
You've done this before, taken photos of yourself for a man—more than once.
But... it's never felt like this.
Not even close.
There's a steady flush in your cheeks, and a heat like fire burning down low, an ache building you wish he could soothe.
He'd know what to do, you think.
How to get you riled up, filthy words low and rough in your ear as he works you over with his fingers. Then, mouth trailing down your chest, he'd settle against your wet heat, lapping at you until you finish on his tongue, drinking you down without hesitation.
You purse your lips, press them together tight to tamp down how the thought of him taking care of you is ruining you more and more by the second.
Once the picture is gone in the air, hitting send with shaky hands, you drop back onto the bed and wait for it to deliver.
When he doesn't say a thing, you're close to asking if he got it—then, you hear it.
Quiet enough to miss if you're not paying attention.
But you are, without a goddamn doubt.
A slow release through his nose, proceeded by a hum that has your thighs clamping shut, breath hitching in your chest.
Satisfied.
Appreciative.
"You wear that for me?" he asks, a husky shift in tone that has your lips parting.
"Yeah, I—"
You stop yourself, take a second.
"Do you like it?"
"You gotta ask?" he murmurs, drawl draping itself around every word, a shiver running through you at the sound.
You giggle softly.
"Maybe I do. You're a man of few words," you return, finger twirling around a strand of your hair.
"Oh, I got words, darlin'. They just ain't sweet enough."
"I'm sweet enough for the both of us," you blurt, the double-meaning landing heavy between you.
He goes quiet again, long enough to make you wonder if you broke him. When he speaks again, his voice lands low in your belly, twisting you up deliciously.
"That right?"
"Mhm," you hum, smiling to yourself, tucking your hair behind your ear.
"Keep talkin' like that. That mouth's gonna get you in trouble."
Your mind takes that idea and runs with it before you can reel it back in. Joel bending you over his knee, his hand coming down firm on your ass, leaving a handprint that lingers for days, hot to the touch.
That same harsh voice in your ear telling you exactly what your mouth got you.
Christ.
"You still with me?" he asks.
"Yeah," you blurt, tongue darting out to wet your lips, tone laced with anticipation. "I'm here. Just... thinking."
The small grin in his voice registers without needing to see it. It drives you crazy.
"About me?"
You laugh, a touch unsteady. "Yeah, about you... wanna see you."
"Mm," he hums, as if considering it. Like he's not already straining against his jeans from that one picture of you.
"What you wanna see?" he asks finally.
"Your face," you mumble, a near whisper. "Your hands... your fingers."
Another low breath filters through the speaker, sounding like a heady mix of amusement and sheer arousal. But he doesn't laugh, not outright—doesn't tease you for being specific.
He takes it exactly how you meant it.
"My hands," he repeats slowly, rolling the words around his mouth like he's tasting them. "Fingers."
You hear a rustle—denim shifting against denim—then a heavy creak like he's leaning back, spreading his legs wider, latching onto every goddamn word that leaves your mouth.
"What exactly do you wanna do with 'em?"
You swallow, worrying your bottom lip, staring at the ceiling to try and ground yourself.
"I was hoping you'd be the one using them, actually."
The admission hangs in the air, raw and unrestrained. You're giving him control and he knows it.
When he speaks again, his voice has darkened—breaths slower, more controlled. Then that rough, approving sound rumbles low in his throat, a faint curse muttered under his breath.
"Ain't even touched you and you got me actin' stupid."
Your fingers tighten in the sheets before relaxing completely, running slowly along your thigh, phone angling closer to your ear.
"...You wanna touch me?"
He pauses.
"Been thinkin' about it."
You flush instantly, thighs clenching again, tighter this time.
"...Tell me about it," you say.
His response takes a moment to come out, like he's choosing every word carefully.
"You wanna know what I'd do with my hands on you?" he asks, voice rougher at the edges, dragging over every syllable like gravel under a boot heel.
Your fingers inch closer to your core, rubbing slow over the lace, applying just enough pressure to make your back arch as a shiver curls its way up your spine.
"Yeah," you whisper, a ragged little sound in your throat. "Please."
"I'd start slow," he says, voice dropping an octave. "Real slow."
You let your eyes flutter shut as you press down firmer, rubbing in slow circles that have your hips bucking into your hand, focused entirely on the sound of his voice in your ear.
"Slide my hands up your thighs real gentle, feel how soft your skin is. Wouldn't leave marks—too pretty for that."
"And if I ask nicely?" you ask breathlessly.
Joel palms himself through his jeans, sighing with relief as he works himself free.
The sound of his zipper perks you right up.
"Got a feelin' I'd have a hard time tellin' you no."
"That's a dangerous thing to tell a girl like me," you goad, moving the lace aside to swipe a finger along your slit. You circle your clit firmly, just once—all you need to have you whimpering in his ear.
He hums low, the sound rumbling through the phone like a physical touch.
"Reckon it is."
His hand moves over himself faster now, imagining your fingers taking the place of his own, working up a steady rhythm that has him grunting under his breath.
"You started this."
The slick sound of your arousal reaches him through the speaker, followed by that pretty voice of yours that has his movements faltering.
"I did," you admit. "...But you wanted it to happen."
"Not denyin’ that," he says, low and unhurried. "Wanted it."
He pauses.
"Still do."
"Me too," you whisper, lashes fluttering when you finally sink a finger in—curling just enough to hit that spot that makes you shiver, drawing a moan from your lips.
His head tips back against the couch, jaw tight, hanging onto every little noise you make.
"Add another," he says suddenly, your eyes opening in a daze.
"What—"
"You heard me. Another."
Your mouth parts on instinct, heat flooding your face, pulse kicking hard at your throat.
"Joel..."
"C'mon, sweetheart. Don't go shy on me now."
Eyes squeezing shut, your hand obeys before your mind can catch up.
It's a tight fit, walls clenching around your fingers to try and accommodate the sudden fullness. You bite your lip nearly hard enough to bleed, whining at the feel of it, his name tumbling from your lips like it's the only word you have left.
"That's it," he murmurs. "There you go."
You're not sure what does you in.
His hard breaths across the line, the wet sounds his hand makes as he strokes himself—a slow and languid rhythm at first, soon picking up pace to match your own—but before you can help it, you're tensing, coming with a sharp cry of his name.
Joel's hand tightens around his length, his own breath catching in his throat. He can imagine you all too easily—back arched, face flushed, those legs spread wide as you come apart.
That's all it takes.
With a guttural groan, he comes hard, release coating his hand, spilling onto his stomach.
Coming down from the high, you right your panties into place and settle onto your side. You curl up under the sheets, listening to his staggered breaths as he puts himself back together again.
"So..." you murmur, toying with the hem of your nightgown, core still throbbing from your release. "Same time tomorrow?"
He breathes deep, trying to steady himself as best he can, letting the silence speak for itself.
Then—
"Yeah."
You smile, slow and satisfied—wait for him to say it.
"Same time tomorrow."
a/n: i interrupt our regularly scheduled program to bring you... a very self-indulgent, horny joel miller fic! and the crowd goes wild!!! idk why my first ever breakup came to mind to use as a plot device, but life imitates art or something like that.
i wanted to contribute something for the joel girls on this side of the internet since i am one of them, so i hope you like it!! i'll be back to posting about arthur like my life depends on it tomorrow. also, it's my one month anniversary and i've hit my first follower milestone! MWAH i love you sm, thank you for reading and supporting me!! it means the world 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚
my masterlist | read on ao3 | capuccinodollupdates
summary: Trapped by a mountain storm and a sudden blackout, the lines between duty and desire blur. In the flickering firelight of a remote cabin, your stoic bodyguard, Javier, finally drops his guard; and you finally get what you’ve been craving for months. WC: 10.2K
A/N: Helloo. This one-shot was written as part of the PPCU Fandom Writing Challenge organized by @pedroscurls <3 The dialogue prompt I received was: "I'm supposed to be the one protecting you." I've been writing this since march, baby steps but we're here!
tags: alternate universe - modern setting / explicit content - smut / dirty talk / reader in peril (briefly) / no explicit violence
If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment and reblog! I really appreciate feedback<3
You hate that everyone here knows your name before they’ve even met you. The lingering looks, the whispers barely disguised. The stupid questions they already know the answer to.
Enzo Vandspell’s daughter, is that you? Yeah, that’s me. Not that it’s a mystery; of course they know. Everyone here has seen your father’s face on the news. Television, online, splashed across print. Someone even turned it into a cheap joke on an entertainment segment.
New York isn’t a great place to be when you’re caught in the middle of a storm. Even less so when it involves things as delicate as money laundering and a few other matters your father never dared to explain. And you didn’t ask. You already knew. Played the good daughter who keeps out of it, because it was enough to unlock your phone and read the first headline you found.
Senator Enzo Vandspell Discloses Alleged International Corruption Network, Prompting Federal Scrutiny
WASHINGTON — Senator Enzo Vandspell, a prominent advocate for anti-corruption measures in Congress, disclosed on Wednesday a series of documents he says point to the existence of a far-reaching network engaged in money laundering and narcotics trafficking, with alleged connections spanning Latin America, Europe, and the United States.
Speaking at a press conference on Capitol Hill, Vandspell stated that the findings stem from an investigation conducted by his office over the course of more than a year. According to the senator, the materials suggest the involvement of business executives, public officials, and financial intermediaries in schemes utilizing shell companies and offshore accounts to obscure substantial sums of illicit funds.
“This is not an isolated matter,” Vandspell said. “What we are seeing reflects a broader pattern of coordinated activity that has persisted for years, enabled in part by systemic gaps in oversight.”
The documents, portions of which were made available to federal authorities, outline mechanisms including the transfer of funds through jurisdictions with limited financial transparency and the use of inflated contracts tied to public infrastructure projects. Vandspell declined to identify specific individuals or entities during the briefing, citing the sensitivity of the information and the potential for ongoing legal proceedings.
A spokesperson for the Department of Justice confirmed receipt of the materials but declined to comment further, noting that it does not discuss potential or ongoing investigations.
Separately, Vandspell’s office reported an increase in security concerns following the disclosure. In a brief statement, staff confirmed that additional protective measures have been implemented in coordination with federal authorities, both in Washington and at the senator’s private residences. Officials have not released further details regarding the nature of the reported threats.
You should be home right now. No, out of New York entirely. But Celine had spent months working toward her gallery opening, and you couldn’t miss it. Not that anyone here particularly cared who you were. No, they cared who your father was. And anyway, you’d heard Leonardo DiCaprio was around somewhere, so the focus wasn’t exactly on you. Or not entirely.
“Miss Vandspell.”
You turned, already knowing the voice. Louis, one of your bodyguards. “Yes?”
“Your car will be here in ten minutes.”
You nodded, offering him a polite smile before shifting your gaze to the man beside him. The other one. Javier. He didn’t react. Not a single muscle in his face moved.
They worked as a team. Synergy, to keep you safe. You didn’t know where Louis had come from, he had simply appeared one day, ten years ago, when your father introduced him and explained that he would be with you from then on. He was serious, rigid, somewhere in his fifties. He’d escorted you to school, stood watch at every dance, always there, even at a distance. And you knew he was your father’s line straight to you. Everything you did, your father knew, courtesy of Louis. Years of living under quiet surveillance, all in the name of your safety.
Javier was different. He showed up a year and a half ago, right when your father’s investigation kicked off. You didn’t know much about him, and you didn’t ask too much, just the basics. You’d seen him working for your father a handful of times, and then one morning he was in your apartment next to Louis, just like that.
Early forties, maybe. Quiet and serious. He gave nothing away about who he really was. Though you had caught it; small signs of impatience, brief looks of weariness more than once when he had to accompany you in public.
His eyes were onyx black, gleaming within a face that gave away absolutely nothing, again. Pure, unadulterated vacancy. And you know what they say about blank spaces; they’re just waiting for you to fill in the blanks with whatever idea suits you best.
A mysterious man whose name you’d pried out of mutual contacts. You had the highlight reel: retired agent, occasional magnet for controversy, and a reliable asset to your father. Strong hands.
The ambiguity fed you in bursts. You told yourself it was only natural, this is what happens when someone is around for more than twelve hours a day, nearly every day. And at the end of it all, you were just a curious woman.
He gave the distinct impression of a man living under heavy restraint. His shoulders were permanently knotted, his brow perpetually furrowed, and there was always something clenched in his jaw. And on rare occasions, you would catch the sound of a weary exhale; sometimes while he stood just outside your hotel room door. In the profound hush of a still night, it carried as clearly as if he were standing right beside you: a heavy, drawn out breath. Even through the wood of the door, his physical tension was palpable.
You knew he had no wife, no children. That was the very first thing you noticed the day you met; your eyes had instinctively found his hand and noted the absence of a ring. Somehow, it fit. Men who did what he did didn’t exactly build lives that stayed still. Not when their job was tailing someone for hours on end, following them from city to city like a shadow with a gun.
Some days your curiosity barely registered. Other days, it itched at you badly enough to make you want to ask questions; about him, his life, who he’d been before all this. But you always caught yourself before you crossed the line. There wasn’t much point asking a man like him anything personal. He wasn’t the type to answer, anyway.
Now, he stepped forward and opened the gallery door for you.
Another thing that had always been part of your life. You grew up with doors opening before you could reach them, cars waiting with engines running, routes mapped out for you; detours decided without your knowledge. Men in suits surrounding you, steadying you, taking you where you wanted to go and where you didn’t.
Your car door was already open when you stepped outside.
“I need to stop by my apartment—”
“Give my regards to your daddy.”
You stopped short. The scream never made it past your throat. One second you were standing there and the next, your whole body was soaked. Your eyes snapped shut, burning instantly. It hit all at once; your mouth, your nose, the back of your throat.
Gasoline.
“Louis—” you choked, hands flying to your face, smearing it away as panic surged. You grabbed the man beside you, fingers digging into his shoulders as he forced you forward.
“Get in the car. Inside. Head down,” he barked. It wasn’t Louis. Javier.
He shoved you toward the car, already moving faster than your mind could catch up. Louis’s voice rang somewhere in the distance: “Go, go!”
Javier pushed you into the backseat, one hand shielding your head as he forced you down. The door slammed shut behind you, sealing you in as he shoved you sideways.
“Vandspell. Now,” he ordered the driver.
You almost argued; told him no, that you had to, that you wanted to go to your apartment, but the words never quite made it out.
Your eyes burned. Your throat, too. It didn’t matter how many times you swallowed or how hard you scrubbed at your face with gasoline-soaked hands, it only made it worse.
“Stay still.”
His hand closed around your jaw, firm enough to keep you in place. You obeyed and a second later, Javier was carefully wiping your face with a towel.
“Who was it?” you asked as he moved the cloth over your eyes, more gently this time. “What did he look like?”
“Louis has him. Don’t worry about that.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Your voice came out sharp. You didn’t feel particularly inclined to be polite. Not now. Not like this.
“A man,” Javier said. “Wearing a balaclava.”
“Where’s Louis?”
It was the second time you’d asked, and the second time Javier ignored you. The first had been in the car, while he drove in absolute silence down the highway, refusing to tell you where the hell you were going, too. The second was now, as he pulled your suitcase from the trunk and started toward the cabin.
“Javier, you have to tell me if he’s okay.”
He stopped just before the short steps leading up to the porch and turned to face you.
“He’s fine. Louis is fine.”
“Is he coming with us?”
“I don’t know.” He turned back around and kept walking. Up the stairs, through the front door; though he didn’t actually step inside. He stayed planted in the doorway and jerked his chin once. “Get in.”
You tightened your grip on your bag strap and hurried after him. Your hair was still messy from the rushed shower you’d taken back at your father’s house, barely towel dried, and your throat still burned faintly from the gasoline you’d swallowed earlier.
Five hours away from Manhattan, your father kept a cabin hidden among the dense timber of the Adirondack Mountains. It was a lush, cold, and hostile wilderness during the winter months, and through all three hundred and sixty five nights of the year. The jagged peaks were hidden from view, masked by the thick treeline surrounding you, and while the mist was thin for now, you knew it would only thicken as the night went on.
You’d been here once before, when you were around ten. Your father had tucked you and your mother away here for a week. You remembered board games, hot chocolate, and men stationed outside with weapons slung over their shoulders. Men who spoke into bulky cellphones or radios that had looked ancient to you back then. Now you understood why; the signal out here was complete shit. Practically nonexistent.
"Drop it, don't touch that," Javier’s voice materialized behind you a split second before he snatched the phone from your hand.
“What are you doing?” You turned to face him.
The two of you stood in the living room, where the windows stretched floor to ceiling, though the gray light outside still left the cabin dim. Javier crossed the room and switched on one of the lamps beside the couch before slipping your phone into his pocket.
Then he stepped toward you.
“You’re not to contact anyone while we’re here. You understand me?”
“How exactly would I do that?” You crossed your arms. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. There’s no signal.”
Javier turned away and headed toward the small open kitchen a few feet off the living room.
“Why don’t you go take a proper shower instead? There’s more stuff for you in the red suitcase. Erica packed it.”
Erica. Your father’s housekeeper.
“You’re still not going to tell me what’s happening?” You followed after him, catching his shoulder with your hand and forcing him to look at you. “You seriously expect to drag me all the way out here, say ten words total and think that’s enough?”
“What else do you need to know?” he asked evenly. “A lunatic doused you in gasoline with a lighter in his hand. He was trying to hurt you.”
“What about my family? Are they safe back there? I told him he should’ve gotten out of New York—”
“They’re not after him.” He moved closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “They’re after you. They want to stop him from exposing whatever he found, and right now, you’re the only leverage they’ve got. You understand?”
“Yes, I do. I’m not stupid.” Your voice sharpened. “They wanted to use me as a threat. Fine. But if that’s the case, why try to kill me on the first shot? Wouldn’t it make more sense to send a warning first?”
Javier’s jaw tightened as he took a step back. Your eyes swept over his face in a flash.
“So now you’re critiquing their methods?” he asked.
“I’m just saying. If they wanted to hurt me, going for it on the first try without even making a threat first feels pretty sloppy,” you said, folding your arms across your chest. “Why’d they do that?”
He gave a faint shake of his head, lips pressing into a thin line. Then he tipped his chin up just slightly.
“Listen, why don’t you go get settled in? I’ll check the property and finish unloading the car.”
“You’re letting me go to my room alone?”
Javier’s eyes flicked toward yours. “For a minute. You’re a big girl, aren’t you? I’m sure you can survive without me for a couple of minutes.”
You hummed softly and took a step back, uncrossing your arms.
“Alright. If I need you, I’ll call,” you said, turning around. “Unless, of course, they gag me first.”
Behind you, you heard him scoff.
From your bedroom window, you could watch night settling in for good. The view from where you stood was limited, but beautiful all the same; a long stretch of trees, and beyond them, just the faintest glimpse of water catching what little light remained. The mountains in the distance were barely visible now, their peaks rising behind the dark canopy of green.
The window was cracked open just enough for cool air to slip inside, fresh against your skin and enough to leave goosebumps trailing down your arms. Your body still held onto the heat from the shower.
You could still smell gasoline, though at this point you figured the scent had burned itself into your nose. You’d scrubbed yourself down with soap over and over again, brushed your teeth at least three times after getting out, then sprayed perfume through your hair before blow-drying it. Thank God Erica had packed one in the red suitcase.
Javier had knocked on the bathroom door ten minutes ago and walked away after you told him everything was fine. No intruder hiding in the shower with you, thankfully.
Now, as you adjusted your clean clothes against your skin and your stomach growled in protest, you glanced down at the watch on your wrist. Eight thirty at night.
You found Javier crouched in front of the fireplace when you came downstairs.
“I’m starving. Is there anything in the fridge?”
You knew he’d stopped at a gas station in the middle of some tiny town on the drive out here. You hadn’t seen what he bought or how much of it, only that he’d walked out carrying a massive box, shoved it into the trunk without explanation, then gone back inside for more.
“Yeah. Check the counter too,” he said.
You turned on your heel and headed where he’d pointed. The cardboard box sat open on the counter: ground coffee, black tea, three different kinds of cookies, protein bars, several packs of pasta, salt, sugar, rye bread, every canned thing imaginable including beans, chickpeas, soups, giant jars of sauce, bags upon bags of beef jerky and mixed nuts, plus fruit like apples and oranges and a decent amount of vegetables. Off to the side sat two massive gallons of mineral water.
“How long are we staying here?” you asked as you moved toward the fridge.
When you opened it, you found trays of meat and four sandwiches wrapped tightly in plastic.
“I don’t know.” His voice sounded closer now; he was walking into the kitchen.
“That’s a lot of food.”
“Better too much than not enough, right?”
Without answering, you reached in and grabbed one of the sandwiches. It was huge. A sticker across the top listed the ingredients.
“Says it was made today. Think that’s actually true?”
You glanced over at him. Javier stepped closer and tilted his head slightly.
“If it’s not rotten, give it a shot.”
You pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek. You weren’t in the mood to argue about food, and you definitely weren’t in the mood to cook for yourself.
“Want to eat with me?” you asked, leaning toward the fridge again. “Louis always eats with me.”
“I know. I stand by the door while he does, remember?” He crossed his arms, leaning back against the counter. “Nobody’s doing that for me now.”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” you said, pulling out another sandwich. “I think you can survive sitting down to eat with me.”
A minute after you dropped into one of the dining chairs, rain began tapping softly against the cabin roof. Outside, the fog had swallowed almost everything whole, turning the world beyond the windows into a blur of silver and black. Darkness stretched endlessly in every direction except for the moonlight; full tonight, huge and bright enough that its pale glow burst through the mist like scattered frost.
Javier (much against his better judgment, you suspected) sat across from you at the other end of the table, holding his brisket and vegetable sandwich with a faint frown as he took a bite.
Carefully, you peeled the lettuce from yours and set it on the wrapper. It smelled incredible; your mouth watered instantly. You took a bite and closed your eyes for a second at the taste.
“Oh my God, this is so good.”
Javier let out a quiet huff of laughter. It was brief and soft. “No lettuce?”
You waited until you swallowed. “Lettuce is the first thing that goes bad. Tomatoes too, but lettuce dies first.”
“It looked fresh enough.”
“I’m not risking it.”
He tilted his head slightly and took another bite.
Between you sat two glasses of water and an open bag of chips. Your gaze drifted through the glass in front of him, catching the warped image of his hand beneath the waterline; fingers distorted as they curled tightly, for some reason, around the handle of the butter knife resting beside his wrapper.
Your eyes traveled upward, past his watch, past the smooth skin of his forearm dusted with fine dark hair.
“Do you have a girl?”
The question came out so bluntly, stripped clean of the usual social cushioning, that he stopped chewing.
Honestly, it surprised you too.
The hand holding your sandwich lowered to the table little by little.
Javier looked at you with an unreadable expression, though you caught the slightest tightening near the corners of his eyes.
“That’s… none of your business.”
“So that’s a no?” Heat crawled into your cheeks. “A man like you—hard to believe you spend all your time alone when you’re not standing behind me.”
His jaw flexed as he chewed. One, two, three, four… five times before swallowing.
“Are you bored?”
You smiled faintly. “I’m asking a question. It’s been a long day, and we’re running out of things to talk about.”
Javier exhaled quietly and glanced toward the kitchen counter behind you.
“I move around too much for that. This kind of job doesn’t exactly leave room for domestic bliss.” His eyes flicked back to yours. “Now finish your sandwich and get some sleep.”
“You’re redirecting,” you pointed out with a small, knowing smile. “Is she in New York? Or back wherever you came from?”
That finally pulled his full attention back to you.
“You’re too curious for your own good, you know that?” he said. “Dangerous habit, sticking your nose into things that don’t concern you.”
“Maybe I am bored,” you teased, lifting one shoulder lightly. Your gaze wandered over the breadth of his shoulders before returning to his face. “Besides, you’ve spent an entire year following me around and learning every detail of my routine. I think I’m entitled to a few answers. Unless the truth’s just painfully boring.”
A crooked, amused smile tugged at his mouth.
“I don’t think you’re entitled to anything.”
Your brows lifted slightly.
“And boring isn’t the word I’d use anyway,” he added.
“Then what is the word?” You tilted your head, hair spilling over your shoulder. “Complicated? Or are you just rusty? I saw the way you looked at that girl at the gala last month — the one who tried to give you her number. Were you about to frisk her?”
Javier leaned forward, eyes narrowing, though there was a flicker of reluctant amusement buried beneath the irritation.
“Maybe she was a security risk.”
You smiled. “She was five two in four inch heels. The only thing she threatened was your peace of mind.” A soft laugh slipped out of you. “Admit it. You’re out of practice.”
A dry sound escaped him, and halfway to a laugh he swallowed it down behind a frown.
“Why don’t we try eating in silence instead, huh? Maybe you’re just hungry. And tired.”
You let the sandwich fall onto its wrapper.
“Don’t do that.”
His eyes locked onto yours.
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child. I’m not.” You lifted your chin slightly. “I’m used to Louis acting like that because he’s been doing it for a decade, but you’re not Louis.” Your voice stayed even. “And I’m not tired.”
“How?” he asked, and you noticed the defensive edge had left his voice, settling into something quieter. “It’s been a long day. Longer than most. You should be exhausted.”
“I don’t sleep much, and you know that.” You reached for your glass of water. “Besides, it’s too quiet out here.”
You took another bite of your sandwich and ignored the way he kept watching you. His fingers tapped once against the wooden table.
“Well, you’re strangely calm considering what happened today. How are you feeling? Really.”
You swallowed your food. In the privacy of your own head, you thought about the smell of gasoline; the slick, half-thick texture of it soaked into your skin and clothes.
“I’m okay. I mean, my throat still burns a little, and I’ll probably smell gasoline in my sleep for the next week, but I’m okay.”
Javier’s jaw tightened. He looked down at his hands.
“Most people would be scared.”
“Maybe I’ve spent too much time around men like you and my father,” you said with a faint smile. “Eventually you learn how to compartmentalize. Or maybe I just haven’t processed how close it actually was because you were there.” You tilted your head slightly. “Give it a few days. Maybe the shock will catch up to me then.”
“Huh.” His eyes lifted back to yours. “You’re tougher than you look.”
Your ego swelled at that despite yourself.
“You think so?”
“Yeah. I figured that out a while ago.” One corner of his mouth twitched faintly. “That, combined with your invasive questions, makes it pretty hard to see you as some porcelain doll.”
Your fingers curled tighter around your glass, though you didn’t lift it. You kept your eyes fixed on him.
“Is that really what you think I am? A porcelain doll?”
Javier pressed his lips together and stayed perfectly still. His gaze didn’t leave yours.
He didn’t answer.
“You’re wrong,” you continued, leaning a little farther over the table. “Porcelain’s fragile. It cracks the second things get bad. I’ve spent my whole life in houses where the walls have ears and every move is planned before it happens. What other choice did I have?”
“I don’t think you’re made of porcelain,” he said quietly. “Not even close. That’s what I meant. But I've heard people talk about you when I first started working for your dad. That's all.”
You blinked once. “Then what do you think I am?”
You caught the way his eyes almost smiled, completely at odds with the rest of his expression. He was thinking something.
But what?
He lifted his chin slightly and tilted his head.
"You're more like… like the glass they use in those high-rise buildings in the city," he said, holding your eyes. "You know, looks delicate from the street, like you could put a fist through it if you tried. But it's reinforced. It's built to take the pressure of the wind and the heat without cracking." A faint smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not fragile. You’re just used to being handled with gloves.”
The honesty in his voice made you go still. So did the smugness.
Javier looked calm, but the feeling was there in the smallest details; in the flicker of his expression, the confidence sitting quietly beneath every word.
“And what happens if you take the gloves off? Can you do that for me?”
He froze. His dark eyes locked onto your face and moved over it with maddening slowness, never losing intensity. The surprise wasn’t invisible this time. He started studying you with a heaviness that felt almost physical, like being touched.
A muscle jumped in his jaw. His gaze dropped briefly to your hand resting on the table before returning to your eyes. His pupils had blown wide.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said.
Every trace of professionalism had vanished from his voice.
“Don’t I?”
“Of course not.”
“And how exactly would you know that?” you asked with a smile. “I wasn’t being very subtle, was I?”
Javier tilted his head, studying you a little more carefully now.
“Vandspell,” he said slowly, “what exactly are you trying to say?”
Oh, he could not ask you that while looking at you like that.
You’d spent a year and a half with him at your back, following you everywhere. Of course you’d noticed the way he looked at you sometimes; rare, but obvious when it happened. And maybe it was the aftershock finally kicking in, or maybe today had knocked something loose inside your head, because suddenly you felt very, very capable of saying exactly what you wanted.
What was he going to do? Run?
And honestly, Javier didn’t strike you as the type of man who’d go tattling to your father about your behavior. No; he seemed much more like the type who’d join in.
So, fuck it.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you said. “I’m curious.”
“Curious about what?”
“You.”
His brows lifted. “Me?”
You nodded.
“What useful thing could you possibly want to know about me?”
“Oh, a few things.”
You leaned farther onto the table. He swallowed.
“You know, I looked into you a little when my father first hired you.” You tilted your head. “Almost everything I found was about your professional life. That was disappointing.”
“My professional life disappointed you?”
“No. Not being able to find out anything about your personal life disappointed me.”
A quiet huff of laughter escaped him. “What could you possibly want to know about me? Let me ask again.”
“Do you have a girl?”
Javier hid the beginning of a smirk behind his hand. “No. I already told you that.”
“So nobody’s waiting for you back in the city?” you pressed, keeping your voice casual even as your heartbeat picked up against your ribs. “No one complaining about your hours or how impossible you are to deal with when you're tired after work?”
“No.” His eyes stayed fixed on yours. “No one’s waiting.”
“Good.” The word slipped out before you could stop it.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s true.” You refused to look away. “I’m glad there’s nobody else. Is that so wrong?”
He let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh and shook his head, looking down at his sandwich.
“What?” you asked lightly. “I’m just curious.”
He leaned forward just slightly. Like standing one step from the edge of something steep.
“No. You aren’t.” His tone flattened again. “You’re bored. We’re trapped in a cabin with no TV, no signal, and you’ve spent your whole life being the center of attention. Now it’s just me, so you’re fishing for a reaction.” His eyes narrowed faintly. “You’re poking at me to see if the hired help has a pulse.” A pause. “Why don’t you save these games for your boyfriend?”
That made you smile.
“You can’t stand Wes.”
Javier lifted his brows and tipped his head to the side.
“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” you continued. “The eye rolls every time he opens his mouth. Those exhausted sighs you let out whenever you’re stuck standing next to us.” Your smile widened slightly. “You’re really not that good at pretending.”
“Oh yeah?” he said dryly. “Do tell.”
“Well, I think it’s only fair, don’t you?” you said. “If you get to spend almost two years watching me, then I get to spend almost two years watching you too.” You tilted your head slightly. “What’s it like? Spending hours every day just… waiting for me to finish dinner or for some meeting to finally end?”
“It’s part of the paycheck. You get used to it.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Alright,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Since you’re so curious, let’s flip it around. What exactly do you think you’re doing right now?” His eyes stayed pinned to yours. “Because I know for a fact you’re not this talkative in the city. Half the time you barely say two words to me in the car.”
You swallowed once.
“Maybe it’s the lack of an audience.”
“I don’t buy it.”
You shrugged and picked your sandwich back up, taking a small bite. Across from you, he kept watching.
“You’re not wrong, by the way,” he said after a moment. “About Wes.”
He shifted slightly, resting an arm along the back of the chair beside him. His eyes drifted toward the window to your left, the shadow of a grimace crossing his face.
“I find him incredibly childish,” he admitted, shaking his head. “The way he talks, the way he carries himself… I honestly thought you would’ve realized that by now. I figured someone as observant as you would’ve gotten tired of the performance months ago.”
You smiled, feeling a strange little victory in his honesty “He can be immature, but he’s not a bad guy.”
“It’s exhausting to watch, especially when I’m the one making sure his complete lack of situational awareness doesn’t get you both killed.” His jaw tightened. “Like at that party last week. The way he practically tried to drag you into that car? He was wasted.”
Your eyes flickered at the memory.
Yeah. Wes had been an idiot. He’d tried to get behind the wheel of his Lambo while drunk out of his mind and high on molly, then nearly thrown a tantrum when you told him you were going home alone. Javier had pulled you away by the arm before you even had the chance to argue.
“You’re a lot of things,” Javier continued, “but you’re not stupid. So yeah, it’s frustrating watching you settle for someone who doesn’t even know which direction the wind’s blowing.”
“A lot of things?” you repeated with a smile, brows pulling together slightly. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
He shook his head once. “Nothing. You’re persistent. Extremely persistent.” He nodded toward your sandwich. “Come on, eat. You’re hungry, aren’t you? Let’s finish dinner so I can get back to doing my job.”
“Your job is watching me, Javier,” you reminded him softly. “And I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. So watch me all you want.”
Surrounded by darkness, pure cold air, and a room you didn’t fully recognize, your hand flew to your chest as your eyes snapped open wide with panic. A bolt of lightning had struck somewhere nearby, violent enough to rattle the windowpanes, but even then, you couldn’t tell whether it was the thunder that had dragged you awake, or the nightmare still clawing at the inside of your head.
Outside, the rain fell in a heavy torrent, its frantic galloping against the roof mimicking the rhythm in your chest. You grabbed your phone to check the time: 3:00 AM. No, 3:31. And for a fleeting second, your mind drifted back to the legends whispered by schoolmates years and years ago. They said that at 3:33 AM, the veil thins, and creatures lurking in the cracks of the day emerge; it was the hour when the impossible and unusual became reality.
The room felt cavernous, its high corners swallowing the light and casting long jagged shadows. And the door stood half open, revealing nothing but pitch black hallway beyond it.
You pushed the blankets aside and lowered your feet onto the floor. Freezing.
Phone clutched tightly in your hand, you stepped into the hallway and pushed the flashlight over it, casting a pale beam over every step as you followed it toward the staircase.
“Javier?”
BOOM.
Another crack of thunder jolted through the house, making you jump in place. Your head whipped around instantly… Had the floor creaked behind you?
Your heart raced at a frantic pace as you rushed down the stairs, ignoring the thudding in your chest and the biting chill crawling up your legs.
Below, the living room flickered to life every few seconds, caught in the pale erratic flashes of lightning. The fireplace offered a pulsing warm glow that bled across the rug and the couch across from it, and on the coffee table sat a pack of cigarettes and a handgun. But Javier was nowhere to be seen.
You scanned the room, searching for a flashlight or anything useful, but found nothing. You spun on your heel and—
"Shit!"
Just as another bolt of lightning tore through the sky, bathing the room in a ghostly white glare, Javier appeared right in front of you.
Drenched to the bone, with wet hair plastered to his forehead, he stood there holding a heavy flashlight and a set of keys.
"You... you scared the shit out of me," you mumbled, recoiling a step. You knit your brows together. "What happened?"
"The power’s out," he rasped.
"I know that."
"The storm must've taken out a line down the road. Go to the fireplace; I’ve got the fire going. It’s the only place that’ll stay warm."
He brushed past you and stopped by the couch. He reached down, took the weapon, and tucked it out of sight.
"Sit," he commanded.
Without a word, you obeyed; the cold was becoming unbearable and exhaustion weighed heavy on your eyelids. You walked over and sank into the soft cushions of the couch. You were wearing only an oversized t-shirt that left your thighs exposed to the air; instinctively, you pulled the hem of the fabric down with one hand to cover yourself.
He vanished from your sight then, and you flicked off your phone’s flashlight, tossing the device onto the coffee table like the useless piece of hardware it had become. Before you, the fire roared, flames dancing restlessly from side to side. The warmth helped, but barely.
“Here.”
At the sound of his voice, you turned your head toward him. Javier stood behind the couch.
Without a word, he draped a thick heavy blanket over your shoulders. His fingers were still wet and freezing, and they lingered briefly against the back of your neck; the touch made you shiver. A second later, he pulled away and moved around the couch, sinking onto the opposite end with enough distance between you to feel intentional. He barely moved after that.
Water continued dripping from his clothes, leaving dark stains across the upholstery as the storm raged outside.
“You’re soaked,” you said quietly, your eyes trailing over him. “Why were you even outside?”
“Checking the power lines.”
His gaze never left the fire.
You frowned, watching the fabric of his shirt cling to his skin like a second layer of cold.
“Why don’t you change?”
“Don’t have anything here.” His jaw tightened faintly. “Louis is bringing the rest of the stuff tomorrow. Clothes included.”
“I’m sorry.”
In the ensuing silence, the reality of the situation felt heavier than the wool on your shoulders. The entire trip had been so rushed that neither of you had stopped to consider that a storm of this magnitude could leave you trapped and empty handed.
What if Louis couldn't reach you tomorrow?
As was his custom, your father would surely send more than one man. Javier, Louis, maybe Renzo, and likely Nora, who usually accompanied you on matters like this. But if the downpour persisted and the roads became impassable, there was no telling if they’d make it.
"So you're just going to stay like that? Drenched?"
“Yes.”
“You could dry off, you know,” you insisted, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “It’s not a big deal if you take the clothes off. But if you stay wet, you’re definitely gonna get sick.” You nodded toward the hallway. “There are towels in the closet.”
Javier seemed to process your words with a pause. For a moment, the only sound was the wind lashing against the windowpanes and the rumble of the sky.
His fingers brushed the edge of his sodden cuff, hesitating.
"Your hair is dripping," you added, as the final blow to his resistance.
A quiet sigh slipped out of him and he pushed himself to his feet. Grabbing the flashlight from the coffee table, he disappeared down the hallway without another word, as his silhouette was swallowed by darkness and the sound of his footsteps echoed across the wooden floorboards.
You took advantage of his absence to burrow deeper into the heavy blanket. Tucking your legs onto the couch, you leaned back, sinking into the cushions until only your eyes peered over the edge of the wool. The fire’s heat was finally taking hold, numbing your limbs and stilling the tremors in your body.
A moment later, Javier returned.
The jacket, shirt and jeans were gone. He walked with his torso completely bare, revealing a landscape of muscle and warm-toned skin. He wore only a towel wrapped low, clinging precariously to the line of his hips.
You fell silent, a sudden knot tightening in your throat. Your eyes betrayed you, tracing the breadth of his shoulders and the firmness of his chest, where traces of dampness still glistened. Your gaze drifted downward involuntarily, following the thin line of hair below his navel that disappeared beneath the waist of the towel.
A heat flared within you that had nothing to do with the hearth. You quickly averted your eyes toward the fire, hoping the dancing shadows on your cheeks would mask the unmistakable creep of a blush.
"Better," he said.
Javier sat back down, and the contrast was nearly unbearable. You remained motionless, your gaze fixed on the fire, though your eyes weren't truly seeing the flames. Internally, your mind was a chaotic mess of self-reproach; you thought this had to be some cruel joke, immediate karma for trying to toy with him during dinner. You had enjoyed every charged look and every double entendre, wanting to see if you could crack that stone mask he always wore. You wanted to provoke him, yes—but now that he was right there, half naked, the situation had spiraled out of your control.
A persistent tingle stirred in your lower abdomen, a pang of anticipation that you tried to ignore by pressing your legs together under the blanket. Your heart, ever the traitor, thrashed against your ribs with an erratic rhythm; you weren't worried about him hearing it, though, the thunder provided the perfect cover.
Javier let out a long exhale and leaned back against the cushions, stretching one arm across the top of the couch. His fingers came to rest mere inches from your back.
“You’re still shaking,” he observed. “You still cold?”
You turned your head just enough to see him out of the corner of your eye. He wasn't looking at you; his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but his jaw was set tight.
"Yeah," you admitted in a whisper, clutching the edges of the blanket tighter against your chest. "I'm still a little cold."
You dared to turn fully to catch his profile. He remained there, letting the hearth’s warmth lick across his skin. He looked like a statue carved from only shadows and orange light.
"And you?" you asked. "Aren't you cold? You're almost... well, you aren't wearing much."
"A little. Did you get any sleep?"
"Just a bit," you confessed. "You?"
"No."
"Why?"
“Got a lot on my mind,” he muttered. And this time, he didn’t avoid your gaze.
He looked at you directly, with an intensity that made you feel strangely small and hyperaware of every inch of yourself all at once.
That tingle in your stomach flared again.
"A lot? Like what?"
Instead of an answer, a faint, arrogant smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He remained silent, turning back toward the fire and running a finger over his mustache.
Oh, playing the mysterious type, are we?
Two could play that game.
Without a word, you let the blanket slide from your shoulders, allowing the chill of the room to bite at your skin. You rose from the couch and crossed to the fireplace, and felt his gaze searing into your back; you knew exactly how the hem of your shirt rode up with every step. You knew you were showing just the right amount of skin, and that as you leaned over to reach for the poker, your tights and ass were perfectly framed by the glow of the embers.
You gripped the iron tool and shifted the logs, moving with an unnecessary focus and tending to the fire while the heat enveloped you. When you finished, you set the poker back in its stand and turned around with excruciating patience.
You found him exactly as you expected: staring. His gaze was so heavy, so raw, it felt as though it could physically pin you against the wall. You didn't flinch. You held his stare and began to trace your own waist through the thin fabric of the shirt. You moved your fingers with a gentle touch, stroking upward, dragging the hem higher inch by inch, and stopped only when your fingers reached your naked waist, letting the garment hang dangerously high.
You stood still, waiting for him to make a move. But Javier didn't stop you, nor did he look away. Instead, he shifted his hips slightly forward on the couch, and you noted, with a silent surge of triumph, the way his breathing began to quicken.
"Do you want me to keep going... or do you want me to stop?" you asked.
He remained incredibly still. “How the hell am I supposed to look your daddy in the eye when I cash my paycheck?”
You offered a lopsided smile, feeling the power of the moment firmly in your grasp. You began to close the distance between you, step by step. When you were directly in front of him, you leaned down, resting your arms on the back of the couch just behind his head, trapping him within your space.
“Oh, come on,” you whispered, tilting closer. “You really wanna pretend you care?”
Your lips hovered dangerously near his.
“You’ll put on that good-man act,” you murmured. “Smile nice and polite while your eyes give absolutely nothing away.” Your gaze flicked briefly toward his mouth. “Such a good man. Always protecting me.”
Javier let out a low growl, and his hand clamped firmly around your wrist.
With a sudden, violent yank, he pulled you down onto him. You gasped as you collided with the heat of his bare chest, and your hands instinctively grasped his shoulders before sliding down over the hard ridges of his pectorals.
He wasted no time, hauling you up until you were straddling him, your bare thighs gripping his waist. One of his hands surged upward, locking his fingers around your jaw. He squeezed just enough to force your head back, and tilted your face toward his as he hauled you closer. His breath fanned across your lips.
"Does anyone know about this?" he rasped. "That you wanna go behind your daddy’s back and your rich little boyfriend just to get fucked by your bodyguard?"
Your heart hammered so violently against your ribs you thought it might shatter them. "No."
Javier’s eyes darkened, turning into two pits of black ink. "Tell me, how does that boy like to fuck you? I bet he’s so wasted half the time he can’t even get his dick hard enough to do the job. What a waste."
He dragged his thumb across your lower lip, pressing down and stretching your mouth open.
"He likes it on his back," you whispered, your voice trembling as you leaned into his touch. "Or doggy style, if he’s feeling adventurous."
You moved your mouth closer to his, so close your lips brushed his; his thumb was still hooked over your bottom lip.
"And what about you?" you challenged, your eyes locked onto his. "How would you fuck me?"
He leaned in, his lips brushing the soft skin of your ear. "I’m not really good with words, sweetheart."
In response, your hand traveled slowly up the expanse of his bare chest. "Then show me."
You pulled back just enough to catch his gaze before reaching for the hem of your shirt, and dragged the fabric upward and over your head, tossing it into the shadows. Javier fell into silence; his eyes tracked your movement, dropping to your bare breasts and devouring the sight of you in the amber firelight. Beneath you, you felt him surge; thick and rock hard, straining against the thin towel directly against you.
You reached up, cupping his face with one hand, and your thumb grazed his cheekbone. Slowly, you closed the distance, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was deceptively tender. You parted your lips for him, your tongue sliding in to taste him.
As you deepened the kiss, your other hand wound into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling firmly to tilt his head back. You caught his lower lip between your teeth and gave a playful tug.
He let out a growl, so animalistic and raw that vibrated from his chest straight into you. His hands slammed onto your backside and his fingers pressed deep into the flesh of your glutes. He jerked your hips forward, grinding you ruthlessly against his throbbing erection; the thin barrier of the towel did nothing to hide the fact that he was ready to snap.
And then, he broke the kiss.
"You have no idea what you’ve started," he rasped.
Javier didn’t wait for an answer. He attacked your neck, his teeth grazing your skin and his tongue swirling over the spot where your pulse was jumping. One of his hands slid from your hip, traveling up your ribcage until he captured your breast, squeezing it and flicking your nipple over and over with his thumb, watching as it peaked under his touch.
His other hand didn't stay still; he reached down between your bodies, his fingers hooking under the edge of your panties and shoving them aside. When he found you, he let out a whimper; Javier buried two fingers inside you with a sudden thrust, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it with such a soft and heavy pressure that your back arched as soon as you felt him.
"Yes, fuck" you whimpered, your head falling back as the friction made you shiver.
He just watched you unravel, moving his fingers and letting them get wet. There was a triumphant smirk ghosting his lips.
A moment later, he withdrew his fingers; glistening and wet, he brought them to his mouth, tasting you without breaking eye contact. It was so filthy; no one had ever looked at you this way. Or at least, it had never felt this natural and raw before.
He gripped your waist again, his knuckles white with the effort of holding back.
"Not here," he gritted out. "Get on the rug. Lay down in front of the fire."
Obediently, you slid off his lap as Javier stood with you. You turned away, dropping to all fours on the rug and crawling toward the hearth. Every muscle in your back and hips flexed under the orange glow, your skin prickling as the intense heat of the flames washed over you and your body moved with a deliberate sway of your hips, feeling his eyes burning a hole in your spine, before settling onto your backside in the center of the rug.
Standing right over you, he reached for the knot of the towel at his waist and jerked it free, tossing it carelessly onto the couch.
There he was, fully exposed in the flickering light. He was massive; his cock thick, angry and fully erect, pulsing with every thud of his heart. A single glistening bead of pre-cum clung to the tip, reflecting the fire. It watered your mouth. A second later, he wrapped a large hand around the base of his shaft, grazing the dark curls of hair at his groin, and began to slowly pump himself.
The sight of him doing that just for you made your breath hitch. The payoff to every thought you’d had about this hard quiet man over the past year couldn’t be sweeter.
Without breaking eye contact, you hooked your fingers into the lace of your panties and dragged them down your legs, kicking them aside. You lay back on the rug, spreading your legs wide until you were completely open to him.
The heat of the fire was nothing compared to the ache between your thighs. You slid your hand down and your fingers disappeared into your own wetness. You began to stroke yourself, circling your clit with a slick pressure while watching him stroke himself right above you.
"Look at you," Javier rasped. His hand moved faster now. "Open like a gift for me. Soaked and desperate."
You let out a broken moan, arching your back as your fingers worked harder, slicking your folds with your own cream. "Don't make me wait."
He stopped mid-stroke, his chest heaving as he stared down at the way you were touching yourself. His face was full of pure delicious lust.
Javier dropped to his knees between your thighs a second later, the heat from the hearth making his shoulders glisten like oil. But he didn't rush; he started by dragging his fingertips along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, teasing the edges of your wetness until you were squirming beneath him. Then, he pressed his palm flat against your mound, grinding in a slow circle that forced a jagged breath from your lungs.
He slid two thick fingers into you, pushing deep until he hit hilt, and started a slow soft pump; in and out, stretching you, letting you feel the sheer size of him through his hands. Then, he hooked his fingers upward, findind that one delicious spot that always made your toes curl.
In the privacy of your own company, you’d driven yourself to the edge with this exact motion more times than you could count. Half the time, Javier had been right on the other side of the door, completely unaware; you knew how to stay quiet. But your fingers were nothing like his. Not in the way they moved, not in their size, and definitely not because this time, it was him doing it. It was enough to make stars burst behind your eyes.
The sound was so filthy, so wet.
"You hear that?" he muttered. "You're so fucking wet for me, baby, aren't you?"
You threw your head back, your cheeks burning with a feverish flush. Every time he curled his fingers, a hot jolt shot through your spine. When you opened your eyes for a fleeting second, all you could see was the orange roar of the fire, blurring into a haze of pleasure.
Suddenly, he leaned down, burying his face between your legs. When his tongue lashed against your clit, you let out a strangled sob, your fingers instinctively diving into his thick hair, clutching him against you. He was destroying you, his mouth working with punishing hunger that pushed you right to the edge of unraveling.
You began to toss your head, your hips bucking uselessly as you tried to find friction. You were so close.
But then, he pulled away abruptly. His fingers vanished, his mouth left your skin, and the sudden cold made you whimper in protest.
"What do you want?" he gritted out through clenched teeth. His chest was heaving, his face was inches from yours.
You ran a trembling hand through your hair, staring up at him with blown out pupils as your breasts were rising and falling frantically.
Javier reached down, his large hand sliding under your hip to give your ass a stinging slap that made you jump.
"I just asked you a question," he growled. "What do you want?"
You pushed yourself up onto your elbows; your hair was a mess around your shoulders.
"I want you to fuck me," you breathed. "So fucking hard and deep, Javier. Can you do that for me?"
A dark, dangerous shadow crossed his face. Slowly, he nodded, his gaze locked onto yours with a promise of total ruin.
"Yeah," he rasped, reaching for his cock. "I can do that."
Javier gripped his shaft and guided the head to your entrance, which was already dripping and swollen. He didn't ease in; with a low grunt, he lunged forward, burying his entire length inside you in one deep soul shattering thrust.
The air left your lungs in a wheeze. You were stretched to the absolute limit, your internal muscles spasming around him as he bottomed out. He stayed there for a moment, buried deep, as his forehead rested against yours.
"You're so fucking tight," he choked out.
You smiled, suddenly cock-drunk. And he began to hammer into you with a raw intensity, his hips hitting yours with a slap so loud it echoed over the crackling fire and your heartbeat. He reached down and yanked one of your knees upward, pinning it against your chest so he could drive even deeper.
"Yes, please," you sobbed, your head thrashing against the rug. "Please, don't stop... oh god, don't stop."
He leaned down, his mouth crashing against yours in a kiss for a moment before his attention shifted to your neck, his teeth sinking into the delicate cord of your throat. You screamed into him, your own teeth catching his shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave marks as the pleasure became too much to bear. It felt like your nervous system was short-circuiting, every nerve ending screaming under the friction of him filling you.
Javier let out a loud, pained moan and his pace became frantic. He reached up, and his large hand wrapped around your throat; not to choke, but to pin you, to claim you. He forced you to look at him.
"Mirame a los ojos," he rasped. "Mira como estás. You think that rich boy could ever make you cry like this? You think he knows how to break you open?"
He slammed into you again, harder this time, harder and harder, his thumb stroking your jaw while his fingers tightened slightly on your neck. Your breath was completely destroyed, coming in tiny pathetic hitches.
"You’re mine tonight," he growled. "Mine. Just my cock stretching you out until you can't think of anyone else. Say it. Tell me who's fucking you. Say it."
"You," you gasped, your vision blurring as you neared the ledge. "You are... Javier... please…"
He let out another groan, his muscles coiling like a spring as he prepared to lose the last of his control.
The sound was absolute filth and you loved it. You could feel yourself overflowing, your own heat and cream coating his shaft and dripping down the curve of your ass, slicking the insides of your thighs until every thrust felt like sliding through hot velvet.
Javier let out a ragged uneven breath. He reached down, hooking his forearms under your pits and hauling your upper body off the rug until you were arched toward him.
"Look at you," he commanded. "Look how well you're taking me."
You forced your eyes open, glancing down through a haze of sweat and pleasure to see the primal sight of his thick cock disappearing into you and pulling out glistening with your nectar, over and over.
"See how sweet you are for me?" he growled. "How you take every inch like you were made for it?"
Before you could even gasp, he shifted his grip; his hand buried deep into the hair at the nape of your neck and jerking your head back. He crashed his mouth against yours in a desperate kiss.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against you as your breasts crushed into his damp chest, and hooked your legs high around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back.
"Please... yes, right there, Javi," you sobbed into his mouth, your internal muscles clenching around him. "I'm so close... I’m right there."
"I know, baby," he gritted out.
He was losing it too; the measured man was gone, replaced by a one driven by pure lust. His skin was scorching, slick with sweat that acted like a lubricant between your bodies, and for the first time all night, you were no longer cold.
His movements became desperate. "Don't you move," he hissed. "Take all of it. Take it, take it, you're such a fucking good girl."
The climax hit you hard and soft at the same time; your entire body spasmed, your back arching off the rug in a messy line as the first wave of the orgasm tore through you. Debilitating, high-pitched whimpers escaped your throat and got lost in the roar of the fire. You were unraveling, every muscle in your cunt clenching around him in a desperate pulse that seemed to have no end.
Javier didn't let up; his movements became erratic and frantic as he felt you shattering beneath him. His fingers dug into your waist with bruising force, his knuckles white as he anchored himself inside of you; you reached for him blindly, your hands roaming over his sweat slicked shoulders, his heaving chest, his jaw.
You pulled him down, kissing him, your teeth catching his lip and drawing a metallic tang of blood. And as you finally broke apart for air, a thin, silver thread of saliva lingered between your mouths.
He let out a broken moan, his face contorting into a pained beautiful expression that looked almost like he was weeping. He pressed his forehead hard against yours, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought to stay upright.
"Come inside me," you choked out, your voice a wrecked whisper against his lips. "Come inside me, Javi... please…"
With three more violent thrusts, his entire frame went rigid. A low sob erupted from his lungs as he finally surrendered, and you felt the scorching heat of him flooding you, wave after wave of his release pumping deep into your womb, filling the space he’d spent the last minutes claiming.
He went still then, buried to the hilt, his weight collapsing forward as he trembled against you, savoring the dying echoes of the friction and the absolute chaos of the storm outside.
Slowly, he let his forehead fall against yours, and your hands slid up his broad shoulders until they curled around the back of his neck.
You smiled softly. “Where’s the serious man who wouldn’t even look me in the eye during the drive?” you teased. “You look different now.”
Javier lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze. His hand brushed gently along your cheek before he gave a faint shake of his head.
“He’s gone. You buried him the second you took that shirt off. I’m supposed to be the one protecting you, but God help me… I’d do it all over again just to hear you fall apart like that one more time.”
His words felt like a victory; they sent a thrill through your stomach.
“Well,” you murmured, your fingers tracing lightly along the back of his neck, “it’s just gonna be you and me until tomorrow.”
Summary: The construction company your neighbors hire to do work on their house are loud, inconsiderate, and quickly get under your skin. One man in particular seems hellbent on driving you crazy until one day, all that tension comes to a head.
Warnings: language, smut (piv sex), dirty talk, praise kink, light spanking, reader being kind of pissy and Joel fucks it out of her (but he's not mean), Joel gets turned on by bossy women
Masterlist
It's your day off. You had a long month, working extra late to meet deadlines and skipping plans with friends and family to perform at your fullest and get the promotion you so badly deserved, and now that the project was done and you impressed all right people, you rewarded yourself with a singular day off. But your neighbors had other plans.
It started before eight in the morning. Power tools, yelling, laughing, car doors slamming. It ruined the peace and tranquility of the post-school bus and rush hour lull. At first, you turned over and tried to fall back asleep. When that didn't work, you grabbed your extra pillow and pressed it against your ear. But after thirty minutes of chasing sleep with the sounds outside only growing louder, you gave up, blood boiling.
Maybe you should have coffee first, but unfortunately, your rage wins out. It's way too early. They're being far too noisy. And it's your goddamn day off!
You're seeing red when you tighten your robe around your waist, not even bothering to tie it but instead you hold it closed with your fist as you storm towards the front door. Your pajamas are just a tank top and sleep shorts, it's not anything scandalous anyway, especially given how hot Texas gets in the summer, but the last thing you want is a whole construction crew gawking at you while you give them a piece of your mind.
Music had just been turned on somewhere amongst the site. Tom Petty, you think, as you make your way over. Your flip flops snap angrily against the blacktop as you cross your driveway into your neighbor's front yard to survey the scene.
There's at least eight workers getting set up. Their trucks are parked all up and down the street, taking up every open spot. None of them glance your way as they unload tools, coolers, and supplies from their flatbeds. Your arms cross tightly and your brows furrow but the noise only gets louder.
"Excuse me?" you call out to no one in particular, but they don't hear you. Your jaw tightens. "Hey! Excuse me?"
"Can I help you?"
You swivel around, taken off guard by the deep voice behind you.
"Yes! I—"
Your words falter when you lay eyes on the man who snuck up on you. He's setting a ladder down by his feet, giving you time to take in his strong arms and broad shoulders underneath the stretch of his black short sleeved shirt, which still allows you a generous view of his tanned forearms. His jeans look lived in in the best kind of way. He wears them like a man who doesn't care what they look like, so long as they're comfortable. You push down the heat crawling up your neck by the time he straightens up, but when you see his face, you lose your train of thought once again.
Deep brown eyes, sharp nose, a chiseled jawline dusted with a short, somewhat patchy beard. Then he offers a soft, crooked smile that knocks the wind out of you to the point where you nearly forget your earlier anger.
Focus, you scold yourself.
"I live right over there—" You point behind him and he slowly turns, eyes scanning your modest home. "And my bedroom window is right there," you add. His eyes flicker to your open window towards the back of the house before he gives you his full attention again, something that makes your stomach flip. "I'd appreciate it if you guys could keep it down this early in the morning. It's disruptive to the whole neighborhood."
His devastatingly dark eyes glimmer with humor and even though he's not smiling, you can sense he's not taking you seriously. He makes a show of checking his watch—a beat up old thing with a green fabric band—before looking back at you. "It's eight fifteen," he tells you, tone flat.
"Yeah, now," you say, rolling your eyes, "but this noise started earlier. It woke me up."
Now the corner of his mouth lifts and he slowly crosses his arms, which simultaneously irritates and excites the hell out of you.
"Sorry 'bout that, miss," he tells you, "but we're abidin' by city ordinance."
"I'm sure you are, but you have to admit it's disturbing the peace."
He regards you silently for a moment, his heavy gaze drifting up and down your frame. Suddenly, the thin robe you're wearing is too much and doesn't seem like enough all at once. An amused look flits across his face at one point before his eyes drop to the dirt.
"Could start at seven, technically," he finally says, "we're doin' you a favor by startin' at half past."
Your hackles raise at that. "Would you like me to thank you?"
He chuckles and shakes his head before meeting your gaze again. "Never said that. Just sayin' we're followin' the law, is all."
"I know you are," you huff, "all I'm suggesting is maybe keeping your voices a little lower."
He smirks and uncrosses his arms in favor of propping his hands on his hips, giving you a spectacular view of his wide chest.
"We could," he muses, pretending to think about your request while staring off at a fixed point somewhere over your shoulder, "if you ask real nice."
Your jaw drops at the same time your knees go weak. "Excuse me?"
He shrugs, still staring somewhere behind you in order to keep his shit eating grin from stretching across his face. "Just sayin', you came over here all hot under the collar. Had you asked nice, I mighta been able to help you out."
Your throat tightens. He's not trying to sound suggestive but your brain doesn't care. It's sending a wave of arousal right through you, causing your heart to slam against your ribs the more it builds.
"What's your name?" you demand with a clipped tone.
"Joel," he says without missing a beat.
"Joel," you repeat, "I'd like to speak with your boss."
"Ah, that'd be me."
He stretches out his hand with a grin. You ignore it and look back at the trucks until you spot a logo on the side and squint.
"Miller?" you guess. He nods. "Great. I'll be filing a complaint with the better business bureau."
You shoulder past him and try not to fixate on how good he smells, a mixture of motor oil, fresh soap, and coffee.
"Yeah? And what's your complaint gonna be for?" Joel calls after you. You ignore him and keep walking. You hear his deep chuckle before he picks up the ladder and it pisses you off even more, but you don't allow your rage to show until you're safely inside your house where you can seethe to yourself while making some coffee.
***
The rest of the week is uneventful. You have meetings downtown all week, a disruption to your usual remote work schedule, but a necessary evil you try your best to organize all at once every month. When you leave in the morning, the workers are just arriving. When you get home, they're already packed up or gone entirely. You nearly forget all about your intriguing run in with the mysterious Joel Miller until the following Monday, when you're back to working remotely.
You're an hour into emails and onto your second cup of coffee when you first hear the familiar ruckus next door. It starts with amused banter. Then truck doors slamming. Then the music kicks on. You shake your head, close your windows, and keep working.
With your television playing in the background, it's easier to block out some of the construction noise, but at around one in the afternoon you hear a repetitive, ear piercing beep, beep, beep during a work call that sets your teeth on edge.
Stones are pouring from the back of a metal flatbed. Shovels are scraping and banging loudly. And you do your best to stay focused, but when the call ends and you can't recall half the topics discussed, you can't hold back any more.
You spot Joel with his back to you, holding a shovel and shouting instructions to his crew while you approach. As if he can sense it, he turns when you're about ten feet away. His eyes sweep up and down your body and he grins before leaning on his shovel, amused by the anger currently forcing your feet forward.
"Don't tell me we woke you up again," he teases before you can even open your mouth. "It's after lunch. What's the matter now?"
You scowl at him, ignoring the way his crew sends you curious looks as they work.
"No," you snap, "I'm working. Or, at least, trying to! I have all my windows closed and I still can hardly hear myself think."
He looks at you like he's sizing you up, like he's trying to figure something out. "Thought you worked in an office somewhere."
You frown, slightly alarmed. "How would you know that?"
"Saw you couple times last week," he says hurriedly, as if he just realized how his comment sounded. "When I was gettin' here in the mornin', sometimes I'd see you gettin' in your car and drive off."
The silence that followed made Joel nervous. He shifted his weight and awkwardly scratched his beard while you tried to sort through what he just said without giving away your feelings. He noticed you? Was he looking for you, or did he just happen to see you?
"Uh, based on your spiffy clothes, just figured you worked somewhere fancy," he finished, rubbing the back of his neck before looking away.
You look down at the clothes you currently have on—denim shorts and an old, oversized shirt... far from spiffy today—before looking back up at him. To your surprise, you notice some red creeping up his neck and staining the apples of his cheeks. You have to bite your lower lip to keep yourself from smiling because despite how pleased it makes you to see the big, annoying, sexy construction guy next door all embarrassed because of you, you're here for a reason.
"Sometimes I work in an office, but most of the time I work at home," you explain, waving toward your house, "and right now, it's pretty much impossible to get anything done."
"Well, m'sorry 'bout that, but we gotta work, too."
You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "I know. How much longer is this going to take?"
Joel clicked his tongue, making you lift your chin to look back up at him. The way he looks at you like you're something worth studying makes your heart skip a beat. Traitor.
"I'm offended you wanna get rid of us." His tone is back to teasing, and that glint in his eye confirms it. He likes pushing your buttons.
"I just want my quiet back! My—your customers are elderly! They can't hear for shit, they keep to themselves, they're the perfect neighbors! They aren't bothered by all this noise, but everyone else is!" Your voice is getting louder than you thought. People are beginning to notice, but you don't care.
"Everyone?" Joel repeats, narrowing his eyes now. "Strange, 'cause you're the only one cryin' 'bout it."
"I am not crying about it, I'm attempting to come to some sort of agreement, but you're being too... too..." Your hands flail in the air as you struggle to think of the right word.
"Too what?" Joel presses, stepping closer. You catch a whiff of his sweat mixed with sawdust and it makes your head swim. Focus.
You glare at him, blood on fire in your veins the longer he stands there looking all cocky.
"Misogynistic!" you exclaim triumphantly. Joel just blinks at you.
"What?"
You roll your eyes. "Means if a man were out here asking you to keep it down, you probably would, but instead you're giving a woman a hard time."
That seems to piss him off. His jaw sets into a tight line and he leans forward, voice low and dangerous. "Now you listen here," he says, and the way his demeanor suddenly shifted makes your spine straighten. "I'll allow for alotta shit, but I ain't gonna stand here and let you spin some wild story when you don't even know me or my crew. That's disrespectful and untrue."
You swallow tightly, unable to tear your gaze away from his eyes. They're so dark and stormy when he's legitimately mad that it's hard to look away.
"Sorry," you mumble, "but you're not taking me seriously, what else am I gonna think?"
His gaze softens then. His shoulders loosen. And the clouds clear from his eyes. The playful glimmer returns and you swear you see a ghost of a smile tug at his lips before he casually says, "I'll prove it to you. Bring out your husband or boyfriend or whoever and I'll tell him the same things I've been tellin' you."
"I don't have a husband or boyfriend," you answer before you even realize the trap you stepped in. His face lights up but he plays it off with ease.
"That's a relief." Your eyes widen and he grins. "'Cause if you had some guy hidin' in there all this time, lettin' his woman handle all the dirty work, gripin' to me while wearin' short shorts or a see-through robe? That wouldn't be much of a man."
Then he turned on his heel to join his crew, leaving you to weave through the rollercoaster of emotions he just dumped on you for the rest of the afternoon.
***
Over the next few days, something slightly changed. You found yourself going outside more, lingering around your car or taking a while to get your mail just to catch a glimpse of Joel. Usually, he'd catch your eye and give you a small smile, but that was the extent of it. Nothing overtly friendly and nothing mean, either. He was very good at being polite and cordial, which infuriated you. It made it impossible to figure out exactly what he was thinking. You replayed so many looks and conversations in your head to the point where you were paralyzed trying to pick apart every inflection and glance.
Why do you care anyway? you kept asking yourself. You never provided an answer.
It's the combination of your frustration with yourself as well as Joel's confusing signals that cause you to find more things to complain about, although you never admit it. But every interaction with Joel leaves you more aggravated and pent up than the last.
"That's not the property line. This is the property line," you had argued with him on Tuesday.
"It's just four inches."
"That's nine inches, easy."
Joel had tsked sympathetically under his breath. "Oh, darlin', if someone out there's tellin' you that's nine inches, I'm so sorry."
On Thursday morning, he had parked his truck in your driveway.
"I need to have my driveway clear!"
"I know, I know, it was only for a minute til the concrete truck comes—"
"I don't care! Park on the street!" you had yelled, but the angrier you got, the more pleased Joel looked.
"No parkin' left on the street."
"Then park on the lawn," you said, crossing your arms and jutting out your hip. His eyes had drifted down, noting you chose to wear a shirt that showed a little more cleavage than usual.
"Careful, sweetheart. Keep yellin' at me like this and I'll fall in love with you."
Every time he said something flirty like that, it sent you back to your house to obsess over whether or not he was serious or just trying to get you off his back.
The cherry on the sundae was the incident on Friday when someone accidentally dug in the wrong spot and severed your internet cable, completely derailing the latest project you had been tasked with at work. Joel had anticipated your anger before you stormed out of the house, screen door smacking loudly against the siding as you stomped down the old wood stairs of your porch, making a beeline right for Joel next door.
"Tell me it wasn't your guys who did that."
He sighed before slowly turning around to face you. He looked tired, no doubt drained from the long, hot week, but he still managed to brighten up a little when he laid eyes on you.
"Sorry, darlin'. They're comin' to fix it."
"When?" you snapped. Joel narrowed his eyes as if to silently warn you about your tone. Who the hell does he think he is?
"An hour," he said flatly.
"An hour?" you exclaimed, clearly devastated.
"Yeah. An hour. Ain't you got a lunch break or somethin' you can take til it's fixed?"
You snorted and tossed your hair over your shoulder. "I haven't taken a lunch break that didn't involve a client in more than five years."
"Well, today's the day you break that streak," he told you before turning back to the hole in the ground. "Damn inspector didn't flag the property right. Ain't our fault, it's the town's."
You bury your face in your hands with a groan. "I can't believe this," you mutter to yourself.
"If it helps, I ain't happy 'bout it either," Joel says, crouching down to inspect the spot closer. "This just set me back a couple days."
"Days?!" you exclaim, letting your hands fall back to your sides in disbelief. Joel nods, still not looking at you.
"Yeah. Gotta redo the plans now. Old plans were built 'round the cables bein' two feet west—"
"So this insanity is going to last even longer?" you ask, cutting him off. Joel sighs and drops his head between his shoulders briefly before standing with a grunt. He's tall—his shadow blocks the sun when he towers over you, a fact that never went unnoticed.
"What's the matter, sweetheart? Thought you'd be happy to know you ain't gettin' rid of me just yet." The smirk he gives you is devastating. Your gaze falls to his throat, where beads of sweat have been trickling down and soaking his collar. It's not fair this man is so fucking handsome yet so irritating.
"I'll survive," you mutter, crossing your arms tightly and looking away to clear your head.
"Yeah? Who you gonna yell at when I'm gone, hm?"
"Believe it or not, I'm actually not a yeller," you shoot back with a glare. "Guess you just bring it out of me."
His gaze darkened for a moment like he was considering how to reply. You could almost see the silent back and forth behind his eyes, the words locked and loaded on the tip of his tongue but a small sliver of logic fought to hold onto them and pull them back down.
He says it anyway.
"That right?" His voice dips lower than you've heard it before, but not out of anger. Something else. Something far more heated and dangerous. "Wonder what else I could bring outta you."
The implication falls between you like an anvil. The weight of it keeps you both still, oblivious to what's going on around you entirely. Somehow, you manage to hold his gaze, but you're swallowing hard and breathing even harder and he can see it. He tracks the movement with those dark eyes, waiting for you to come up with a retort or storm off.
Normally, you'd do the latter, but today, you're fired up. It's always Joel who gets the last flirty word in. It's always Joel who leaves you spinning while he happily carries on with his day. So this time, you close the distance between you and crane your neck up. He doesn't break eye contact but you can tell he didn't expect this. He didn't expect you to get inches away and hold the silence like a knife to his throat. His lip curls into a smile, breathlessly anticipating some flustered, snappy comeback paired with an angry look. Instead, what you say shocks him.
"You couldn't handle it, Miller."
The confidence in your voice is what makes him falter. You clock it and grin, very satisfied with yourself, before turning and heading back to your house. The world begins to wake up around him again. Sounds begin to crescendo slowly in the air: power tools, his crew's voices, cars rumbling down the street. But his eyes are fixed on you. On the way you carry yourself back up your porch and into your house without the courtesy of a single glance back.
When your screen door snaps shut, he blinks. Clears his throat. Then forces his feet to move.
After that, Joel spends the rest of the afternoon praying he doesn't get distracted enough to lose a finger.
***
The weekend is thankfully quiet, but long. You pace around trying to keep busy, but you miss it. You hate it, but you miss peeking out your window to see what Joel is up to. You miss whatever has been brewing between you over the last two weeks. You miss the excitement and electricity that crackles between you when you stomp over there for one reason or another.
By Sunday night, you decide it isn't healthy to be so fixated on this. You're not even sure what's gotten into you. Usually, your life is mundane and quiet, yet this man has burrowed his way in and found a piece of you to bring to life you didn't know existed.
He pisses you off, you remind yourself. It's not good. He's not good. Let this go, the sooner the better.
So on Monday, you force yourself to stay in your house all day. It's hard, but you know it's the right thing to do. You need to focus on work and Joel is just a distraction. A big, annoying, sexy distraction.
On Tuesday, you do the same thing. It's a littler easier this time. You get a decent amount of work done with your earbuds solidly in place. You only look up from your computer to check your window a handful of times. Once or twice you swear you catch Joel glancing expectantly towards your house, but you push down the butterflies in your belly and focus back on the project in front of you.
Wednesday is more difficult because on that day, there's a legitimate reason to be annoyed. Joel's crew is using a portion of your lawn to toss old pieces of wood from the porch next door. When you first notice, you find yourself rising to your feet, propelled by anger. But then you catch yourself and slowly sit back down.
It's fine. They'll clean it up. Don't worry about it.
You finish your workday without stepping foot outside, although you had to close your curtains so you'd stop looking at the mess.
Thursday is loud. Drills pierce the air earlier than usual. You assume it has to do with the rain clouds forming on the horizon, but it still grates your every nerve to hear metal grinding into solid wood first thing in the morning. You pop your earbuds in and turn the volume up. It works, until the rain starts. The water streaking suddenly down your windowpane catches your attention, so you pull your earbuds out and look up.
Across your driveway, Joel's crew is packing up early. They're running, getting absolutely soaked in the rain while trying to get everything valuable back into their trucks as quickly as possible.
Good, you think. Peace and quiet a little earlier today.
Then you see him. Joel. With his dark curls plastered against his forehead and his white shirt sticking to his torso like he had just jumped into a pool. Your brain buffers and your lips part at the sight. You could tell before he's strong, but now his shirt is leaving very little to the imagination.
"Shit," you whisper as you watch, unblinking, while Joel packs up his truck and then turns to help his crew. His muscles flex under his rain soaked skin, water drips furiously down the sides of his head, and you forget how to breathe.
Fuck him for being so irritating and goddamn good looking at the same time.
The image is seared into your brain for the rest of the night. It has you tossing and turning in bed until you can't stand it anymore and you give in, sliding one hand down the front of your shorts in search of relief. It's fleeting and not as good as you hoped, but at least you're able to fall asleep.
Friday is when everything comes to a head.
You're tired from a restless nights sleep and on your third cup of coffee when you notice the end of your driveway is blocked. Your jaw clenches as you push a curtain aside to get a better view and of course, it's Joel's truck.
"Son of a bitch," you mutter, narrowing your eyes like you could destroy the car with your mind if you tried hard enough.
It's fine. He'll move it. He's probably waiting on some delivery, like last time.
But this time, his truck remains parked haphazardly at the end of your driveway all day. When you manage to spot him working next door, he's all smiles, completely unbothered. At last around three you see him walk to his truck, but it's just to get something from the console. The way he strolls back to his crew like he had every right in the world to encroach on your property makes your blood boil.
That's it. You've had enough. You've kept to yourself all week long, it's almost the weekend, you did pretty good. And this isn't unreasonable. He's in your fucking driveway! He's had multiple chances to move and he didn't!
Before you could stop yourself, you reach forward, lift open your window, and lean out.
"Joel Miller!"
He stops dead in his tracks, along with half his crew, to track your voice from your office window. When he spots you, he lifts his hand to his eyes to shield himself from the sun and he grins.
"Yeah?"
"Move your goddamn truck out of my driveway or else I'm havin' it towed!"
His crew chuckles and goes back to wrapping things up for the day. Joel tilts his head at you like he's amused.
"Thought you moved," he says, "haven't heard that smart mouth all week."
"Unfortunately for me, I'm still here," you snap, "now move that hunk of junk right now!"
"She ain't no hunk of junk," Joel says with mock offense. "She's the only lady in my life that never let me down, don't talk 'bout her like that."
"Stop talking about your car like it's a woman, that's gross."
Joel whistles low and comes closer so he doesn't have to shout. "Jealous?"
"Of a car? Give me a break," you snort.
He tsks and inches closer. By now, he's halfway across your driveway. "Why don't you try askin' me real nice, then maybe I'll move it."
"Why don't you get a little closer and I'll make you do it."
The deep groan that rumbled from his chest made your thighs clench.
"Don't tease a fella now," he warns with a playful look, "'cause if you talk like that I'm gonna make you follow through."
You roll your eyes, grateful you have an entire wall between you to hide the way you're practically squirming in place.
"Will you please shut up and move the truck?"
"Don't love the shut up part, but y'did say please, so I will."
"Thank you," you reply, overly sweet with a fake smile. Still, Joel stifles a laugh, entirely enthralled with how riled up he manages to make you.
"No problem. I'll be done in an hour, then I'll get outta your hair."
The smile falls from your face to be replaced with a scowl. "An hour?"
"Yeah. An hour," he confirms, turning back to his job site. "Don't worry. Won't get in the way of your Friday night plans."
"Joel—"
"It'll be longer if you keep flirtin' with me," he says loudly over his shoulder so his entire crew can hear. Your cheeks instantly heat up but you slam your window shut before you can give him the satisfaction of witnessing your embarrassment.
You sit back down and try to focus on work, but it's impossible. Why does this man get under your skin so easily? And why do you find him so irresistible at the same time? It must be because it's been a while since the last time you've been with someone. You've been so focused on work the last several months, you can't even remember the last time you went on a date, let alone took a man home.
Your gaze drifts up against your will. Most of Joel's crew has cleared out next door. There's two guys left plus Joel, cleaning up the rest of the lawn before the weekend. You can see the relaxed smiles on their faces as they chat, probably discussing weekend plans. It makes you wonder what Joel does on the weekends. You have a feeling he's single based on his earlier comment about his truck. So what does a single man do with their spare time?
Probably pick up girls. The thought makes your stomach twist into a knot. You shake your head and focus back on your computer. That's none of your business. Who cares if he's getting laid? It doesn't matter.
Your lips press together when your eyes lift to find Joel through the window again, but now you realize the yard is empty. The remaining trucks are gone. The supplies are picked up. It's quiet.
For some reason, you're relieved when you stand and hurry to your window to find Joel's truck still idle in your driveway. You stand there staring at it while you weigh your options in your head.
It's a bad idea, you think. Joel isn't good for you. He drives you crazy. Yet you have to admit, you can't remember the last time you've felt such a spark with someone before. He's certainly not boring, you'll give him that. And he's funny, in his own way. Would it really be so bad?
Fuck it. You rush to your bedroom to change your shirt for a simple light dress and freshen up as fast as you can, all the while straining to hear for the telltale sound of his motor turning over, then you slow down.
You decide to leave it up to fate. If he's still there by the time you're ready, then you'll go for it. If he's gone, then he's gone, no big deal.
After tapping on some subtle, fruity flavored lip balm and spritzing just a tiny bit of perfume in your hair, you step out of your bedroom, mustering up as much confidence as possible as you walk to your front door. You decide not to practice what to say, that you'll just let it happen organically if it feels right. But when you swing your door open only to be met face to face with Joel, who has one fist raised in the air as if he were about to knock, all that confidence goes straight out the window.
Shit.
"Hey," he says with a crooked grin. His arm lowers to his side and your heart kicks in your chest when you notice his eyes sweep up and down your body before meeting your gaze.
"What can I do for you?" you ask, leaning against the doorframe with a small smile. His grin widens and you feel like you've stepped into yet another trap.
"That's a loaded question, sweetheart," he says, voice low. You suppress a shudder. "Wanted to tell you I'm headin' out. Looks like I got good timin', too." He gestures to your appearance and you look down.
"I'm not going anywhere."
He quirks up an eyebrow. "You got someone comin' over?"
You shake your head and try to bite back the smile that threatens to stretch across your face.
Joel makes a soft noise and casually lifts his arm to rest against the frame, right above your head. He's towering over you like this and you think it's on purpose.
"Just gettin' all dolled up to sit home alone?" he asks. You shrug and cross your arms, hoping your breasts lift when you do. His gaze flickers down quickly, confirming you're successful.
"You think this is dolled up?"
Slowly, he lets himself take in your appearance again, this time making sure you saw.
"Just used to seein' you in shorts or that little robe of yours."
"You don't like my shorts or robe?"
"Never said that."
You have to stifle a laugh and his eyes practically glitter with amusement.
"Do you have any big plans this weekend?" you ask, hoping to come across casual.
"Nothin' too crazy," he tells you, leaning in a little further. "Watch the game. Mow the lawn. Come up with new ways to get you yellin' at me."
You laugh and shake your head. "You've been doing a great job so far."
"Not so sure 'bout that," he says, swiping his palm over his chin. "Been tryin' all week. Didn't get your attention til I parked in your driveway."
The expression on your face instantly melts into one of annoyance. "You did all of that on purpose?"
His enjoyment couldn't be contained. With a huge grin, he replies, "Yes, ma'am."
"The mess on my lawn? The extra early noise?" You could feel your anger rising, flooding your chest with heat.
"That's right," Joel replies. "Parkin' in your driveway was a last resort."
Your jaw tenses as you stare him down in disbelief. "What is your goddamn problem?" you seethe. Your earlier plans to ask if he wanted to come in for a drink vanish. Screw this guy.
"Thought you were dead or somethin'. Consider it my version of a wellness check."
"I don't need you to do a wellness check on me!" you yell, throwing your hands in the air to stop yourself from pushing him. "I've put in the shittiest work this week because of you! Why are you hellbent on bothering me so much?"
"'Cause it's fun and you're cute when you're all pissed off."
"I'm cu—"
The words die in your throat as your brain formally processes what he just said. You're still angry and red in the face, your chest is still heaving from adrenaline, and yet you're frozen solid, blinking up at him like an idiot. A slow smile spreads across his face, revealing that dreadfully adorable dimple.
"Probably the only woman on earth who looks prettier when she's readin' me the riot act," he adds just to watch your mouth open and shut like a fish.
"You—"
You're at a loss for words. The emotional whiplash has you reeling. He's into you, but he's showing it like an elementary school boy. It's kind of endearing but mostly immature, so you stand your ground.
"How old are you? Because you act like you're no older than twelve."
"I'm definitely older than twelve," he chuckles without missing a beat. "But listen... I really am sorry if your work suffered 'cause of me. Lemme make it up to you."
"How could you possibly—"
"Lemme take you out to dinner tonight."
The floor practically gives out from under you. What the hell is going on? The last ten minutes has your brain scrambling and your heart racing faster than any workout. How does this man manage to drive you to the brink of insanity only to pull you back at the last second with something sweet?
"You can yell at me the whole time, if you want," he says once too much time has passed without an answer. If you could see through your rage, you'd be able to pick up on his nervousness: his hand flexes at his side and his weight shifts from foot to foot with anxious energy.
"How about I just yell at you right here?" you snap. Joel laughs.
"If that's what you want, darlin', then sure."
Frustration bubbles up with a growl. You push away from the door to pace up and down your small hallway, raking your fingers through your hair while you attempt to calm down. All the while, Joel remains where he is, planted just outside your door, watching you spiral.
"You seem tense."
"I am tense! Because of you!"
"I can help with that."
You freeze and stare at him, long and hard. All those thoughts you've had about him, those images of him working in the rain, his way of turning a phrase to just barely imply he could ruin you... all of those moments crash down over you like a tidal wave and you decide that maybe he could help, after all.
In the blink of an eye, you close the distance keeping you apart. Your hand fists his sweaty, dirty shirt and you yank him forward. He stumbles a few feet into your house with surprised huff. You see the way his eyes widen right before your mouth crashes over his and finally, for a few blissful minutes, you get your coveted silence.
Joel only needs a moment before he catches up. His lips soften against yours as you pull him deeper into your house. He kicks back one foot and it collides with your door, slamming it closed behind him, then his hands are on you, pushing you gently against the wall so he can take control.
His teeth greedily graze your lower lip and your mouth parts for him with a soft moan. Driven by the sound, his tongue eagerly slips past your lips and his hands drop to cup the backs of your thighs. He hauls you up and your legs circle his waist while your tongues tangle together, hot and angry. It's desperate and messy and exactly what you need. The broad heft of his body pressed up against yours, the heady scent of the outdoors and sweat and him invading your senses, the faint taste of coffee on his tongue... it's utterly perfect.
"Where'd this come from, hm?" he asks, voice low and rough as his lips skim the edge of your jaw. Your head tilts back and your eyelids remain closed, offering your throat up to him without a fight.
"You said you could help," you murmur, craning your neck to give him better access. He finds a spot below your ear and sucks, leaving the beginnings of a mark that will take days to disappear.
"I did," he mumbles against your skin. "Meant a drink or somethin', but I ain't complainin'."
Your chin drops, hunting for his mouth, but then his hand is there tipping your head back, cupping your cheek with his thumb pressed on the underside of your jaw.
"Ain't done," he grumbles before continuing his assault on your throat. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and let him move your head this way and that, enjoying the way he's taken control. You get the sense he's wanted this as badly as you because he seems determined to taste every inch of your skin. When his mouth travels lower to ghost over your shoulder, you shrug, allowing the strap of your dress to fall and expose more skin. Joel makes a pleased grunt before his lips explore the newly revealed territory.
"Christ, you're soft." It almost sounds like he's talking to himself, the way his voice is full of quiet wonder. A shiver rolls down your spine and you tug impatiently at his hair.
"Joel," you whine, but your thought is cut off with a gasp when he presses himself firmly against the cradle of your hips. You can feel him there, hot and hard behind his zipper. One of your hands drops to his belt and you slip your fingers past his waistband, but just as you're about to reach your target, his body jolts and he swats your hand away with a chuckle.
"Eager thing," he grins before sealing his lips over yours again.
"Bedroom," you manage to mumble when he takes half a second to breathe. "Behind you."
"Bossy," he scolds. His mouth covers yours with a deep groan before he tightens his grip around your legs. He pulls you from the wall and swings around to carry you in the general direction of your bedroom, all while never breaking the kiss.
It's kind of comical the way you stumble into your room. The door swings open too fast and knocks back against Joel's shoulder but it doesn't slow him down. He refuses to pull away to look where he's going, but when his boot collides with a half empty laundry basket on the floor, he curses under his breath and finally tears himself away.
You take the opportunity to squirm out of his grip. When your feet hit the floor, you instantly rise to your tiptoes, lips seeking out the warm skin of his throat. You moan a little when your tongue drags over his pebbled skin, tasting salt and sun that remains there. It's addicting to taste the product of his day's hard work, so you do it again and relish in the way he shudders from your attention.
"Shoulda just told me from the start what you wanted." His fingers fumble with his belt buckle after he hears the quiet sound of your zipper coming undone. "Would've saved us both alotta time, darlin'."
"Shut up," you grumble before your teeth pinch a spot next to his Adam's apple. Your dress falls into a pool at your feet, hands free to help him lift his shirt over his head.
"I need a shower," Joel says after his shirt is discarded. You just shake your head and press your mouth over his collarbone, then his sternum, mapping his body while he works on kicking off his boots and jeans.
"I like you like this," you whisper. He smirks, stepping out of his clothes as best he can with your mostly naked body pressed against his own. "You smell good," you add after a minute, and he seems pleased with that.
"Get on the bed, sweetheart. Lemme see you."
You pull away from the faint red marks you left littering his chest and look up at him through your lashes. "You first."
Joel frowns. "Wha—"
With a grin, you give him a gentle push. His back hits the bedding and he barely has a chance to register it until you're climbing on top of him, legs bracketing his hips with a giggle. He smiles so big that his eyes squint, revealing those damn dimples again beneath his beard. Then his gaze drops to your bare breasts and his eyes darken.
"Fuck, you're pretty," he mumbles, palming them greedily. When his rough thumb grazes your nipple, you lunge down and capture his mouth with a searing kiss.
"You want me like this?" he asks, words tumbling against your swollen lips. "Wanna ride me, baby?"
"Yes," you whine while tugging down his boxers with one hand. His palms glide over your thighs, squeezing and pulling you back and forth so your hips begin to grind down on his lap.
"Take these off 'fore I ruin 'em," he warns you, fingers hooking into the band of your panties. You suppress the shiver of arousal at his tone before you do exactly as he says.
When your bare cunt comes in contact with the underside of his cock, you suck in a deep breath. He's so hot and throbbing against your soaked folds, making every slide of your hips steal your breath away.
Joel watches you move with heavy lidded eyes, seemingly just as lost in the feeling as you. His chest rises and falls a little faster when the tip of his cock presses against your clit and your whole body shudders with a moan he will end up dreaming about for weeks.
Reality hits when a streak of his arousal leaks and smears across your skin, bringing him back down to earth for one second.
"Wait, my wallet—"
He extends one hand towards the floor and your eyes follow, connecting the dots and sliding off him to grab his pants. You find it tucked into his back pocket and toss it his way. He catches it and fishes out a little foil packet from its depths while you resume your spot in his lap, lips parted and heart racing with anticipation as he rolls the condom on with care.
"Alright honey, I'm all yours," he announces, smirking as he folds his arms behind his head. You roll your eyes but still shimmy forward and raise your hips, using one hand against his chest to prop yourself up and the other to guide him to your entrance. The moment you sink down, however, his lips melt into a soft circle and his eyelids flutter shut, filling your chest with pride before caving into the pleasure yourself.
You sigh and tilt your head back when you finally take all of him. The stretch is exquisite, or maybe it's just been a while, but it doesn't matter. All the static that's been electrifying your brain lately, all that stress from work, from pushing yourself too far every single day dissolves away.
"Oh, shit," he whispers, voice cracking. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips. "Feel so goddamn good."
You drop your head forward to look at him, chest and neck all flushed underneath you. Your eyes trace his body as you begin to move, just slow rolls of your hips while you take in every detail: strong arms built from work, not weights. Skin slightly sweaty and a shade lighter where his shirts protect him from the sun. Broad shoulders and a firm stomach, but not too lean. One of your hands drifts over the planes of his chest and the curves of his muscles, humming with admiration as you continue to slowly ride him. His eyes light up and you swear you can see the pleasure in his expression when he clocks your appreciation for him.
"Make yourself feel good, honey," he says, voice low. Your gaze flickers up to his and you share a smile. "Wanna see what you like. Wanna watch you fall apart on it."
Your hips lift and drop a little faster, skin slapping against skin. "Should've known you never stop talking, even when you're getting laid," you tease, and Joel chuckles.
"Bark and bite, I like that."
"Yeah, I figured that out." You gasp when he thrusts upwards, hitting a spot deep inside you can't reach on your own. He notices and files it away for later.
"Takin' notes on me?" he asks, ghosting his palms over your ribs before landing on your breasts, watching in a daze while they bounce in his hands.
"You wish," you pant. He tsks, eyes still fixed on your chest.
"I got a few things figured out 'bout you, too."
You stop moving to glare down at him and catch your breath. His dark eyes dance with amusement at your annoyed look.
"Like what?"
He shrugs but the smile still tugs at the corners of his mouth. "You work hard but don't ever blow off any steam. Don't know yet if it's cause you're too tired or you feel like you don't deserve it."
That stuns you. Even though you're naked and he's currently buried inside you, you suddenly feel very exposed. He sees he might have overstepped, so he backtracks with a joke.
"You can call me anytime and I'll be happy to help you unwind."
You snort and begin moving again, shaking off the unexpected flash of vulnerability. "Why don't you focus on making this memorable enough for me to call you again?"
Joel laughed then, loud. And despite yourself, you giggle.
"Baby, when you're done playin' cowgirl, I'm gonna flip you over and fuck you so hard, you'll feel it on Monday when you're watchin' me through that office window of yours."
Your pussy clenches involuntarily and you begin working faster, fucking yourself on his lap now like you mean it.
"That's a-a lot of big talk, Miller," you reply, breathless from the exertion. You circle your hips and moan loudly when you find an angle you like.
"Ain't just talk," he says, big hands back on your hips, helping you move. His gaze is fixed on where you're connected, on the slick smearing between your bodies, and his stomach tightens. "Been thinkin' 'bout fuckin' you every which way to Sunday, got a head full'a ideas."
"You've been thinking about fucking me?" you repeat almost shyly.
"Don't be coy, now," he tells you, grunting softly when you plant both hands on his chest for leverage. "You know you came over there that first day with these perfect fucking tits pokin' through that little robe on purpose."
"Did not," you breathe, but all the fight has left your body. You're getting close and it's all you can focus on now.
"Uh-huh," Joel says, clearly not believing you. He swallows hard and his cock twitches impatiently inside you. He could come like this, with you riding him, getting yourself off, but he doesn't want to. He doesn't want it to be over just yet, especially if you expect this to be a one time thing.
Shit, he hopes it's not just a one time thing.
"C'mon, baby, let go," he says before mouthing at your breasts. His tongue glides over one nipple then grazes it with his teeth before moving to the other one. You jolt and whine and push your chest even closer to his face.
"Joel..." you whisper. Your muscles are tired, you're slowing down. Sweat dots your forehead, collects behind your knees, and you're gasping for air.
He sits up suddenly, understanding right away what you need, and wraps one arm around your waist while the other braces himself against the mattress. He's able to fuck up into you like this and instantly your legs relax and your body slumps forward, causing him to relinquish the attention to your chest.
"That's it," he coos, "lemme help you."
You rarely accept help. The thought flickers across your mind for a moment before you push it away. This is different. This is just sex.
"M'close," you mumble shakily, fingers digging into the thick muscle of his shoulders, forehead pressed intimately against his.
"I know," he breathes, "give it to me, darlin'."
A few more harsh snaps of his hips has you falling, whimpering his name as white hot heat rolls through your limbs and soaking your brain with a drunken haze. He's murmuring to you the whole time: how tight you feel, how beautiful you look, what a good job you did, how perfectly you fit on his cock. The praise goes straight to your head and fills a much needed void somewhere inside you. Some piece of you that is always pushing you to do more, try harder, work faster... efforts that rarely give you desired results. Or, at least, the results you're after. But this—this man—he's giving you something you desperately crave without even realizing it.
Your breath stutters like you've been knocked off kilter, and maybe you have. Joel thinks it's an aftershock of your orgasm and doesn't think anything of it.
He lifts you off his lap and you gasp, eyes flying open in shock. You have about half a second before you're tossed face down onto the bed next to him, then he's climbing behind you, rough hands gentle on your hips as they pull you back up to your hands and knees.
"That's it," he grunts when you obediently spread your legs and arch your back. He smirks to himself before pushing back inside you with a heavy sigh. "Goddamn, you're warm," he says after sliding slowly all the way in, giving you a chance to adjust to the new position. You bite your lip and breathe through it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how deep he feels like this. How good he feels.
"Fuck me, Joel," you moan, pushing your ass back, encouraging him to move. He rolls his hips forward, slow and deep.
"I know," he pants, "I know what you need."
He moves a little faster. Your ass bounces with every push. He grabs it with one big hand and squeezes before giving you a playful smack and doing it again.
"No, you don't. You barely—barely know me," you remind him. Your words stumble over each other as you feel yourself losing focus again. He feels so good, it's impossible not to.
"Know you better than you think," he shoots back. He smoothes over the spot on your ass he had spanked, soothing the area before sliding his palm up and over your spine. He can feel every knot and twist, every stress point you keep locked away deep inside. His fingers seek them out with ease, like maybe he really can see more than you think.
Still, you're stubborn.
"You only know what I want you to know." Your jaw is clenched, the words escape through your teeth but your point is made. You swallow down a moan and close your eyes, giving in to the way he expertly takes you apart.
"I knew you needed this from the first time we met," he tells you, "could've fucked this out of you back then and saved us both the trouble."
"You like it," you hiss over your shoulder. His pace is relentless now, hips swinging roughly against your ass, burying his thick cock as deep as it'll go. He wants to split you open and make you scream his name. He wants your mind blank and your body satiated. "You like—ohh... f-fuck—"
"What's that?" he goads. Joel drops forward so both his arms bracket yours. His chest presses against your spine and his breath is hot in your ear. You shiver and your jaw falls open.
"You..." Your throat is dry. Heat is building behind your navel and your legs are starting to shake. You swallow and keep talking. "You like trouble. You like it... when I yell at you. Whe—when I—"
"Yeah, I know," he admits, "somethin' real sexy 'bout you when you get all pissed off."
"—Like when I tell you... tell you what to do."
He's silent for a moment but his pace never falters. The wet sound of skin on skin is deafening, addicting. Your face warms as he punches the air from your lungs with every devastating thrust.
"Yeah. Maybe I do."
You hum and breathe deep through your nose. Fuck, he's right. You're going to be sore. You can already feel it.
"So tell me what to do now," he adds. It takes you a second to process it, but when you do, you force your eyes open.
What does he want to hear?
Don't overthink it.
"Touch me," you demand, firm and clear despite how your heart is racing.
Joel doesn't hesitate.
He leans back, leaving your sweaty back exposed to the cool air, and he reaches around to play with your clit. Instantly, you gasp and buck under him.
"Like that?"
If you had any clarity at all you would have shot him back some sarcastic remark because of course the answer is yes. Your entire body is shaking, you can barely speak and he knows it.
"Mhm," you manage, "ye—yeah, just like that. Fuck, keep going—"
"Jesus Christ," he mutters when your body begins to work in tandem with his, meeting him thrust for thrust. "Shit honey, you're gonna make me come like this."
You whine and throw your head back. His fingers don't stop circling your clit. Sweat coats your skin now. Gasping breaths and the sound of his hips meeting your ass over and over are filling the room, punctuated by Joel's deep grunts and your breathy moans.
"Joel—" you whisper as your body locks up. Your muscles ache, your cunt aches even more, but you continue to take it all. Your hand feverishly finds his between your legs and you leave it there, loving the way his fingers feel while they play you like a guitar.
"Sweetheart, I'm gonna—"
But you cut him off before he could finish his thought with a sharp cry. Your orgasm washes over you, harsh and unforgiving. A moment later Joel follows you over the edge with a loud curse, then a rough, deep grunt you can feel in your bones as he empties himself into the condom.
"Oh, holy fuck," he gasps, removing his hand from between your legs. He still thrusts weakly into you as the last of his orgasm streaks through his veins. It's cut short when he feels your body shaking violently under him and just like that, his focus is back on you.
"You okay?"
"I'm—" You're out of breath. Your vision is spotty and your muscles are weak. You swallow hard and try again. "I'm good, just need to—"
You fall onto your elbows and Joel takes the hint. He eases out of you, ignoring the way his chest pangs at the loss of your body, before he collapses into bed and hauls you down next to him.
Now you can rest. You close your eyes and breathe, deep and heavy. He does the same while the sweat cools on both your bodies and slowly, your brain begins to come back online. When it does, you realize his body is loosely curled around yours, keeping you warm and grounding you. It's strangely intimate but you don't pull away. Not yet.
"How 'bout I take you for that dinner now?" he mumbles before carefully pressing a soft kiss against your neck. His sweaty chest is pressed against your back, sealing you together.
"Let's just order something instead," you sigh with your eyes closed.
"Did I tire you out, darlin'?"
"Didn't sleep well," you say, unwilling to give him any credit just yet, "the damn construction crew next door woke me up way too early."
"Uh-huh," he teases before tightening his arm around your middle. It feels nice, so you lean into him just a bit. And for a while it's quiet and peaceful. Your breath steadies, your head clears, but your muscles stay soft and relaxed. Joel doesn't say anything. His thumb rubs idly over your stomach, lips occasionally graze over your back or shoulder, and it feels good until that defensive part of your brain wakes up, right on schedule.
This isn't serious. This didn't mean anything. It was just stress relief. Don't get attached.
"So," you say, voice a little hoarse when you gently slip out of his grip. He rolls onto his back with a soft, reluctant noise and he watches you stand to pick up your clothes. "This is what it takes to finally shut you up, huh?"
You grin at your joke as you press your clothes to your front, hiding your bare body from him like he hadn't just touched every inch of it minutes ago. When he doesn't answer right away with some smart remark, you pause and meet his eye.
He's stretched out on your bed, looking at you like he's seeing something not meant for him. You swallow nervously and try not to let yourself enjoy how good he looks in your space, amongst your things, in your life.
"Yeah," he finally says, "guess that'll do it."
His voice sounds flat and you begin to feel bad, so you clear your throat and inch towards your bathroom. "Let's order something to eat before you go."
Before you go. Joel heard it and got the message. He didn't know what to expect but for some reason, it stings.
"Yeah, what are you thinkin'?" He sits up and reaches for his jeans, where his phone is still tucked into his pocket.
"I don't care. Whatever you like." Then the door to the bathroom quietly snaps shut. Joel sighs once's he's alone and rubs his face before looking around your room. It's neat and organized, nothing like his own. He chews the inside of his cheek while he thinks, but before he lets himself get too lost, he snaps out of it and looks at his phone.
Chinese is a safe bet, so he orders that before standing to rid himself of the condom and get dressed. Suddenly he feels out of place. He's rough and dirty and you're... not. And that's fine. This was fun, it doesn't have to be anything more. Yet when he wanders into your kitchen for water, he can't help but feel an empty pull in his chest at the thought of leaving.
Unknown to him, hidden inside your bathroom, you're struggling with the very same thing.
Summary: your older brother Santi has always been against you dating his hot best friend, Frankie Morales, so when the cockblocker leaves town for a week, you work out a daring plan to seduce the man of your wet dreams.
Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, not specified age gap, brother’s best friend Frankie, soft dom vibes Frankie, horny reader, seductress reader, use of a sex toy, f!masturbation, fingering, nipple play, fem!oral duh! it’s Frankie, soooo many orgasms, unprotected piv, Frankie has a huge cock, creampie, praise kink, pussy pronouns, swearing, mention of a gun use, mention of a belly bulge.
Word count: 6,5k
A/n: I’m so excited to finally share this story with you all! I’ve been working on it for a while and fell in love with the characters, especially with reader (she’s a menace lol) I hope the fic will make you horny and maybe you’ll get a few giggles out of it idk Wet kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and being mine♥️ The title was inspired by the lyrics of ‘I touch myself’ by Divinyls. Dividers by @cursed-carmine 💞
Frankie Morales Masterlist || MASTERLIST
You'd been into Frankie Morales for a few months now but just like Romeo and Juliet you two couldn't be together. All because of your cockblocking brother Santi who stood in your way into Frankie's pants. Pants with a very prominent bulge at that!
Every time you checked out his hot best friend at a party or a casual get-together, Santi hissed into your ear, "Don't even think about it!" Every time you noticed Frankie's brown eyes linger on you, your brother would pull the man of your wet dreams aside and read him a lecture. Probably something about you being too young for him, or Frankie's lifestyle being too chaotic to share with his precious sister, yadda, yadda, yadda.
Of course, you still loved your brother and his concerns were reasonable. Santi wanted only the best for you, and dating a military guy, who was away most of the year, doing some risky shit, wasn't the life he envisioned for you. Still it was hard to suppress anger, burning in your chest. Who gave him the right to say who you could or couldn't date?
Being fed up with Santi's control, you finally decided to act and get Frankie to dick you down behind your brother's back.
A perfect opportunity arose when Santi left for a week-long work trip. Frankie and him were roommates so as soon as your brother’s plane took off you appeared on their apartment’s doorstep with your bags. Batting your lashes at the man, you lied that your building had a rat infestation and Santi offered you his room to stay in during the extermination. Frankie furrowed his eyebrows. He wasn’t an idiot and probably greatly doubted that his friend let his younger sister live with him but luckily for you there was no way to check it — Santi was in some remote country in the middle of nowhere, impossible to contact. You applied all your acting skills to sound convincing and your pleading eyes softened the man’s already tender heart.
“Thank you, Frankie,” you purred, stepping through the door, biting your lip and hiding a triumphant smile.
And just like that the game was on. Frankie and you began living together and you were doing everything in your power to seduce him. You made sure to wear as little clothing as possible, parading around the house with your ass and tits almost out but to your dismay Frankie avoided you like a plague. As soon as you would settle next to him on the sofa, ready to watch whatever he had on at that time, he fled to his room under some lame excuse.
You even tried to cook for him and he seemed grateful when you did, but always stayed respectful, praising you, while you needed him to disrespectfully bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck your brains out.
Nothing seemed to work. The week was almost over and you were getting desperate until an idea popped into your mind. The plan was quite ballsy but you saw no other option to get that cock. It was a matter of ‘go big or go home’. Literally.
One evening when Frankie was in the apartment you ran yourself a nice bubble bath in the shared bathroom, undressed, hoping it was the last time you wore clothes that night, and got in. You took a deep breath of the sweet strawberry scent and laid back comfortably in the hot tub. Show time!
“Frankieeee!” You shouted, calling your new roommate. “Frankieee!!”
A few seconds later you heard his velvet voice from behind the door.
“Yes?”
“Frankie, I need your help,” you whined loudly so he could hear. “I’m taking a bath and I already got in but .. ugh.. I forgot something in my room.”
“What? Towels?” Frankie’s voice was getting quieter — he was probably on his way to your bedroom.
“No-no-no! It’s … Can you get me my vibe, please.”
There was ringing silence behind the door until Frankie cleared his throat and asked,
“Your what?”
“My vibe! Vibrator, Frankie.… Can you bring it to me? The bedside table. Top drawer.”
His nervous chuckle followed your words.
“Sweetheart…,” he started saying but you interrupted him,
“Oh, c’mon! We’re both adults. Don’t be such a prude!”
That did it. His ego was probably hurt by your name calling and you heard a sigh.
“‘K. Second.”
Your lips spread into a grin. Everything was going according to plan.
A few moments later you heard footsteps.
“Here”, Frankie said and his hand appeared in the door gap. You giggled, seeing him carefully holding your toy only with his finger tips.
“Frankie, I’m in the tub,” you reminded him with a slight annoyance in your voice. “Can you give it to me, please?”
He seemed hesitant so you added,
“There’re lots of bubbles. You won’t see a thing.”
“Ok,” he said after another sigh and then raised his voice to announce, “I’m coming in!”
Oh poor, clueless Frankie! Thinking that you don’t want him to see you naked meanwhile that was the main thing you’d been after for months.
He walked in with his eyes squeezed shut, his head turned away from you, his cheeks rosy with embarrassment, and you smiled at how unbearably cute he was.
But adoration wasn’t the only thing you were feeling. Frankie was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a dark t-shirt and your hungry eyes immediately slid over his big strong body. Even submerged in water you got wetter, checking him out.
“Hey, don't be silly!” you giggled. “You can look, I’m all covered.”
The man slightly opened his eyes, holding his arm stretched so you’d take the vibe from him, yet you didn’t rush to do it. You waited until he was standing by the tub. His gaze quickly slid over the foamy water surface and his chest expanded. You hoped that a twitch of his brow was a sign of disappointment. He couldn’t take a peek and it was on purpose — you didn’t want to seem desperate though you definitely were.
“See? Nothing scandalous,” you said, giving him a sweet smile, and only then took the vibe from his big hand.
“Santi’d kill me if he saw us right now,” Frankie mumbled with a nervous smile, watching you grab the toy at the base and start ‘mindlessly’ gliding the other hand up and down the shaft. Of course, you knew what you were doing.
“Santi wouldn’t do shit,” you said confidently, playing with the sex toy in your hands. “And he’s not the boss of me. I’m a big girl.”
Frankie hummed, his eyes glued to your wet hand that was slowly jerking off the toy. When you swiped your thumb over the silicone tip, the man swallowed hard, and you had to drop your head to hide a happy smile.
To your joy Frankie wasn’t in a rush to leave the room. Instead he crossed his arms in front of his broad chest, and gliding his thumb over the lower lip, mused,
“Never seen this model before.”
Your surprise was so big that you almost dropped the vibe into the water. Having collected yourself quickly, you asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible,
“Really?” At that point your heart was pounding, your pussy was aching, your core was burning with desire. Being naked with the man you’d wanted for so long, you were a horny mess. Still you took a deep breath and said, looking up at him, “It’s a popular model. They call it ‘the rabbit’.”
“Rabbit?” Frankie chuckled, his cheeks growing red. You nodded. “Yeah, because of the ears I guess.” You immediately seized the opportunity to paint him a vivid picture.
“This part…,” you glided the tip of your finger up the shaft, “— goes inside me. And this one —,” you pinched a thinner, smaller part with little ‘ears’ - “—stimulates my clit.”
You glanced at Frankie as you finished talking, hoping to see the effect of your words. And hell yeah you did! The man was listening to you with his eyes half-lidded, rubbing his scruffy cheek with a big palm, while his chest was rising and falling rapidly. He was shifting on his bare feet, getting progressively hard, judging by the tent in his sweats.
When Frankie caught you looking at his crotch he cleared his throat and quickly grabbed a towel off the rack to hide his hard-on.
“I’m not getting out yet, Frankie,” you smiled. He was so cute when he was embarrassed.
“Oh, ok… yeah… just… this one’s not fresh,” he mumbled, nodding down at the towel in his arms. “I’ll get you a new one.”
You were afraid he’d leave under that shitty excuse, but Frankie surprised you again and stayed by the tub.
“And... won’t it malfunction? In the water I mean,” he said, his brows furrowed in concentration, as if he was talking about a car or something but his pupils were blown out, his forehead was sweaty and not from the heat of the bath.
“Oh no, it’s water-resistant. I use it all the time when I take a bath.”
You wanted— no, needed him to have those images flooding his mind, so you continued, still running your fingers over the toy.
“It helps me unwind after a long day. Being single, I have to find a way….” You sighed and glanced up at Frankie. It seemed like he wasn’t breathing, mesmerized by your words and movements, but you had no mercy for the man so you went for the kill.
“It’s a little thick for me though,” you complained, your lips in a pout. “I always need prep.”
Frankie let out a half hum-half moan and then coughed to cover up the noise he’d made. Meanwhile you kept going,
“See, I can’t put it in all at once, I usually let it buzz against my clit first, to slowly open me up.”
You could hear Frankie panting as he was listening to you. His hand darted to his crotch under the towel and he adjusted himself.
You knew that it was it, the moment for the final strike. You searched for Frankie’s eyes and then purred, as seductively as you could,
“Frankie…. Wanna watch me use it?”
The man opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, and then chuckled nervously, probably thinking you were joking.
“I’m serious,” you stated, your eyes glued to his.
Frankie’s smile disappeared and he clutched the towel closer to his crotch.
“Santi..,” he started.
“…Isn’t here,” you finished his sentence with a wink and then lowered your voice to a whisper. “And I’m very good at keeping secrets.”
Frankie nervously bit his lower lip and shook his head.
“No— shit, I —,” he was inching back towards the exit and fear squeezed your heart — what if he leaves right now? What if your plan fails? What if he isn’t interested in you at all and you’ve been living in a delulu land, thinking that he likes you.
When Frankie came up to the door, you were ready to cry from embarrassment. ‘I’ll pack my shit and go home,’ you thought.
Frankie’s hand was on the handle for a few long as hell seconds. Then he slowly turned around and faced you.
His expression set your body on fire — his eyes were dark, they lacked the usual warmth, instead you saw fiery lust and need in his blown out pupils.
He leaned back against the door and breathed out, “Show me.”
Frankie’s order turned you on so much, you almost came on the spot. He looked incredibly hot at that moment — arms crossed, muscles bulging, sweatpants showcasing a fat boner, his cock’s outline visible even in the steamy bathroom. You needed all that meat inside you! The stakes were really high (and huge) so you decided to give Frankie a good show.
With a ‘shy’ smile you turned the rabbit on and soft buzzing filled the room. Frankie took a sharp breath when you submerged it in the water.
“Gonna start slow,” you announced, resting your head on the rim of the tub. Then you closed your eyes and pressed the working vibe to your clit.
“Ahhhh… feels so good,” you breathed out, telling the absolute truth. The toy was sending waves of pleasure through your body, already aroused to the maximum, and your crush watching you made it a million times hotter. Your eyes fluttered open and you looked at Frankie.
He was standing by the door, his expression concentrated, and despite his relaxed posture he seemed to be as tense as a guitar string.
Not breaking eye contact you let out a soft moan and Frankie visibly shuddered.
“Fuck…,” he murmured. “You playing with your …?”
“My clit, yeah,” you whimpered. “Shall I put it inside? What do you think?”
Frankie’s lips parted and he ran his hand through his damp curls.
“Shit, yeah… put it in.”
“Ohhh,” you suddenly whined with exaggeration, drawing your brows together and pouting your lips. “It’s gonna hurt.. my tight pussy ain’t ready yet.”
Frankie pushed himself off the door, his eyes widened, and walked closer to you, his hands raised.
“No, fuck, sweetie, I... please, don’t hurt yourself,” he said in panic.
You were staring at him for a few seconds, making him sweat, until your pout disappeared.
“I’m fucking with you, Frankie,” you giggled and his jaw dropped. Then he smiled and cursed under his breath, the tension leaving his body with a deep sigh of relief.
“You're pure evil,” he chuckled and rubbed his flashed face with both hands.
Your heart fluttered from how adorable he was, but your pussy was still empty so you got to work. You spread your thighs wider under the water and nudged the tip of the toy at your entrance.
“I’m putting it in, Frankie.”
He gave you a curt nod, his eyes intent.
You rested the back of your head on the bathtub rim, then slowly began pushing the shaft inside you, your eyes closed, lips parted. You let Frankie read your expression and imagine what was happening under the water.
“I’m so full already and it’s just half inside me,” you murmured, not opening your eyes. Frankie was breathing loudly, just like you and, your imagination drew you a delicious picture that it was his cock sliding inside you.
“Ahhhh, Frankie,” you whimpered, feeling yourself on the brink of ecstasy from the vision.
“I’m here, baby.” You heard him much closer and opened your eyes. Frankie was standing an arm length from you now, watching you as he was palming his huge bulge. The sight shot a lightning through your body and your pussy began pulsing around the toy.
“Are you..?” Frankie asked and you nodded, squeezing your eyes shut, and arching your back.
The movement made your tits jump out of the water and Frankie groaned.
“Sweetheart, I can see..”
“S’ok…want you to look,” trembling with ecstasy you begged him.
The pleasure waves were rolling over you for what felt like eternity and the foamy water was splashing on the floor while your body was shaking in the tub.
After one orgasm with Frankie by your side you were a mess. Your hair was wet, your breaths ragged and fast, your limbs shaking. But you had to concentrate. You needed to hit a homerun and come on Frankie’s cock.
He seemed wrecked, too, and you were afraid that he’d bust right into his sweatpants. You had to act fast. ‘That load must end up in my pussy,’ you thought. ‘Or in my mouth at least.’
You carefully pulled the toy out and whined glancing up at Frankie.
“It was good but it doesn’t compare to the real thing.” Frankie nodded absentmindedly, probably still shell shocked from the sight of his best friend’s sister coming in front of him.
“Frankie, baby, want to give me “the real thing”? You said loudly, waking him up. Frankie blinked a few times, took a deep breath and then sat on the edge of the tub. You could smell his cologne, that’s how close he was. He looked deep into your eyes and rasped,
“Come for me one more time. Then I’ll fuck you.”
Oh. Dear. God.
Frankie’s voice, usually soft and gentle, was now gruff and coated with lust. His tone and the order made you shiver even in the hot tub.
Suddenly you felt small, just a girl being under the command of this bigger stronger man. His sudden dominance shot electricity straight to your pussy.
You didn’t make him wait. Completely speechless you switched the toy on and brought it underwater and to your needy cunt.
“Frankie,” you whispered, putting your free hand over his, and feeling what you needed, the man got on one knee next to you right on the wet floor.
“M’here, sweetie,” he assured you, watching your face while you were inserting the vibe inside your core. “That’s it.. jus’ like that, babygirl. Make yourself feel good for me.”
His eyes —two black pits of desire — were sliding over your face, twisting with pleasure, your wet neck and glistening chest, now out of the water and fully exposed. Besides, the foam wasn’t as thick as before, it was floating here and there in patches, so Frankie could surely see your naked body, your hand holding the vibe between your legs, your folds spread open.
“You’re so hot,” he breathed out, almost choking on the words.
You could say the same about him. Your heart eyes were set on Frankie, the man you’d been craving for so long. His handsome face was inches from yours and you wanted to count every freckle, lick a stripe along his scruffy jawline, taste the wetness on his plush lips.
“Kiss me,” you muttered, your voice shaky with need. A little smile appeared on his lips before he pressed them to yours. The kiss was soft and slow at first but moments later animalistic hunger overtook you both and it grew desperate and intense. Your free hand wrapped around the back of his neck, holding him close, his tongue plunged into your mouth and tangled with yours. He was drinking your whimpers, leaving his own moans on your lips. You were plunged into an ocean of ecstasy with him kissing you, with your pussy being stimulated by the vibe.
Yet you needed more. You needed Frankie.
“Baby,” you whined, parting from his lips. “I don’t want the toy. I want you.”
Frankie looked into your pleading eyes and nodded.
“Pull it out.”
You did what he said and let the rabbit fall on the floor with a thud.
“How many fingers do you want, princess?”
The pet name made you purr. You were so turned on you could probably take his whole fist but it seemed too extreme for the first time so you replied,
“Two’s fine.”
Frankie nodded. He placed his big palm on your knee, then slowly slid it down your wet inner thigh and into the water. When his fingers reached your heat, you gasped softly and bucked your hips. Watching your face intently, Frankie cupped your pussy and gave it a light squeeze, making you moan.
“Oh yeahhhh..,” you whined as he was gently massaging your folds. Soon you started squirming with anticipation so Frankie leaned closer to your face and kissed you again. As you were sucking on his tongue, he pushed two of his fingers inside you. You took a sharp breath, swept away by the sensation of his thick digits plunging into your core, curling inside you and pushing on the soft spot. His thumb wasn’t resting either— he was rubbing your puffy clit slowly and steadily, bringing you closer to your orgasm with every stroke of his fingers.
When you started trembling on the brink of a second orgasm, Frankie parted from you to watch your ecstatic expression.
“You’re doing amazing, sweetheart. Opening up for me real good.”
He was scissoring your cunt with his two fingers, whispering into your ear,
“You think your little rabbit is a challenge to take? You haven’t seen my cock.”
Your jaw dropped and if your pussy could scream she would.
Then Frankie brought his free hand to your wet breast and his fingers closed on your pebbled nipple. He was twitching it with a perfect pressure, his eyes on your face, his other hand fingering your pussy under the water. A loud whine rang in the room as you started unraveling for a second time, while Frankie was making you see stars.
“Good girl,” he praised you and leaned down to suck your nipple into his hot mouth. He was swirling his tongue around your hardened bud, prolonging your orgasm, while your walls were clenching around his moving fingers.
When your body relaxed, Frankie kissed you again but as amazing as it was you couldn’t wait for what he’d promised.
“Frankie,” you whined. “Fuck me.”
He chuckled, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours and said the words you’d been dreaming of hearing — “Let’s get you to my room.”
You were grateful when Frankie stood up and offered you his hand because your legs were weak and shaky from all the climaxes.
When you slowly rose up, dripping water, Frankie froze.
“Wow,” he muttered, shamelessly ogling your dripping naked body.
“I hope it’s a good wow,” you said playfully.
“It is, princess. You’re beautiful.”
You could stand like that forever — being under Frankie’s gaze filled with admiration and lust made your heart sing and pussy purr but the ache in your core reminded you why you’d been doing all that. After you stepped out of the bath, Frankie dried you off with a towel, his hands running up and down your body carefully as if you were made of glass. Soon he was carrying you in his arms, bridal style, to his bedroom. Your arms were thrown around his neck and you were nuzzling it.
“You smell so good,” you whispered, darting your tongue out to get a taste of his skin. He chuckled and kissed your temple.
Frankie’s bedroom was typical for a bachelor- a little messy, with minimum of furniture and only practical things around. You had no time to appreciate the room decor though, your mind was set on one thing, your pussy was begging to be fucked.
Frankie strutted to the bed and as soon as he carefully lowered you on the covers you threw the towel off your body and sat on your knees stark naked. When you were with Frankie, a birthday suit was the only thing you wanted to wear.
“You’ll get cold,” Frankie muttered, looking concerned, but you shrugged his comment off. Your body was on fire because of him and putting on clothes was the last thing you wanted to do. So you pulled him onto the bed, straddled his lap and pressed your hungry pussy to his clothed hard-on.
“You’ll warm me,” you purred, pushing your tits against his torso. He whispered ‘naughty girl’ before his lips found yours. You were making out, your hips rolling, your heat grinding against his cockbulge, probably leaving stains all over his sweats.
Then your body betrayed you — you shivered in Frankie’s arms.
“Baby, you’re cold,” he said, parting from your eager lips.
“Ugh! sometimes I hate how sweet you are!” You grumbled and looked around. “Ah!” You jumped off his lap, hating it immediately, and grabbed a flannel shirt that was lying on a chair. You quickly threw it on and rushed to return to his lap.
“Happy now?” You asked him with a smile, your hands on Frankie’s shoulders. He swallowed hard as his eyes were travelling over your still barely covered body.
“You look so hot in my clothes.” The praise made you bite your lip and you purred,
“I bet you look hot without them.”
Frankie chuckled and pulled you close for another kiss. Meanwhile your hand slithered down to the hem of his shirt and you tugged it up and off him.
Your mouth began salivating right away — his chest was broad and strong, a little hairy just how you liked it, his soft belly with a happy trail made your brain short-circuit.
You glided your palms over his pecks down to his stomach, hooked your fingers under his sweats waistband and batted your lushes at him.
“Frankieeee, take them off,” you whined, tugging on his pants.
“Not so fast, babygirl,” he smiled, taking your hands in his.
You were ready to cry with frustration but he brought his lips to your ear and murmured.
“Lemme taste you first.”
Suddenly he let out a groan, flipped you on your back, and pinned you to the bed with his heavy body.
The whiplash made you gasp but you happily opened your legs and arms for his big frame.
He gave you a passionate kiss but soon his lips began traveling down your body.
Holy fuck! You thought, realizing where he was heading. You were buzzing with excitement when he opened his shirt on you to pepper open-mouth kisses all over your breasts. He sucked on your nipples, humming from pleasure, giving attention to both buds. You knew your pussy was going to be the best stop so when he climbed all the way down, your thighs were thrown apart, his meal already served.
“Damn,” he breathed out when his eyes landed on your blooming cunt. His jaw slackened, his gaze clouded, he was staring at your heat for a few moments.
You were barely breathing, waiting for what he was going to do next.
“Wanted to do it for so long,” Frankie murmured and looked up at you from between your legs.
You opened your mouth to ask “Really?” but only a moan escaped your mouth when his lips reached your pussy. He started leaving soft kisses over your folds, your inner thighs, slowly and sensually driving you crazy with lust. His beard and moustache were a bit tickly but you didn’t care. You knew you’d come the second he gave some love to your clit, but as if being aware Frankie of that avoided touching it.
“You wanted me?” You asked, trying to ground yourself to a conversation.
Frankie looked up at you and nodded.
“Since the day we’ve met.”
You couldn’t believe your ears. “What?”
“Yeah,” Frankie said quietly, his lips dancing all over your spread pussy. “Santi stopped me from asking you out.”
“Arghhhh, asshole,” you growled, your eyes rolling to the back of your head with pleasure, and Frankie chucked.
“Yeah. I feel a little bad though…he’s gonna be mad.” Frankie glanced up at you with a trace of worry in his dark eyes before his tongue licked a stripe from your hole to your clit.
“Fuck him,” you moaned.
Frankie smiled against your folds and then took a deep breath of your scent, his nose nudging your clit. He whimpered and the sound made you clench and gush right onto his bearded chin.
Frankie hungrily licked it off and began eating you out in earnest.
“Look at this little pussy…,” he mumbled to you or to himself in between kisses and licks. “Delicious. No one can keep me away from her now.”
You giggled but your cheer soon evaporated when Frankie pushed your thighs down with his strong hands, opened his mouth wide and fully covered your wet pussy with it. His tongue pushed between your folds and he started swirling it around your twitching clit, meanwhile sucking on your pussy like he wanted to eat it whole.
“Fuckkkkkkkkk,” you whined, losing your mind from the noises, the sensation and the sight between your legs. The hottest man you knew — Frankie Morales, was feasting on your leaking cunt, moaning and slurping, slurping and moaning.
“Frankieeee,” you screamed, clutching his soft curls in your clammy hands. The man groaned and said, still ears deep in your pussy,
“Just like that, baby, keep saying my name.”
“Frankie- Frankie- Frankie- Frankie,” you chanted, closing and opening your eyes, trembling from immense amounts of pleasure.
When Frankie began sucking on your clit, massaging it with his lips, your back arched off the bed and clasping the covers between your fingers you started coming hard, your thighs tense under his palms. While you were thrashing and sobbing beneath him, Frankie brought his mouth lower and began drinking your juices which were seeping generously out of your clenching hole. Every nudge of his nose against your clit made you jerk with another ecstatic shock.
You’d never had such a perfect oral before and your lashes were covered in tears when Frankie plopped on the bed next to you.
“You ok?” He asked you as you were lying motionless and brain dead from all the orgasms. When you didn’t respond he cupped your face and rubbed your cheek with his thumb.
“We don’t have to continue today, princess. I see how spent you are …”
“Nonononono,” you hastily chanted, your eyes opened widely, your head shaking left and right frantically. “I’m good! Let’s fuck!”
Scared to death that Frankie’s cock would slip out of your hands, you sat up, threw his shirt off your body and quickly straddled Frankie’s hips.
He hissed and pulled you closer onto his stomach.
“Sorry, m’painfully hard,” he explained and you grinned at the thought.
“Then let me deal with it, baby,” you purred and lifted up on your knees. You moved behind his huge bulge and carefully slid his sweats and boxers down. As soon as your eyes ran down his happy trail, your pussy started tingling and you were ready to scream with excitement when Frankie’s cock was finally revealed to you. It made an epic entrance - it popped out of its confines eagerly, hit his lower belly, precum drops flying everywhere, and began bobbing in front of your widened eyes. You’d never thought you’d fall in love with a cock but at that moment you definitely did.
“Wow,” you commented, your lips parted in awe. Frankie smirked and grabbed the jumping dick by the base.
“Is it a good wow?” He repeated your earlier question and you giggled.
“Absolutely,” you nodded, still staring at the cock you’d been after. It was long and thick, bigger than anything you’d ever taken.
“I’ve been told it was too big a few times…I don’t know if you’ll enjoy… “ Frankie was looking up at you with concern in his eyes, chewing on his inner cheek.
Your jaw dropped. With every other man in the world you’d think it was a humble-brag. But not with Frankie. You were sure that his worry was genuine and real, that he cared about your pleasure and comfort more than about his own needs.
“Hey,” you gave Frankie a warm smile and wrapped your palm around his hand that was holding his cock. “You’re perfect. I’ll take as much as I can today but … a size queen title would suit me I think.”
Frankie laughed and you saw tension leaving his body.
“Yeah, please, stop if it hurts.”
Not scared at all, you scooted forward and pressed your mound to his thick shaft. His tip was at your navel and you both were gawking at how deep he’d be inside you. You swallowed hard but couldn’t wait to sink on all that meat.
Yet the desire to tease him overtook you. Frankie let out the neediest noise when you began grinding your pussy against his shaft, leaving your slick all over the soft skin there, his cock veins bulging underneath, glistening with your wetness. You played with him like this for some time, reveling in the sounds he was making, edging him and yourself.
“Princess, please…”, it was his turn to beg and when you heard his hoarse voice full of need and lust, you folded immediately.
Your hips flew up and you hovered over his waiting cock before your hole met his tip.
“Fuckkkkk,” you breathed out, taking his crown slowly but steadily, your hand splayed on his torso. He dipped his head into the pillow, his mouth opened, as you kept sinking on him inch by inch, your walls stretching around his girth.
“Is it all in?” You asked with your voice shaky, feeling unbelievably full.
Frankie choked on another moan, his stomach tense, hands gripping your hips tighter. You were driving him crazy with your pussy and you loved it.
“Ok, ok,” he gruffed and licked his thumb before bringing it to your clit. “Lemme help, my size queen.”
He began rubbing your slicked up bud with a perfect pace, not flicking it like a light switch like some of your exes had done, but drawing tight circles over it.
“So good…,” you whimpered, your pussy loosening up for his huge cock. Frankie’s caress really helped and soon you felt a cushion of his balls under your ass.
You both breathed out with satisfaction but soon Frankie pulled his brows together.
“I won’t last, baby. You’re so damn tight.”
“It’s ok, it’s ok,” you assured him and rolled your hips, drawing a moan out of the man. “Come inside me.. I’m on a pill.”
“Dios…” Frankie muttered, with his jaw slacked, his eyes hazy and dark. You were riding him and he placed his big hands on your bouncing tits. He was kneading them, twitching your nipples, groaning loudly.
You weren’t silent either, your moans were mixing with his, and the lewd music of your shared pleasure filled the room.
Frankie’s lustful gaze was hungrily sliding over your naked body, his puppy eyes gone, now you saw an animal in them, hungry and passionate.
“This is what you wanted, huh? My cock deep inside you? Right here…,” he placed his palm on your lower belly, probably feeling his huge cock under your sweaty skin.
You nodded eagerly, turned up to the maximum with the way he was talking to you.
“Yeah…played your little games, naughty little girl…lured me to the bathroom so I’d give it to you good…”
“You are… you feel so good, Frankie,” you chanted, dancing on his cock, moving sensually, giving him something to remember.
The adoration in his eyes added to your ecstasy, his thumb was still working your clit, and soon you began exploding in front of his clouded eyes, eagerly sliding up and down his long shaft, riding out the climax that was making you shake and moan. You’d probably collapse if not for Frankie’s big hands around your waist, holding you up.
“S’my—girllll,” Frankie praised you and immediately started squirting his cum against your fluttering walls, filling you like an eclair with his creamy load.
Your pussy milked him till the last drop, till his balls were empty, and happy with your work, you fell on Frankie’s chest.
He wrapped his muscular arms around you and held you close, while both of you were catching your breath.
You’d fall asleep like that, with him inside you, but Frankie turned onto his side, taking you with him. Then he covered both of your bodies with a blanket and pulled you closer.
You felt him nuzzling your hair and breathe in your scent. It made you smile.
Despite being content and well fucked, you couldn’t help but ask,
“Frankie… it’s not gonna be our last time, right?” You were looking at him with Bambi eyes, scared to hear the answer. After experiencing all that, you knew in your heart that you wouldn’t want to call Frankie just your brother’s best friend again.
“I told you…,” Frankie muttered, resting his forehead against yours. “No one can keep me away from you now. You’re mine.”
Mine!
You doubted that you’d ever smiled as widely as at that moment. His words filled your chest with so much joy you squeaked and threw your arms around his broad shoulders.
You finally had him, finally felt his heart beating against yours, finally had access to his huge cock, finally saw unconcealed admiration in his beautiful kind eyes.
Suddenly fear panged your heart. With all the scheming and thirsting over the man, you forgot to ask yourself. What’s next?
You parted from Frankie abruptly, your eyes widened.
“You know that Santi has a gun, yeah?”
Frankie chuckled.
“He has a few, actually.”
You whined and began chewing on your thumb nail nervously. You knew Santi wouldn’t do anything to you but to his friend? What if he’d want to fight him? What if they’d hurt each other. The consequences of your horny actions suddenly began to feel very real and upcoming.
Seeing your worried expression, Frankie cupped your cheek and leaned closer to your face, searching for your eyes.
“It’s gonna be fine, princess. I’ll fight for you if I had to.”
You mewled in terror and he added hastily, “not like that! Not physically. I’ll talk to Santi. I’ll make him accept it… accept us.”
You slowly nodded, feeling a little better. Then a thought popped into your naughty head so you clang to his body and whispered,
“But… can’t we sneak around for some time?”
“See each other in secret?”
You nodded, your mind drawing you pictures of forbidden hook-ups, fucking in the bathroom at parties, Frankie’s palm over your mouth, keeping your moans from being heard.
“It’ll be so hot…,” you mumbled with your eyes clouded by lust.
“It will be,” Frankie groaned, grabbing your asscheek with his hand and pushing his already hard cock against you. “But until Santi’s back…” he pinned you to the bed, settled between your legs, and whispered, brushing your lips with his, “I’m gonna use every second I have to make you scream as loudly as you can.”
Frankie swallowed your needy “yes, please” and pierced your wet pussy with his big cock.
Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic! I'd love to know what you think💞
Your boyfriend catches everyone’s eyes. Joel, for the most part, doesn’t seem to notice but you know better: They want him just as much as you do, and you need to figure out a way to keep people away.
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warnings: no outbreak, reader is afab, smut, established relationship, hickeys/biting (lots), sub!joel, he's kinda bratty though, no use of y/n & no physical description of reader, posessive!reader, dirty talk, cowgirl, creampie, a little bit of edging/teasing, petnames, a little bit of cockwarming/stuffing, brief nipple play (m receiving), idk how old joel is in this i pictured him like late 30s but there is a brief viagra mention oops.
rating: 18+.
word count: 2k. (i think this might be my shortest work yet??)
fox says: hi friends, thank you for reading! this is based off of this request by @corderamuerta! i sort of went a little beyond what the request mentioned and added a little bit (a lot) of subby!joel bc it just.... kind of worked out that way idk but i hope this still fits well for the request!! pictures are for aesthetics only, there's no mention of reader's physical appearance or anything!! as always pls let me know how we feel.
also available on archiveofourown.
You’ve never been particularly possessive of others before— Most of your boyfriends never caught much attention apart from yours and, in all honesty, you never loved them enough to feel threatened by anyone else. With Joel, however, you always find yourself sticking a little closer to his side, your hands roaming his shoulders a little bit more obviously whenever the two of you are out. He’s never given you a reason to feel intimidated, but you’ve never been with a man as attractive as Joel Miller.
He catches everyone’s eyes. The cashier at your favorite food truck, the teller at the bank, the security guard at the mall; everyone stares with varying degrees of want and need. Joel, for the most part, doesn’t seem to notice: He thinks the cashier is staring because he orders way too many olives on his fish taco, and the teller because she’s trying to figure out if he’s going to rob the place, the security guard is just doing his job at keeping the weird man in check at Victoria’s Secret.
But you know better. They want him just as much as you do, and you need to figure out a way to keep people away.
The first time you give him a hickey, Joel laughs it off. He says something about being too damned old for that but you notice the way his fingers tighten on your hips, the way his breath stutters and how he doesn’t ever try to pull away— The mark is on his chest, hidden away with any t-shirt, but every time you see it brings a thrill that you’ve never felt before, the little ‘O’ shaped bruise going from deep purple to a soft blue to green to finally fading entirely. You actually miss it when it’s gone, your fingers tracing the pattern you’ve memorized over his chest as the two of you lie in the afterglow one evening.
“What’re ya doin’?” Joel asks when you lean over him, his chest still shiny with sweat. You poke your tongue out, running over his nipple, tasting and testing. His breath stutters, a hand coming up to the back of your neck. “Not sure I can go again so quick, sugar.”
You chuckle against his skin, climbing over him as you nose his pecks, your mouth going from one nipple to the other.
“You don’t have to.” You tell him, your naked body molding against his as you move upwards, your teeth dragging across his chest until you reach the hollow of his throat.
Joel whimpers when your mouth latches onto his skin, biting and suckling until his hips are buckling up into yours, his fingers digging into your love handles as if he’s unsure whether he wants to pull you close or push you away.
“Goddamnit, woman.” There’s no real heat to his voice, and you grin when he tilts his head backwards, giving you better access to the column of his throat. “Everyone’s gon’ see it.”
“Good.” You say, your tongue running over his Adam’s apple before you bite down onto the side of his neck. “Let them all know you’re mine.”
Joel chuckles. “ ‘S that what I am?”
You pull back just enough to stare at him, one eyebrow raised, both of your hands sprawled on his chest. “Are you not, Miller?”
“Of course I am.” He says and, this time, his voice doesn’t carry any of the teasing it did before. Joel’s hands run up your sides, his callouses catching on the soft skin above your ribcage. “ ‘M all yours.”
His whispered words make you shiver, the weight and truth of them settling somewhere deep inside your core. You shift, fully straddling him now, Joel’s soft cock brushing against your ass when he grips you.
“Say it again.”
“I’m yours.” Joel tells you, his brown eyes locked into yours. “Just yours, sugar.”
The kiss you share is bruising, teeth clacking against each other, your nose pushing against his as his hands dig into you, pulling your naked body as close as it’s physically possible. Joel whines when you bite down onto his bottom lip just on the side of too hard, his hips bucking against you; you’re still so wet from your slick and his come that you slide against his navel, your clit catching on his pelvic bone. Your mouth goes from his lips to his jawline, sucking hard on the little patch next to his chin where his beard doesn’t really grow.
“Baby—” Joel says, and you can’t tell if it’s a warning or a plea. Your teeth scrape against his jaw when you turn your face to the side, latching onto his pulse point.
“Say it.”
“I’m yours.” He says it quicker this time, unthinking, his head thrown back against the pillow. You leave another mark behind, the redness already deepening by the time you bite down on the soft of his collarbone. “Let me— I need to be inside’a you.”
Joel turns a little, reaching for the bedside table where you know he keeps the blue little pills he swears are for ‘emergencies only’ but you swat his hand away.
“Leave it.” You say, leaning back so grab a hold of Joel’s half hard cock and he raises an eyebrow at you, hesitating for a moment before he finally leans back. “I want you hard because of me, not because of the pills.”
Joel opens his mouth, but you shush him with a kiss. You know his desire for you isn’t at stake here. You know that it happens and that his refractory period is going to get longer with age and stress and that it’s not a you problem or a him problem but you don’t want to hear it at that moment. Instead, you kiss him until Joel is writhing underneath you, panting into your mouth.
It’s not easy, or sexy, when you finally push Joel’s only half hard cock inside of you. You’re still wet and open enough that you’re able to sit somewhat comfortable on him but it’s not exactly easy to do so, and Joel needs to help you at one point, hissing through his teeth as you sink little by little. You run your hands over his chest once Joel is fully sheathed inside of you, your nails dragging over the dark hairs there, thumbing his nipples in the way you know he likes.
The power you feel when you watch him from above, a trail of purple bruises down his neck and chest contrasting even more with how furiously his skin is blushing, isn’t something you can quite explain. You wish you could reach for your phone, take a picture or a thousand of him like this, hairs standing on ends, panting even though neither of you are moving, his eyes hazy from desire.
“I love you.” He says, the words stuttering and mending together when you start to move your hips back and forth, just a little bit. “I love you.”
“I know.” You smile, leaning down so you can latch your mouth to his shoulder, the muscles rippling under you. “And everyone’s gonna know too.”
You can feel him hardening inside of you, thickening and pulsing as you speed up the movements a little— Not yet bouncing, just teasing, circling your hips the best you can as you press your chest down onto his. Joel’s hands knead your asscheeks and you know bite down hard when he tries to use it as leverage to dictate the pace.
“Nuh-uh.” You soothe the bite with your tongue, tracing the indents of your teeth before you pull back. You peck him on the lips, lightly, restraining yourself from biting his bottom lip again— You don’t want to hurt him, not really, just enough to leave traces of your presence behind. “You take what I give you.”
Joel’s chest rumbles underneath you, somewhere between a laugh and a moan— That’s a sentence you’ve stolen straight from his books, the sort of taunting you’ve heard time and time again when Joel is in a teasing mood.
“Is this payback?” He asks, but he’s grinning ear to ear.
“Maybe.” You lift yourself just slightly before sinking down onto him again. “Or maybe I’m just figuring out why you like bossing me around so much.”
“You’re a real menace, ain’t ya?”
“Oh, am I?” You raise your hips a little, hands pressing down onto Joel’s chest as you hold the position. “Want me to stop?”
“Please don’t.” The tendons on Joel’s neck strain as he holds himself back and your stomach flutters at the knowledge that he could easily flip the two of you over but, no matter how many seconds pass before you sink back onto him, Joel remains still. “I’ll be good— Just please don’t stop, sugar, c’mon.”
You’re uncertain if you’re taking pity on him or on yourself but you finally allow your body to move at a pace that has you moaning above him, fingernails digging into Joel’s chest as you chase your pleasure; Joel doesn’t seem to mind, his fingers grasping whatever part of you that he can reach, his big hands roaming from your ass to your hips to your chest and then back to your ass— He plants his feet on the mattress, hips bucking upwards into yours.
“Fuck, Joel—” You lose rythm but he’s right there, pistoning his hips up while he pulls you down onto him, your clit grinding against him with every thrust. “Joel.”
“That’s right, baby.” He grunts, fingers bruising your hips with how much he grips you. “Say my name— Tell me who’s the only one that makes you feel like this.”
That snaps you back to reality. You dig the heels of your palms onto his chest, and Joel groans when you push into a particularly sore bruise— A groan of pain, this time, and he frowns up at you.
“No!” You whine, taking the hands that are gripping your hips and pinning them above his head; Joel interlocks his fingers with yours so fast you think he might not even be aware that he’s done it. “I’m in charge here. You don’t get to make me feel anything.”
Joel gives you a small, toothy grin. He looks boyish like that, smiling up at you, his curls a mess where they sprawl over his forehead and pillow.
“Yes, ma’am.” He says, but his hips still ondulate one last time before he finally lets his weight fall back onto the mattress.
This time, when you move, you’re not thinking about Joel’s pleasure. With your hands in his, both still pinned above Joel’s head, you move for yourself, hips circling and bucking until you find the right position, the tilt of your hips that has the head of his cock brushing up on just the right spot inside of you.
Joel comes inside of you with a strangled cry, his fingers squeezing yours as he holds onto you just as much as you hold onto him, the tendons on his neck straining as he struggles to stay still. It makes for the prettiest picture, you think, having Joel like this— Teeth clenched, chest flushed, his neck and torso littered with red and purple shapes that you put there; the man that is always such a fortress, big and strong and capable, turned into a bruised, whining mess underneath you.
You ride him all through your own orgasm until your legs and lungs are burning, your slick and his come slipping out of you as Joel’s cock softens. You let yourself topple over him, your nose bumping against his jawline as you rest on the crook of his shoulder. Joel finally lets your hands go, his arms wrapping around you, both of you clammy with sweat and spit. You poke your tongue out, circling a particularly nasty bruise on his pulse point.
“I’m goin’ to get ripped to fuckin’ shreds at work tomorrow.” Joel says but you can hear the smile in his voice.
“Poor Joelie.” You coo. “Got fucked for an inch of his life and now everyone will know.”
“Fuckin’ menace.” Joel barks out a laugh, tilting his head enough to press an open-mouthed kiss to your lips. “You’re lucky I love you, pretty girl.”
a brief moment of dubious consent due to..., accidental creampie, bareback sex, p in v, somewhat subby!joel, size kink, breeding kink, humiliation kink, edging/ruined orgasm
a/n: i wrote this with the intention of posting it on my birthday last week, but life sucks sometimes. anyways, there needs to be more sub!p men fic. am i right, @time-for-my-weekly-spanking? not beta read, so don't yell at me.
The way Joel fucks you can never be labeled as anything other than exquisite. His breath is hot against the sensitive skin of your neck, his mouth closing over the pulse point just below your ear so as to taste the salt of your sweat. The coarse scratch of his chest hair drags across your breasts as he leans in close, the low rumble of his groan vibrating through your ribcage. The muscles in his back shift and flex under the featherlight touch of your fingertips. A large hand pins your wrist above your head, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, his thick fingers digging into the soft flesh in a way that makes your stomach flutter.
Despite being lost in the throes of pleasure, you can tell how dangerously close Joel is to coming. His thrusts are no longer the steady, rolling grind that he started with, but desperate and choppy. The thick head of his cock grazes against your cervix with every sloppy snap of his hips. The veins along his shaft throb against your stretched rim, his balls slapping against your ass with each stuttered movement. “Joel…” you warn.
He shakes his head fast, jaw tight and teeth clenched as he fights his impending orgasm. “I know, baby. I know. M’pullin’ out, I promise.”
That had always been the deal between the two of you – he could fuck you bare like he wanted, but he had to pull out – and until tonight, Joel had always been overly cautious. He’d pull out earlier than he needed to, stroking himself those last few seconds before spilling across the backs of your thighs.
Tonight though, Joel seemed to be struggling to hold up his end of the bargain. He rises onto his knees and hooks one of your legs over his broad shoulders. The new angle lets him sink into you further, grinding against that spongy spot inside you with merciless precision. Your body clenches around him, squeezing his cock in a way that makes him break with a choked sound. “Fuck, baby. M’gonna come–”
He rips out of you at the very last second, cock throbbing in the cool summer air. His hand wraps around the thick, slick shaft as he jerks himself with fast, desperate strokes. With an exasperated groan, the first hot rope of come shoots out of him, landing exactly where he wants it - splattered perfectly over your swollen clit. Before you can even react, a second spurt follows dripping down your folds in a sticky, pearly streak.
The sight of his release painting your pussy flips a switch in him instantly. That primal urge in him that is usually kept locked down roars to the surface. Joel’s chest heaves, his entire body going rigid as every civilized thought gets wiped clean and is replaced with the need to be inside you. “Fuck. Fuck, baby–” He drives into you in one brutal, instinctive thrust, thrusting every thick inch of his cock back into the heat of your cunt. The stretch is sudden and overwhelming despite him pulling out only moments earlier.
“Joel–” you manage to breathlessly exclaim as he turns his head and groans against your ankle. His orgasm hits him harder now that he’s buried where he knows he shouldn’t be, the guilt and wrongness only seeming to intensify everything as he continues to spill inside you.
His whole body shakes with the force of it, completely lost in the rush of filling you when he promised he wouldn’t. “Oh fuck–” he chokes out, gasping and moaning as he grinds himself impossibly deeper, pushing his spend as far inside you as he can.
Your leg slips from his shoulder and Joel’s body collapses forward with a groan, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He trembles above you, arms braced on either side of your head, too weak to hold himself up fully as he attempts to catch his breath. Even after the last powerful aftershocks ripple through him, Joel stays buried to the hilt, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary roll, unable to stop chasing the euphoric feeling. His cock twitches inside your come-filled pussy, his body refusing to accept that it’s over.
The room falls silent, the gravity of what just happened settling over you until it’s almost suffocating. Joel finally slumps over you, his forehead nudging into your shoulder, arms wrapped tight around your middle like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His breath is shaky as he burrows his face into your neck and you sense the tension and unease radiating off of him. “...baby. I–I fucked up,” he admits, voice wrecked from both exhaustion and nerves.
You can feel the warmth of his release slowly leaking out around his softening cock and you try to lift your head to see, but Joel is heavy over top of you. You tap the side of his ass, urging him to get up and thankfully he understands the gesture. He eases himself out of you, his cock slipping out of you with a wet noise, and falls back onto the mattress, covering his face with his forearm. “Jesus…” you breathe, having propped yourself up on your elbows to look down at the mess he made. The sheen of your slick is smeared glossy across your inner thighs. Joel’s come is everywhere – seeping out of your hole in thick, pearly white streaks and dripping onto the bedsheets beneath you.
Joel sits up, leaning back on one hand as he takes in the sight of your spread thighs, watching as his come slowly trickles from your entrance. The guilt of breaking his promise to you starts to eat at him; but, alongside the shame is a dark, hungry satisfaction that he can’t push away. The conflicting feelings weave together into some fucked up shame spiral and he lets out a heavy sigh, flopping back onto the mattress.
He hears you say his name, but the sound barely registers. He’s too lost in his own head, trapped somewhere between regret and disgust. You call out again, this time a little louder, and he rolls onto his side to face you. Without a word, he leans in, one hand cradling your cheek as he kisses you. It’s not rushed or desperate, but rather sweet, as if his lips were trying to say everything he was having difficulty putting into words. There’s an apology in the way that his thumb gently strokes the side of your face. There’s hunger in the way his tongue slides against yours. And, there’s relief in the quiet sigh he breathes into the kiss, like touching you is the only thing keeping him grounded. “M’sorry, baby…” he murmurs against your lips.
His eyes flick back down to the mess between your thighs, brows furrowing together. “Fuck…look at what I did to you,” he whispers. “As soon as I can feel my damn legs, “we’re gonna get in the car, okay? I’ll drive you to the pharmacy and we’ll see about gettin’ you the mornin’ after pill.” Joel shakes his head, disappointed in himself, but even more so at his cock which twitches with interest. “I promised. I fuckin’ promised and I just…” his voice cracks, “the second I came, I lost it. Buried myself right back in like some goddamn animal.” There’s a short pause, Joel swallowing down a dangerous thought, “Jesus Christ, baby…what the hell did I do?”
You grab Joel’s face with both hands before he can spiral any further, pulling him into a kiss that shuts him up and steals whatever apology was about to tumble out. His lips quiver against yours, unsure if he should even be allowed this kind of forgiveness. It isn’t until the tip of your tongue slides slowly over the seam of his lips that he melts. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding and the tension in his jaw finally eases. His hand comes to rest on your waist and he kisses you back, trying to convey his gratitude for not pushing him away.
When you break apart, you rest your forehead against him and brush your thumbs over his stubbled cheekbones. “Should make you go by yourself,” you mumble against his lips, no malice in your voice. “Explain to the pharmacist what you did.”
Joel looks at you with wide, pleading eyes, knowing he deserves every bit of shame and reproach that would come from confessing it aloud. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his face starting to heat up. “Baby…” he breathes out, voice barely above a whisper.
You smile softly, eyes locked on his, “She’s going to take one look at this guilty face and just know that you couldn’t keep your cock where it belonged.” Joel makes a ragged sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “She’ll make you say it too,” you add, dragging your thumb over his bottom lip. “What you did. Out loud.”
Joel’s eyes flutter shut, cheeks burning hotter under your gaze, his forehead dropping to your shoulder in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. You’re not exactly sure what prompts you, but you find yourself sliding your fingers into Joel’s hair, gently tugging his head back up so you can see his face. “Tell me what you’d say to her,” you whisper. “Tell me like you’re standing at the counter.”
Joel shakes his head weakly, attempting to resist your request, but his pupils are blown wide, lust swallowing his irises. His cock twitches with interest, blood rushing to where he’s already growing half-hard between his thighs.
You let your gaze drop, catching the sudden movement in your peripheral vision. Joel lets out a small, miserable whine and tries to bury his face in your neck again, but you keep your grip firm in his hair. “Joel,” you say, slightly amused but with a strangely cruel undertone to it. “Are you getting hard while apologizing?”
Your question lingers in the air, and the real shock of it hits you, because Joel is not the type to be brought down to his metaphorical knees. He is always the one in control – bigger, stronger, unmistakably male – and seeing him like this almost feels surreal. You can’t help but think that it looks good on him for a change.
Joel’s breath stutters, his cock betraying him as it twitches under your gaze. His blush deepens until he’s red all the way up to the tips of his ears. He feels exposed, ridiculous and so fucking turned on that it’s making his head spin. “Baby, I–I’m trying not to.”
You tilt your head and let out a disbelieving laugh, glancing down at his cock steadily thickening between you. “Doesn’t look like it. Looks like you’re getting big and hard just from thinking about having to talk to the pharmacist later.”
A shiver zips up Joel’s spine and he barely restrains the groan that wants to escape. He fucking loves it when you call him big. Not just because of the way it strokes his ego – though he loves when you admire his dick – but because the way you say it makes him feel powerful. Hearing you use that word against him, teasing him while he’s exposed like this, makes his stomach tighten. The contradiction of being called ‘big’ while feeling so small and humiliated fucks with his head in the best way. Because no matter how big he is – how easily he could pin you down and take control – here he is, rock hard and almost submissive for you. His cock throbs, heavy and flushed dark, curving up towards his stomach as the tip glistens with a fresh bead of precome.
“Answer me,” you say, voice low and commanding as you give his hair another firm tug until his eyes are trained on you.
“...fuck,” he mumbles under his breath, unable to keep himself in check as you stare down at him. “Yes…okay? Yes, I’m gettin’ hard. I hate it and I can’t fuckin’ help it.”
Joel looks completely mortified, but his hips twitch upward anyway, like his body is begging for attention. His big, guilty brown eyes stay locked on yours, glassy and desperate. A long moment stretches between you while you watch him squirm, shame and arousal practically eating him alive. You lean in closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “That’s because you liked it,” you whisper. “You liked filling me up when you weren’t supposed to. You liked fucking up.”
His whole body tenses, his cock jerking with another helpless twitch. “Fuck…baby,” he whispers. “So fucking much.”
You let the silence sit for another beat, just to watch him sit with his admission. His hand flexes at his side like he’s dying to reach out and touch you – to grab your hips, pull you closer, bury his face between your thighs, and eat you out until you’re shaking and pushing him away. Anything to distract from the embarrassment of telling someone else how much he enjoyed coming inside you.
When you’re satisfied that you had made him wait long enough, you loosen your grip on his hair and slide your hand down to cup his jaw. “Joel,” you say softly. He responds with a hum, leaning into your touch. “Say it.”
Joel blinks, his breath shallow. “Say what?”
You lean in until your lips are barely an inch from his, “What you’re going to tell the pharmacist.”
Joel’s eyes flutter shut for a second, his lips parting slightly as he half-expects you to lean in and kiss him. When you don’t, he lets out a huff. After a moment, he relents, “Sorry ma’am,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Can I bother you for Plan B? I…I accidentally…” His sentence tapers off, embarrassment and arousal tying his tongue while you look at him expectantly. “She–she told me to pull out, but I couldn’t help myself.”
You tsk at him, a low, disappointed sound that makes his shoulder tense. You trail your fingers from where it cups his cheek, down the side of his neck, over the rapid thud of his heartbeat in his chest, until you reach his navel. You trace his happy trail with the pad of your pointer finger, purposefully keeping away from his more than interested cock. “Keep going,” you state, more demand than request. “You weren’t finished."
Joel looks at you wrecked, completely at your mercy as you continue teasing him with featherlight touches. “Baby…I–”
You cut him off mid-sentence, wrapping your fingers firmly around the thick base of his cock. He goes stock still, his eyes flying wide open as he lets out a sharp gasp, “Fuck–”. You hold him there, tight and possessive, feeling his cock throb hot and heavy in your palm, but refusing to stroke him.
“Keep going,” you say calmly, your thumb brushing lightly over the prominent vein on the underside of his shaft. “Don’t stop just because I have your cock in my hand.”
Joel licks his lips, eyes glued to yours, his thighs trembling as he fights the overwhelming urge to thrust up into your fist. “She told me to pull out,” he starts, your grip tightening. “…but I saw how pretty she looked on my cock and I–” He groans softly, enraptured by the way you’re looking at him. “I couldn’t help myself, baby. I–I just needed to feel you feel you full of me.”
You lean in close, nose brushing against the shell of his ear, and whisper, “Pathetic.”
A broken groan tears out of Joel’s chest, shame flooding his face. He jerks his hips involuntarily, eagerly chasing the heat of your palm. His body shakes – the big, strong man who’s always in control, trembling from a single whispered insult.
“Go on,” you purr in his ear. “Repeat what you’d say to the pharmacist. Word for word.”
Joel’s eyes squeeze shut, his voice is wrecked, cracking with every humiliating word. “...Sorry, ma’am. Can I get a Plan B? I accidentally came inside my girl. She told me to pull out but I…I couldn’t help but fill her up anyway.” His hips twitch helplessly, precome drooling from the tip and leaking over your fist.
“And why not,” you ask softly, adjusting your grip, your thumb swiping over the flushed, sensitive head.
Joel keens, his back arching off the bed. “Because–” he starts, swallowing down a shaky breath, “because she was squeezin’ me so good that I lost control.”
“I told you to pull out,” you remind him, thumb continuing to move.
He nods quickly, shame tightening in his throat. “I know, baby. I know. I did at first but…” Joel lets out a strangled whine, only furthering his embarrassment, “...fuck.”
“But what, Joel?” you ask, lips still brushing his ear in a tease. “Finish your sentence.” Your hand slides up his length in one smooth stroke, then back down to the base. He’s so fucking big in your grip, your fingers barely meeting around his shaft due to the sheer size of him. His cock is a complete mess, glistening and still slick with his earlier load.
Joel’s hands fist the sheets, needing to hold onto something, the fabric pulling away from the edge of the mattress as he fights for control. “I didn’t listen,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “Stuffed myself right back inside.”
You pull back just enough to see his face, his pupils blown with lust, his lips parted as he pants, desperate for more – desperate for something. “Good boy,” you praise. Joel’s entire body seizes up, his cock surging with want, as he attempts to push himself deeper into your grasp. You keep stroking him, the pace excruciating, letting your thumb swirl over the messy come-slick head on every upstroke. “Now tell her why you’re there,” you murmur.
Joel lets out a broken whine, hips jerking helplessly. His voice cracks as he forces the words out, shame and arousal twisting together so tightly he can barely speak. “ ‘Cause she needs the morning after pill,” he breathes out. “And it’s all my fault.” Joel shoves his hips up, spearing his cock into your grip as he starts fucking your fist in short, needy strokes. “All my fucking fault.”
The big, dominant Joel Miller is officially gone. In place is this desperate, leaking, shame-drenched version of him who can’t stop confessing how badly he fucked up – how badly he needed to come inside you – and how much he loved it.
“Greedy boy. You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
He doesn’t answer you. You let him use your hand to get off, watching his face go slack with pleasure before urging his hips down and slowing your hand. Your fingers tighten around him, just enough to control the pace, forcing his thrusts to become shallow and frustratingly restricted. Every time he tries to move, you ease off, keeping him right on the agonizing edge without letting him tip over.
“That’s it,” you croon softly, “Tell her exactly why you need it.”
Joel’s hands fist the sheets tighter, knuckles white as he bunches the fabric at his sides. “‘Cause–fuck…’cause I came inside you, baby,” he groans. “Pussy looked so good covered in my come that I just had to get back inside.”
You feel him swell impossibly bigger in your hand, the thick shaft pulsing in time with his heartbeat, as he teeters dangerously close to the edge. His balls draw up tight, the first warning of his impending orgasm.
Joel’s breath catches, his eyes starting to roll back, inches away from satisfaction. You let go, your hand pulling away completely, leaving his cock twitching and bobbing angrily in the air. He lets out a broken sound as his orgasm crests and then crashes without release. His cock kicks hard, pulsing uselessly, a thick bead of precome dribbling pathetically from the tip and sliding down his shaft. His hips buck in the air, every muscle straining as everything fades into a cruel, aching denial. He collapses towards you, his body practically shaking as he presses his forehead to your shoulder. “Fuck…baby…please…” he begs.
You let him ache, his chest heaving with quick, uneven breaths, his denied cock twitching and leaking against his stomach. Every heavy throb is visible as he attempts to gather himself. He tries to tamp down his arousal, but underneath is something deeper – raw, aching need.
You press a hand gently to his chest, urging him to lie flat and Joel obeys instantly, falling back onto the mattress fully and without protest. You swing a leg over him, straddling his hips, your slick folds parting around him. His head falls back with a guttural groan as you start to rock against him, the fat head of his cock dragging hot and slippery over your swollen clit making you both moan. You feel him shudder underneath you, a low groan vibrating through his chest as he curses silently, “...fuck, baby. Just like that.”
Joel’s hands fly to your thighs, fingers digging into your flesh like he’s barely holding himself together. His breathing is ragged, eyes half-lidded and desperate as he watches you use him. You tease him like that for a few more torturous seconds without giving him what he really needs, a needy whine slipping out before he can stop it.
Without hesitation, you take his cock in hand, lining him up with your entrance and sinking down all the way to the hilt. The stretch is perfect, your walls squeezing tight around him, greedy for more. A broken moan escapes both of you at the same time as Joel springs up, sitting up beneath you in a rush, one arm wrapping around your back as he pulls you into a messy, desperate kiss. Joel licks into your mouth like he’s starving for you. One hand slides up your back, while the other stays wrapped around your middle as he guides you harder onto his cock.
“Fuck, baby…” he pants between kisses, “you feel so goddamn good.” Joel’s forehead drops to your shoulder, breath hot against your skin as he lets you take complete control, utterly lost in the feeling of being buried inside you again.
“Keep going,” you say, pulling off of him until only the tip of him remains inside you, then slamming back down until he’s fully sheathed again. “Tell the pharmacist what you did.”
Joel’s brain is barely coherent. “Fuck–I–” His hands dig into your skin, almost like he’s afraid you’ll leave him ruined and desperate again. “M’sorry, ma’am,” he begins, his words somewhat slurred as you continue to mercilessly ride him, the wet heat of your cunt enveloping him over and over again. “Need a plan B for my–fuck– girl.” His voice cracks as you grind your clit against his pelvis, the coarse hair on his groin prickling into your skin. “I’m sorry,” he groans, starting to babble, the confession spilling out in desperate, shattered pieces. “So fucking sorry. Felt so good. Fuck, baby…you feel so good. Needed to fill you up.”
Joel is embarrassingly close already, his hips stuttering up to meet your rhythm. “Fuck, baby. Hop off–fuck, I’m gonna–” he gasps, starting to panic. His hands scramble frantically at your hips, trying to lift you off him to avoid further incident.
But you don’t let him. You slam down onto him one last time, taking him as deep as you can, rolling your hips in tight circles that eke him closer to the finish line. Your walls clench around him like a vice and Joel’s eyes widen in shock. “No–baby, wait–I can’t–fuck!”
His panicked warning dissolves into a guttural groan as his cock pulses violently inside you, his eyes rolling back into his head, vision going white, as thick, hot ropes of come flood you for the second time that afternoon. His entire body trembles beneath you, his fingers bruising your skin where he grips you as if you’re the only thing anchoring him to Earth.
The wet warmth of his spend spills from your cunt and drips down his shaft, coating him in his own mess. Joel’s face is slack, experiencing what one can only assume to be pure bliss – like nothing in the world exists except the tight, slick heat of your cunt milking him dry.
You ride the high right alongside him, your bodies in a perfect, filthy sync until your own orgasm crashes into you without warning. Your thighs lock tight around his hips as white-hot pleasure rips up your spine. You cry out, your head lolling back, his name slipping from your lips as every muscle shakes with wave after wave of mind-numbing pleasure.
Joel starts to slowly soften inside of you but doesn’t dare look down at the mess. “Still gotta go to the pharmacy, baby.”
The fluorescent lights of the pharmacy feel way too bright as Joel stands at the counter, posture rigid like he’s waiting on his own execution. The pharmacist, a no-nonsense type of woman in her fifties, offers him a polite smile. “How can I help you today?”
Joel’s face immediately burns red, his blush crawling all the way up to his ears. He rubs the back of his neck, glancing over at you like maybe you’ll save him from utter embarrassment, but you don’t. He clears his throat, an attempt at keeping himself from stuttering which immediately backfires as soon as he opens his mouth to speak. “Uh–I–I–uh…I need the, uh…the Plan B pill.”
The pharmacist doesn’t even blink, she just nods calmly and types something into the computer, “One moment, sir. I’ll grab that for you.”
Joel lets out an apprehensive breath, muttering under his breath while his fingers tap nervously on the counter. He prays the ground will just swallow him whole. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbles to himself.
The pharmacist returns with the small blue box and sets it on the counter, scanning the barcode. “Alright, if that’s it for today, that’ll be–”
“It’s my fault,” Joel blurts out, far too loud, before realizing his blunder. “I–I messed up.”
You watch the pharmacist’s eyebrows slowly lift. In truth, your hand reaches for him like you’re going to stop him, but the words tumble out of him quicker than expected. “She told me to pull out but I just lost my head.”
You bite down hard on your lip to keep from laughing, your face heating with a mix of second-hand embarrassment and delight. The pharmacist blinks, completely unfazed. “Oh. Well…it happens. That’ll be $54.11.”
Joel looks like he’s two seconds away from melting into the floor. His neck and ears are bright red, jaw clenched so tight you’re afraid he’s going to pop a vein in his forehead. He fumbles for his wallet, dropping his debit card with a loud clatter, cursing quietly under his breath. You place a steady hand on his bicep and he manages to swipe the card with shaking fingers, refusing to look at you.
When the transaction is complete, the pharmacist hands him the bag, telling him she hopes he has a good day. He can’t even respond with words. He raises his hand, nodding his head and gently takes you by the arm, leading you out of the pharmacy as quickly as he can. When he reaches the sidewalk, he turns towards you, the bulge evident in his jeans, his voice dropping into a hushed whisper only you can hear. “Baby…I swear I ain’t ever been that embarrassed in all my life.”
The minute the front door clicks shut behind you, Joel lets out a heavy exhale, dropping the keys to his truck on the entryway table. You barely make it two steps before he reaches for you, grabbing your hand and pulling you into him, your back flush against his broad chest. His face drops into the crook of your neck, lips brushing your skin like he needs the contact to steady himself.
He turns you to face him and his eyes are soft, filled with adoration and love. The flush of humiliation hasn’t fully faded, his ears tinted pink as he cocks his head to the side and then leans in to kiss you. The kiss starts slow, as if he’s asking for permission, but the moment you kiss him back, it deepens – slow and hungry in the softest way. His hands slide down your back, palms warm and steady, pressing you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies. “Baby…”, he whispers, his lips not leaving yours. “...you were real mean to me.”
You smile, humming in agreement, “Yeah, you gonna let me do it again?”
Joel swallows, eyes dropping to your mouth, his response somewhat shy, “Jesus…I–yeah,we’ll talk about it.”
His forehead rests against yours and he breathes you in for a long moment, then kisses you again. His arms tighten around you as the tension starts to bleed out of his shoulders. “Thank you,” he murmurs, the words barely more than a breath. “For helpin’ me take care of it. For not bein’ mad. For…hell, for everything.”
You feel his body relax fully into yours like he’s finally letting the weight of the day settle. His thumb keeps stroking your cheek in slow, gentle circles as he holds you close, safe in the quiet of your apartment. “Maybe it’s time we start trying,” you suggest. His head whips towards you, eyes wide and curious, trying to gauge if you actually mean it. You nod as if answering his silent question and you swear you’ve never seen him happier.
✦summary: You know Steve doesn't see you like that. You know because you asked him, and he said no. So it's not really fair, that he'd reject you and keep making you love him after, is it. ✦
✦warnings/tags: steve rogers x female!reader, modern!au, no use of y/n, pining, rejection (at the start, off page, and steve's a liar about it), no description of reader (pictures for aesthetic only), fluff, angst, love confessions, some plot to get to all that porn, feral level smut, (dry humping, teasing, making steve lose control, fingering, light spanking, praise kink, manhandling, big dick steve, squriting, p in v sex, creampie, breeding kink, soft!dom steve), soft!steveoutside of smut✦
✦wc: 10.9k✦
✦Author's Note: this one hit ME too hard bc i based it on real life too much. oops. all the better for the horny ig. Enjoy!✦
You’re not looking for him in the crowd. And if anyone says you are, they’re a big, fat liar.
Active scanning is not looking. It’s a part of the job, to see who’s here. What kind of interviews you’re going to be able to get, who’s already closing in on who, who’s snuggled up and gossiping and might not notice you eavesdropping. If you’re smart about this—and you always are—you’re going to walk away from tonight with a comment from Secretary Ross, Pepper Potts, or even an Avenger themselves.
But not him.
You have no interest in walking away with a comment from him.
“They’re here.” Your coworker Stacy bumps your shoulders, her eyes wide and fixed across the room. “Holy shit, they’re actually here-“
“It’s their fundraiser.” You mutter, keeping your attention on a senator bumbling about near the drinks. “It would be crazy if they weren’t here.”
“Yeah, but- It’s all of them. I’ve never seen all of them-“
“Yes, you have.”
Stacy glares at you. “Well, not so close.”
You glance over, pointedly only looking at their feet. “They’re not that close.”
“I could touch one.” Stacy breathes, and you snort.
“You should go try that.”
That earns you another glare, and a smack on the arm. And you deserve it, but you just laugh and look back to your target. The tipsy, red-eyed senator who’s going to have a few more drinks, and tells you all about that bill congress is trying to pass about the Enhanced. You’ve read it three times, and it’s a disgusting invasion of privacy, but those documents were off the record. If you can get a Senator, talking about how he wants to force all superheroes to either be sterilized or record their sex lives-
Stacy pinches your arm, and you squeak so loudly it echoes off the domed, ballroom ceiling. Some attention darts in your direction, but everyone quickly loses interest when they realize it’s nothing all that interesting. Your face is burning as you smooth your dress, and it doesn’t stop burning. It feels like someone is tending to the hot embarrassment, fluttering in your tummy and restless in your fingers. Like someone is looking right through you, monitoring you, watching you-
“He’s looking at you.” Stacy hisses in your ear, buzzing with so much excitement you’re sure she’s about to turn into glitter and explode like fireworks, and you’re going to throttle her.
“He is now, because you,” you shove her shoulder. It doesn’t do anything to stamp out her thrill at your worst nightmare. “Fucking made him notice-“
“No, he was looking before-“
“No, he wasn’t-“
“Yes, he was-“
“No, he wasn’t-“
“Who wasn’t what.”
You freeze, and Stacy looks over your head with a fawning, dazed expression. You’re going to kill her. You’re going to cut her up into tiny pieces and burn them all in separate furnaces, and then you’re going to steal her dog and make it forget all about her, and marry her husband and make her cute little kid your Cinderella as bloodline punishment-
“Hi, Mr. Captain Sir.” She giggles, looking back down to you with a wide-eyed it’s him expression.
I’m going to kill you. You mouth. She doesn’t seem all that bothered by the threat.
“Uh- Hi. You don’t have to-“ You hear him shift on his feet behind you. “Steve is alright.”
You can picture him rubbing the back of his neck, trying to look smaller. More humble and approachable, when he’s a modern walking Hercules. A better version, who doesn’t kill his wife and kids. Who gets you drinks and tries to be your friend and is so stupidly polite and kind and you hate him, you hate him so much-
He says your name. You plaster on the widest, most plastic and sickly sweet smile you can manage. You want him to feel like you’re a bit of plastic that’s stuck between his teeth. To give up talking to you, because it’s not fair.
Steve’s just as handsome as the last time you saw him. And the time before that. And the time before that. If anything, he’s more handsome. You don’t know how he does it, changing absolutely nothing about his appearance and looking hotter every time you get eyes on him. His hair is styled the same as always, but it looks so soft. You could run your fingers through it and it would probably feel like a cloud. His stupid, sharp jawline is slack as you glare up at him, and he’s so tall it makes you dizzy, and he’s fixing you with that puppy look that makes you feel like you’re important to him.
And you’re not. You know you’re not.
You went down that road once. You tried to be important to him, and he said no. And he’s Steve, so he was sweet and perfectly kind about it, and still wanted to be your friend, and you’d thought you were already over it so you’d said yes.
You thought you could just be his friend. He hadn’t made anything weird. Neither of you had ever even brought up your failed attempt to ask him out again. And at the time, you’d thought you were over it.
But Steve is Steve. And he’s got some titanic hold over your heart that’s left finger marks dug in through the landscape. There’s a depression over the cavity of your chest, and your ribs have molded to fit it, and now it’s far too late to go back. You only know how to have feelings for him. You’ve tried to get over it. To ignore it. To forcibly re-mold your love into something platonic, or clawed your way through some relationships in the hope they’d help you move on.
They don’t. They won’t. Nothing can.
The big stupid boy-scout standing over you owns you completely, and you can’t even tell him without making it a problem.
Your new strategy had been to ignore him. Stacy ruined that.
She thinks he secretly has feelings for you. You tune her out every time she starts to crow and preach about it, because you know your heart is going to take it as gospel and not parody, and you can’t afford false faith. All you have is what’s grounded between your fingers.
Steve’s right here. He’s smiling at you, all pretty and nice, and you have to smile back or else it will make him feel bad. He’s got a drink in his massive hand for you. You’ve had a million wet dreams about that hand around your throat or cupping your pussy.
You’re aching thinking about it. In an ideal world, this would be the part where you ran without looking back.
In an ideal world, you’d be standing on his arm right now, instead of all stiff and weird in front of him.
You need to get a fucking grip.
“Hi.” You say, and it’s sounds lame and idiotic and pathetic-
Steve’s face splits into a big, happy smile. “Hi. How’s the night going for you, do you have your victim picked out?”
You scowl. “It’s not- They’re not victims-“
“You treat them like they’re victims.” His grin widens. “Sometimes I feel like I should be saving them.”
“They’re all fine. It’s not like I’m drugging them or something.”
Steve’s brows raise. “That makes me think you are drugging them.”
“Nuh uh.” You stick out your tongue, and he laughs under his breath.
“One day you’re gonna say something that actually gets you in trouble, you know.” He holds out the drink he brought you.
It’s your favorite. It’s always your favorite.
You told him what your favorite drink was, the very first time you attended one of these parties. He’s never forgotten since, and it makes you love and hate him all the more.
“I don’t think I will.” You mumble, both trying and desperately failing not to brush his fingers. His skin is warm. He’s warm. He’s like a walking furnace, and you’d like to just bury your face in his pecs and breathe him in and-
“Kid, you already have.”
Steve looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room. His eyes are sparkling, and in the background you think Natasha Romanoff is circling like a shark, trying to get his attention, but if he notices he pretends he doesn’t. He just looks at you and calls you kid, and the word plummets like a cold stone into your gut.
Kid. That’s all you are to him. Kid.
“But if I got in trouble, you’d save me.” You take a long sip of your drink, and you like to torture yourself.
With his presence. His closeness.
How fast he nods. How certainly he answers.
“’Course I would. Already saving you by pretending I don’t see you getting all those Senators drunk.”
You laugh softly, but the sound hurts. When you look over your shoulder, Stacy’s abandoned you for the food table. You catch her eye, and she shoots you an excited thumbs up. She probably thinks this is going great.
“Are you feeling alright?” Steve says suddenly, and he sounds like he really, really cares. “You been looking kind of sick- Not that you look bad- You look good, uh- Really good, but-“
“I’m fine.” You turn back to Steve, and you wonder if he can see it.
The pain, leaking down like a toxin from your eyes. Everything kind of blurry. You’d throw up, if you didn’t think he’d take care of you after.
“Everything’s fine.”
Steve’s lips twitch. You’re not sure he believes you.
But it doesn’t really matter anyway. You’re not his to get an answer out of. He decided that.
And you’re just doing exactly what Steve wants, all the time.
“You do look nice.” He mumbles, taking a sip of his own drink, as if it could even do anything to him.
You smile, and there it is again. The shameful, unrelenting heat in your stomach. “Thanks.”
I dressed up for you.
“I think he’s in looove with you.” Stacy says, spinning around in her chair. You flip her off, not looking up from your computer.
“Is the printer out of paper still?”
“I don’t know, you print everything for me.” She pokes your chair with her foot. “Pay attention to me, I said Steve’s in love with you-“
“No, he’s not.”
“Yes, he is.”
“No, he’s not-“
“Yes, he is-“
“Is this the same thing you were fighting about last time?” Steve’s voice comes from over your shoulder, and you freeze. “Or is that just… How you two talk.”
Stacy looks awfully fucking pleased with herself for a dead woman. “It’s the same fight as last time.”
“Oh.” He pauses. You can hear his concern, and it makes you want to vomit. “Is everything okay?”
“Mhm.” Stacy beams. “Hi, Steve.”
You glance up, and Steve looks properly bemused and adorable about her whole demeanor. It makes you want to hold his face and kiss the tiny, pouting frown off his lips. You smack yourself internally. Get it together.
“Hi, Stacy.”
She almost glows. “You remember my name?”
“Yeah.” He glances down at you. “I try to remember most people’s names.”
Stacy swoons. “Of course you do.”
Steve blinks, and you clear your throat.
“What are you doing here?”
“Uh-“ He rubs the back of his neck, giving you a small smile. “Lunch, remember? We planned it last week.”
Oh. You did do that. “I told you to wait outside, my boss is going to try to interview you-“
“Oh, she already did.” He laughs. “But I’m here for you, not a front page.”
You flush, and Stacy giggles like she’s watching TV.
“So…” Steve shrugs. “Lunch?”
Right. Lunch.
“How’d you even get in the building.” You grumble, grabbing your jacket as you stand. He shrugs sheepishly.
“I took a photo with the guards.”
“Steve, I told you to stop doing that-“
“It made them really happy, okay? And I went through all the metal detectors, same as everyone else-“
“I know, but you hate taking the photos, you can tell them no.”
Steve frowns. “It’s not that big an inconvenience for me-“
“But you hate it.”
“I don’t hate it-“
“Steven Rogers.”
You glare at him, arms crossed over your chest. Steve sighs, slumping like a scolded child.
“I don’t love them.” He mumbles, and you nod.
“Next time, tell them no.”
“But then I can’t come upstairs.”
You shrug, starting at the door, your shoulder bumping against his. “You can text me. Like you’re supposed to-“
“Or I can just do the photos-“
“No-“
“Bye, guys.” Stacy calls from behind you, and you look her with wide eyes. You’d forgotten she was there.
“Um… Bye.” You wave awkwardly, and she grins.
He’s here for you. She mouths, and you roll your eyes.
No hope. It just makes everything else harder.
If Steve wanted you, he’d say something. And you’re a big girl. You can handle just being his friend, because he won’t leave you alone long enough for you to properly avoid him. You can handle it.
His hand finds your lower back, when he opens the door for you. You almost trip over your feet from the dizzying touch.
You can’t handle this at all.
The most annoying part about having undying feelings for Steve Rogers is that it’s Steve Rogers. Captain America. Golden Boy Number One. Mr. Perfect Specimen.
You’re in love with the little blond boy with abs and a dopey smile and sweet blue eyes. You’re obsessed with Mr. Muscles. You lose sleep over the guy who looks like he could crush you in a headlock then kiss you to sleep after.
Incredibly original. Groundbreaking, even. The love of your life is the masculine celebrity who’s respectful and kind. Never before heard of stuff. You’re really shattering glass ceilings with that one.
You want to shoot yourself in the face.
It’s impossible to avoid even thinking about him, when he’s everywhere. You go out to the corner store, and he’s on the little TV mounted in the corner. Avengers brand yogurts line the grocery store, and you glare at Strawberries and Cream and Justice until your head hurts. He told you about that. He was pretty proud of how all the proceeds were going to charities.
“It’s a stupid name, though.” You’d said, and he’d shrugged.
“Tony says the name doesn’t matter, as long as it’s got our faces on it. Apparently that’s what people are buying for.”
He’d frowned at that, and you’d given him an affectionate smile. He hates the glory of all of this. You know he does, and you’d told him gently you’re sure people will also buy for charity.
You’d been lying through your teeth, though. When you grab the yogurt and shamefully shove it into your basket, it’s not for cancer research or orphans or to save the bees. It’s because Steve’s face is smiling at you from the plastic, and you’re no better than the fangirls who get all doe-eyed over his every breath.
Not that you’re much better about that, either.
“I could give you an interview.” Steve offers on day, when you’d been complaining to him about slow news. “It can be about whatever you want-“
“I don’t want your pity journalism, Steven.”
He frowns. “It’s not pity. I’m trying to help you.”
You shrug, wrapping your arms around your stomach. “Well, I can’t accept your help.”
“Why not-“
“It’s unethical.”
“I… don’t think that’s true-“
“Well, I didn’t earn it.”
“You don’t have to earn it.” He says, all earnest and sweet and kind, and you want to die. “You work hard, I know you work hard, and if this can help you- Here, we can do it right now-“
“I don’t have questions ready.” You cut in quickly. Flatly.
Steve just shrugs. “Make some up. I know you can.”
You wish he’d stop believing in you. It makes your heart flutter.
“I have nothing I want to ask you.” You mumble hopelessly, and he frowns.
“I don’t believe that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you always have something to ask me. To ask anyone.”
You flush, turning to the side to avoid his gaze. “Maybe I just know everything about you,” you mutter, and he snorts.
“No. You don’t.”
That gets your attention. You snap your head in his direction, and he smiles at you. Like he already knows he won.
“There she is-“
“Shut up.” You lean across the table, and his smile widens. “What don’t I know about you.”
“A lot.”
“Like what-“
“You have to ask me to find out.”
You narrow your eyes. He keeps fucking smiling.
“You suck.” You grumble.
He shrugs. “I know you think that.”
You’re both leaning across the table. If you reached up, just an inch, you’d be able to trace the line of his nose. He’s so handsome. It’s unfair, and you can feel a smile tugging at your lips in response to his.
“I’m going to punch you in the face-“
“I’d like to see you try, kid.”
Kid.
You lean back, ice water feeling like it was poured through your veins. Steve notices the shift. He frowns, but you don’t give him the chance to question it. You just push on.
“I need a napkin.” You mutter., leaning back into your seat. “To write questions.”
“Yeah. Right.” He rubs the back of his neck. Opens his mouth, then closes it again, shaking his head slightly. “I’ll go get that for you.”
Of course he will.
And when he’s talking to the waitress—paper and a pen in his hand—she twirls her hair and giggles. Same as you would, if you got to know him where he didn’t know you. Where he might just find you pretty, and give you a chance, because you were friends first and you think that’s where you all went wrong.
This all might’ve been easier, if he really was just a celebrity crush. If you loved him because he was Captain America and not Steve. Your Steve. Who brings you back two pens in case you don’t like the first, and shares his food with you while you gloss through the interview—feeling little detached from your own body, like he’s a million miles away—and touches your lower back again when you finally leave lunch.
You might’ve gotten to touch him more, if he didn’t mean something to you.
But you wouldn’t trade knowing him for the world.
And that just makes it all hurt even more.
Steve’s been trying to get you out with his team for years. You’ve said no, over and over and over. You don’t need to feel even more mortal than you already are. Don’t need the reminder that he probably rejected you because you’re not even a quarter of what he and his friends are.
Not that you think Steve would think you’re any less because you’re not enhanced. You know he wouldn’t.
Consciously.
But that doesn’t change the reality of it. He wouldn’t want you, when he’s surrounded by other Gods, like he himself, far more worthy of his attention. You can be mean and sharp, but you don’t have the cool, collected, deadly beauty of Black Window. And you’ve heard the rumors about them.
You’ve heard all the rumors. About Steve with everyone, because people like to talk. There isn’t a pair of people on the Avengers that the public hasn’t theorized about secretly dating.
And you know none of it’s true. Steve’s told you himself.
But that doesn’t make it hurt any less, when you think about him with someone else more worthy. Someone he wants.
Which is why you didn’t want to do this. And Steve had always respected that—because he’s perfect, and he respects everything—so you’d thought you’d never have to. He asks. You say no. He doesn’t push it, or demand to know why. He waits months before asking again, and you know he only does that because he thinks you’re just too busy to go out the other times. That you’re saying no because you simply don’t have the energy, and not because the idea makes you feel itchy. And you don’t want to tell him. You like that he asks you. It makes you feel important.
But you still kept saying no.
Until Stacy overheard him ask you, and said yes for you. And Steve beamed, and you couldn’t stand to burst the delicate little bubble of his joy, and now you’re here.
Huddled in the corner of a bar with the fucking Avengers all around you. Hawkeye and Thor are throwing darts in the corner. Hulk, Black Widow, and Falcon are playing pool. The Vision is eating onion rings, and everything feels like a very, very bizarre dream.
Steve hasn’t left your side since you got here. It’s been the only anchor you have. You’d been able to hide in his shadow and duck under his arm, avoiding pressing questions and conversations you don’t really want to have. It’s not too weird for him to bring a civilian friend, at least. None of them have commented on it, besides throwing you passing looks. Steve mentioned that they all do it, from time to time.
But you’re the only one here right now. And if you could, you’d sew your hand into Steve’s so he couldn’t leave you alone.
And that’s always a little true. You want that all the time.
More than usual right now. But all the time.
“I’m going to get drinks.” He mutters, and you grab his bicep like a scared child.
“Wait- I’ll come with you-“
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” He grins down at you, patting your head like you’re a dog or something. “You don’t have to stand up.”
You want to shout at him that this isn’t about him being a gentleman, it’s about him not leaving your sight. But you’re weak. And pathetic. So you just nod, and Steve smiles at you before walking away.
You try to hide in the shadows, avoiding any attention. It doesn’t work.
“You’re the journalist.” A cool, lazy voice cuts through the air, and you look up to find Tony Stark standing over your table.
“I’m a journalist-“
“No. You’re Roger’s journalist.” Stark drawls, sliding into the booth. You stiffen, but don’t dare to move away.
That’ll make it seem even more obvious, when Steve comes back and you don’t inch away from him.
“I understand what he’s been going on about.” Stark continues, looking you up and down slowly. “Didn’t know they made them like you anymore.”
Your eyes narrow. “Like me?”
“Mhm.” Stark smirks, and you raise your chin.
“What am I like, Mr. Stark?”
He chuckles, leaning back. “Little spitfire, aren’t you-“
“Only to people who deserve it.”
That makes him laugh louder. Everything feels more and more like a fever dream by the second.
You look out to the bar, trying to find Steve. Internally begging him to come back. He’s by the bar, your drink already in his hand. It’s the same one you always get. He’s holding it close to his chest, like it’s something priceless.
There’s a woman standing next to him. Just another random girl, in a tiny dress with some pretty good makeup, giggling and batting her lashes at him.
And Steve’s entertaining her. smiling at her.
The same way he smiles at you.
You don’t want to be here. You didn’t want to be here. You don’t want to see how it’s not even the Avengers that he’d want more than you, it’s everyone else. She’s getting the same attention you try to drown yourself in, but you’re not the one who might go home with him. His grin is a little tighter with her, because he’s probably restrained and trying to play his cards right. She looks like she’s talking sweet, and he’d probably want that more than you, poking and mocking him all the time. He’s a God. He’ll say he’s not but he is, and what kind of god would want to be worshipped by someone who shows love with insults and eye rolls.
There’s a tight feeling, around your throat like rope. Your eyes are burning, and the world is blurring, and you don’t want to see this. You can’t see this.
You tried to be his friend. You really tried.
But you can’t.
“What’s wrong with you?” Stark asks, and you look over to find him watching with a strange expression.
“Nothing.” You clear your throat, fumbling for your bag. “I just- Remembered something. That I have to go do.”
You glance over to Steve again. He’s laughing at something she’s saying without shaking his head and tipping his head back, without looking away from her. Like he does with you.
“Right now.” You mumble. “I have to go do it right now.”
Stark hums, tapping his fingers on the table. “Right now, huh.”
“Yep.” You stand up, and he gives you an almost amused look.
“What is it? If it’s so urgent.”
“Stuff.” You snip.
Stark chuckles, shaking his head. “Jesus, he’s batting in a whole other sport with you.”
“What the fuck does that mean-“
“Nothing.” Stark smirks again. Like he knows something. “Go on. I’ll tell Cap you had stuff.”
You scan over his relaxed features, and he just keeps grinning, lazy and unworried. You could get an answer out of him, if you tried.
But you look up, back to Steve. And he’s grabbing his own drink from the bar. Still chatting with the girl. If he brings her back to the table, you’re going to vomit.
You have to go now.
“Thanks.” You mutter, giving Stark a tight grin. “Have a good night.”
And Stark laughs, as you turn away.
“Oh. I’m sure I will.”
You avoid Steve for a week.
Properly avoid him.
He calls ten times, just the night you leave the bar. He texts almost every hour for the days after that, and you mute him. If you look at the messages, you’re going to respond to them. If you respond to them, he’ll convincing you to talk to him. If you talk to him, or see him, or even stand near him, you’re never going to get over him.
You’re going cold turkey on him, like he’s a drug.
To you, he is. And you need to get clean. You need to move on.
Steve doesn’t come into the building to steal you for lunch, but he calls you every day. Your fingers fidget, still trying to pick up the phone.
You don’t know how you manage not to, but you do. When you ask the guards downstairs, they say he’s walked through the door and walked back out five times. You force yourself not to think about it, and somehow manage to do that too. And you’re going to be able to do this. You’re finally going to move on.
Moving on means moving. Not staying in the same little pit, waiting for his sun to change its path and shine on you. You have to climb out, and find a new place to be. Someone new to want.
You’ve done this part before. The whole dance of downloading the apps and going on the dates and telling yourself you want them, even though they aren’t Steve. But this time is going to be different. If you tell yourself that enough, it will feel more and more true.
There’s a guy you’ve been chatting with all week, and he seems sweet. He compliments you, and he was polite when you met for coffee, and he’s far from bad to look at. And it’s not like you’re going to marry him. You just need someone to be close to you that isn’t Steve.
And maybe this guy—you can’t really remember his name, but you’ll learn it—is blond haired and blue eyes and broadly built. Maybe you swiped through photo after photo, looking for a phantom of him, but that’s nobody business expect yours, and your pillow’s. It knows better than anyone that there’s only one way you can fake it.
Which is exactly what this game is. Faking it until you make it. Until you’re over Steve, and there’s never any temptation to look back.
You dress up, telling your brain you’re going on a date with Steve himself so you put in all the effort. Another thing that’s nobody’s business. You’re doing what you need to, and it’s going to get you over him. You’ve got lashes and glossy lips and heels that are going to hurt in the morning, and this guy doesn’t seem strong enough to carry you like Steve would, but that’s where you need to shut your brain up. There’s not going to be anyone who’s like Steve. This guy looks like him enough to get you out the door, but it’s not him, and that’s okay. That’s good. It’s going to help you move on. You’ve got your jacket, and your purse, and you’re going to do this and move on-
You yank the door open, and freeze.
Steve stares at you, hands his pockets, mouth hanging open.
This is usually the part where one of you says hi, but you can’t remember how to speak. He’s here. Why is he here. He’s been giving you space, because he’s amazing and polite, and it had been so much easier to pretend it was just because he didn’t care when he wasn’t right in front of you. Looking like you’d just punched him in the face, all pale with sagging shoulders and sad, dull eyes. As if he’s lost sleep.
He scans over you. Over your revealing outfit and makeover. His throat bobs, and you could swear he slouches further. When he meets your gaze, he doesn’t smile. It makes you want to cry.
“Steve-“
“You’ve been avoiding me.” He mutters, the words thick and low. “And- I’m not here to fight about it. I didn’t think you were going to open the door, I didn’t- I wasn’t going to bother you. Just- Never mind.”
You blink. “I- What are you-“
“You got a date?” He nods to your outfit, and something in his pockets shift. He’s fisting his hands.
“Um-“ You glance to his pockets again, then back to his weighted gaze. “Yeah. I do.”
“With whom.”
Shit. You still can’t remember. “Someone I met on an app. Steve, what are you-“
“On an app.” He echoes, the words sounding hollow. He chuckles under his breath. “You know, Stark made me try those once.”
You swallow. You don’t want to hear about his dating life. “How did that go.”
“Bad. And I tried, I just…” He trails off, shaking his head, and you think you can feel his stare burrowing into your heart, shaping it even further in his name.
This is exactly what you were trying to avoid. Seeing him makes you love him more, think about him more, need him more. He’s got a gravity over you, and he doesn’t know it, and why is he here.
“Is he nice.”
Steve’s voice is low. Pained. You don’t understand the question.
“Who?”
“Your date.” He grunts. “Is he nice to you.”
“Oh.” You forgot about that part. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
Neither of you speak for a second. Steve stares at you so hard our head spins, and you can’t look him in the eyes.
“What did I do?”
His voice breaks suddenly, and you feel the crack in your ribs. It yanks your gaze up, and you’ve never seen him so sad. Frustrated and annoyed, sure. Tense, all the time. But never just… Sad. Defeated. Like even he isn’t sure what to do. It feels wrong. Like the world is bleeding together and caving over itself.
“You didn’t do anything-“
“I must have.” He scans over your features, his own so openly aching. “You’ve never been mad at me before, and- Now you’re-“
He waves to your outfit, and you frown.
“It’s just a date-“
“Just a date.” He mutters under his breath, and your mouth falls open.
“I’m allowed to date, Steven-“
“I know you are!” His voice raises for a second, but he quickly pushes it back down. “I- I know, but that’s not- Why are you avoiding me?”
He’s pleading. It’s almost bleeding out of his voice, staining all over you, and you wrap an arm around your stomach like you can stop yourself from bleeding back. This isn’t fair. Steve’s not stupid. He can’t have just forgotten your mistake of expressing your feelings, he’s not nearly oblivious to be unable to put two and two together, and he certainly can’t be dense enough to not tie together that you’re avoiding him, and going on a date. You don’t go on dates. You’re usually too busy trying to steal some love from his shadow.
Yet here he is. Looking at you like he really doesn’t understand. Being so nice about it, when it’s clearly been bothering him. No demanding to understand. No shouting about how hurt he was. Just pleading.
Because he’s golden and perfect. All respectful, like you’re just another lady to him.
Like you’re not worth enough for him to fight a little dirtier for.
A lump is pressing up your throat. It’s a battle to hold his gaze.
“Why do you think I’ve been avoiding you.” You mutter, and he shakes his head.
“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.” Steve rubs his face, working his jaw. “I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what I did-“
“Steve-“
“And I’ll fix it, whatever I did, I’ll fix it-“
“You can’t fix it!” You shout.
He stumbles back like you slapped him, and tears burn at your eyes.
“You- You can’t fix it, Steve.” You whisper, staring down at his shoes. “Just- Stop.”
“Stop what?” He rasps. “I- I know I messed something up, but-“
“Stop being so nice to me.”
He’s silent for a moment. You don’t even know how to justify that one. It sounds pathetic to your ears.
“I... I’d rather not.” He mutters, and you sigh.
“Then please leave me alone.” The words hurt, but you push them out like an apple lodged in your throat. “I- I tried, okay? I really tried, but I can’t.”
“Can’t-“
“Can’t be your friend.” You whisper. The tears burn on your cheeks. “I can’t be your friend, Steve, it’s too hard. I- I-“
You sniff, and Steve rasps your name. You have to shake your head. He can’t talk right now. It’s already too hard.
“I love you.” You say, barely a breath. It doesn’t matter. He’ll hear anyway. “I love you too much, and- It’s not your fault that you don’t- That it’s not the same. But please.” You shift on your feet, hugging yourself tight. “I- I need space.”
Steve doesn’t say anything. There isn’t anything he could say to make it better, not anymore. But something in you still fractures, when he just steps to the side. Giving you a path out.
Letting you go.
You think it’s hope. The hope that one day he might feel the same, the dream that you’d tried so hard not to feed, but tended to bloom on its own. That one day he’d look at you and realize he made a mistake.
But he steps to the side. And that’s all it’s ever going to be.
A dream.
You bow your head and shuffle past him, face burning and skin crawling with shame. You’re going to go on this date and pretend like everything is fine, if you can even make it out of the hallway without breaking down. Your knees are wobbly and tears are coming faster than you can wipe away, but you just need to get out. Out of this hallway with its suffocating air.
Away from Steve, and your heart, broken at his feet.
You’ll get over it. You’ll get over it. It’s hard to breathe right now but you’ll get over it-
“God- Screw it.”
A strong hand wraps around your wrist. It takes you by such surprise you don’t even think to fight.
Steve spins your around, grabbing your jaw and picking you up in a single movement. You gasp as his lips slam over yours, sudden and demanding. He kisses you like he doesn’t know he’s already got a claim on you. Like he’s trying to brand your lips with a bruising, hungry desire. All you can do is breathlessly kiss him back, scraping at his shoulders and trying to keep up with what’s happening. Steve tastes a little like honey and salt, and you’re sure he ate something earlier but you don’t really care what. His hair is just as soft as you thought, and you’re being crushed under the force of him but it’s intoxicating and exhilarating and you feel like you’re being remade-
It’s over. Just as fast as it started. Steve stumbles back, fumbling with his hands like they’re still trying to reach you against his will. He braces them on his hips, staring at you with wide eyes.
You gape at him, trying to catch your breath. You reach up to brush your own lips, trying to make sure the tingly feeling there is real. Maybe press it deeper in, until you can feel it forever.
Steve clears his throat. You blink at him through the slowly drying tears, not really sure what’s happening.
Neither of you dare to speak. Or move. You’re breathing shallowly, like anything too big is going to tip the whole world over, and it will all slip through your fingers.
He takes an uncertain step forward, and you should take one back.
But you’ve never been all that good at moving away from him before. You have no interest in learning that skill now.
This time, you grab him at the same time he grabs you. You stumble into each other, uncoordinated and desperate, unbothered by bumping noses and smushed limbs. You just need to be close to him. To feel him as much as possible, as fast as possible.
He’s never been a drug. You’d been getting a secondary high, but this-
This is a hit.
And you need to have more.
You grab at his collar, pressing up to meet his every kiss, and you’re quickly making out with teeth and tongue in the middle of the hallway. Steve’s arm wraps around your ass, lifting you effortlessly off your feet, and you moan into his mouth.
He trips as he walks back into the apartment, and you end up pressed against the wall at least three more times before you make it through the door. Every time Steve slams you back, devoting all his attention to kissing you until you’re drooling and sloppy and just trying to push further into his open mouth. At one point he slots his knee between your thighs, and you start to shamelessly grind down as he sucks your lower lip between his teeth.
You giggle, dazed and sore with overflowing need for him. He kicks the door closed behind you, and you think you’re going to end up riding his thigh against the wall, but he starts down the hall. To your bedroom.
He makes it about five steps before you rake your nail through his hair and start kissing over his jaw. Steve moans into your ear, lagging a little sideways, and you shriek as you both topple down onto the couch.
It takes you a second to catch your breath, and that’s all Steve needs to get the upper hand. He grabs your jaw, tipping your head back as he starts to suck and nip at your neck. You squeak, grabbing his head, and he moans against your skin. His knee pushes back between your thighs, and this angle is even better than before. You can’t help the roll of your hips, down onto the muscle of his thick leg.
“St- Steve-“ You voice is high, and he hums, licking up your throat before making out with a soft spot under your jaw. “Jesus fucking- God-“
“I know.” He mutters, dragging his hand down your thigh and grabbing under your knee. He squeezes gently, hiking it up to your chest, pushing his knee down even harder than before.
“Fuck- You-“ You gasp, your pussy clenching around nothing as your clit gets rubbed through his jeans, through your panties.
At this angle, you’re almost exposed to him. Your dress pooling around your tummy, the wet spot on your underwear growing bigger and bigger. You grasp at the skirt, trying to tug it down a little. It’s one thing to be riding his knee, another for him to see you.
Steve grabs your wrist, pushing the fabric further down than it had been before. Your eyes almost cross when he starts to rub his knee back and forth, the pressure overwhelming and perfect. You didn’t think you could cum like this, but there’s a familiar pressure building up in your stomach, and you have to bite your tongue to stop a wanton moan from escaping your lips.
He sits up to look at you, and you’re sure it’s a shameful, lewd sight. Your makeup smudged, your hair ruined, a picture of depravity and sin as you chase pleasure on his leg. This isn’t the kind of thing you thought he’d be into. He’s too perfect, too good, and maybe you’ve wanted to be put in a headlock and manhandled and used, but Steve’s all about honor. You’d been so sure that, even if you got to have him, it would be lovely, vanilla sex that was filled with such emotion it would make up for the simpleness.
But that’s not what you see in Steve’s eyes. They’re hooded and black with lust. His jaw is clenched as he watches you, and he pushes your leg further up with a gentle squeeze.
“Oh-“ You gasp, trying to reach up to grab him.
Steve grabs your second wrist without letting go of the first. Holds him in one hand, and leans over you as he pins them both over your head. Your mouth falls open, breathing fast and needy.
His own chest is heaving. He looks down to his knee against your core, and a deep sound rumbles from his chest. You’re wound so tight you’re certain you could snap, sudden and fast like a rubber band. You strain against Steve’s hold, and his attention snaps back up.
“You’re good, doll.” He coos. “Relax for me.”
You blink at him, shaking your head. You can’t stop grinding against him, but you need him close. Need to be under the pressure of his body, to feel like there’s nothing else in the world.
Steve picks up the speed of his knee, almost drilling it down into your cunt without touching you at all. You gape, head lolling to the side, and he grunts.
“Look at me.”
His voice is deep. Not a suggestion. An order.
You blink up at him, almost drooling, and he leans down until his lips are ghosting over yours.
“I don’t want space.” He mutters. “I want you.”
You swallow, still rubbing your pussy up into his knee. “You- You can’t just-“
“Shh.” He pushes further down, until it feels like he’s almost inside of you. You snap your mouth shut. “Is that all I did?”
“Wha- Oh-“
He drags his knee in slow circles, and you make an incoherent, starved sound. Steve doesn’t even break a sweat.
“You and me.” He mutters, studying your every expression. “That’s it. That’s what was gonna make me lose you.”
“You- You didn’t lose me-“
“Almost did.” He squeezes your knee. “You walked.”
You glare up at him. “You let me-“
“No, I didn’t.”
Steve’s lips slam back over yours, and you can’t really argue with that. Your eyes flutter as you give into the kiss, your body sparking with a million, delighted nerves. Steve groans against your lips, fucking his knee against your core, and he’s hitting your clit just right, the fabric soaked and filled with rough friction.
Your back arches off the couch as you cum, and Steve lets go of your wrists. You grab his face, trying to pull his lips closer, and he wraps around your back, holding you up. Your toes curl, body shaking as the pressure becomes sensitive, your pussy gushing and clenching around nothing.
Steve rubs your spine, kissing along your shoulder, up your neck, over your cheeks. You hum softly, floating down and tucked into his arms. He leans back against the couch, taking you with him. You slump over his chest, burying your face in his neck as his hand slips under your dress. Thick, calloused finger pads gently graze your hips and waist, and you squirm.
“I- I didn’t want to ruin something.” He murmurs in your ear, and you pause.
“Ruin…”
“Us.” Steve’s face presses into the curve of your neck, warm breath tickling your skin. “You were my friend, we work in a lotta the same places, and I just- I didn’t want to risk that.”
You swallow, leaning back and waiting until he meets your glossy, sad gaze. You take his face between your hands, and he covers them with his own.
“I was willing to risk it.” You whisper, and he sighs.
“I know. But-“ He looks away, words choked and low. “I thought it was a crush. That you’d get over.”
You laugh weakly. “Well, it wasn’t.”
“I know.” He sighs. “Mine wasn’t either.”
You lips part with a sharp breath, and Steve looks back to you with nervous, hopeful eyes.
“I love you.” He squeezes both your hands, guiding them to his lips. “It is the same. So- Tell me that fixes it. Please.”
It does.
Just as fast as they’d shattered, your dreams weave themselves back together. They’re clearer than before. More colorful. It’s no longer like looking through a mist, or watching a reflection in the water. When you touch Steve, he doesn’t ripple away. And that’s more than enough.
You lean down and kiss him. It’s slower than the other kisses. Steve grabs your hips, but lets you press his head down. You wrap your arms around his neck, tracing his lips with your tongue, and he hums in content. Drags you further forward in his lap.
Something thick and hard presses right against you, and you almost go limp. Like your body is already trying to get ready to take it. To take Steve’s cock that can’t be as large as it feels, straining against his jeans and twitching when you drag yourself slowly back and forth.
“Hey.” Steve grunts, grabbing your hips firmly. You hope he’s holding tight enough to leave a bruise. “Easy.”
You snort, leaning back to give him a pointed look. “Easy?”
“Yeah, that’s what I-“
“I just came on your knee.”
His ears turn a little pink, and he coughs. “I, uh- Fair.”
“Mhm.” You hum, smiling smugly, and you take all the strength in your jelly legs and grind right now onto his clothed cock.
Steve hisses, his fingers digging into your soft skin. “Jesus- Baby-“
You brace your arms on either side of his head, dragging back and forth as slow as you can. Steve’s eyes flutter, his tongue darting over his lips as he watches you move on him. His muscles flex with the effort not to grab you.
You’d very much like to see him give up.
“Does that feel good?” You whisper, making your voice sweet and innocent.
Steve grunts. You’re going to have handprints on your body in the morning. The thought just makes you move faster.
“I don’t want to go slow, Stevie.” You purr, and his chest heaves under you. “I want you to fuck me. Pleeease.”
You whine dramatically, thrusting forward, and Steve’s face drops against your chest.
“Jesus, woman.” He lips graze over your breast, and you moan. “Come on, ‘s not playing fair-“
“Don’t wanna play fair.” You hum, slowly reaching between your bodies. “Wasn’t fair how you turned me down.”
“’M sorry about that-“
“You should be.” You kiss under his ear. “Hurt my feelings.”
“Thought-“ He grunts as you palm his balls through his jeans. “Thought I was helping-“
“You weren’t.”
“I got that now-“
“But you know what would make it better?” You lean back up, holding Steve’s gaze with a lazy smile.
He nods quickly, and you giggle, wiggling down onto his bulge.
“Fucking me.”
Steve looks down, and a rumble echoes through his chest when he sees it.
You’d peeled off your ruined underwear without him noticing. Leaving your bare, sweet and soaked pussy pressed against him. You moan, watching him as you grind down, and he’s so close to snapping. You can see it in the tension of his jaw, feel how his fingers keep twitching on your hips. You smile at him, licking your lips, and that dark look flashes over his features. The same one from earlier, that had him overtaking you like a storm.
Steve’s a good boy. A sweet boy.
He also doesn’t like things that he can’t account for. Used to pick fights in alleys as a kid, always wanted to be the person everyone looked to for help.
You’re sure that, between the two of you, you can let him have a little fun without compromising his moral compass.
He has to, if you’re begging him for it. Not very chivalrous, to ignore a lady in need.
“Pleaseee.” You whine again, ghosting your lips over his. “Fuck me, Stevie, fuck me until I can’t walk-“
He mutters your name under his breath, and you just pout at him.
“Make me yours, make me cry, fuck-“ You throw your head back, the teasing him going straight to your own core. “God, fucking- Please, Steve-“
That does it. The explicit, wet cry of his name seems to snap something in Steve’s resolve, and he’s on you in a blur of hands and lips. Grabbing a fistful of your ass before hauling you up his chest, kissing you breathless as he stands. He keeps carrying like you weigh nothing, and you want to be trapped in his arms forever.
“Steve- Shit-“ Your jaw drops he tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Fuck, slow down-“
“You said you didn’t want to slow down.” He reminds you in a deceptively soothing voice, big hands rubbing on the back of your thighs. “Said you didn’t wanna play fair.”
“I- Um- Ooooh-“
You drop your head against Steve’s shoulder, biting at his shirt as thick, strong fingers tease the lips of your pussy.
“Wet fuckin’ pussy.” He muses, spreading you open so the cold air hits your cunt. “Knew you got soaked for me, princess. Didn’t know it was this bad.”
“You- You-“ He needs to stop humiliating you and touching you at the same time. It makes you feel like you’re burning alive in the best way possible. “You knew?” You squeak, and Steve chuckles.
“Always knew. Told you, thought it was a crush.”
You try to twist and glare at him. “And you didn’t tell me-“
“Like you would’ve wanted me to tell you I could smell how badly you wanted my cock.” Steve smacks your ass with a scoff, and you flop right back over his shoulder.
“Fuck-“ You whimper. He’s right. You can barely even stand that right now. “Steve, please- Please-“
You’re not even sure what you’re begging for anymore. Mercy, maybe. More mocking attention. Anything he can fucking give you, because you feel like you’re about to explode.
Steve spanks you again, this time on the other cheek, and you moan.
“’Course you like that.” He mutters. “Dirty girl, testing me every fucking day.”
He drags his thumb through the mess between your legs, and your pussy clenches, trying to drag him in. He laughs, pushing down for half a second before dragging down to your clit and rubbing in quick, tight circle. You gasp, pushing uselessly at his back, already overstimulated and still needing more.
“Felt that.” Steve flicks your clit, and your whole body shakes. “Greedy, princess. You’ve been waitin’ this long, you can hold it a little longer.”
“Ca- Can’t-“ You gasp, pressing your cheek against the broad muscle of his back. “Can’t, Steve- Can’t wait-“
“Yeah, you can.” He grunts. “Christ, you’re dripping all over my hand. Going to take me no problem, aren’t you, baby.”
He’s playing with your clit like it’s just a little button for his whims, and you have to bite your inner cheek to stop yourself from falling apart all over his hand.
“Steve- I- I’m going to- Oh my god-“
Steve slaps right over your pussy, the wet sound echoing in your ears as he shoves those two fingers right into your pussy. He finds your G-spot in a second, crooking his fingers and dragging them over your sensitive walls. You cum with a cry of his name, sudden and harsh. White dancing at your vision, your body seizing up as Steve dumps you down onto the soft mattress.
He presses his wrist further, folding your body up. You grab his neck for an anchor, and he kisses your wrist as he slides a third finger into your dripping mess of a pussy.
“Getting you ready.” He mutters, wiping some hair from your face. “It’s okay, babydoll, you’re doin’ real good.”
You whimper, the orgasm still shaking through you. You’re struggling to breathe when Steve finally pulls his hand away, and the loss makes you whimper.
Steve laughs softly, leaning down to kiss you all sweet and loving, like you haven’t been turned to a puddle under his hands.
“Breathe.” He murmurs, squeezing your breast gently, and you take a loud, stuttering gasp. Steve kisses your nose, smiling like he’s being offered ice cream, and you watch him in a starry-eyed daze.
You hear the click of his belt, and as much as you’d like to reach down and feel him, you can barely manage to hold onto his shoulders right now. Steve pulls slowly up with one last chaste kiss on your lips, and your breath hitches in your throat.
He’s massive. That’s the kind of dick you’ve only seen in cartoons, because even the porn industry can’t replicate it. You’re not sure how he gets around so easily in his tight suit, with that fucking horse cock acting like a third leg. Thick and veined, already beading with pre-cum as he strokes it slowly in his hand, a sheepish expression on his face.
“I was… Endowed.” He mumbles, ears red. “Before the serum. Then…”
He nods to his cock, and you laugh breathlessly.
“Jesus, Steve-“
“It won’t hurt you.” He says quickly. “I know there are those rumors ‘bout be being a virgin, but-“ He sighs, pouting slightly. “God forbid a man tell Tony Stark he doesn’t want to talk about his sex life, suddenly he’s never even touched a boob-“
“Dude.” You smile up at him, and he cuts himself off. “Look me in the eyes and tell me if I still think you’re a virgin after that.”
You tilt your head to the hallway, but Steve just frowns.
“Dude?”
“Um-“
“Don’t call me dude when I’m about to fuck you.” He grumbles, and you’d laugh at him if that didn’t make your heart skip. e
“Sorry, sir.”
You say it half to mock him, half to test something.
Steve’s jaw ticks, and his already rock-hard cock twitches in his hands. You giggle as his eyes narrow, and you’re still laughing as he prowls over you, that dark, hungry look back on his face.
“You think something’s funny?” He grunts, and you shake your head.
“No, sir.”
Steve groans, dropping his face between your breasts.
“Gonna be the death of me.” He mutters under his breath, and you’re still laughing softly.
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
You laugh again, because you’re really not. It’s hilarious, and he’s adorable, and this is going to yield some fantastic results.
Steve assesses you like you’re a mission to be accomplished. And you know him.
He never does anything halfway.
“Alright, princess.” He mutters, tapping the head of his cock on your clit. “Open.”
You squeak, still giggling, and spread your legs slowly.
The last laugh is pushed from your chest as Steve slowly starts to sink himself into your heat. Your mouth falls uselessly open as you bow off the bed, your body almost unable to rationalize how full you are.
Steve splits you open, his cock slowly driving through you and hitting spots you didn’t even know you had. He grinds slowly down into your pussy, bullying you further open, and you think he’s found a button inside you that just makes you a limp, sensitive fuck-doll, because you whine out his name but it takes everything you have.
“I know.” He grunts, the tip of his cock pressing into your cervix. “You’re taking it, baby, there you go.”
“Steveee-“
“Feels good, doesn’t it.” He presses at sweet kiss to your lips as he bottoms out. His fingers lace slowly through yours, and you nod.
You’ve never had so many pleasure points being hit at once. Steve’s still got a hand on your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers as you try to breath around him. He’s patient. You don’t want him to be.
“More.” You push out, and he raises his brows.
“Sweetheart-“
“More.” You roll up into him, moaning loudly as he hits even deeper. “Fuck me, Steve- Mmm-“
He kisses you, passionate and messy, and you almost scream in satisfaction as he starts to move.
He’s unrushed. Completely in control of you, and aware of it. His dick pulls almost all the way out before slowly pushing back in, the torturous pace making you feel like a live wire.
“Yeah, that’s it.” He coos, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “Pretty girl, you like being stuffed up with my cock, don’t you.”
“Ye- Yes-“ You tip your head back into the pillows, your free hand grasping at the sheets. “Yes- Oh my god, yes-“
Steve’s started to grind against your g-spot whenever he hits it, letting his thickness press and drag over the sensitive, gooey spot until you’re moaning and writhing around him.
“Feel that, don’t you.” He mutters, pushing in a little harder than last time. “Feel my dick inside you, baby, feels so good, doesn’t-“
“So good.” You babble, but who can blame you. “So good, Steve, you’re so-“
Your words turn into a broken moan as Steve drives back into you, and he’s going harder and harder every time. Still pulling almost fully out slowly, letting your arousal gather and drip down your thighs and ass, but then slamming back into you so hard it makes you think the world is shaking.
A breathy sound escapes your lips, maybe a plea, and Steve moves your tangled hands between your bodies, pressing you down into the mattress as he rises up for a better angle.
“You’re so fuckin’ wet.” He growls, pounding into your cunt like he owns it. “If I’d know you wanted me this bad I woulda had you all over this city.”
You whine, squeezing around him. Steve chuckles.
“Oh, you like that. Like the idea of being my good little cockslut, letting me play with you wherever I want.”
Big, steady hands press your knees up, letting Steve hit even deeper than before. A strange, tight feeling is building in your gut, but it feels good. All of this feels so good. You’re spent and cockdrunk, but you feel used in the best possible way. The filth Steve is drawling in your ears makes your brain go all quiet. You’re just a happy, humming bundle of pleasure, Steve’s massive body draped over yours, and you’d probably do anything he wanted, if he just fucked you like this after.
“You were made for me.” He groans, lips wandering all over your face as his cock drills into you. “I’m gonna take such good care of you, baby, swear it, just sing for me, come on-“
You moan, long and loud. Steve grins, kissing under your ear.
“Good girl.” He coos. “There you go, just like that. Come on, doll, I know you’re getting close.”
You are. You’ve been close the whole time, but this feels more and more different by the second. There are wet, sinful sounds filling the room as your skin slaps together, and Steve’s breath is hot in your ear as he starts to lose a little control of himself.
He moans when you start mindlessly humping up to meet him, forcing his cock into the tightest spot into you that makes everything all colorful and hazy. You gasp softly, chasing up from a little more, and Steve wraps and arm around your back.
“Fuck- Fuck- You feel so good,” he groans your name in your ear. “So good, it’s- Christ-“
That strange pressure in your tummy is going to burst. It feels like Steve is driving right against it, daring it come undone.
“Steve.” You breathe out. “Steve- I- I’m gonna-“
He growls, deep in his chest and rolling through you. Steve grabs you and wrestles you down into the mattress, pushing your legs up to your chest and fucking you fast and brutal.
It’s a sight above you. Steve, panting and moaning as your pussy sucks him in, glistening arousal shining all over his cock when he pulls out and smearing on your tummy. Your tight walls are starting to contract, and he doubles over, groaning your name as his thrust become shallow and unmeasured.
Tears start to stream down your face. Steve looks at you like you’re an angel, fucking you like you’re just a toy, and you can’t even remember how to tell him how good it feels.
“Steve…” You wiggle below him, crying out as he just fucks you hard. “Steve- Ooooooh-“
Your eyes roll back, the tears burning on your cheeks from the impossible to handle pleasure. Steve leans down and kisses them off your cheeks, the softness in such contrast with how he’s turning you into a bundle of nerves and tears.
“My pretty girl.” He mutters, kissing your lips sweetly. “Close. We’re so close. You can make it. Make it for me.”
You nod, almost hypnotized into agreeing. And Steve’s abusing that spot inside of you. Sensitive and overwhelming, making your toes curl and eyes cross.
“Steve- I- I can’t-“
“Yes, you can.” Not a suggestion. Steve’s thumb finds your clit, rubbing it back and forth as he ruts into you. “Come for me, now.”
The command rolls through you, and that pressure bursts. Heat washes over you, making you bow off the bed as a funny, wet feeling gushes out between your thighs. Steve groans, slamming his mouth back over yours, groaning your name as you start to milk his cock.
“Fuck,” he groans, and you wrap your arms tight around his neck. Tight enough to strangle him, if he was a normal man. But Steve just splays his hand possessively over your back and moans against your lips, driving home into your cunt as his release rippling through him.
It’s almost as good as your own orgasm. You’re tucked into a shaking, flexing heat of muscle, his deep voice moaning your name in your ear, his cock still thrusting and twitching inside you. Over, and over, and over-
You can barely breathe in the best way. You’ve never had a man cum so much. It starts just hot and sticky, then it’s drooling out, down your ass and onto the sheets. You can feel it in your throat, almost taste it, and even after Steve pulls out it’s everywhere. Painting your pussy creamy and white, branding your abdomen, your tits, your thighs.
Steve stares down at you with a gaping mouth as you both come down from the high. You laugh, hoarse and breathy.
“Woah.”
“Shit.” Steve mutters, grabbing at the remainder of the clean sheets and wiping them over your body. “I- I didn’t- I usually pull out, you just-“
“Steve-“
“We need to get you in the shower, it’s everywhere-“
“Steve-“
“I’m so sorry-“
“Steven.” You smack his shoulder, and he stops dead.
You’re already bridal style in his arms, naked and covered in his cum, some of it dripping all over the floor. You’re going to need to hire a cleaner. Or invest in really, really big buckets that you’ll keep next to the bed.
“Does that happen every time?”
He swallows, and nods.
“Uh- Not that much.” He mumbles. “But yeah.”
Pride glows in your chest. You get the most of him. “Okay.”
Steve blinks. “Okay?”
You nod, and he shakes his head.
“I ruined your room-“
“I liked it.”
He stares. You smile.
Steve rolls his eyes, and presses a kiss to your brow.
“You’re impossible.” He mutters, and you giggle.
“Yeah, but you love me. And you can’t take it back now, you already said it-“
He grabs your chin, turning it so he can fully capture your lips.
“I do love you.” He mutters against your lips. “And no one could make me take it back if they tried.”
You smile. You have no plans to do that.
Steve is somehow more than you ever dreamed. And there’s no way you’re letting him go now.
✦End note: this was so fun for me to write i love a puppy dog man. i hope you enjoyed it!✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
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summary: co-parenting with joel has its ups and downs.
wc: 4.4k
tags: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, pre/no outbreak, reader isn’t specified as sarah’s mother/stepmother (you decide!), sarah is about 5 in this, infidelity (reader is seeing someone), jealous joel, joel is a pro yearner, lots of tears, handjob, joel miller the pussy eater, joel makes you answer a phone call when he’s eating your pussy, unprotected sex (be safe gang), hair pulling, vaginal fingering, oral (fem receiving), save a horse ride a cowboy, not beta read
note: this was originally supposed to be hateful make-up sex but i’m a big believer in subby pathetic joel so it turned out a lot sweeter. enjoy!😋
-
You’d always assumed Joel Miller would be your forever person. Together, you built a family, a home, a sanctuary, one that you thought was indestructible. As it turns out, forever wasn’t in the cards for you and Joel. You knew from the start that Joel was a workaholic. Towards the end of your relationship, you would only see Joel if you happened to be awake when he finally trudged through the door, grimy and sweaty from a hard days’ work.
Work drained Joel. The only thing he had energy for was Sarah. For all his faults that showed in your relationship, Joel continued to be the best father to that girl that he possibly could be.
Joel worked himself to the bone through unspeakable hours from Monday to Friday, so he got Sarah at the weekends. Sarah loved her weekends at her dad’s. She would excitedly relay stories to you when she came back about all the adventures they got up to.
So, in short, you and Joel made it work. You were civil to each other during pick-ups and drop-offs. You’d both told Sarah that mommy and daddy weren’t together anymore, but that you were still friends. But the truth was, you never wanted to be friends with Joel. You couldn’t be his friend. Gazes and touches lingered a little too long to be friendly, but for your sake, for Sarah’s sake, you pretended like you were okay with the new norm.
Sarah had been at Joel’s all week. He’d put in a holiday request with his firm so he could spend some more time with her. She had been buzzing with excitement when you dropped her off. You made the drive up towards Joel’s house, the one you’d once shared with him. You missed having more space, but missing the house meant missing Joel, and that was something you weren’t prepared to think about yet.
You knocked on the door, waving to the neighbours a few doors down who were sat on their porch enjoying the sun. The front door opened, and there was Joel. You did a double take. Something about him was different. He looked well-rested, the dark circles under his eyes from the unsociable hours he worked looked like they had long cleared up. He was clearly fresh out of the shower, his hair still damp and slightly curly the way it always was when he’d just showered. His muscles were bigger, his shoulders seemed somehow more broad. He wore a simple navy t-shirt and black sweatpants. It was strange seeing him without a belt of tools around his waist. A week away from his gruelling job had clearly been what he needed.
“Hey,” Joel greeted you with a polite smile, one hand still on the door and the other in his pocket. “You can come in, but she’s asleep. I think I wore her out this week.”
“I can come back,” you suggested. “Call me when she wakes up-“
“No, I insist. Come in,” Joel held the door open wider, stepping aside to allow you space to step inside.
“Are you sure?” you questioned. It didn’t seem like a good idea. It had been six months since you’d split, and the two of you were yet to spend more than five minutes together without Sarah. Hell, you were seeing someone new. Sitting in what had once been your family home with Joel, when he looked like this, for however long it took for Sarah to wake up could reopen old wounds. “I don’t wanna put you out.”
“Don’t put me out at all,” Joel insisted. “It’s hot out, come in for a drink or somethin’.”
You smiled at Joel and stepped past him into the house. It was like stepping back in time. Everything was just how you remembered it. “Want a beer?” Joel asked as he shut the door behind you.
“Sure,” you replied, distracted as you took in the photos on the walls. They were the exact same as when you’d left. Some of the photos still had you in them, holding baby Sarah and smiling out at the camera back when you thought this family would be a forever-thing.
Joel crossed to the fridge and took out two bottles of beer, twisting off the caps and throwing them in the trash before holding one out to you. You took it with a word of thanks, your fingers brushing against his. You blatantly ignored it. Joel leant against the kitchen counter, arms folded like he was trying to be casual as he sipped his beer.
“You look real nice,” Joel told you sincerely.
You smiled, the compliment igniting the same warm feeling inside you that his compliments always had when you were together. You ignored that, too. “You look nice, too, Joel.”
The silence between you should have been awkward, but it wasn’t. It was the way it always was: comfortable. The idea of that somehow made you feel more awkward. You cleared your throat and asked, “So how was your week?”
“Good,” Joel confirmed. “She had fun. I forget how much energy that kid has.”
“Tell me about it,” you grinned. “It’s like she’s on speed dial constantly. She was always like that, I guess.” You stopped yourself abruptly. Reminiscing was a dangerous game. You took another swig of beer to shut yourself up.
“How are you?” Joel asked.
You hesitated before answering. “Not bad,” you shrugged. “I’m, um… seeing someone.”
Joel’s eyes darkened. His jaw tensed. “I know,” he replied, his voice low.
You frowned. “How do you know?”
Joel sipped his beer, but you noticed he was holding the glass bottle tighter than he had been before. “Sarah told me.”
You stared at him for a moment. Sarah had met your boyfriend a few times, just in passing. You weren’t quite there with letting him take on the role of her father figure just yet. He was okay with her. That was it. Just okay. The guy clearly wasn’t used to being around kids. He wasn’t effortless with Sarah the way Joel was. But you knew that comparing any man you dated to Joel was a risky game, so you swallowed your pride and kept him around. Whether it was for your benefit, for Sarah’s, or so you could pretend he was the man stood in front of you, you couldn’t say.
“What did she say?” you eventually bit the bullet and asked.
Joel looked hesitant to reply, but he eventually let up, “She doesn’t like him.”
Your heart sank. You slammed the beer bottle down on the kitchen counter harder than you’d intended to and instantly turned your back on Joel. “I’m waking her up and then we’re leaving.”
Joel didn’t move. “It’s what she told me.”
You were halfway up the stairs before you turned back, pointing accusatorially at Joel, hissing through your teeth to not wake the sleeping child upstairs. “You’re full of shit, Joel Miller. You invite me inside, offer me a beer, family photos still on the walls, just to tell me our daughter doesn’t like the new guy I’m seeing?”
“You seem awfully touchy ‘bout it,” Joel responded, setting his bottle down, standing up to his full height and taking a step towards you. Arms still folded across his chest. Muscles bulging. Jaw clenched. “How serious is it?”
You glared at him. Months worth of anger towards Joel was bubbling up to the surface now. The late nights home, how he was such an incredible father that you felt your anger towards him as a partner was unjustified. How it still hurt you to see his face because losing him was the biggest mistake of your life. It was simmering dangerously inside of you and threatening to burst. “You have no right to ask me that.”
“If it involves my kid, I think I do,” Joel replied, his tone infuriatingly calm. “She said it makes her sad. Said you don’t seem happy with him.”
You felt appalled that Sarah felt that way, but your anger that you had to hear it from Joel of all people overrode that emotion entirely. “That’s for her and I to discuss.”
“Are you happy with him?” Joel took another step closer to you.
“That’s none of your fucking business.”
“Are you happy with him?” Joel repeated his question like you hadn’t spoken. He was so close to you now that you could feel his breath on your face. “Or are you just pretendin’ that he’s me?”
The nerve of the question almost struck you down. You let out a cruel laugh, demanding, “Why don’t we talk about you, Joel? How’s your moving on going? How come this place looks exactly like it did when I left it? You wanna talk about pretending, why don’t you do a little introspection?”
You’d expected the deflection to anger Joel. It was the reaction you wanted. Instead, he uncrossed his arms, his scowl changing to a hurt, dejected frown. “You really wanna know the answer to that?” he asked, his voice more vulnerable than you’d heard it in months. “What’re you gonna do if I tell you? You gonna leave him and come back?” You said nothing. You just stared up into his eyes, the eyes you’d missed so much, and watched as they filled with tears he didn’t even try to fight. “No. So there ain’t no fuckin’ point me even sayin’ it. So we should both just go back to pretendin’, right?”
Joel stepped back, studying your face through his watering eyes for any kind of response. You tore your eyes away from his, willing yourself not to cry with him. When Joel realised you weren’t going to give him anything, he nodded and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand.
“I should go,” you squeaked, impatiently brushing away the tears forming at the corners of your eyes. “I’m gonna drive around… call me when she wakes up.”
Before you could take a step out of the kitchen, Joel’s hand reached for yours. You froze at the contact. “Joel-“ you croaked his name, the tears threatening to spill past your waterline.
“Wait.” Joel’s voice cracked as he spoke. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand. You didn’t remember him stepping closer again. “Please… just wait.”
“I shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, though you made no attempt to remove your hand from his grip. “I need to leave.”
“Don’t,” Joel breathed, both hands now cupping your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks, wiping away your tears. “Please don’t leave again.“
You didn’t have time to tell Joel that you regretted leaving every day, before he was kissing you like he’d die if his lips weren’t on yours for one more second. Your hands grasped at his broad shoulders, welcoming the familiar feeling of Joel’s lips against yours.
Joel pulled away for air, where he whispered against your lips, “I’m sick of pretendin’ I’m okay with not bein’ yours anymore.”
“Joel,” you whined his name, “we shouldn’t. I can’t-“
“Tell me to stop and I will,” Joel’s tone was deadly serious, his eyes darker yet more sincere than you’d ever seen them.
You said nothing. Instead, you tugged him back down by the shirt and crashed your lips onto his once more. You knew it was wrong. You weren’t single anymore. But in that moment, what felt more wrong that you had gone so long without this. Without Joel.
Your hands tangled in Joel’s still damp hair, tugging gently, but hard enough to feel him groan against your mouth as he backed you into the wall, one hand pressed against the wall beside your head while the other rested on your lower back, pulling your body closer to his. One of your hands travelled from his hair to his face, running your thumb over the rough stubble that lined his jaw, then down his chest, under his shirt. You ran your hand over his soft stomach, before you undid the drawstring of his sweatpants and dared to move your hand towards his cock.
Joel gasped against your mouth when he felt your thumb swipe over his tip, dick twitching and already beginning to harden in your hand. “Is this okay?” you asked, slowly pressing kisses to Joel’s neck.
You felt his Adam’s apple bob underneath your lips as Joel tried to keep his composure, nodding slowly. “Y-yes. Please, darlin’.” A raspy moan left his mouth as you used your thumb to spread the precum leaking from his tip down and around his shaft. The hand that had been resting flat against the wall beside your head balled up into a fist as Joel leaned forward to kiss you again, breathing heavily against your mouth as you stroked his cock from the base to the tip.
Joel missed this. Not just your delicate fingers wrapped around his thick cock, but you, your scent, your presence, you. His chest rose and fell heavily as he chased your lips once more, groaning into your mouth as a way to regulate the volume of the moans he so desperately wanted to let you hear at full volume - Sarah was still asleep upstairs. He involuntarily bucked his hips into your hand, the nails on your free hand digging into his shoulder through his shirt to keep him stable.
“Fuck, baby ‘m close,” Joel whimpered into your mouth, and you could feel it. Years and years of memorising his body and the sensations that came with it wasn’t easy to forget. His body was tense against yours, his legs shook underneath him as he came into your hand with a throaty groan, the sound music to your ears as you continued to slowly stroke his cock as his orgasm passed, reduced to broken whimpers and quiet whines against your lips.
Joel took a few moments to catch his breath as you tucked his softening length back into his sweatpants. He kissed you softly and you felt him grinning against your lips. “Is she still asleep?” you muttered between kisses. Joel pulled away and was silent for a second so you both could listen out for any sounds from upstairs. When you heard none, Joel pulled you flush against his body again and kissed you like his life depended on it, backing you out of the kitchen, pulling away to steer you around the coffee table in the living room so you wouldn’t fall. The back of your legs hit the couch and you made to pull Joel down with you, but he grabbed you and pulled you back up before you fell.
“Not here,” he breathed against your lips, “we’re gonna do this, we’re doin’ this right. Not gonna fuck you on my couch like you’re some meaningless hookup.”
“We can’t do this upstairs,” you said, but a gasp punctuated your words when Joel’s lips trailed down your jawline to your neck, all while he backed you up towards the stairs. “Sarah’s still asleep.”
“I can be quiet if you can,” Joel said, his voice slightly muffled as he continued to nip and suck at the tender skin of your neck.
You nodded, the entire situation hitting you as Joel picked you up in his strong arms and carried you up the stairs. What was supposed to be picking up your daughter had turned into making out with and jerking off your ex-boyfriend in his kitchen. Your actual boyfriend would be sitting in your apartment wondering where you were. But when Joel closed and locked his bedroom door as quietly as he could behind you and then gently laid you down on his soft grey bedspread that reminded you of lazy mornings and countless nights being fucked stupid into this very mattress, you forgot about him all over again, and all that clouded your mind was Joel Miller.
Both of Joel’s hands rested on a space of the mattress either side of your head as he hovered over you on all fours, one knee between your thighs and the other on the other side of your right leg. He leaned down to kiss you again, his beautiful nose nudging your cheek. His lips peppered kisses over every inch of your face, eventually trailing down your jaw and latching onto a sweet spot on your neck. You hummed contentedly, one hand in Joel’s hair and the other on the back of his neck, dragging your nails along his skin gently but teasingly. Joel continued to suck and bite at your neck like he had all the time in the world. ‘Rush’ was not even in his vocabulary right now.
The hand on the back of Joel’s neck moved, sliding underneath his shirt and resting on his chest. Joel disconnected his lips from your neck for just a second, long enough to pull his t-shirt over his head and discard it on the ground without a second thought. He raised his eyebrows at you, not expectantly, but checking wordlessly that this was still what you wanted. You had known each other so long that the two of you just spoke each other’s language; communicating without words. You nodded, and felt Joel’s hand slip under your shirt, gliding over your stomach and down to the button of your jeans, popping it open effortlessly. The zip followed, and he yanked your jeans down and threw them away like they were irritating him.
Joel leaned back down and pressed wet open-mouthed kisses to your thighs, the hairs of his moustache tickling your soft skin. His index finger hooked around the waistband of your panties. “Missed this pretty pussy, honey. Got myself off thinkin’ about ‘er every night since you been gone. Lemme eat you out, gorgeous. Please. Need to taste you again.”
Your pussy was already soaked by the time you nodded and Joel peeled your panties off. “Fuck, look at you,” Joel groaned, teasing your entrance with his index and middle finger. He slipped his two fingers inside of you with ease, and you had to bite your lip to stifle your whimper of pleasure. “Forgot how fuckin’ beautiful you are when you’re soaked f’me like this.” He slipped a third finger inside you. “Bet your fuckin’ boy-toy don’t make you feel like this.”
The shrill ringing of a phone disrupted the rhythmic pumping of Joel’s fingers inside of you. He removed his fingers and leaned over the side of the bed towards your discarded jeans, pulling your ringing phone out of your back pocket. He flashed the screen in your direction. Your heart dropped when you saw your boyfriend’s name on the screen. “Speak of the fuckin’ devil,” Joel grinned mischievously, and before you could think of what to do next, Joel accepted the call.
“Yep,” Joel grumbled into the phone. “It’s Joel. Sarah’s dad. Yeah, she probably mentioned me.” You gasped in surprise when Joel shoved his fingers back inside your soaked pussy, upping his rhythm to an almost brutal pace. “Yeah, she’s right here.” There was a devilish smirk on Joel’s face as his eyes met yours, twinkling darkly. He held the phone out to you with one hand, still finger-fucking you with the other one.
You snatched the phone from him, and breathed into the phone, “Hey.” You sounded like you’d just ran a marathon. Joel watched you with a satisfied smirk and removed his fingers from your cunt once more. He leant back down, his nose nudged your inner thigh. You glared warningly at him, but that seemingly spurred him on.
“Why is he answering your phone?”
“I was checking on Sarah, he picked up the call so it wouldn’t ring-“ You cut yourself off with a strangled moan as Joel began to eat your pussy like a man starved, his tongue leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” you gasped as Joel’s nose bumped against your clit, tongue mercilessly swiping between your folds. You ran your free hand through Joel’s hair and tugged hard, the motion making him groan into your pussy as he devoured it.
“When are you and Sarah coming back?”
“Soon,” you answered far too quickly, biting the back of your hand to stop yourself crying out. Joel laughed at your answer, the sound sending vibration through your core causing you to shudder. It made you forget yourself for a second and you whined, “Fuck, Joel.”
Your boyfriend clocked the situation immediately. “Are you fucking him right now?” he demanded.
Joel’s nails dug into the meat of your thighs as he fucked you on his tongue. Your heels dug into his back as you lifted your hips against his mouth. The pleasure overrode the need for damage control in this situation and the phone dropped from your hand, abandoned on the bed beside you so both hands could pull roughly at Joel’s hair. You could hear your boyfriend calling your name and a slew of profanities down the phone but you were too far gone to care, so close to your orgasm.
Joel removed one of his hands from your thighs and grabbed the phone, pulling it closer to him so your boyfriend could hear every filthy noise coming from you, from his tongue on your wet pussy, and from Joel himself, the sorry ex-boyfriend. Joel remembered every sensation that came with your body, and grinned into your cunt when he felt your whole body begin to tremble. “That’s it,” Joel mewled, his voice raspy, dripping with arousal, but loud enough to be picked up on the phone call. “Cum on my face. That’s my fuckin’ girl.”
“What the fuck?! Yo, what the fuck?! I’ll fucking kill you, man!”
The sounds of your relationship falling apart were masked by your moan of pleasure when your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave and you came on Joel’s tongue. He continued to lick you through it, catching every drop of your release as breathy moans escaped your lips and your boyfriend screamed and swore through the phone speakers.
Your chest rose and fell as you recovered from the euphoric pleasure that had just ripped through you. Joel sat up onto his knees, his dick was hard in his sweats and his moustache was slick with your wetness. He picked up the phone and hung up the call in the middle of another scream of ‘I’m gonna fucking kill you!’ “Problem solved,” Joel shrugged like it was nothing and tossed the phone back down onto the pile of clothes beside the bed.
You laughed breathlessly, sitting up onto your knees to mirror Joel, grabbing him by the face and pulling him into another desperate kiss. “He’s gonna kill us,” you giggled against Joel’s lips, tasting your own juices on his mouth.
“Let him fuckin’ try,” Joel practically growled, and with that, it was forgotten about. You ached with the need to feel Joel inside you again. You climbed into Joel’s lap, feeling his hard cock against your naked core through his sweatpants as Joel pulled off your shirt and threw it on the floor with the other discarded items of clothing. He unclasped your bra with one hand and quickly turned his attention towards your tits, sucking and licking and swirling his tongue around your nipples. Joel Miller was unlike any other man you’d ever been with.
Joel kicked off his sweatpants and grabbed you by the hips, lining himself up with your entrance and helping you sink down onto his length. You both moaned at the sensation. You didn’t know how you’d forgotten how good he felt inside you, how well he filled you up. Joel sank his teeth into the soft skin of your shoulder to stifle his groans, one hand steadying himself on the bed and the other resting on your lower back.
Joel began to buck his hips upwards, the tip of his cock already hitting your cervix, and before you knew it he was fucking you hard and fast to make up for months and months of lost time. You raked your nails down his broad shoulders, unable to control the whines and moans Joel was fucking out of you.
“Baby,” Joel groaned, his face hidden in your neck as his teeth grazed your earlobe, “gotta- fuck- gotta keep it down.”
“Just feels so fucking good,” you whimpered as Joel continued his unrelenting pace.
“I know, baby, just be a good girl and keep quiet f’me,” Joel encouraged you, and then he shoved his fingers into your mouth to muffle the pretty sounds he was pulling out of you. He muffled his own moans by burying his face between your tits, his low groans sending vibrations to your chest as your walls fluttered around his dick, the feeling causing Joel’s head to fall back in pleasure.
“Fuck- this pussy’s fuckin’ perfect, honey. Can’t believe I ever let you go.” He was pussy drunk beyond belief and it was the sexiest thing ever.
You clenched around his cock, moans muffled by Joel’s fingers that still tasted of your slick. Joel continued to fuck you as your second orgasm washed over you, his thrusts losing their rhythm as he neared his own climax. “‘M gonna cum, baby, fuck… Missed you so fuckin’ much, oh, fuck-“
You slapped your hand over Joel’s mouth to stifle his cries as he spilled thick ropes of his cum inside you. You continued to ride him slowly, coaxing him through it until the bliss subsided. Both your hearts thumped in unison. It felt like you were well and truly one again.
Joel flipped you over so you were on your back and he was on top of you, propped up on his elbows. His dick was softening inside of you, but he did not pull out. “You’re beautiful,” he said, pressing his lips gently against yours. “I missed bein’ able to tell you that.”
You ran a hand through his hair, the other running over the already forming scratch marks over his shoulders from your nails. “I missed hearing you say that.”
He grinned down at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, pushing your hair off your sweaty face. “I ain’t lettin’ you go again.”
You smiled back at him, wondering how you could be so stupid to lose him in the first place. “Good.”
You heard shuffling next door from Sarah’s bedroom. Joel pulled out and handed you your discarded clothes. You both dressed and made your way into your daughter’s room.
Sarah was lying on her back underneath her pink sheets, rubbing her eyes and yawning as you and Joel entered the room. “Mommy,” she exclaimed when she saw you. “Did you and Daddy make up?”
summary: Daisy, the most spoiled sheep in Texas, who also happens to be your daddy's undisputed favourite, chooses the worst possible time to give birth. And out of all the things in the world, she only seems to want to eat Joel Miller’s corn. With your mama sleeping soundly and your daddy out playing poker with Joel, you figure it’s safe to sneak into your neighbour's field to get some corn for Daisy…except Joel isn’t as absent as you thought.
warnings: no outbreak AU, rural setting, implied age gap, smut, fingering, spanking, clit rubbing, spitting, unprotected piv, public sex, getting your back blown out in a cornfield, mild profanity, mentions of alcohol and gambling, mentions of failed marriage/absent wife, domestic farm life, use of weapons, brief violence, societal pressure around marriage, nosy southern family behavior, livestock birth, reader wears a nightgown and has her hair braided (no other description of reader's appearance), no use of y/n.
word count: 6.2k
a/n: i don't know what demon possessed me but i wrote this in 3 days (don't tell my one month old drafts this). anyways, i hope y'all will like it!!
Pampered little shit, that's what Daisy is.
The most spoiled sheep in all of Texas, you can be sure of that. Refuses to eat the grass around the barn like every other animal. So you have to haul her four miles up a hill before she’ll even consider opening her mouth. And don't even think about giving her hay if you don't want a hoof hitting you square in the knee. You even have to sing her a song when you're crouched down trying to milk her. Sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? Well, it's true. You've hummed so many Dolly Parton and Johnny Cash songs to Daisy that you can't stand to listen to their voices anymore whenever you go out to a dance in town.
And all of it is your daddy's doing.
If that man didn't treat Daisy like his own child you're sure she'd quit being such a snob.
Well, guess what? The prissy cotton ball got knocked up in March and your daddy's fussing over her like she's about to have his grand baby.
Can you believe that?
You can swear on your life that she only enjoyed that high pasture because the neighbour's ram was getting sweet on her.
Now it’s late July and she’s round as a barrel, waddling around the barn like a freaking duck. Her sides sway when she walks, her udder’s all tight and shiny, "bagging up," as your daddy keeps proudly announcing. She can’t seem to get comfortable, lies down, grunts, hauls herself back up with the kind of suffering sigh usually reserved for when your dad loses at poker to your neighbour.
You would almost feel pity for her. Almost. If she didn't turn into an aggressive little bitch.
You try to give her the grass by the barn because she's too pregnant to walk up the hill where her baby daddy's probably waiting? She snorts, stamps a hoof like she’s declaring war.
You offer the expensive hay your mama bought especially for her? Yeah, that hay that cost more than your truck payment. Same reaction, only louder, as if you personally insulted her.
You crouch to milk her, and she leans back on her haunches, hooves braced, glaring like she's preparing to kill you.
And maybe she is.
Sometimes she tries to shove you with her head. Not playful, definitely not gentle. Full-on "get out of my way" because she is pregnant and dramatic and convinced the world exists solely to serve her cravings. If she misses, she’ll stomp her front hooves, ears pinned, eyes wide, just to make the point. And when you think she's done? She bleats. High-pitched and commanding, the kind of bleat that could summon cows from the next ranch over if they weren’t too afraid of her.
Speaking of the next ranch, she seems to have developed a certain fondness for it. For what your darling neighbour, Joel Miller, is growing.
Corn.
Over the crooked fence line and across property you absolutely should not be crossing, stands a tall, golden field that might as well be calling her name.
And your daddy? The only craving of his sweet fluffy angel that he can't satisfy is this. Why? Because he doesn’t plant corn. Says it’s too much work, too much water, too much risk.
Joel apparently disagrees. Has about 150 acres of land dedicated to it.
You think you've had enough of her diva attitude and you're about to slaughter her with your bare hands? She suddenly becomes docile when the wind shifts just right and carries that sweet green smell from Joel’s fields.
She just stands there, calm as anything now, like she hasn’t been making your life hell all day. Nose lifted, ears twitching, breathing it in like it’s the finest thing she’s ever smelled.
You follow her gaze out toward the fence without meaning to.
Ripe. Golden.
Not yours.
You click your tongue and turn away.
"Don't even think about it, Daisy. That corn ain't ours."
Not that the fucking sheep understands a word you're saying, but you can swear that she rolled her eyes behind your back.
────୨ৎ────
You don’t think much of it after that. Just another one of Daisy’s moods. The Lord knows she’s had plenty.
Your daddy heads out not long after supper, already halfway into his boots while he’s still talking, hopping a little on one foot as he tries to shove the other on properly. He’s got that look on his face too, like he’s been thinking about this game all day.
You lean against the doorframe, watching him fumble around like he’s in a hurry for once in his life.
"Where’s your hat?" you ask.
He glances around, pats his head like it might magically be there, then spots it on the table and grabs it. "Right there, see? I knew where it was."
"Mmhm."
He jams it onto his head anyway, a little crooked, and only fixes it when he catches you looking.
"Don’t start," he mutters, but there’s no bite to it.
You let out a quiet snort.
He steps closer then, reaching out to tuck a stray piece of your hair back before leaning down to press a quick kiss to your cheek, his stubble scratching just enough to be annoying.
"Don’t wait up," he says. "Game might run long."
You already know the drill. His poker games always drag well past midnight. Especially if there’s booze involved.
And there’s always booze involved.
You nod, half listening, your mind already drifting somewhere else entirely, running through the list of things you might have forgotten to do before coming inside. The chickens... the latch on the coop.. whether that one stubborn hen finally went in or decided to sleep out like she’s got a death wish.
Meh.
It’s been a while since you’ve had to chase a fox off with a rifle. Could be entertaining.
Your mama doesn’t even look up from her chair, too busy picking at something in her lap. "Don’t lose too much," she calls out, like she’s said it a hundred times before.
He laughs, already turning toward the door. "No promises if Joel’s there."
That gets your attention for half a second.
Of course he is.
When isn’t he?
You lean your shoulder a little harder into the frame, watching your daddy step out onto the porch, boots thudding against the wood. "Try not to bet anything we actually need this time," you call after him.
He waves you off without turning around. "That was one time."
"One time too many."
You still sometimes bring up the time your dad didn’t have enough cash and decided, like an idiot, to bet a few acres of land instead.
And lost. To Joel fucking Miller.
You remember that fight. Hard not to.
Your mama near tore the house down, your daddy swearing up and down he’d win it back next time.
He didn't.
Joel won it fair and square, as everyone kept saying.
The great Joel Miller. God of poker games to your dad. Asshole land thief to your mom. Keeper of Daisy’s latest obsession. And the fantasy of all the girls in town. Maybe even some of the married ladies too, if church gossip is to be believed.
Scandalous.
From what your aunts have told you when they visit, it seems that he's always been the center of attention for women. Even when he was married a long time ago. Even more so when his wife left him.
"You should’ve seen him back in high school, sugar. Prettiest thing you ever laid eyes on."
"If I hadn’t already been promised to your uncle Peter, I would’ve snatched him up myself."
"Mhm, that man’s always had women trailin’ after him."
"Still does. Don’t think he don’t notice neither."
"Speakin’ of that… when’re you gonna let someone put a ring on that finger, darlin’?"
"Lord, you might be the only unmarried gal left 'round here."
"Ain’t natural, a pretty thing like you, still runnin’ around with no husband."
"I know this real sweet boy over at my church. Works with his hands, good family, don’t drink much…"
"Don’t listen to her, that boy’s mama is a nightmare. But she’s right about one thing. You oughta settle down soon."
"You don't wanna end up like aunt Petunia."
Oh, yeah. Aunt Petunia. Jilted at the altar and never even looked at another man again.
Turned to religion instead. Properly turned, too. Church every Sunday, every Wednesday, and any other day her arthritis doesn't act up. Talks about sin and damnation every chance she gets.
The only unmarried woman in your family. And, naturally, the favorite subject of town gossip.
Somehow, every conversation with these women ends up circling right back to the same thing. A ring on your finger. Preferably sooner rather than later.
And how, at your very grown age, it’s practically a tragedy there isn’t one already.
The screen door creaks as you pull it shut behind you, and a second later the truck engine turns over, loud in the quiet of the evening. Headlights sweep across the yard, catching the fence line, the barn, the edge of the field before swinging away as he backs out.
You watch until the red of the taillights disappears down the road.
For a moment, it’s quiet again.
Just the hum of insects, the distant rustle of something in the grass, the kind of stillness that settles in once the day’s properly done.
You push off the doorframe with a small sigh, stretching your arms over your head until your back cracks.
"Well," you mutter to yourself, "there goes the evening."
Your mama shifts in her chair but still doesn’t look up, already halfway to falling asleep where she sits.
You glance between her and the dark window, then out toward where the barn sits just barely visible in the distance.
Everything seems fine.
No foxes, no whining from one particular sheep, no stray chickens running around the coop. Just peace and quiet.
You shrug it off and go to bed.
────୨ৎ────
If there truly is a hell where people burn at the stake, as your aunt Petunia so often reminds you, then you’re certain their screams sound better than whatever the woolly demon in your barn is making.
Somewhere between a dream and waking, something feels off. Too quiet, then not quiet enough. A sound that doesn’t belong, threading its way into your head until you can’t ignore it anymore.
You frown, shifting under the covers.
There it is again.
Your eyes snap open. You lie there for a second, staring up at the ceiling, listening.
"That fuckin' sheep's gonna be the death of me," you mutter, already pushing yourself up.
You swing your legs over the side of the bed, barely awake, shoving your feet into your slippers while rubbing at your eyes. Your nightgown clings to your skin in the heat, an uncomfortable reminder that sleeping with the window open in the middle of summer was a mistake.
"Mama," you call as you step into the hallway, voice still thick with sleep.
No answer.
You head for your parents' room and push the door open. You're not sure how late it actually is, but your dad's side of the bed is empty.
Probably still out playing poker with Joel and God knows who else.
"Mama, wake up."
She groans, shifting under the covers but not opening her eyes. "What?"
"Daisy’s actin' up. She sounds-" you hesitate, listening for another noise from outside. "She sounds wrong."
"She’s fine," your mama mumbles, already turning onto her side. "They do that."
"I don’t think she’s fine."
You stare at her, waiting for her to sit up, to tell you what you're supposed to do.
She doesn’t.
Just pulls the covers higher and settles right back in like you didn’t just wake her up.
"You know daddy's gonna kill us if somethin' happens to Daisy-"
Snoring. She's fucking snoring.
You let out a slow breath through your nose. "Unbelievable."
Fine.
You turn on your heel and head for the door, trying to reach for your boots in the dark hallway.
The night air hits you warm and heavy as soon as you step outside, thick with dust that makes you cough. You don’t hesitate, heading straight for the barn, boots kicking up stray pebbles with every step.
Halfway there, you stop short, squinting into the dark.
"Shit."
You turn back toward the porch, grabbing the old flashlight hanging by the door, thumping it once against your palm until the beam flickers to life.
"Better not die on me now," you mutter, already heading back out.
Another strained sound reaches you before you even get the door open.
"Yeah, yeah, I’m coming," you mutter, pushing inside.
You hook the flashlight between your shoulder and cheek for a second, fumbling along the wall until your fingers find the old oil lamp.
"Hold on, hold on..."
It takes a second. Longer than it should. Your hands aren’t as steady as you’d like.
The wick finally catches, flame flickering weak at first before steadying, casting a warm, uneven glow across the barn.
Shadows stretch and shift along the walls, softer than the harsh electric light but no less unsettling.
You grab the lamp, turning back toward her.
Daisy’s pacing.
Or trying to.
She takes a few stiff, uneven steps, then stops, shifting her weight like she doesn’t know where to put it. Her sides heave, and when she sees you, she lets out another one of those low, strained sounds that twists something in your chest.
Daisy tenses, and the flame trembles with the motion, throwing her shape into something uneven and sharp for a second before settling again.
"Alright," you murmur, more to fill the space than anything else. "Easy."
Your shadow moves when you do, stretching long across the straw, then snapping back in as you lean closer.
"Hey- hey, easy," you say, moving toward her slower this time, hands out.
"Yeah... yeah, that’s it. Calm down," you say quietly.
The barn feels too quiet otherwise.
Too still outside of her breathing, the soft rustle of straw, the occasional creak of wood shifting somewhere above.
Daisy sways again, a strained sound leaving her as she tries to settle. Her sides rise and fall too fast, breath uneven, and for once she doesn’t look at you like she’s about to take your knee out.
"Don't you dare bite me now, girl," you murmur, crouching down beside her.
She just looks tired.
As close as you were to turning her into lamb chops just a few hours ago, the sight does something unpleasant to your conscious.
"Okay," you say, more to yourself than her. "Okay, I’ve seen this. I know this."
You haven’t. Not really.
Not like this. Not alone.
You’ve helped once when your cousin gave birth, but you’re certain it’s a whole different thing when it’s a sheep.
You reach out anyway, resting a hand against her side, feeling the tension there, the way her muscles tighten under your palm. The lamplight flickers with the movement, soft and uneven, catching on your hands and the curve of her body.
"Easy," you murmur. "C’mon, girl."
She lets out another sound, sharper this time, and you wince. "Yeah, I know. I know."
You glance back toward the open barn door for a second, half expecting your mama to suddenly appear, maybe your daddy too, like this is something you don’t have to handle by yourself.
Nothing.
Just the dark yard and the sound of insects humming like nothing’s wrong.
"Great," you mutter. "Love that for me."
Daisy shifts again, and this time she goes down, legs folding under her awkwardly before she settles into the straw. She doesn’t stay still long, though, moving, adjusting, like she can’t get comfortable no matter what she does.
"Alright, alright," you say quickly, moving with her. "That’s fine. That’s… that’s normal, I think."
You drag a hand over your face, trying to remember anything your daddy ever said about this that you actually paid attention to.
You’ve never been one to love the countryside life, even though you were born into it. Always wanting more, always planning on leaving as soon as you could.
Maybe that’s why you pushed back every time your family tried to marry you off to some farmer.
Is it so wrong to want more? Is it so wrong that you don’t want to end up like the other women in your town?
They all seem to think so.
Another strained sound from Daisy pulls your focus right back.
You lean in a little, squinting. "Okay. Okay, I see it."
Your voice drops without you meaning it to, like talking softer might make it easier.
"Yeah, yeah, that’s it," you say quickly. "You’re fine. You’re fine."
You don’t know if she is.
But saying it feels necessary.
Time stretches after that.
You lose track of it somewhere between talking to her like she understands you and trying to keep your hands steady when things get messy.
It takes longer than you expect, longer than you’re comfortable with. You second guess yourself more than once, wondering if you should’ve dragged your mama out of bed anyway or waited for your daddy to get back home.
But somehow, you managed on your own.
────୨ৎ────
You didn't think the most evil creature in all of Texas was able to create such a delicate little thing.
Daisy shifts beside you, low and restless now that the worst of it is over. The lamb presses close to her side, unsteady but trying to stand on its legs.
You push yourself up slowly, joints stiff, brushing straw off your nightgown without really thinking about it. Your legs feel heavy when you stand, boots scraping through the hay as you move closer to the feed.
You scoop some up without thinking, more out of habit than hope, and hold it out toward her.
"Here," you say. "Eat something."
Of course she doesn't listen to you and won't eat anything you're offering. Not the grass, not the hay, won't even drink some water.
She might've just given birth but she's still a stubborn cunt.
You let out a slow breath through your nose, already feeling the headache coming on. "So what, you gonna starve now?"
She looks past you instead. Towards the open barn door. You follow her gaze before you can stop yourself.
Out beyond the yard, past the shining creek and the fence line where dark fields stretch out under the night sky.
And there it is. Corn.
Joel's corn.
You close your eyes for a second.
"No," you say immediately.
Daisy shifts forward like she didn’t hear you, nudging the back of your leg with her head.
You open your eyes again. "Absolutely not."
Behind you, the lamb lets out a small sound, pressing closer to her side.
If she doesn't eat, then her baby doesn't eat.
Darn it.
────୨ৎ────
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Since when does a sheep tell you what to do?
Daddy would get angry if he found out that his precious baby gave birth and didn't have anything to eat.
Stupidest reasoning you've ever concocted.
But you've done worse than steal from your neighbor's cornfield. Much worse, if you're being honest. And with no reasoning at all, so does it really matter now?
You find a weak point faster than you should.
Of course you do.
One of the fence posts leans just enough, wire sagging where time and weather have already done half the work for you. You step closer, testing it with your hands first. The wood shifts slightly under your grip, old and tired.
You plant your boot on the lower wire, gripping the post with one hand while the other keeps the flashlight angled awkwardly between your fingers. The wood digs into your fingers as you haul yourself up, nightgown catching on the wire for a second before you yank it free.
"Ow, shit," you hiss quietly, not stopping.
You swing one leg over, then the other, balancing there for a breathless second at the top.
Then you lower yourself down on the other side, boots hitting the ground with a soft, uneven thud. Your knees bend to take the weight, and the flashlight jerks hard in your hand, beam skittering across the rows of corn before you steady it again.
Your boots sink slightly into the softer ground beyond the yard, grass brushing your legs as you move faster than you probably should. The flashlight beam cuts a narrow path ahead of you, bouncing with every step, catching on fence posts and patches of uneven earth.
The corn moves slightly in the night wind, tall and dark around you, swallowing the edges of the light.
One step in and the world changes. The fence is gone behind you, the barn somewhere farther than it should feel, and all that’s left is rows of tall stalks shifting softly in the wind.
You lift the flashlight, sweeping it ahead.
Light catches on leaves, gold-green and sharp at the edges, throwing shadows that move when you move. It feels like the field is watching you back, which is ridiculous, but so is everything else about tonight.
The stalks brush your arms as you push through them, dry leaves scratching at your skin, whispering every time you pass. The sound of your own breathing starts to feel too loud, so you focus on the light instead.
You shift the flashlight, biting down on it so it rests between your teeth, freeing your hands. The beam tilts upwards now, illuminating more sky than ground, but it is enough. Just enough to see where your fingers are going.
"There," you mumble around it.
You reach out, grabbing one of the stalks.
It is thicker than you expect, rough under your palm. You pull a few ears free, stuffing them quickly into the crook of your arm before moving to the next. The corn husks crinkle loudly in your hands, every sound feeling bigger out here than it should.
"This is ridiculous," you mutter again, voice muffled.
The flashlight slips slightly between your teeth as you speak, and you tighten your jaw to hold it steady. Somewhere behind you, the field shifts with the wind, corn bending and straightening like it is breathing.
You hear a crunch of boots through dry stalks that is not yours.
You freeze so fast your whole body locks up, flashlight still clenched between your teeth, corn pressed tight against your chest.
Then light cuts through the rows.
A second beam.
Please let it not be Joel, please let it not be Joel, please-
Well, of course it's Joel. It's his goddamn field, isn't it?
You shift slightly, like moving will somehow make you less visible, but the moment you do, the corn in your arms slips. One ear hits the ground. Then another. The whole bundle follows in a soft, humiliating cascade of thuds and rustling husks.
"Shit-" you whisper around the flashlight.
The second beam adjusts immediately.
Now it finds your face properly.
You blink against it, raising a hand to shield your eyes, corn scattered all around your boots like evidence you cannot undo.
When your vision finally adjusts to the light, you see that it's not only a flashlight pointed at your face, but a rifle too.
Could this night get any more shitty than it already is?
You take the flashlight out of your mouth slowly, like that might somehow make this less embarrassing, and swallow.
"What the fuck are you doin'? Get that thing outta my face."
The light doesn’t move.
"What am I doin'?" comes the reply, calm as anything. "What are you doin' out here in the middle of the night? I coulda shot ya."
What are you supposed to do? Thank him for not killing you?
You stare at him through your lashes, irritation rising quicker than any common sense you should have right now.
"Weren't you supposed to be out playing poker?"
A beat passes where neither of you really moves. The flashlight is still pointed at you, though it dips slightly now, enough that you can actually see him instead of just being blinded by it.
He looks down first, then past you, then at the ground like he is trying to understand what he is looking at. It takes him a second too long to say anything, which already makes this worse.
"Fuckin' thief," he says finally, like he is still processing it. Then his eyes come back to you. "What would your daddy say if he found out about what you're doin'?"
"He’s not gonna find out," you say quickly.
Joel lets out a quiet breath through his nose, like he has already heard enough.
"The hell he is," he mutters.
Before you can react, he steps forward, closing the distance in two long strides. His free hand wraps around your arm, not rough but not giving you much of a choice either. Close like this you can see the rifle in his other hand clearly, a reminder that you should probably behave.
"Hey-" you start, pulling back instinctively.
"Come on," he says, already turning you with him. "You’re gonna tell him yourself what kinda thievin' kid he raised under his roof."
You stumble a step before catching your balance, forced into motion as he guides you back the way you came. The corn brushes against you again, louder now that you are not sneaking, the flashlight beam jerking in your hand as you try to keep up without tripping over uneven ground.
"The corn wasn't even for me, it was for Daisy-"
"Daisy?"
Yeah, playing the sheep card, that's totally gonna work.
"Yeah," you say, a little too defensive now, "My sheep."
He keeps walking, doesn’t slow, doesn’t let go of your arm.
"You broke into my field for a sheep," he says.
"I didn’t break in," you shoot back. "And she just gave birth, for your information."
Not that he cares.
You reach the edge of the field, the fence coming back into view, and he finally slows. His grip loosens just enough that you can pull away. You yank your arm free, taking a few steps back.
"Daddy ain't even home," you add. "Thought he was out playin' poker with you."
"I didn’t go tonight," he says.
You frown. "What?"
A little late to find out that he was home the entire time. Maybe if you knew from the start you wouldn't have snuck in his field.
You cross your arms anyway. "Well, he went. So he’s not here. Which means there’s no reason for you to be draggin’ me back like I’m five."
He looks at you for a second, then says, "You've always had such a mouth on you, sweetheart."
You don’t answer him right away. That alone makes it worse, because now it’s just quiet. Too quiet.
What if he does tell your dad that you snuck on his property and tried to steal from him?
Then you'd be fucked.
The thought sits heavy in your chest longer than you want it to. Not enough to scare you straight, but enough to make you stop talking for a second.
Wait, what the fuck is that?
A sound cuts through the corn behind you. Growling..?
The rustling comes harder now, closer, moving through the rows in a way that doesn’t sound like wind.
Something bursts through the edge of the corn a second later, low to the ground, fast enough that your brain doesn’t fully register it at first.
Then it does.
Fucking fox. Probably on its way to kill your chickens.
You step back too quickly, boots catching on uneven dirt and broken stalks. Your heel slips, your balance goes before you can fix it.
"Shit-"
It happens fast. One second you’re upright, the next you’re going down hard into the dirt and scattered corn. The flashlight flies from your grip, beam jerking across the ground, cutting through stalks before it drops out completely. The batteries must’ve come loose.
For a second, everything is just noise. Your own breathing, the rustle of the corn, your heartbeat too loud in your ears.
A shot is fired. The loud noise startles you even more than it did the fox who crawled under the fence and ran off.
You don’t move right away. You’re still half on your side in the dirt, one hand braced under you, the other feeling blindly for the flashlight.
You don’t even acknowledge Joel until his rifle lands on the dirt beside you, smoke still curling from the barrel. Not long after, his flashlight is thrown down too, the beam angled uselessly into the ground.
The light spills forward, cutting across the dirt and broken corn stalks, making it harder to see him properly when you turn your head. Just shape and shadow now. Close enough that you know he’s there.
You’re still on your hands and knees, trying to get your footing back, palms pressed into the dirt while you push yourself up a little at a time. The ground shifts slightly under you as you move, uneven and stubborn.
Then a thought flashes through your mind, an undeniably bad one.
If trespassing and stealing weren’t good enough reasons to get you reported to your father, you were about to give him something truly worth reporting.
You give him another look over your shoulder, even though you can't really see him you can tell he's kneeling or crouching behind you.
Perfect.
That was it. You snap your heel backward and upward, swinging your leg around in a pass meant to land squarely between Joel’s legs.
That's for scaring the shit out of you with that rifle of his.
Your aim isn't at its best in the pitch-black night, but what you lacked in precision you made up for in force, your foot drove in hard where you assumed his groin was.
From the way your heel drove into him and the sound that tore out of his throat, you figured you’d landed it well enough. But when you turned your head again, you saw his silhouette clutching his stomach.
A little lower next time, maybe.
You figure that this is a pretty good time to run away, so you try to sit upright and bolt straight for the fence.
But you don't get far. Something clamps around you ankle dragging you right back. You lose your balance mid trying to stand up and fall straight to your face.
What you don't expect is a sudden retaliatory strike.
You feel his hand gripping a fistful of your nightgown, hauling it up until you can feel a gentle breeze grazing the skin of your hips.
A sharp, abrupt slap lands against the curve of your ass. Your mouth drops open in shock. You barely have time to react before another hit snaps across your cheek.
"Fuckin' hell.. your daddy should've done this to ya a long time ago, sweetie," he muses through his teeth.
It's not the first time you're being told that you need a good ol' spanking. You never actually got one, so maybe that's why you're so shocked to feel Joel, out of all people, do it.
"Spoiled little thing, ain't ya..? Thinkin' everything should go your way.."
Sounds familiar?
Maybe you and Daisy aren't that different after all.
You let out a short, breathless laugh despite yourself, more annoyed than intimidated and lift your ass up in the air, wiggling your hips at him.
He lets out a low grunt and moves in closer, clearly unamused by your teasing. The air around you thickens with the soft scent of worn leather, dry hay, and fresh wood shavings, all layered with the salty tang of skin that’s spent the whole day beneath the sun.
Well, this is clearly one strange way to convince him not to tell your father what you've done tonight.
Your teeth clamp down so hard you almost bite clean through your lower lip, trying to hold back a reaction you can't quite control. The night around you feels even tighter somehow, the cornfield pressing in on all sides, the rustle of dry stalks shifting with every faint movement.
Then something shifts behind you and a new sensation cuts through everything. Warmth presses against you, sudden and intrusive, and you go completely still for a heartbeat, your thoughts stalling in the dark as a finger pushes your underwear to the side.
For a moment, you stay frozen, caught in the pitch-black field while the corn rustles around you and the silence stretches tight and uneasy.
He teases you lightly with the tips of his fingers, hovering at your entrance. A sharp, consuming need coils through you, tightening your thighs as you respond instinctively, your body betraying you and deepening the slick warmth that gathers against his hand.
Then, without much warning, he slips a finger into your warmth and curls it just right. The sensation pulls a sharp sound from you, your fingers burying into the dirt underneath you.
A mix of intensity and emotion overwhelms you, so strong it stings behind your eyes. You tremble as your body responds to him, sensitivity heightening everything he does. When he adds another finger, it’s slower this time and you gasp at the stretch and pressure, your breath catching as he works you carefully.
"Gonna hurt a little, baby," he murmurs behind you.
Your gaze is fixed forward, at the rifle laying on the ground next to you, at the flashlight that does absolutely nothing to help you see the man behind you. You almost extend an arm to grab it, but you stop yourself when Joel's hand leaves your cunt. You sigh at the loss, arching your back into him.
You hear the faint clink of his belt buckle, followed by the soft scrape of his zipper coming down. A moment later, there’s the rustle of fabric as he pushes his jeans down.
His hands slide around your back, holding you close as he draws you in. His pelvis is flush against yours, what you assume is his cock heavy against your thigh.
A sudden rush of emotion and intensity floods through you, scattering your thoughts until they drift loose and unfocused, leaving your mind suspended.
You feel the cold press of his belt against the back of your leg, the nudge of his cock between your thighs, hands groping over your hips, squeezing the soft flesh in his rough palms.
The head of his cock grazes your swollen clit, going up to nudge itself at your entrance. Then something warm and sticky lands between your folds.
"Did you just fuckin' spit on me?"
His cock slaps against your moist folds with a squelching sound, making you clench around nothing.
"Language, sweetheart," he says through gritted teeth.
You should recoil from his touch and tell him that spitting is fucking gross, but before you can protest further he smears it up your slit. He slots his head against your hole and you let out a strangled noise, vision blurring further into the dark as he slams into you.
There is an ache as he pushes in, a stinging sensation that dulls with the warmth and pressure of him settling heavily inside you. Spreading you apart in his hands, he spits yet again, the glob of saliva landing at the base where he's buried to the hilt inside you.
"So fuckin’ tight, sweetie," he says. He reaches around to rub your puffy nub, a move that makes your entire body shiver.
Joel moves his other palm up your back, finding purchase in the braid resting on your back, tugging it until your back arches even more. He lets a low groan escape out of his throat while he rocks his hips back and forth.
For a moment he withdraws, gripping your hair even tighter, then he drives his cock to nestle inside your cunt again. The circles on your clit and harsh movements may as well set your whole body on fire.
You are filled to your limit, overwhelmed by heat and slick need, your body trembling as each sharp thrust draws another helpless sound from your throat. Already worn down, overstimulated, and desperate, you’re barely a second away from begging him to slow down.
A sharp slap echoes as your bodies meet, the sound punctuating the moment, and a muffled whimper slips past your clenched teeth as the sensation of your climax crests and pulls you under.
You let out a soft, broken sound, your back arching even as you instinctively pull away, caught between retreat and need. Your body wavers, unsure whether to escape the overwhelming sensation or press closer, chasing it instead.
Your fluttering walls push him over the edge. You feel him twitching inside you before he pulls out, his release spilling across the curve of your lower back.
The sound hits you both at the same time.
That low, familiar rumble of your daddy's truck engine rolling up the dirt road. You turn your head and there they are, behind Joel and the crooked fence, the headlights cutting across the yard like a warning.
You shove forward, scrambling out from under him, hands slipping in the dirt as you try to push yourself upright. Your nightgown is still bunched up, hair half pulled loose, breath uneven as you drag the fabric back down your legs, fingers clumsy, not working fast enough.
If Joel didn’t shoot you tonight, your daddy sure as hell will if he sees you like this.
