summary: you go on ELLE Magazine’s ‘phoning it in’ segment to prank call some of your friends, but how does harry, your fiancée, react to you prank calling him?
pairing: current!harrystyles x fem!reader
a/n: i literally wrote this in like an hour so it might suck BUT i needed to bring this to life! i loooove phoning it in, so i was cheesing the entire time i wrote this omg. lmk yalls thoughts and if anyone has ideas lmk🫰🥹
word count: 1.8k
the lights are bright on Elle Magazine’s “Phoning it in” set.
there’s faint music playing from an overhead speaker that drowns out the sound of the hum from the lights and shoes squeaking against the shiny floor every once in a while.
you’re currently sat on the little white seat your friends have sat in as your hair and makeup team give you some last minute touch ups in between the phone calls.
as you sit there, you open instagram to watch videos of harry’s opening night in wembley stadium, biting the tip of your pastel colored nail when you see his outfit, before eventually closing out of the app and going back to being present in the moment with the rest of the crew.
when you set your phone down, you giggle at your friend’s reactions to your prank calling
the energy on set is great.
everyone’s been so sweet to you ever since you walked into the large studio, and you can tell everyone genuinely loves working here.
there’s girls talking and looking at what’s probably a schedule on an ipad, the camera operator making small adjustments, your assistant silently keeping an eye out to make sure everything runs smoothly, and other staff that just want to see the prank calls unravel.
you’ve fallen victim to being prank called by some of your friends before, so you were very excited to be doing the pranks and finally not getting the burnt end of the stick.
so far, you’ve called suki waterhouse, asking if you can go grocery shopping in her fridge since you left your wallet at home and need food for a party you’re hosting, charli xcx, asking for tips as you want to seriously start a DJ career,
though charli saw through your shit immediately.
“babe you’ve never been into djing like that, why are you being weird? are you doing that damn elle prank call thing?”
your manager, saying that you want to quit acting, rachel sennot, saying that you hit her costar josh hutcherson with your car while trying to make a U-Turn, and now you’re about to call harry.
you and harry got engaged 4 months ago, after having been together since 2022, you both decided the time was right, despite his tour lasting for the rest of the year. unfortunate for you, since you miss him.
but! you’re due to join him in the next few days, so you’re just finishing up some last minute interviews here in LA as promo for your most recent project. after this, your schedule is completely free to see harry on tour until december.
harry knows you’re here, because you mistakenly told him a few nights ago, so you really need to focus and put your acting skills to use.
that oscar nomination last award show season wasn’t for nothing
that’s why, you’re flipping through the small notebook filled with potential pranks trying to find the perfect prank to pull on him. if you say something too big, he’s not going to believe it, but you also want a reaction out of him.
ask him to join love island with you?
no
tell him you crashed your car and now you’re hanging off a cliff?
waaay to extreme
ask him if you can collab with him on a song?…
we all know harry doesn’t do collabs.
ever.
so, when you show it to your team, and when they all start giggling, imagining harry’s reaction and knowing damn well you can’t sing, you know that’s the one.
your eyes drift towards the time in the top left corner of your phone
2:19 pm LA time
so it’s 10:19 pm for harry in london, you think, quickly thinking of the time difference and circumstance
“wait but he just got off stage not too long ago. should i still call?”
your team is walking back to stand behind the camera while you glance around at the people on set asking for their opinion as you trace your tongue along your gums.
you really don’t want to wake him if he’s asleep, but you reeeally want to prank him.
“your call, but it should be fine” you hear your assistant say as she stands off to the side. she’s heard you talk about harry’s schedule so much that she basically has it memorized.
“mmmm, okay” you say to yourself as you think, blotting your lipstick, moving your hair forward, and adjusting your rings as you wait for your queue.
as you wait, you’re smiling and giggling in your seat under the warm lighting like a schoolgirl with a secret as you think of harry’s reaction.
someone behind the camera gives you a countdown and thumbs up after a few minutes, your queue to start, and you immediately put your “customer service” voice, as you call it, on.
“okay so next, i think i’m going to call my fiancée… if he answers ” you say smiling softly to yourself as you unlock your phone. (you take every chance you get to refer to him as your “fiancée”)
you sit there, letting it ring on speaker, expecting to hear, a “hi darling” or a “hi angel” but instead, all you hear is an automated “the mailbox is full and cannot except messages at this time.”
your jaw drops and everyone starts laughing
“guys cut that that’s so embarrassing.”
but you don’t mean it, hell, you’re laughing too
“oh my gosh i can already hear twitter with their ‘he didn’t answer because it’s PR’ bullshit”
it’s inevitable, so can anyone really blame you when your eyes roll and you shake your head with a small smile?
everyone’s giggling, and when you go to text him, your phone buzzes as your contact for harry pops up at the top of the screen, waiting for you to decline or accept his call back.
“he’s calling he’s calling”
the words spill out quickly, like they always do when you get nervous, and you can’t contain the large smile forming on your lips and the laugh coming from your mouth.
everyone immediately quiet’s down and you clear your throat before answering on speaker
“hi baby”
your voice is calm and cool, hiding the fact that you’re 5 seconds away from laughing and ruining the prank
“hi darling, i’m so sorry, i was in the shower. you alright?”
your heart actually melts like an ice cream on a hot day
while looking at the crew, you put a hand on your heart and mouth “aww”
“no baby i’m fine, how was the show? i saw videos, and oh my gosh. 1, you were fantastic, and 2, never stop wearing those sunglasses. you were giving very george michael vibes”
you hear him laugh softly
that laugh that makes you feel like you’re on your guys’ first date again, and it’s very obviously sleepy, but still pushing through to talk to you.
“thank you darling, lambert did good eh? but no, it was great. mum and gem were there, the crowd had fun, and the fireworks went well, thank goodness. i can’t wait to do it again tomorrow”
he exhales softly in relief that it went smoothly, and you can picture him in your head. lights off except for the lamp next to him, his phone laying on the pillow so he doesn’t have to hold it up, and him buried under the hotel duvet
you slump back in your seat, muting yourself before telling everyone
“fuck i love him”
after a second, you sit up and quickly unmute, fidgeting with your necklace
“awww baby that’s so fun, i’m so proud of you. i’m buzzing i can’t wait to go”
you’re smiling so hard that you’re pretty positive that harry can hear it in your voice too
“thank you darling. but what’s up? it’s almost half passed 2 isn’t it? how was elle?”
ever attentive, always asking about you
“elle went good, im home now.”
lie
“but im laying here thinking, and baby i had the best idea ever. like you’re not ready. are you ready? are you listening? oh my gosh wait no pun intended”
you quickly go on mute to laugh freely, and when you do you hear harry laugh at your joke and slightly hesitate,
“go on…what is it?”
he’s definitely more awake now
you unmute and smile
“okay, hear me out. what if we collab on a song together. like just write me a verse, or ill write it im not picky, and it’ll be song of the summer”
the line is quiet
so quiet, in fact, that you have to check that your wifi didn’t go out
“harry? you there?”
“no, no i’m here”
“sooo? what do you think? good idea, right?”
and you know why harry’s hesitating. without sugar coating anything…your voice isn’t the best. but you love to sing.
you sing in the car, in the shower, while making dinner, and even while walking around the house.
you’ve tried to get harry to teach you how to at least hold a note, bless him, but you’re a lost cause
“mmhmm! it’s a great idea darling” he finally sputters out after a minute
“baby….. are you lying?”
the teasing offense in your voice is thick
“no! what? of course not”
“then why is your voice so high? you act like i don’t know you”
you hear rustling, like he’s sitting up in bed
“can i ask what sparked this idea?”
the way he asks is almost as if he’s physically scratching his head as he says it
and you have to take a breath to not laugh
“i don’t know, i just thought it’d be fun. don’t you?”
“no it would..”
“but…?”
“darling are you sure?”
“harry, this would literally go triple platinum”
quickly, you go on mute as harry tries to find his words. trying really hard not to call you a bad singer
you hear him sigh softly, so you unmute before he finally responds
“i mean if you really want to i can call tom and ask to set something up. but darling, are you sure?”
when he asks if your sure for what feels like the 10th time,
you lose it.
you bust out laughing and so does the crew
“oh fuck off” you hear him mumble behind a laugh
“baby i love you! this was for elle’s prank call thing” still in a fit of giggles and satisfaction that it was successful
“oh thank goodness”
his words come out so quickly you barely catch them. which only adds fuel to your laugh
“baby!”
“darling, i love you so much, but…”
“no i know i can’t sing. but you were so cute! look at you, willing to make my dreams come true at the expense of your music catalog!”
“you’re worth more than any music catalog, my love”
you sigh happily, a flush creeping up on your cheeks
“baby i’m on camera” you whine in faux annoyance
“i love you”
“i love you most”
you smile softly, and before you say bye you remember that you were instructed to ask for permission for elle to use his voice
“oh baby, does elle have permission to use your voice/this phone call for their video?”
you ask, smiling as you bite the tip of your nail
“i mean i guess…”
he mumbles quietly, still laughing softly
“no i’m kidding, go for it”
you hold up a thumbs up and nod at the crew
“thanks superstar, i’ll let you go so you can sleep, no more pranks for today. call me when you wake up, yeah?”
“mmhmm, i will. g’night darling. love you, miss you”
and despite his sleepiness, you can still hear him blow a soft kiss
“sleep good, love and miss you too”
and with that, you hang up.
but not before blowing a kiss back
you put your phone away, do the outro they have scripted for you, and thank the crew on the set.
everyone is thanking you, still laughing here and there and ‘aweing’ over yours and harry’s relationship
when you’re finally walking to your car, bags in hand half an hour later, you check your phone for the first time since calling harry
you expect to see emails, random notifications, or texts from people reminding you to do something
but instead of any of that,
you see a new unread text from harry sent 3 minutes after you called him
| if you really want to make a song together, all jokes aside, we can. just let me know. get home safe, love you always, even despite your lack of vocal. xx
Summary: New to the industry, you become paired with one of p*rn’s biggest names; Eddie “The Freak” Munson. Used to doing solo work, you can’t help but feel a little intimidated and a lot nervous. That is, until Eddie teaches you that maybe there isn’t all that much to be scared about.
Content Warning: 18+ smut, porn, porn-industry talk/mentions, pornstar!Eddie x pornstar!reader, sex work, allusion to sex, dirty talk, she/her pronouns, masturbation (m & f), use of sex toys, swearing/profanity, mentions of oral sex, actual oral sex (m & f receiving), swallowing, cum-play, handjob, digital penetration (fingering), light spanking, overstimulation, voyeurism, sex while being filmed, rough oral/face fucking, face riding, face smothering, spitting/sloppy oral sex (both m & f receiving), softdom!Eddie, mutual pining. Eddie is down bad for reader. Eddie solidifies the rumors that he's a total munch.
────────
He was supposed to be off on Sundays- practically unreachable. It was a clause in his final contract that he signed almost 11 months ago. He had Sundays off with no disruptions. No calls, no emails, no meetings- and absolutely no work. So, when his phone rang through the quiet confines of his loft-style apartment, he groaned out in frustration.
Leave me the fuck alone, Paul…
He thought, slumping further into his couch as he slung his forearm over his eyes. He had nothing on his agenda besides a well-needed nap and some light D&D manual reading. He didn’t even plan on leaving his apartment. Just that.
So, when his phone stopping ringing, Eddie let out a sigh of relief- trying to doze off again before it started ringing again. Not even a five minute pause between the last call.
Whatever he wants, he can leave a goddamn message like everyone else.
He would get to it on Monday. Maybe. If he was lucky.
But no.
On the third attempted call, Eddie jumps off the couch with a groan- stomping over to his wall phone before picking it up.
“Munson.” He murmurs gruffly as he leans against the wall impatiently.
“Eds! Jesus Christ, kid! Pick up your damn phone when I call.”
“What do you want, Paul?” Eddie drones, already wanting to be off the phone as fast as he picked it up.
“Look, kid, I know you said no Sundays but-“
“Nuh-uh.” Eddie cuts him off “No. You know the rules. The only thing I asked for when we renewed my contract was that I get to be unreachable on Sundays. This-“ Eddie gestures to the phone in his hand even though he knew his manager couldn’t see him. It was all for emphasis, really.
“This is not unreachable.” He finishes “It can wait until Monday.”
“Look, kiddo, I know what you said but I don’t think this can wait.”
“Yeah, well, it’ll have to wait. I’ll call you back tomorrow.”
“Do not hang up on me, Munson! I know you’ve only got a month left of this but at least respect me enough to hear me out when I speak to you.”
“Fine,” Eddie sighs, rubbing his temple in exasperation “What do you want?”
“I’ve got a gig for you. Trust me, kid, you’re gonna love it.”
Eddie rolls his eyes.
“Y’know, Paul, I feel like I’ve heard you say that before.” He points out.
“Nah, kid. I mean it. I’ve got something you’re gonna love. Meet me in my office in an hour.”
“What!?” Eddie exclaims “Hold on! Wait-“
But before Eddie could argue, his manager had already hung up- leaving the other end dead as he stood there in disbelief.
That fucking bastard.
────────
To say that the porn industry had made him jaded would be an understatement.
After three grueling years, a lot of fucking, faking it, and getting off enough women to start a Jim Jones-style cult- Eddie had had enough. He was retiring. For good.
The announcement to the porn industry had been a shock to everyone. Eddie “The Freak” Munson; the sex-industry’s “Prince of Porn” (Or “The Prince of Pussy” as some called him, for some odd reason) was leaving behind his legacy as the ladies’ favorite male pornstar. No one has seen anything like it. It was practically unfathomable that someone of his caliber- someone who jackhammered his way into the hearts of millions- was walking away.
To almost every man in America, Eddie “The Freak” Munson was living their dream. Eddie, however, was bored, tired, and lonely. It was fun while it lasted but he was ready to move on. You could only fuck so many blondes with huge tits and daddy kinks until it got completely played out and repetitive. It also didn’t help that, outside of filming, he wasn’t even interested in sex.
True be told, sex had become the last thing on his mind. Not that he couldn’t fuck anyone he wanted. Hell, he was sure there would be a line halfway to Europe if he did. He just didn’t see the point. It was like eating the same meal everyday for the rest of your life. You get tired of it pretty damn quick. What was the point of sex without the emotional connection? The passion? The lust? It was just a waste of time and energy.
Eddie rolled into his manager’s office an hour and a half later, taking his sweet time as he parked his van at the studio. He walks past the receptionists, sending a wink their way as he walked through to Paul’s private office suite. There have been many occasions when he overheard the girls at the front-desk fawning over him after he had just wrapped up a scene with some “up and coming” star that was completely underwhelming.
Sometimes he even thought about taking home one of the receptionists and dicking them down just to see if he felt something. That he wasn’t completely numb to getting someone else’s rocks off. But Paul would surely have his ass if he found out. Sometimes Eddie wondered why he even cared.
“Where the hell have you been?” Paul exclaims, turning towards Eddie once he walks through the door “I was just in the middle of calling you.”
Paul puts the phone down as he watches Eddie plop down into one of the chairs on the other side of his desk.
“Yeah, well, I’m here now. What are your other two wishes.” Eddie deadpans.
“You’re lucky that production pushed back today’s shoot by another hour otherwise you would’ve missed out on what the hell I even called you in for.” Paul chastises, earning an eye-roll from his client.
“Which is?” Eddie points out “You had me race across town in traffic and you haven’t even told me that the hell for. Let’s get on with it. What’s this gig you’re so obsessed about?”
“I found a girl for you.” Paul announces excitedly as if he were a matchmaker and not a manager for sex workers.
“….Okay.” Eddie replies slowly “That’s it?”
“Would you lighten up?” Paul replies incredulously “I’m getting there, okay? Just give me a minute to, you know, set the scene.”
“Paul, I don’t pay you 10% for you to ‘set the scene’ and waste my time. Let’s pick a lane here, and stick to it.” Eddie states, not mincing words. One thing he learned fast during his first year in the industry was that mincing words was what got you used up and stomped on.
“Alright. So, I found this girl. Her manager came to me. Her company is putting together a flick. Oral Fixation 5 or some shit like that. Anyway, they’re looking for a male costar for her. They want someone good. It’s the girl’s first time with a partner. She mainly does solo work. She’s a bit skittish but cute. Different than the type of girls you usually work with.”
“So, you want me to fuck an amateur?” Eddie asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
“No, no. Not an amateur. She’s been on film before.”
“Has she fucked anyone on film before?” Eddie challenges, eyeing his manager judgmentally. Leave it to Paul to call him in on his day off to ask him to fuck some newbie that probably has no idea what she’s doing.
“See, that’s the thing, you wouldn’t be fucking her.” Paul explains.
“Then what would I be doing? Feeding her bon-bons?” Eddie asks.
“Like I said, it’s an oral flick. No fucking. Very simple stuff. She basically does most of the work herself. She’ll start off solo, get herself nice and ready, you come in and eat her out, make her come, she’ll suck you off, let you come on her face and voila! Done! You’ll be out of here by noon tomorrow. So, whaddya say?”
“….What does she look like?” Eddie asks, leaning forward in his seat. He would be lying if he said his interest wasn’t piqued. No actual fucking? Just some light oral work, a blowjob, and then done? Didn’t seem that bad.
“That’s why I wanted you to come in!” Paul explains “She’s here. In Studio B shooting some stuff for Hot & Horny. You can head over, give her a good look, see what she can do, and then we can book it if she makes the cut. Maybe if she’s up to your standards, we can use her for your big flick. But you have to decide today before someone else snags her. She’s cute, kid. A real looker. I don’t see her staying small for very long.”
“Really?” Eddie asks, rubbing his chin in thought.
“Really.” Paul assures him “What’re you thinkin’?”
“Alright.” Eddie sighs, standing up from his chair “Let me see her.”
────────
When he walks into Studio B, Eddie is expecting to find another cookie-cutter run of the mill porn girl. Big fake silicone tits, lip injections, and an overly-enthusiastic fake orgasm. Bonus points for bleach blonde hair. What he didn’t expect to find was you- the complete antithesis of all of the other girls he’s used to. You were a breath of fresh air.
You stood off to the side of your set- a cute little bedroom set up complete with frilly pink floral sheets, heart shaped pillows, and cute little teddy bears. Boy band posters were taped onto the fake set walls to mimic the feel of a girl’s bedroom. College student, girl-next-door. Young, hot, and sexy- and, boy, Eddie was into it. He was so fucking into it.
Production staff began setting up the scene, placing several different adult toys onto the rose-printed lacy duvet. A smorgasbord of pleasure instruments. Eddie was no stranger to solo girls scenes. He’s gotten off to many of them. But this one was different. He was sucked in- intrigued.
You were standing in a silky robe, covering up whatever production has asked you to wear. All Eddie could get a glimpse of was the thigh high white stockings with lace trim that adorned your long, sexy legs. No heels. Interesting.
You were talking to a set manager, batting your long mascara-ed eyelashes as your pink, kissable lips spread into a sweet smile. The set guy said something that got you to laugh, your head tilting back as you let out an adorable sexy laugh- your hair draping down like a luscious waterfall.
Fuck, you were hot. So, so hot.
“Told you she was a looker.” Paul chimes in as he sidles up beside Eddie- too distracted to notice that he was even in the vicinity “What are your thoughts so far?”
Eddie didn’t want to reveal his hand just yet. He didn’t want to seem too eager.
“Let me sit in for this one. I wanna see what she does.” He replies slowly, crossing his arms over his chest.
Before he knows it, the director calls you over- motioning for you to enter your set and get yourself situated on the cutesy pink bed.
Alright, Eddie thought, Show-time.
Before the cameras begin to roll, you gingerly untie the silk sash of your rope- taking it off to reveal your lingerie ensemble before handing it off to a set manager. Eddie’s mouth immediately went dry.
There you were in all of your glory, decorated head-to-toe in a baby pink lacy lingerie set that Eddie wanted to unwrap- desperately. You wore a bra that was practically see-through, your perfect tits hardly covered by the lace that adorned them. Through the fabric, he could spot your perky nipples- his mouth beginning to water at the thought of rolling his tongue around them- his hands full of your gorgeous breasts.
You wore a pair of lacy matching panties. Your beautiful cunt barely hidden beneath the fabric. Covered up just enough to leave him wanting more. Teasing him. You were a vision. You sat primly on the bed, your legs tucked to the side- like a proper lady- as you waited for your cue to start. Eddie began to move closer- not wanting to miss this.
He sidled up to the small herd of production members, standing firmly as a few of them greeted him with a nod. They were probably wondering what the hell he was doing there. He normally didn’t sit in to watch scenes. He was more known to shoot his own shit, get dressed, and leave as soon as possible. Yet, here he was, metaphorically sitting on the edge of his seat as he waited for you to start.
As if by the grace of god, the set director calls action- signaling to you that the camera was rolling. There wasn’t even a hint of intimidation as you started off slow and tantalizing. You place your fingers over your lips, blowing your signature kiss to the camera. Those lips. Those pouty, pink lips. Eddie hadn’t seen anything yet and he was already hooked- those soft kissable lips drawing him in. Soft lips that he wanted wrapped around his cock.
Continuing on with your tease, you trail up your body with your cute little hands, reaching up to your chest- gently massaging your tits through your lacy pink bra. The movement was slow and sensual, your hands kneading your perfect breasts- pushing them together seductively as you began to look straight into the lens of the camera.
Okay, Eddie thought, this was definitely not your first time doing this sort of thing.
He could tell, immediately- his eyes taking in the way that you were confident and deliberate with your touches. The way that your hands trailed up and down your body- grabbing, kneading, and tracing your irresistible curves. You were comfortable. In your element. Eddie could tell right away that, when it came to getting yourself off, you were definitely no amateur. He had barely even seen anything yet and he knew- and all he wanted was to see it in real time.
You reach up to hook your thumbs into your bra straps, sliding them off your shoulders as you bit your lip- batting those pretty eyelashes at the camera lens. Reaching behind you, you began to unclasp your bra- sliding it off agonizingly slow. Eddie’s breath hitches as his eyes lock onto your bare tits- nipples hard and perky as you playfully toss the discarded bra onto the floor beside the set bed.
Eddie couldn’t help but smirk, loving the way that you teased the camera- staring it down as if it were the viewers at home. The sad, unfortunate losers that weren’t anywhere near as lucky as he was to see it in person- to even be offered the opportunity to get on his knees to please you.
You kneel onto the bed, giving the camera a good view of your lower half- your lace panties and stockings still on. Those fucking stockings. Eddie could feel the blood circulating to his dick, causing him to grow hard against the zipper of his jeans. You had barely even done anything but play with your tits and he was already starting to leak precum.
These days, it took a lot for Eddie to physically react to things. Being overly-exposed to sex in this industry tends to do that to you. So, the sheer notion that he was getting hard and horny for you when all he had seen so far were your breasts was pretty damn close to miraculous. You were barely even into your scene and he was sure that he’d have to use one of the private dressing rooms to rub one out afterwards.
You ran your hands down your stomach, staring down the camera as you caressed lower and lower down your body until you reached the waistband of your panties, biting your lip as you plunged your right hand into the fabric. Eddie had to stop himself from groaning at the sight. He had seen plenty of women touch themselves- he was a pornstar, for fuck sake- but the way that you did it was hypnotizing. His eyes become glued to your clothed core as he focuses on the way that your fingers moved and teased yourself behind the thin fabric.
So fucking hot. So goddamn sexy.
He wanted to see more- needed to see more.
Your nimble little fingers teased your clit, working behind the thin fabric of your panties as you threw your head back in pleasure- your hair cascading down as your free hand reached up to one of your breasts. You pinched the nipple between your fingers, letting out a light little moan that had Eddie’s dick stirring beneath his boxers.
Fuck, that’s hot. Eddie thought. Keep going, baby. Show me how you do it.
As if you could read his mind from across the room, your eyes open- flickering over to him as you inch your hand further down into your panties. You insert a digit inside of your pussy, causing yourself to gasp as the sensation.
Shit.
Eddie watches your knuckles work their way inside of your cunt as he strains himself to get even just a glimpse past what’s behind those pretty lace panties. He could bet that they were fucking sopping wet by the way that your muscles didn’t tense or stutter when you inserted another finger. You probably slid it in with complete ease. Like it was nothing- and that was so incredibly hot.
It went on like this for a while. Eddie staring at your lower half as you toyed with yourself from behind the panties. Just when he thought he was on the brink of getting blue balls, you slowly slipped your fingers out of your panties- the production lights on the studio set picking up the way that your digital glistened with your arousal. It was a fucking sight. Such a sight that Eddie didn’t even think about you upping the ante- taking your drenched fingers and sliding them into your mouth, wrapping your lips around them as you sucked them clean.
Holy..fuck.
Suddenly, the director called cut- the sound of his orders causing Eddie to snap his head over in horror.
Cut? No. No, no, no, no, no! You were just getting started! What the fuck?!
“Alright, babe, second act. Lose the panties and get into position. Legs spread, okay?” The director calls out, causing Eddie to sigh in relief. You weren’t wrapping yet.
Thank god!
You nod at the director, hopping off the bed as you begin to take your panties off, sliding them down your legs. Where Eddie was standing off-set, he had the perfect view as you bent over further and further to push your underwear off. You were bend over so low that he had a full fucking view of your glistening wet pussy, and he was right- you were sopping. It took all of the fucking strength and self-control he had to not stomp onto that set, pull down his jeans to free his raging hard cock and jam it into your fucking cunt. God, he’s never wanted to fuck someone so badly in his life. He wanted to tell production to fuck your solo scene so that he could start fucking you.
You straighten up, now standing as you kicked off the panties- leaving you completely nude aside from the white thigh-high stockings. You climb back onto the bed, perched near the edge as you opened your legs- sitting spread eagle in front of the camera. Eddie was fully convinced that he was about to pass out.
That perfect little pussy. It was wet, pink, and tight. The prettiest he’s ever seen and he’s seen a lot during his career. Yours was the first to make him go weak in the knees, wanting to sink down in front of you at the edge of the bed as he spread you open and devoured you- acting as if you would be his last meal.
Production came rushing in to fix your hair, smoothing away any imperfections before running off set- gearing up for your cue. You waited patiently like a good, good girl. Hands to yourself as you awaited permission to continue and, if it were up to Eddie, he would reward you. For being so good. So patient.
The director begins rolling, cuing you in to start and Eddie was hooked and ready to see what you would do next- spread out in front of him. Your eyes catch the camera, your hands roaming down to your core as you begin to play with your clit- now uncovered. No barriers in-between. Thank god.
Your middle finger does all of the work, slowly circling your sensitive little button as you throw your head back again, letting the sensation take over you. Letting your hands freely pleasure yourself as if no one were watching- as if it really were you in your bedroom alone. That, Eddie decided, was what made it so hot. You weren't putting on a performance for anyone. There was no theatrics, no drama- no over the top acting. It was you. Just as you were. Enjoying every little bit of it- and, goddamn, was it sexy.
You let out soft little moans and gasps that went straight to Eddie’s dick, twitching in his pants at the way that you sounded. You sounded sweet- melodic. Music to his ears as your breathing picked up. He stared as you moved your fingers from your clit and down through your folds, wet and glistening as you spread your arousal all over your sex. You were drenched. In all of his life, Eddie never even thought about wanting to be an appendage, but holy shit was he jealous of your fingers.
You use one of your hands to spread yourself open for the camera, causing Eddie’s eyes to almost roll into the back of his head. He was seeing so much of you and he hadn’t even met you yet. But he couldn’t help but watch. He couldn’t look away.
You sink the middle finger of your other hand into your pussy, pushing it in until you reach your knuckle- so fucking deep with that little finger of yours. Eddie couldn’t help but want to take over, wanting to use his much bigger digits to fill you up just how you deserved.
Eddie watched as you slip another finger in, framing your soaked core with your pointer and pinky finger. The way that you touched yourself was hypnotic, putting him in a trance as you ramped yourself up closer and closer to your orgasm. Your moans grew louder, breathing heavier and more needy. Because there was something you needed- Him. Or maybe that’s delusional of him to think. But he knew that he needed you. He was hungry for you and he wanted a taste.
You begin fingering yourself, expertly delving your fingers into your pussy as you fucked yourself with your digits just the way that you liked. Eddie studies this, watching the way that you liked it- wanting to replicate it. No, he wanted to do it better. So fucking good that you couldn't even fathom the idea of anyone touching you but him. He was so drunk on your pussy and he hadn't even so much as touched it yet. He was fucked.
"Alright, angel." The director calls out, catching Eddie's attention for a moment "How about we get some footage of you with one of the toys? Get a really good build-up, climax, we'll do a closeup of the aftermath, and then we're done. Sound good?"
Toys? Eddie forgot about the toys. He was so fucked. He probably shouldn't watch this, knowing that he could very well finish in his pants- but he didn't care. He was rooted to the spot. Too addicted to move. He was drunk on you and your sexy body and your perfect pussy. He needed this. He needed to see you come undone. He needed something to think about tonight as he jacked himself off so hard that he would probably chafe. He'd have to use lube. His own spit wouldn't cut it. There's no way that he could rub himself raw when he knew that he was going to be lucky enough to be in your mouth the next day. Sucked off by those pouty pink lips.
His own thoughts and the view of you naked on that bed, toying with yourself, was becoming overstimulating. It was like an outer-body experience to watch. Even though he didn't feel like he was in his own body, he knew that there was nothing he wanted more than to be inside of yours.
His eyes are glued to the scene as you daintily reach for the toy of your choice. A purple Jack Rabbit style vibrator. You click it on, watching as the toy came to life in your hands. Eddie couldn't help but think about how much bigger he was than that stupid toy. How he would be able to reach places inside of you that the vibrator couldn't even come close to reaching. Places that you probably didn't even know existed. You deserved to be fucked like a queen. Not by some inadequate toy. Even still, he watched as you pressed the tip of the toy to your clit- causing you to gasp loudly in reaction.
Fuck, Eddie thought as he watched you slide the tip of the toy past your clit and through your folds- marveling at the way that your body shivered in reaction. The way that your body responded to pleasure was oh so delicious. Eddie was eating it up like he was starving.
He watches as the toy collects a thick coating of your arousal, making it so wet that Eddie had to bite his lip to keep from moaning.
Fuck, you were so wet.
You slide the toy back up towards your clit, pressing the tip against it harshly as your eyes fluttered shut- causing you to buck your hips.
So fucking sensitive.
You swirl the toy against your clit as you breath catches, followed by a soft moan that escaped those pretty lips.
Fuck, baby, let me hear you.
As if you could hear his thoughts, you let out a needy whine. You needed more. It wasn't enough. Not even close.
Before he could process it, you had begun to insert the toy into your pussy- falling back onto the mattress underneath you as you started to thrust it inside. Flicking your wrist with a motion that had you whimpering desperately. The vibration inside of your cunt causing your walls to contract around the vibrator- making it a tight squeeze to continue thrusting.
Eddie's eyes were wide as he watched. The sounds of your moans, the faint buzzing of the vibrator, and the wet squelching sound of your pussy completely overtaking him. Fuck, this was hot. The most erotic thing he's ever fucking seen.
You continue fucking yourself with it, picking up the pace as you sit yourself up enough to watch you fuck yourself with it.
Shit, yes! Bet you like to watch yourself get fucked, don't you?
You mouth falls open as you watch how slickly coated the toy was as you pushed it in and out of your pussy. Eddie was jealous that it wasn't his dick covered in your arousal, making it so easy for him to slide in and out of your cunt at an ungodly pace. He wanted it so fucking bad that his knees were weak.
Without warning, you finally find that spot. That perfect spot deep within you that had you going crazy. Toes curling, gasping for air, moaning out like crazy as you squeezed your eyes shut. You were close.
Fuck, baby! Just like that! Fuck, fuck, fuck!
You pushed that pathetic little toy as deep as it could go, your mouth falling into a perfect little 'O' as you got closer and closer and closer.
Show me how you like it, baby. That's right. So fucking good!
Soon you couldn't control yourself, bucking your hips as you thrusted it in and out of hole as your moans became more loud and desperate.
Fuck, sweetheart, doing so good. You're almost there. Need to watch you cum.
You began to reach your peak, practically sobbing as you kept working for it.
C'mon, baby. Give it to me. Let me see it.
And as if on cue with his dirty thoughts, you cry out in pleasure. Finally peaking as your thighs began to shake, whimpering as you came all over that stupid toy- your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave.
Fuck, yes! That's it! Fuck, you are so fucking hot! Jesus fucking Christ!
You rode out your orgasm, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. It was so fucking hot. Eddie didn't know how he had gone this long in his career without fucking you. Without knowing you existed. A perfect little sex kitten that he wanted to play with. Hell, you alone were giving him second thoughts about retiring. Not before he could fuck you in every possible way imaginable. Fuck, he was so fucking into you that he could surely invent new ways to fuck you that had never even been thought of before. He'd have to create a whole new updated version of the Kama Sutra with you as his sole muse.
"That's a wrap! You did great!"
The director praises you as you slowly begin to sit up on the bed, hair wild with a blissed-out look on your face. Eddie had never seen someone look so beautiful post-orgasm.
A member of the production crew came over to you and handed you your silk robe. You stand up with shaky legs as they helped you put it on- making yourself modest after that fucking smoke-show that you had just given everybody. Eddie didn't know how no one else was crashing down like he was. He was leaking so much precum that he would probably need new pants. But it was worth it because you were...wow.
"See? I told you." Eddie whips his head over to catch his manager standing there next to him. Had he been there the whole time? Had Eddie been talking out loud? "What do you think, kid?"
Eddie's mouth was dry. He felt dehydrated from just watching. He felt like he needed to down a gallon of water after watching you get yourself off like a fucking professional. With an intensity that he's never fucking seen before.
"Is she still available?" Eddie croaks, his heart hammering in his chest. What if another guy had swooped in and booked the gig right under his nose while he was too busy ogling at you?
"I could give her manager a call and see if it's still open. I know they reached out to a few guys. That Chris Infamous guy being one of them. The jacked up one with the muscles. You know who I'm talking about."
Chris Infamous? Over his dead fucking body!
“Paul, go call her manager right now and tell them I’m in. Like, now.”
────────
The whole way home, he had been antsy. He had waited an hour after your shoot in his manager’s office as he called up your manager in an attempt to get in touch with them. There was no luck. Paul had missed them every single time- and Eddie made him leave a voicemail every…single…time. He couldn’t let this opportunity slip through his hands.
Eddie tried to busy himself with his previous plans that he had before leaving his loft earlier that day but he just couldn’t focus. The words in his Dungeons and Dragons player manual just blended together and his mind would wander off, causing him to read the same sentence over and over again.
He couldn’t keep his mind off of you. Your soft, supple body wrapped up in that pink lingerie. Those goddamn white stockings that you had kept on the entire shoot. The way your pussy glistened with your arousal underneath the production lights. Eddie was addicted- transfixed. He needed to do this scene with you.
He throws down his player’s manual, tossing his head back onto the couch. He stares up at the ceiling as he lets out a frustrated grunt. Waiting back for a response was torture. He just needed a yes or a no- hopefully a yes. God, he was hoping for a yes. But if the gig was taken, he wished he would know sooner rather than later in order to kill the anticipation.
He reaches onto the coffee table for his pack of cigarettes, pulling one out and placing it between his lips before lighting it. He took a couple of drags, the taste of nicotine barely doing anything to calm his nerves. He was so pent up. He had been ever since your scene. He was hot and bothered.
His mind drifts back to thoughts of you. Your perfect tits that would fit perfectly in his hands. Your perky nipples that he wanted to roll his tongue against, tasting them. But he mostly thought about your sex. What you would taste like. He imagined that you would be sweet- candy-coated beneath his tongue as he ate you up. Liquified sugar in the best way.
Eddie could feel his cock twitch beneath his pants as he fantasized- wanting to bury his head between your soft thighs as he worked his tongue against you so ferociously like it would be the last thing he’d ever do. He’d never wanted someone as bad as he wanted you- wishing that he could toy with your sensitive little button with the tip of his tongue. Teasing you until you begged for more.
Eddie began to unbutton his pants, feeling the ache in his cock that was dying to be satiated. He needed a release. His head was so full of you that he needed to do something to quell the heat that he felt in his groin. He needed to cum.
He pulls down his zipper, feeling a sense of relief as the pressure of the metal enclosure against his hard cock was finally removed. It was like releasing a long, pent-up sigh. He was painfully hard. Practically throbbing underneath his boxers as he slides his hand down past the fabric, gripping himself as he attempts to pull his dick out. He winces at the sensitivity he felt on his cock head.
When he pulls his dick free from his jeans, he looks down to find that his tip was nearly red, angry at the lack of attention that it was receiving. It had been a long time since Eddie had touched himself. He normally didn’t have to with the kind of work that he did. But this was different, he needed this. He needed relief.
He wraps his hand around his length, slowly moving it up and down the way that he liked but his member felt nearly hot to the touch. He was so worked up that it had made him ultra-sensitive to every little thing. Every stroke, every little flick of his wrist. He could feel everything with ten times more intensity than normal. And, god, he didn’t want this. He didn’t want to jack himself off to completion on his living room couch. No, he wanted to sink his desperately hard cock into the velvety soft walls of your incredible cunt.
A pearl of precum leaks out of his tip, slowly dripping down until he collects it with his finger-swiping it up to use as lubricant and he began to buck his hips into his hand. It shouldn’t be his hand. It should be you. He didn’t want to settle for anything that wasn’t you. But he’d have to until he hopefully got the real thing.
“Ah! F-fuck!” He gasps as he picks up a faster pace, wanting to reach his peak as quickly as possible. He was desperate for it. He was needy and fucked out by the images of you that kept playing out in his head.
You on the bed with your legs spread wide open for him, ready to take whatever it was that he was willing to give you like the good girl you would be. Like the good girl he just knew that you were. He stroked himself fast and hard as he thought about how he’d want you to take his cock. He wanted your legs slung over his shoulders as he pounded into you hard enough to have you sobbing. He wanted to wrap his hand around your throat and jerk you back onto his cock as he fucked you from behind. He wanted to fuck you like a whore. Like you were made for it.
“Fuck, baby…” Eddie whimpers, more precum oozing from his tip as he imagined that it was your hand instead of his. Stroking him with those soft little hands of yours as you stared him down with those gorgeous eyes. Marveling at just how crazy you could drive him- at just how badly he wanted you.
“Shit….just like that, sweetheart. Fuck.”
Eddie could feel himself getting close, his breathing picking up faster and faster until they became needy grunts- trying to chase his high.
“Shit, shit, holy fuck…”
He kept stroking and he wouldn’t stop until he got there. Not when all he could think about was just how hot you looked when you orgasm. When all he wanted was to fuck you so good that you had to beg him to stop. How he wanted to make you cum on his cock over and over again until you couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to take you apart just to put you back together again.
Just when he was ramping up to his finish, a few seconds away from blowing his load into his hand, the phone rings- snatching him right out of his fantasies.
Fuck. No!
He growls in frustration, jumping off the couch as he stumbles towards the phone- barely stuffing his angry cock back into the confines of his jeans. A denim-clad prison.
“What?” He huffs as he picks up the phone, his breathing still heavy and ragged from touching himself.
“Eddie, listen, I got in touch with her management.”
“Fuck!” He sighs in relief, resting his back against the wall. “What’d they say?”
“They were pretty psyched that you wanted in, kid. Turns out you were first choice for them. Which is great because they were an inch away from giving the gig to Chris. Good thing I called when I did. Anyway, you got the gig. They’re excited. The girl’s excited.”
You were excited? Wait…You knew who he was?
“Wait, she knows who I am?” Eddie stammers, his heart beating wildly in his chest.
“Oh yeah.” Paul laughs “Apparently she’s a huge fan.”
“Fuuuck. No shit?” He asks, trying to fight the grin on his face. He felt on-top-of the-world fucking incredible.
“Have you ever known me to pull your leg, kid? She asked for you specifically. By name. Lucky you, playboy!”
Yeah, Eddie thought. No fucking kidding!
“She asked…for me?” He still couldn’t believe it. You were out-of-this-world gorgeous and you wanted him to be your first on-screen partner? Eddie hadn’t experienced an ego-boost this big since…well, ever.
“Yeah, kid. First on her list. She was worried we wouldn’t accept what her management was offering but I told her we’d make it work.”
Fuck, he would do it for free.
Wait…
“You spoke to her?” Eddie asks, jaw practically hitting the floor.
“Oh yeah,” Paul replied “She personally returned my calls. Wanted to thank us for accepting.”
“No fucking way.” Eddie swoons. It just kept getting better.
“She also wanted me to tell you that she hoped you were impressed at the shoot today. She said she was a little nervous when she saw you but hopefully you didn’t notice.”
You...naughty…little…minx. You had known that he was there the entire time? Fuck….
“Anyway, call time for tomorrow is eight a.m.” Paul adds “And Eddie?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t fucking be late.”
────────
The next morning, Eddie had woken up early.
Not because he had something to do or somewhere to be. No vastly important errands that he needed to run. Eddie had woken up early because his body couldn’t stand to stay dormant and asleep any longer. Because, for once in a long time, his reality was better than sleep. He had something to look forward to- you.
He had never felt this way before, never took his work too seriously- honestly, what was there to take seriously? He just showed up, fucked, picked up his check, and went home. He never put much thought into things. He just did them. But today was different. Today, he seemed to be putting too much thought into everything.
He agonized over whether or not to drink coffee, worried that the caffeine might make him come off hyper or on edge when he finally had the opportunity to speak to you. He debated foregoing breakfast, giving himself an excuse to invite you out to post-work brunch if things really took off between you two. This was the start of all of his worries. The closer it got to his call time, he got more and more in his own head.
He was suddenly hyper-aware of everything about himself. Anything that you could nit-pick when you finally met. Did you like tattooed guys? What if you didn’t? Would you think his tattoos were stupid? Did you prefer guys with short hair as opposed to long hair? What if he wasn’t your type at all in the slightest and none of this even really mattered? It only got worse by the minute.
Then he reminded himself that you knew him. You’ve seen his work. You were a fan. There was obviously something you must have liked if you chose him out of any other guy in the industry. You were so pretty that you could have requested anyone you wanted- and you chose him. Eddie desperately wanted to know why.
He prepped and primped himself in the bathroom like a teenage girl. He took extra care in the shower, scrubbing every inch of himself vigorously with the soap that smelled extra good.
He washed and conditioned his hair. Hell, he actually brushed it and applied product instead of just running his fingers through it and calling it good. He fucking styled it- putting it into a low bun with a hair tie that he found in his medicine cabinet. He knew just how much wearing his hair up drove women crazy- and he hoped that you weren’t any exception.
He paid extra attention to his downstairs area, making sure that he was perfectly trimmed and proper for you. The last thing he wanted was for you to get on your knees for him and be met with an unkempt jungle. He wanted things to be neat and tidy. He also hoped that landscaping the bush would make his dick appear prettier- something that you’d want to put in your mouth.
An hour before his call time, he was shaking like a leaf. He felt like he was in high school again, nervous and skittish around the female population of Hawkins High. Which was ironic considering what he does for a living these days. Over the years following graduation and leaving that hellhole, Eddie had begun to gain a sense of self-confidence. His demeanor changed.
He became sure of himself, finally believing that he was worth women’s attention. That he was far more attractive than he initially gave himself credit for- and the critical feedback on his work as a porn actor definitely proved that. If twenty year-old Eddie could see just how many women would flip their shit over him, he’d have probably dropped dead in disbelief. But none of those women mattered. None of the porn girls that he had previously filmed with mattered. Even the girls from Hawkins didn’t matter anymore. You mattered.
The whole drive to the studio was anxiety-inducing. Multiple people tried to cut him off on the freeway- gotta love L.A. traffic. Some douchebag in a fucking Corvette flipped him off because he forgot to use his blinker, which seemed to worsen Eddie’s mood as he just kept overthinking himself. How was he supposed to talk to you, let alone shoot a scene, when he couldn’t even drive straight?
When he finally pulled up to the studio and parked his van, Eddie was officially a wreck. He had no idea what to do with himself. You were probably already inside trying to pretty yourself up for your scene together. Eddie couldn’t help but wonder what you would wear- hell, why did he even care if you wore anything at all?
He wondered if you were just as nervous as he was. Granted, you had an excuse. This would be your first scene with a partner, meanwhile, this wasn’t anywhere close to Eddie’s first rodeo. Yet, he felt like a virgin on prom night.
He enters the studio, trying to act normal as the front desk girls greet him. Even the choruses of “Hi Eddie…” in their seductive voices weren’t enough to get him out of his own head. He just gave a small wave and a slight tinge of a smile on his lips. Normally he would’ve leaned up against the receptionist desk and flirted- given them just a scrap of his attention. But not today. Not when he felt like he was going to be sick.
He drifted all the way back to Paul’s office, casually knocking on the door a couple of times before letting himself in. His manager looks up from his desk, suddenly adopting a confused look on his face once he laid eyes on Eddie.
“What in the hell are you doing here?” Paul asks, tilting his head in confusion.
The comment takes Eddie aback, immediately causing his stomach to drop. Was he missing something? He was supposed to be here…right? Then he felt the dread seep in.
Fuck. The shoot’s cancelled. No way. There is no…fucking…way.
“I…uh…I’m confused.” Eddie replies slowly, shaking his head as he tries to keep it together. This could not be happening.
“Aren’t we shooting today? I came before call time. Did they fucking cancel?” He panics, running his ring-clad fingers through his hair in agony. Fuck!
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down.” Paul says “Nobody cancelled. Shoot’s still on.”
“But…I thought…you said you were surprised that I’m here.” Eddie tries to reason.
“Yeah,” Paul nods, looking at Eddie as if he were nuts “I’m surprised that you’re here before call time. I’ve managed you for the past three years and I can barely remember a time when you’ve ever shown up on time. Let alone early.”
“Oh.” Eddie replies, dumbfounded.
Well, at least the shoot is still on.
“Are you wearing cologne?” Paul asks, looking Eddie up and down as he stood awkwardly in front of his desk.
“Oh.” Eddie breathes “Yeah.”
That has Paul even more confused. Eddie always smelled nice but it was always just his natural scent- laundry detergent, a woodsy musk from the deodorant he wore, and a hint of cigarette smoke. Eddie never deliberately put on cologne unless he was trying to impress someone- and Paul knew this.
“Alright, well…” Paul starts, not knowing what to say to make things less awkward than it already was “Your leading lady is here. Dressing room A.”
“She’s here already?” Eddie gapes, taken by surprise. He thought he had more time to prepare. For what? He didn’t know.
“Yeah, kid. Unlike you, the leading lady happens to know a thing or two about punctuality. Speaking of which, why don’t you go see how she’s doing? Bet she’s sweating like a sinner in church. First time on-camera partner and all that.”
“Do you think she’s nervous?” Eddie asks, out of concern but mostly to gauge if you could be nervous because of him.
“No idea, kid, but it would be nice for you to have a conversation with each other. You know, before you stick your dick in her mouth.” Paul suggests.
To which, he had a great point. Eddie probably should go and say hi. Hopefully he can pull himself together enough to be charming and personable for you. Or, if anything, at least make you feel a bit more comfortable with him before he went down on you in front of a whole camera crew. This could either go very well for him or become a complete disaster.
────────
Eddie stood outside of your dressing room door, his body so tense that he felt like stone. On the other side of this door was you- the girl of his wet dreams that he somehow, begrudgingly, didn’t know existed until yesterday. To say that he was nervous would be an understatement. Eddie’s stomach felt like it was tied in knots and the last thing he wanted was for you to see that he was nervous. No, he had to play it cool- confident and sure of himself. He could do this. Even if it was all a facade.
He begins to knock, so nervous that he could practically break into a sweat over it. He was definitely glad that he decided to wear cologne today but then Eddie began to worry that maybe the cologne would make it seem like he was trying too hard. He was worried that you could sense it and that it would turn you off. Turning you off was the absolute last thing he wanted to do.
He could hear shuffling from behind the door, the sound growing closer before the handle turned and the door swung open- revealing you. All dolled up with completed hair and makeup. Wearing that short little silk robe. As soon as you saw him, your face broke into a smile.
Okay, Eddie thought, that’s a good sign.
“Hey,” he smiles, trying to be smooth but it was so fucking hard when you looked at him with those eyes “I’m Eddie. I’m…uh…I’m your scene partner for today.”
Not that he had to introduce himself. You knew exactly who he was. You had gotten off to his scenes more times than you could count.
“Right, of course!” You exclaim, extending out your hand in greeting as you introduced yourself to him. Eddie raised his eyebrows when he noticed that you hadn’t given him your porn name. No, you had given him your real name.
“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you….properly.” Eddie jokes, causing you to laugh. God, he loved the way your lips curled into a smile- how your eyes lit up. You were so damn pretty.
“Me too.” you nod, looking at him for a beat too long to be accidental. With a cheeky little glint in your eyes as you casually looked him up and down.
Oh, Eddie thought, so we’re flirting now?
“You mind if I come in? Or are you going to make me hang out in the hallway?” Eddie teases “Which I wouldn’t mind. As long as you keep looking at me like that.”
Your heart flutters in your chest “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.” You bite your lip nervously- and, boy, does Eddie notice.
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” He smirks “So, you gonna let me in or?”
“Right!” You shake your head “Come in.”
You step aside, letting him walk through the door before closing it for privacy. Not that you expected anything to happen. Not off-camera, at least.
Eddie walks over and sinks down onto the small loveseat that was against the wall in the dressing room. He sits seductively, legs spread apart as he leans back on the sofa like he owned it. Honestly, he was so charming that he could tell you that he did, indeed, own it and you’d believe him. You, on the other hand, sank down into the hair and makeup chair across from him.
“So, I…uh….I should probably say thank you for accepting. My management probably already told you but it’s my first time doing a scene with someone else. I normally do solo work.”
“So I’ve seen.” Eddie replies, a cocky smirk on his lips. He wanted you to know that he had seen you in action. Not that he needed to tell you. No, he just wanted to remind you of the fact.
“So, my manager might have told me that you had requested me specifically…..by name.”
As soon as the words left his lips, your face began to heat up in embarrassment. “He told you that?”
“Mhm.” Eddie hums, his eyes devouring you.
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry,” Eddie smiles slyly “I was pretty flattered, actually. Not gonna lie, it kinda gave me a big head.”
And, to tell you the truth, I wanna show you my big head, Eddie wanted to say.
But he didn’t want to come off crude and overtly sexual during your first meeting.
“Really?” You mumble bashfully, trying to look anywhere but at Eddie but it was so hard when he was so fucking hot.
“Yeah.” He confirms “Especially coming from a girl like you. So, tell me, sweetheart….why me?”
The sound of his deep, sexy voice calling you sweetheart was enough to make you light-headed. Lord have mercy….
“Well,” you sigh “My management really started to float the idea of me doing stuff with a co-star. They thought it might push my career a bit more and give me more opportunities. To be honest, I wanted to do it but I didn’t want to do it with just anyone. So, I told them that I would only agree to do it as long as I could pitch at least one guy that I thought I could feel…comfortable with.”
You thought you could feel comfortable with him. You had chosen him because there was something about him that you felt was different than all of the other porn guys. You were far too shy to admit it but Eddie was your favorite male pornstar. You didn’t know what it was about him but he just felt safe. Like you wouldn’t be completely in your head if you were to work with him.
You had seen so much of his stuff that you had witnessed exactly how he treated other girls-putting their pleasure first so much so that he made sure to at least get them off twice before he finished, himself. It wasn’t just that but how soft he seemed with them. Like every one of them and how they felt was important. For your first time, you didn’t want to feel like a piece of meat. You wanted to feel cared for. You were certain that Eddie Munson would be the perfect guy to pop your first-time cherry with. He didn’t want to settle for anything else.
“I make you feel comfortable?” He asks, looking at you in a way that had you on the brink of melting into your seat. However, truth be told, it was Eddie who was trying not to lose his shit. You felt comfortable with him. You had chosen him because there was something different about him than the others. You felt something.
“That’s, uh, really flattering.” Eddie clears his throat, trying to stifle the very turned-on moan that he felt coming. "Can I maybe ask why you feel comfortable with me? Y'know, so I can lean into it while we're shooting the scene?"
And so I can use it as spank bank material tonight…
“Well, I don't really know what it is exactly.” You begin, wringing your hands nervously in your lap “I guess it’s the vibe you give off. I’ve seen your stuff and I just….there’s something about how you treat the other girls that makes me feel like I’d be safe. Cared for, I guess.”
“Okay, yeah." He nods.
Keep it together, Eddie. Jesus Christ...
“I want to make sure you feel cared for. It's important to me. Especially it being your first time. I'm really flattered."
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah, of course. How could I not be?' Eddie admits “You're, like, super gorgeous....and you picked me, for some reason."
He says it as if he's not one of the most sought after guys in the industry. Like he was nobody. Like he couldn't have a harem of girls hanging all over him if he wanted to.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m looking forward to it. Making you feel cared for...and safe."
"Thanks, Eddie." You reply bashfully "That means a lot to me."
"Um....so....since we're being truthful and shit...can I admit something?" He asks, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
"Yeah." You agree "Absolutely. Safe space and all." You smile and, god, it makes Eddie's dick so hard.
"I...uh...I've kinda got a little crush on you." He blurts out before he can back out of saying it.
"Oh." You breathe, your eyes widening in surprise "You have a crush...on me?"
Eddie fucking Munson just admitted that he had a crush on you.
"...Yeah." He winces "I've kinda been down bad for you since yesterday."
"Really?" You repeat "Me?"
"Why do you keep saying it like it's hard to believe or something?" Eddie laughs.
"I mean....because it is. You're...you know..."
"I'm what?" He pushes, wanting to hear you say it.
"You're Eddie 'The Munch' Munson, for god's sake."
"Jesus fucking Christ," Eddie laughs "That’s a new one."
"I mean...it's not not factual." You argue "When you...you know...eat pussy like that....you could have basically any girl that you want."
"Hm." Eddie hums, as if he were doubting it.
"Oh please," You tease "Don't act all modest. You know you're gifted."
"Oh, I am, am I?" He flirts, a cheeky smirk spreading across his lips.
"As if you don't know." You scoff, trying to avoid his gaze. But how could you when he was so hot?
"Well, sweetheart, that's really flattering coming from you." He compliments "At least I know that I have a pretty good chance of pleasing you later."
The comment went straight to your core, causing you to shift in the hair and makeup chair as you clamp your thighs together. You tried to be inconspicuous about the fact that him and his words had such a strong effect on you, but Eddie's eyes shift to your long, sexy legs as you crossed them in your seat. His lips curl into another smirk. He was loving this.
"Don't look at me like that." You practically whisper, your face heating up bashfully.
"Like what?" Eddie teases, that fucking shit-eating-grin still plastered on his face.
"I don't know. Like-"
"Like I wanna eat you?" Eddie interjects, raising an eyebrow at you seductively.
Cocky asshole....
"What if I do wanna eat you, sweetheart?" He asks, leaning forward as he rests his elbows on his knees, staring you down.
"I-"
"'Cause I do. As a matter of fact, since this is a safe space and all, I'm going to tell you that I wanna eat you so fucking bad. Real bad."
You were so fucking wet. Holy fucking shit.
"And if I'm being real honest, baby, I wanna eat you so good that I make you cry. But I get the feeling that you just might like that."
"Eddie..."
"But only if you want me to." He adds "I don't wanna misinterpret anything."
He couldn't misinterpret anything if he fucking tried. How you felt about him was so fucking obvious.
"Anyway," He says, quickly standing from his seat on the sofa. “I should probably go freshen up for you. Y'know, seeing as I'm about to get really lucky in the next..." He checks his watch "Thirty minutes."
He looks up from his watch, his big brown eyes falling upon you- drinking you in.
"See you out there, Princess."
────────
You were so fucking nervous. You stood off-set, watching as production set up lighting- making sure there was the right amount of brightness on the scene stage. The set was a small brick-walled room with an expensive looking black leather sofa in the middle. White shag rug underneath it and some vibrantly green foliage plants in the background.
It was reminiscent of those “casting couch” scenes that porn companies liked to shoot- but this one was classy. Not cheap and sleazy. Like it was the middle of someone’s living room- a glimpse into a private passionate moment between a couple and not just two strangers fucking. Eddie Munson was going to eat you out on that couch. The thought of it made you somehow even wetter than you already were.
Just as you were allowing yourself to get lost in the fantasy, you feel a large hand on your waist- causing you to look over to find Eddie standing next to you. Staring at you with softness in his eyes.
“Doing okay?” He asks, searching your face for any indication that you weren’t, indeed, doing okay.
“I’m okay.” You breathe shakily “Just a little nervous.”
“Don’t be.” Eddie whispers, leaning into you so intimately that only you could hear “There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s just me. You’re safe with me, okay?”
And somehow those five little words felt like they’ve lifted so much weight off of your shoulders. He was right. It was just him. You could trust him.
“Okay.” You whisper, looking into his warm, brown eyes. Everything was going to be okay.
“How about this…” he starts, beginning to think “If things become too much or you need to stop, I want you to tap my arm twice. I’ll get them to cut and we’ll take a break.”
“Won’t they get mad?” You ask, your voice tiny and uncertain.
“It doesn’t matter.” He states “What matters is that you’re comfortable. This is about you, sweetheart. Without you, there’s no scene. You have the upper-hand. You are in control here. Nothing happens here that you don’t want to happen. Understand?”
“Yeah.” You nod “Okay.”
“You trust me?”
“I trust you, Eddie.”
“Good.” He nods “Because there’s nothing to worry about. If things start to get overwhelming with everyone watching just close your eyes and just focus on feeling, okay? That’s my job. To make you feel good.”
You didn’t think it was possible to be even wetter than you had been before but Eddie being sweet on you had practically opened up a floodgate inside of you. If it weren’t for the scene, you’d throw yourself at him right there.
“Well, hopefully I’m able to return the favor.” You say “I’ve never done that before…on camera.”
You were alluding to giving him a blowjob. It’s not like you haven’t given blowjobs to ex-boyfriends and casual hookups before. But this was different. You would be sucking off Eddie Munson- a man that’s probably received far too many blowjobs to count. He’s probably experienced some mind-blowing shit and there’s no way that you’d ever be able to compare to what other porn girls have been able to do to him with their mouths. You were embarrassed to even try.
“Sweetheart, I’m sure you’ll do just fine, trust me. I’m not picky.” He laughs “Blowjobs are like pizza. Even when it’s not the best pizza, it’s still good because it’s pizza. Not that I expect you to be bad or anything.”
“…I don’t know if that’s supposed to be encouraging or not.” You reply, starting to retreat back into your own head.
“Sweetheart, what I’m trying to say is that it’s going to be fine. Don’t think too much about it.”
“But how could I not think about it when-“
You were cut off by Eddie grabbing for your hand, squeezing it affectionately as he looked into your eyes.
“I thought said you trusted me.” He points out, raising an eyebrow at you.
“I do.” You reply hastily “I just-“
“Like I said, focus on feeling. When we get to that part, I just want you to focus on what feels right. Things will be fine. Honestly, there’s also nothing sexier than a girl that’s into it, y’know?” Eddie explains “You don’t have to be the best at something. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you enjoy doing it and I want you to enjoy yourself. ‘Kay?”
“Okay.” You nod, letting his words sink in.
“Also, sweetheart, with lips like those, I’m sure you suck cock like a champ but I guess I’ll just have to wait to find out.”
Your heart skips a beat at his dirty confession and you almost think about smacking his arm before one of the production managers approaches you.
“You’re on in five.” They say “Start stripping down and we’ll get you on set.”
You felt your blood run cold.
“Hey,” Eddie whispers, voice low as he strokes your back with one of his large hands “If it gets to be too much just look at me, okay? I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here the entire time.”
You take a deep breath before nodding. Eddie gives your hand another squeeze before letting you walk to take your place on set. He had successfully gotten you out of your head even just a little bit. Now Eddie just had to get himself out of his own head about cumming too soon.
────────
Eddie stands back near the camera as the director calls action. He had been watching you like a hawk, eyes peeled for any sort of sense that you were beginning to panic. He stared as you dropped your robe, handing it off before gingerly taking a seat onto the black leather sofa.
“Alright, start off slow like you normally do. Take as much time as you need. Start off with slowly taking the panties off. We’ll do some light touching, maybe some fingering. Get yourself nice and ready then Eddie’s gonna come in and take care of you.”
Hearing those words immediately felt soothing to you.
You look over towards the camera and lock eyes with Eddie. He was right there like he told you he would be. He winks at you, setting off a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.
You began to follow directions, waiting for the director to give you the okay before you started. Then you began to do what felt right. Just like you were doing a solo masturbation scene. You began to touch and caress your body, getting yourself worked up as you got into the scene.
You began with your breasts, reaching your hands up as you began to knead them through the red lacy bra that you had chosen for this scene- something that made you feel sexy and confident. In your head you began to repeat it like a mantra.
You were sexy and confident.
You are sexy.
You are confident.
You could do this.
You push your tits together, thumbs rubbing over your nipples through the lace bra and you gasped at the feeling. You shut your eyes, allowing yourself to be in the moment and just feel. Just like Eddie had told you.
Eddie, on the other side of the set, was watching. His eyes were hyper-fixated on every little thing. The way your soft hands roamed your supple body and you tossed your head back in pleasure as you teased yourself. He was too far away but he was sure that you were letting out the tiniest little moans as you touched and squeezed and felt your sexy body with gentle hands.
Eddie had been halfway hard all morning but now his cock was starting to respond to every little thing you did. Every pinch, every grasp, every flick of your fingers against your tits. He could’ve sworn that it was starting to get hot in there and your bra wasn’t even off yet.
“Okay, honey, start to naturally drift down more. Get to the panties and take them off. We want it nice and slow, alright? Tease the camera.”
Tease the camera? Eddie definitely won’t be lasting long enough for the planned cum shot if you kept going on like that. But he didn’t dare say it out loud. He didn’t want to immediately gain a reputation for finishing fast even when he had so much pornographic proof out there that he wasn’t a fast shooter. You were the first girl in the industry that made him worry that he was going to finish in his pants as soon as he got a taste of you.
Nevertheless, your hands began to drag down, lower and lower until they reached the waistband of your panties. Red lace just like the bra. You didn’t even have to feel yourself to know that you were ready to go. You knew as soon as you had locked your eyes on Eddie from where he stood off-set that you were going to be drenched. But your right hand still delved into your panties, swiping at your folds as you felt just how wet you were.
Eddie watched, heart pounding as he stared at your hand down your little red panties-playing with your sopping wet core until you slowly removed your fingers. Drawing them out to reveal a thin coating of your arousal. Eddie’s breath hitched as your eyes bore into him. You were staring at him. Your gaze was locked in on him. All of this was for him.
You bring your slick fingers to your mouth, maintaining eye contact as you popped them into your mouth, sucking them nice and clean.
Fuck, you dirty girl….
Eddie’s dick begins to strain against his jeans at the action. God, was he ready to find out what you tasted like. He couldn’t take the teasing and direct eye-contact for much longer. He was so fucking ready for you.
Meeting the expectations of the director, you slip your thumbs into the waistband of your panties, seductively shimmying your hips as you pulled them down tantalizingly slow- agonizingly slow. Eddie watches with greedy eyes.
You laid back onto the sofa, panties wrapped around your thighs as you begin to lift your legs up, pulling the wet lacy fabric the rest of the way down your legs that were lifted slightly into the air- giving the camera a nice view of your pussy. Thighs pressed together in a way that had Eddie staring hungrily. He wanted so badly to sink down to his knees and hold those legs up like that as he ate you. The sight was mesmerizing.
After the lacy panties were off, you flung them across the set- right in Eddie's direction and he swore he saw a cute little smirk on your face when you did it. God, you were so naughty- and he was going to teach you a lesson.
"Okay, honey, now lay back on the couch. Spread your legs. Great! Perfect! Can we get some finger action in there?"
Eddie realizes just how well you follow directions as your body melts into the back of the couch, bringing your legs up onto it as you open them for the camera- spreading them open for everyone to see and, god, it was a fucking sight that was so fucking unholy. Yet, Eddie couldn't look away. Not when you were bare and spread out in front of him for his eyes to feast upon. That gorgeous body, those lace-clad tits, that glistening wet pussy. You were going to fucking kill him.
Just when he thought it couldn't get any hotter, you looked off near the camera- eyes trained on his as you used your fingers to spread yourself open for him. He could have passed out right there.
Fuck, he was really gonna give it to you.
He was going to devour every fucking inch of that tight little pussy until you were screaming. Fuck the cameras, fuck the scene, fuck everyone who was watching. They didn't matter. All that mattered was what he wanted to fucking do to you.
Your fingers began to tease your hole as you glided them up and down your slit. You were so fucking wet that it was making Eddie weak in the knees. Your sopping wet pussy was none other than a holy altar in which he wanted to bow down and worship. Eddie wasn't religious but you were a fucking goddess that he would devote his entire fucking life praying to if you let him.
You began to play with yourself, using your fingers to rub your needy little clit in slow circles. You threw your head back against the back of the sofa as you close your eyes. Focusing on feeling. Making yourself feel good. Getting yourself nice and wet for Eddie.
Eddie.
Eddie fucking Munson with his huge fucking cock and his soft-looking lips and those big brown eyes. How he made you feel. So cared for, so safe. Your fingers begin to work your clit a bit rougher. You had seen him on screen so many times fucking so many girls and now it was finally going to be you. His head between your thighs. His tongue in your folds. Sucking on your clit. It was getting you so fucking worked up.
You insert two fingers into your pussy as you begin to fuck them into yourself. You let your mind take over, moans tumbling from your lips as you try to fuck yourself with your fingers as deep as you can- wanting to hit that spot within yourself that had you curling your toes.
You shove them as deep as you go, trying to reach it but you just couldn’t. It felt like something was missing. But you kept trying. It felt good, of course it did, but you couldn’t help but feel like something was off. Like you were struggling. Now you were beginning to wonder if closing your eyes and thinking about Eddie was what did you in.
You had no issues in the past with using your fingers on yourself to get the relief you needed but now they just felt inadequate. As if they suddenly weren’t enough. It was so odd. Was Eddie jinxing you? Were you maybe more nervous than you originally thought? Were you-
“Alright, honey, how are we doing?” The director asks, bellowing out to you from behind the camera. “You look good, babe. Gorgeous. We’re going to add Eddie in. Are you ready?”
You look over at Eddie as he begins to strip off his shirt, his brown curls still tied back in a low bun. As he removes his t-shirt, you can’t help but stare- zoning in on his sexy, toned body. He was so fucking hot. Just when you thought you couldn’t be more turned on by him, he looks up at you- making sure that you were okay. That you were comfortable.
You both lock eyes, staring at each other with so much sexual tension that the whole room could probably feel it. You wanted Eddie Munson so bad- his body, his mouth, this hands touching all over you. You wanted him so bad that your body felt hot to the touch. He had been your industry crush for so long and now you were going to have his mouth on you- tasting you.
You give the director the okay, still spread out on the couch. As Eddie prepares to join you on-set, he can’t help the way that his eyes wander over your beautiful body. Your perky tits, your long legs, your pretty face, your sexy curves- but, most of all, your glistening wet sex. You were practically dripping with arousal as he shamelessly stared at you- the most gorgeous angel he’s ever laid eyes on. He hadn’t even gotten his mouth on you yet and he knew that he was in for trouble.
“Alright, you’re on.” The director nods towards him, giving Eddie his cue. It was the moment that he had been thinking about for hours.
His hardened cock was surely very noticeable beneath his black jeans. He could’ve sworn that there was so much blood rushing to his dick that he would pass out from the sheer lack of it being anywhere else in his body- and it was only getting worse with the way that you were looking at him. As if he were the most delectable man on the planet. Which, you would have to admit, was pretty accurate.
Your eyes stay glued to him and the pure fucking sex god that he is as he crosses onto the set, introducing himself to the scene. You loved the way that the black denim of his jeans hugged his waist. You loved the silver chain that dangled against his right hip as he strode over to you. You loved the soft tufts of dark hair that made up the happy trail leading down into the waistband of his pants. Eddie Munson was a fucking dream. He was a king- and you wanted to be his queen.
“Hey, you.” He whispers, eyes on you as he sinks down onto his knees in front of you “Doing okay? Not nervous?”
He was checking on you. Fuck, there was no way this man could be any hotter.
“I’m okay.” You whisper back “Just a little overwhelmed.”
The way that Eddie looked at you with those chocolate brown eyes made you want to melt.
“Yeah?” He asks, voice still low enough for only you to hear- sharing this intimate moment with you only.
“Just a little.” You answer. You were trying not to focus on your nerves but you could feel the space that they occupied in your body.
“Everything’s gonna be okay, sweetheart. Just close your eyes and relax. I’m here to take care of you.” He says, his eyes warm “Remember what I said? If it gets to be too much just focus on me. Just forget that anyone’s even here. Okay?”
“Okay.” You whisper back, staring at him as you nod.
“Good.” He says “Now, how can I help you get comfortable? What do you need? Hm?”
God, he was making you so wet…
“….I….I, uh, can you use-“ You immediately felt embarrassed, your face flushes as you try to look away from him.
“Hey, hey, hey…” He tsks “Eyes on me. Look at me, angel.” He reaches for you, taking your chin in-between his thumb and forefinger- guiding you to look at him. “Tell me what you want. It’s just you and me here. It’s just us. Okay?”
“Okay.” You bite your lip, nodding along.
“Say it.” He demands, maintaining eye contact “I want to hear you say it. Need to know that you’re with me. That it’s just me and you in this room right now. Nobody else. Just us, okay? Tell me.”
“I….It’s just us.” You breathe, your body feeling as if it were on fire from the intimacy “You and me. No one else.”
“That’s right, sweetheart. Just you and me. Now, tell me, what….do you….need?”
What did you need?
“You, Eddie. I need you.” You gasp lightly, causing his lips to form into a smirk.
“What do you need me to do?” He asks “Gotta use your words or I won’t be able to understand.”
“I want….I need you to kiss me. Please?”
Eddie lets of a short, low growl from the back of his throat as his hands fly to your waist, grasping tightly as he jerked you towards him- wanting you closer.
“C’mere, baby.” He rasps, straightening his body to become level with yours before he uses one of his large hands to grab the back of your neck- pulling you into a rough, hungry kiss that was so intense that it could have knocked the air out of you.
And Eddie fucking Munson was an amazing kisser.
The way that his lips slotted and molded against yours. The way that his mouth moved against yours as he nipped and licked and sucked at your bottom lip. The way that he slid his tongue into your mouth as if you belonged to him- causing you to want him to make you his.
You moaned into his mouth as his tongue fought for dominance against yours, taking your breath away with how desperate he was to kiss you harder and more passionately than he already was- if that were even possible.
How hands were all over. Grabbing your waist, his fingertips trailing up and down your back in delicate touches. The way that his thumb slipped underneath the clasp of your bra. He pulled his thumb back to stretch out the band then released it to let it snap back against your soft skin- earning him a surprised gasp.
He removes his lips from yours, beginning to pepper light kisses along your jawline before trailing his lips down your neck. You tilt your head back, giving him more access as he kisses down the column of your throat and then back up- working his way over until he began nibbling on your ear. You thought you were dreaming when he whispered in your ear.
“Can I take your tits out?”
You probably seemed needy and desperate as you fervently nodded your approval. You worried that you probably looked pathetic but, to Eddie, there was nothing hotter than seeing how worked up you were getting.
“P-please.” You mutter, voice coming out breathy and shaky.
“Mmm…good girl. Wanna look at those pretty tits when I fuck you with my fingers.”
You let out a startled squeak at his filthy works, causing him to grin.
“Fuck, sweetheart, does that turn you on? Listening to me tell you that I wanna put my fingers in you? Hm? That I wanna stuff you full?”
“Fuck, Eddie…” You moan.
“God, sweetheart, you’re already moaning my name and I haven’t even touched you yet. So needy for me. I fucking love it.”
He reaches both hands around to your bra clasp, expertly popping it open and removing it as if it were the easiest thing on earth. To him, it probably was. He’s probably taken off so many girl’s bras that he could do it with his eyes closed.
He pulled the bra off, taking it in his large hand before flinging it somewhere on the set. Not that it mattered. As hot as it was, it was getting in the way of what he really wanted. Your tits in his mouth.
“Mmm fuck, baby.” He groans, staring lovingly at your gorgeous chest- your hardened nipples. “You are so goddamn pretty, angel. So beautiful. Can I put my mouth on them?”
“Please.” You moan, arching your back in order to bring your tits closer to his face. Eddie chuckles at your eagerness.
“Shit, sweetheart.” He laughs “You want me to put them in my mouth? Yeah? These sweet fucking titties….”
He keeps one hand on your waist while the other snakes up to your chest, grabbing a handful of your boob as he squeezes it in his hand.
“So fucking soft, honey. So warm…..so perfect.” He teases, voice low and seductive. “Perfect little tits. Want me to put them in my face? Suck on your perky little nipples? Fuck, they’re so hard for me.”
You don’t know what came over you but you instinctively grasp at Eddie’s hand that was left grabbing your waist as you draw it up and onto your other breast, wanting him to have two handfuls of you.
“Look at you, sweet girl. You want both my hands paying attention to your tits? So bossy.” He tsks “Could’ve just asked. But that’s okay. I’m gonna give you what you want. But you’re gonna have to do something for me too.”
You look at him with curiosity in your eyes. You had no idea what he was going to ask you. Truth be told, it made you a little nervous.
“Since both my hands are full, sweetness, I’m gonna need you to use yours to play with your pussy for me. Think you can do that for me? Hm?”
Fuck
You stare at him as he surveys your body, now fully nude in front of him. God, you were a beautiful sight.
“Okay.” You squeak out, nodding your head.
“Atta girl.” He whispers “That’s my good girl. Now start rubbing your clit.”
────────
To Be Continued…
A/N: Hope you enjoyed part one. Sorry that I cut it short, I didn’t want to make the fic too long and I also wanted to get it out before I left for vacation next week. I feel like I’ve already held this back from you all long enough. Please excuse any spelling errors. I’ll go back and edit later
Summary: You meet Tommy after you pick up him and Joel from a bar. The night ends with you finally being honest and letting Joel in... a little.
Warnings: language, cigarette use, alcohol use, Joel loves bossy women, fluff, smut (18+), piv sex, fingering, handjob, reader has major self esteem/anxiety issues, very very mild hint at an abusive past relationship, Tommy and Joel acting like children and being little shits
other parts here
One forty two in the morning.
That's when your phone disturbs your blissfully deep sleep.
Nobody ever calls you in the middle of the night. Hell, no one even texts you in the middle of the night. It's why your volume remains on every day. The most action you'll get is a ping from your work email, and you've silenced that feature during the overnight hours long ago.
You may work like a dog, but you draw the line at anyone fucking with your sleep.
So when your phone wakes you with your ringtone—not your email or text sound, but your ringtone—you assume someone died. Has to be, right?
You're still groggy as you frantically reach for the phone, heart in your throat and eyes half open while you try to mentally figure out what time it is in London—would your sister call you and forget to check the time zone? Was she hurt or in trouble?
"Hello?" you answer without even looking at the caller ID. Your voice is thick and you sound like a frog. You clear your throat and try again. "Hello?"
There's shouting on the other end but it doesn't sound like an emergency. Not exactly happy shouting, either. Just... loud as all hell. And a whole bunch of voices, too. You blink and rub your eyes.
"Oh, h-hey! Hey, honey, can you hear me?"
You wince and pull the phone from your ear before angling the receiver towards your mouth. "Joel?"
"Did I wake you?"
More shouting that's now sounding like the drunken sort. People laughing and swearing are walking by, you can tell because their voices decrescendo as they presumably walk down the sidewalk.
"What—are you—" You shake your head. Words are hard to formulate.
"Y'there?" Joel sounds drunk, you can hear it now. Anger begins to simmer in your veins.
"Why are you calling me in the middle of the night?" you snap.
"Huh?"
"Why are you—"
"Gimme the phone!"
"Fuck outta here—"
"Joel, I wanna—"
There's rustling then. You can hear their shoes scraping on the sidewalk and you roll your eyes as you wait. The rustling finally stops and the second male voice curses out Joel before you hear the telltale flick of a lighter and then you hear his voice again, just a little breathless now.
"Sorry 'bout that," Joel murmurs. You can hear his footsteps on the sidewalk, he must be walking away.
"What do you want, Joel?"
"Got a favor to ask," he says, "any chance you can p—" Joel hiccups and you scowl. "Sorry. Any chance y'can pick us up?"
"Why?"
"'Cause we're drunk as shit and this goddamn bouncer's got a hard on f'Tommy here and won't let 'im leave without talkin' to someone that ain't me, so we can't call a cab, 'n I ain't callin' our ma or—"
"Oh, Jesus Christ, fine!" you yell, flinging the covers off your bed. "Where are you?"
He tells you while you shove on a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt.
"The hell's the matter with you two? Your brother's home for two days and you're already getting into fights?" You snatch your purse off the hook by the door and slip on some sneakers.
"No, no, didn't get into any fights," he says defensively. "Tommy just flirted with the wrong girl, is all. Perfectly—" hiccup "—harmless."
"Yeah, right," you grumble, locking the door behind you. Goosebumps erupt across your skin at the first touch of night air. "It's freezing, Joel, I can't believe you're dragging me out of bed for this bullshit."
"How's 'bout I drag you back into bed later and make it up to you?" he teases. You roll your eyes and collapse into the driver's seat of your car.
"I'm not interested in having drunk, sloppy sex with you. That's the opposite of making it up to me."
"Easy, darlin'. Save some of that sass for when y'get here. Know how much I love it."
"You're such a pain in the ass." You let the grin stretch across your face only because Joel can't see you because goddamn him, even when he interrupts your sleep, he manages to make you smile.
You hear the humor in his voice when he answers. "Yeah, you like this pain in the ass, though."
"Do not." You're still grinning as you back out of your driveway.
"Uh huh. You got a big ol' crush on me."
"Do you want me to just go back home? 'Cause I'll do it," you warn.
"Nope. No I do not," he replies. "Miss you. Wanna see you."
You flick on your turn signal. "You're drunk and horny."
"Both things can be true at the same time."
"Funny," you say dryly.
"C'mon now, you're sayin' you don't miss me? Not even a little?" he asks, attempting to sound seductive but it's coming across more like he's confused.
"We saw each other on Sunday," you remind him.
"Feels like a month ago," he grumbles.
You crack your window just a smidge to let in some fresh air while simultaneously running the heat on low.
"Who's the one with a crush now?" you say smugly into your speakerphone.
"Never denied havin' a crush on you," Joel answers, "and I still ain't."
Butterflies erupt in your stomach and you bite your lip. "You're a real sweet talker, you know that?"
"Mm. Maybe that's why we work so good. I got the sweetness and you got the spice."
"Spice?" At this point you're just keeping him on the phone so you know he and Tommy haven't wandered off somewhere, but it also serves as great entertainment as you drive the mostly deserted roads to a bar on the other side of town.
"Yeah. Spice. Like heat or pepper or somethin'."
"Sugar and pepper do not sound good together."
"Ah, don't knock it til you try it, otherwise, how're you gonna know if it's any good?"
You have to give him credit. Even though he's hammered, he still manages to not-so-subtly find ways to tell you what a great couple you'd make. It's been a fun few weeks, but you're still holding firm on keeping things casual, and Joel seems to have figured out just how far he can push you without tipping over that edge.
"Y'there?" he asks, and you nod although he can't see you.
"Yeah. Ten minutes out."
Joel sighs on the other end as the background noise starts to increase, indicating he's pacing back towards the bar.
"Got a goddamn headache. Loud as shit here." Hiccup.
"You sure it's the music and not the shots?"
"How'd you know we did shots?"
"I didn't. Crazy guess."
Joel laughs. "Wanna know somethin'?"
You smile to yourself as you roll up to a stop light. "What?"
Just then, Tommy's voice fills the speaker.
"—wasn't doin' nothin' and this motherfucker over here says—"
"Keep your goddamn voice down."
"Who's on the phone?"
"I told'ya already, we're gettin' picked up—"
"Ohhh! She's comin' to get us? Hey! Lemme talk—"
"Y'can talk to 'er when she gets here, back up!"
"Joel? I'm a block away," you say loudly into the speaker, but the brothers are too busy bickering.
"Stop bein' all weird and gimme the phone!"
"I ain't bein' weird! You're the one—"
"H-hey! Hey, sweetheart!" Tommy yells. You wince at the volume just as the lights from the bar come into view. "He's been talkin' 'bout you all night! He tell y'that? Wouldn't shut—"
Despite yourself, your heart lurches in your chest at Tommy's revelation. There's the sound of plastic clattering onto concrete and the scuffle of shoes mixed with some grunts and you pull into the parking lot.
When you park, you immediately spot them wrestling and get out of the car with your purse slung over your shoulder. As you approach, you notice the brothers attracted a few curious onlookers, but once it became clear it wasn't a real flight, they moved on. The bouncers, however, stood with their backs against the brick wall and their arms crossed over their chests, looking amused as they watched two drunk idiots try and fail to get one another in a headlock.
"Joel!" you shout, and finally they pull apart, breathless with their hair and clothes askew. You're about ten feet away but Joel, being drunk as he is, stumbles to pick up his phone and presses it to his ear.
"Y'still there?" he pants into the receiver.
"No, I'm here, dumbass," you say sharply. Joel's head snaps up at the same time as Tommy's and he gives you the dopiest grin before pocketing his phone.
"There she is," he slurs, opening his arms wide. His dark T-shirt is splotched with wet marks, probably spilled beer, and his wallet looks like it's about to fall out of his back pocket. His hair is sticking up every which way and his eyes look glassy but he still looks absolutely thrilled to see you.
"This is what you woke me up for? Some discount version of the WWE?" You reach to push his wallet deeper into his pocket and he envelopes you in a bear hug, pulling your face abruptly against his chest. He reeks of alcohol and cigarettes and you cringe before pushing him away.
"You stink."
"You smell fuckin' great," he says, still smiling like a fool.
Tommy says your name in a sing-songy voice, pulling your attention to the younger brother. He looks like Joel. All dark features, eyes that sparkle and a killer smile. His hair is cut short and he's clean shaven, very military-esque, but he's just as much a mess as Joel. His open button down shirt is hanging off one shoulder, revealing a white tank top underneath. His cheeks are pink and he looks a little sweaty. He's most definitely very drunk. Still, he remembers his manners and straightens his spine before offering you his hand and name.
"Yeah, I gathered, hi," you say, shaking his hand.
"Happy I get to put a face to the name," Tommy grins, still holding onto your hand. His eyes dart between you and Joel. "She's pretty," he tells his brother, and you speak before Joel can answer.
"She says thank you." You pull your hand away and glance around the front of the bar. Country music blares from somewhere inside—a live band, you think. Cigarette smoke clings to both their clothes and hovers in the air from nearby patrons taking a break against the wall. Laughter and shouting echo just inside the open door, which is framed by the two large bouncers watching the three of you warily.
"You with them?" One of the bouncers juts his chin stiffly in Tommy and Joel's direction. You sigh and nod before stepping away from them.
"Unfortunately. What'd they do?"
"That one—" The second bouncer scowls at Tommy. "Told my girlfriend he wanted to use her g-string as floss."
"Christ," you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose.
"It was a compliment," Tommy chimes in behind you.
"For the record, this is not a great first impression of you, Tom," you say through clenched teeth.
"Then he climbed onto the stage when the band was on break and nearly broke the strings on the guy's twelve hundred dollar Fender."
"That rendition of Highway to Hell almost cleared out the whole bar," the first bouncer says, shaking his head. "Stumbled into some tables and broke a shit-ton of glasses. Got four customers soaked in gin. He's costin' us money."
"I am so sorry," you plead, "I'll take them home right now."
"They're lucky we didn't call the cops."
"Only reason we didn't is 'cause that one said he's military."
"I know, and I'm sure once they sober up, they will be able to appreciate that act of kindness," you say, turning to watch the two brothers grow bored and start bickering once again, but now it sounds like it's over who is going to get to sit shotgun. They start swatting at each other, which inevitably evolves to pushing and yelling, as the three of you continue to watch.
"The hangover'll be punishment enough," one of the bouncers mutters. You nod in agreement before turning back to the two men.
"So why does it feel like I'm being punished when I didn't even do anything?"
They chuckle and turn to slip back inside the bar. "At least your boyfriend wasn't the one startin' trouble."
"He's not my boyfriend," you grumble to yourself before looking back at the two brothers, poised to get into yet another wrestling match. "Hey! Knock it off and follow me to the car!"
"Yes, ma'am," Joel says instantly after giving Tommy one more hard shove. He falls into step next to you and slings an arm heavily around your shoulders while Tommy lights up a cigarette a few paces behind.
"What exactly was the plan here?" you ask, digging your keys out of your purse. "Who was gonna drive? You're both shitfaced."
Joel shrugs. "Cab. But th'bouncer was bein' a dick and didn't—"
"That bouncer did you guys a favor."
"Sure as hell did 'cause now you're here," Joel smirks.
You roll your eyes with a grin and unlock your car doors. "Get in," you say, shrugging off his arm.
"Shotgun," Tommy says, flicking his cigarette onto the sidewalk.
"No fuckin' way—"
"I called it!"
"I don't give a shit!"
"You have five seconds to figure it out before I leave you both here," you warn, slipping back into the driver's seat. Joel shoves Tommy and races around the front of your car, jumping in next to you and locking the door before his brother has a chance to catch up.
"Your mother must be a saint," you tell them flatly when Tommy begrudgingly slides into the backseat.
"Our Ma woulda let us get hauled to jail just to teach us a lesson," Tommy laughs.
"And we woulda thanked her for it the next day," Joel adds, slumping into your passenger seat with a heavy sigh. You fiddle with the heat before cracking your window again, then you check your mirrors and start to back out of your spot.
"Why d'you got the heat on if the window's open?" Joel asks.
"I like the fresh air but I'm cold."
"Can we stop 'n get some food?" asks Tommy, leaning forward to stick his head between your seats.
"Fine," you mumble, squinting your eyes to see through the dark lot.
"Wings?"
"Hell yeah, wings," Joel confirms.
"Where?" you ask tiredly. Between the two of them, you think you cobble together some coherent directions and you begin your journey to your first stop.
It's blissfully quiet for the drive. Both men seem to have tired themselves out a bit and they're quietly staring out the windows. It gives you a much needed break. By the time you approach the restaurant, you're feeling alot more relaxed than an hour ago.
"I'll run in and give 'em the order to-go," Tommy says, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Probably be like twenty minutes or so."
"No way you're going in there alone, drunk off your ass," you scold, turning off the car. "We're all going in. C'mon."
Joel groans in protest but unbuckles his own seatbelt and follows you both inside. You usher them forward to the empty counter and make sure they don't order the entire menu before finding a booth to sit and wait. When Joel squeezes in next to you, casually tossing his arm over the back of the booth and scooting close enough so your legs touch under the table, Tommy grins and the inevitable interrogation begins.
"So," he says slowly, gaze darting back and forth, "how long's this been goin' on?"
"Little more than a month," Joel answers right away. It gives you pause until you realize he's right—it has been. In fact, it's closer to two months now since you first slept together. When the hell did that happen?
"How'd you meet?"
"He had a job working on my next door neighbor's house," you say, planning on leaving it at just that, but of course, Joel interjects.
"Kept comin' over to complain 'bout the noise. Took me a few days to realize she was flirtin' with me."
"I was not!" You smack his thigh under the table and he laughs.
"See? She's doin' it again. Yellin's her love language."
"What the hell's a love language?" Tommy asks, nose scrunched with confusion, but you both ignore him.
"Then what is your love language?" Joel asks, turning his body to face you in the booth. His arm rests on the table and he's smiling at you like you're the only two people in the room.
"Giving or receiving?"
"Now we're talkin'," Joel laughs, "both."
Tommy shakes his head. "Hey—what are love languages?"
"Giving is acts of service, receiving is words of affirmation," you answer without hesitation. You hold his gaze with an amused expression while he works out this new bit of information.
"So you do got a crush on me," he finally teases. Across from you, Tommy watches the exchange on a tape delay.
"How did you get that out of what I just said?" you argue.
Joel shrugs like it's obvious. "You picked us up when I called you in the middle of the night, didn't you? Sounds like an act of service t'me."
You blink slowly, then scoff. "I just didn't want you to get thrown in jail or die driving home."
"Nah, you like me," Joel smirks.
"Wait, wait—" Tommy says, waving his hands in the air. You each turn to him as thinks, which takes much longer than necessary. "Ain't you... together? Like, datin'? Why'd—what're you—"
"No," you reply, cutting him off. "We're just... hanging out."
"Hangin'... out?" Tommy echos, stretching out each word slowly. You nod but Joel remains quiet next to you. Tommy scratches his head as he thinks some more and you take a deep breath, willing their food to finish cooking faster. "So you ain't his girlfriend but... y'still came to pick us up tonight?"
You roll your eyes. Jesus, they're drunk.
"Yes."
Tommy and Joel are silent except for the rhythmic, impatient tapping of Joel's fingers on top of the booth behind you. Finally, a slow smile stretches across Tommy's face as he points accusingly at you across the table.
"You like him."
"What?" you frown.
"Told you," says Joel smugly.
"You got a big ol' crush on him."
You bury your face in your hands to hide the heat that has crept up to flood your neck and cheeks. "Shut up," you groan.
"Oh, Mama's gonna love her," Tommy says to Joel. Your head snaps up, eyes wide.
"She's a spitfire," Joel replies, like you're not even there.
"Exactly why she'll love her."
Your mouth opens to protest—to say anything to stop this terrifying conversation in its tracks—but mercifully, their order number gets called and both men stand to go pick up their bags, forgetting all about your current mortification.
"Shit, this smells good," Tommy murmurs, opening his bag. Joel reaches in and steals a fry, popping one in his mouth before snatching his own food from the counter. You still don't have your bearings when he tells you they're ready to go, both of them completely absorbed with their food and oblivious to the way embarrassment is still coursing through your veins.
The drive back to Joel's house is quiet. Usually, you'd tell them not to eat in your car, especially something as messy as chicken wings, but you need the silence so you can process your own thoughts, so you let it go this time.
You've been pushing it out of your head for a while now, but it's becoming hard to ignore. They're right, obviously. You do like Joel. Problem is, you like him... a lot. And you're entirely unsure how to navigate these feelings because everything with him was so unexpected that you never allowed yourself enough time to confidently heal before falling into this... thing with him. So you've been pushing him away. Keeping him at an arms length. And Joel's been okay with it. What keeps surprising you is his persistence. Most men would jump at the chance to carry on a casual sex relationship—all the benefits and none of the baggage of a committed relationship. And yet, Joel keeps suggesting more. The question is... can you offer more?
"Right here," Joel says, pointing with a sticky finger towards a sleepy little house on the right side of a cul-de-sac.
"You ain't ever been here before?" Tommy asks.
"Uh, no," you reply as you pull into Joel's driveway and shift your car into park. "Joel usually picks me up when we have plans."
"I'm a gentleman," he tells Tommy, shooting him a look in the mirror. "Could learn a thing or two."
"Shut up," Tommy snaps, then they both collect the rest of the food and shimmy out of your car. As you follow them to the front door, you cringe to think about the smell of hot wings currently embedding itself into the fibers of your seats.
The brothers stumble into Joel's modest house, bickering about god knows what as they make their way to the kitchen, leaving you to quietly shut the front door and look around.
His home is... warm. It's well lived in and cozy, and it instantly makes you feel comfortable. Not that you weren't before, it's just... you never know what you're going to get when you walk into a bachelor's house.
There's a few steps that lead up into an already dimly lit living room. The couch is pushed up against the front wall, angled towards the television that houses countless DVDs stacked on shelves next to it. There's some rather decent wall art that impresses you, and a fake plant or two, but what really takes you by surprise is the guitar resting against the wall.
You slip your sneakers off before stepping onto the plush carpet, feet softly crossing the room and stopping right before the instrument. You drag one finger gently over the neck, then test the feel of the strings under the pad of your thumb. You try to imagine Joel playing it, maybe even singing. The thought has you smiling to yourself before eventually dropping your hand and turning back around to map the rest of the house.
Across from you is a staircase leading to a hallway—bedrooms and bathroom, you assume. Right before the stairs is the opening to the kitchen, where bright lights flood the carpeted floor and cast shadows against the wall of the brothers moving somewhere around the corner from where you stand.
It's cute. You like it. It's definitely his space. There's a certain feel to it that just reminds you of Joel. Maybe it's the smell or the leather couch or the ambient lighting that puts you at ease, the same way his voice and touch manage to do.
"Hey—"
Joel's head appears around the corner, pulling you out of your analysis with a smile.
"Sorry," you tell him, feet instantly moving to join them in the kitchen.
"Don't be," he says softly in your ear right as you walk by. His fingers brush your arm briefly, grounding you without even realizing it. "You hungry? I saved you some." Joel grabs his bag from the counter and sets it on his small kitchen table, where you're currently standing. Tommy is deeper into the kitchen, leaning against the stove, eating a wing with one hand and holding a glass bottle of beer in the other. He looks perfectly content, like he's home, and you get the feeling that maybe Joel's house acts like a second home to his family because that's just how Joel is. He's... open. Kind. Hospitable. Easy going. Sweet.
Shit.
"No, I'm okay," you say, clearing your throat. He saved you some of his food. "You eat it. I'll have heartburn for days if I eat that right now."
"I got other stuff, too," Joel says immediately while reaching for his fridge. But you quickly wave him off.
"No, really, I'm good. Just tired."
Joel opens the fridge anyway and grabs a few bottles of water. He tosses one to Tommy who narrowly manages to catch it after dropping a bone into his bag.
"Drink it," Joel says firmly, although the slight drunken wobble in his knees takes some of the edge away from his threat.
"I will."
"And don't leave the door unlocked like last night," Joel adds. He hands you a water and slips his hand over yours, leading you to the staircase. Before your foot hits the first step, you pause.
"Oh, I was..."
Joel stops and looks at you over his shoulder, patiently waiting for you to continue. He looks so endearing, all drunk and sleepy, and there's something extra appealing about watching him maneuver in his home. It's like exploring a side of him you haven't seen before. So what are you going to do? Are you really going to tell him you're going home instead of staying the night? It's so late as it is.
You think it over for about half a second.
"Nevermind," you smile, and his fingers squeeze yours before he turns to climb the stairs, leading you into his bedroom and shutting the door.
Joel drops your hand and moves into the room, flicking on the lights next to his bed and readjusting the grey sheets and comforter while you stand at the door with your water, taking everything in. This is Joel's most private space. He had no clue you'd be seeing it tonight. There's no way he could have prepared or hidden anything weird... what you're seeing is the real deal. The raw, honest version of his life. And... you like it. You like it.
His room is a bit messy, but that's fine. It's normal to have random articles of clothing draped over a hardly used treadmill in the corner. It's normal to have the top of a dresser filled with odds and ends he likely emptied from his pockets after too many long days. It's normal to have a hamper with dirty clothes hanging over the sides. There's nothing scary or strange here. There's nothing to "find".
Your gaze slowly slides over his king sized bed, where he just finished fixing the bedding. On one end table is a dead plant, an open magazine, and a television remote. The other has a coaster and his phone charger. But what really draws your eye is the artwork hung above his cherry spindle bed frame.
On the right is a vintage music festival poster for Club Deville. The center lists all of the musical acts in a warped font, the top advertises tacos and beer, and as if you couldn't already guess, Austin, TX is listed as the location on the bottom. There's an equally old looking poster for another festival on the left side of the wall, but this one has half of an acoustic guitar taking up a big chunk of the ad, along with the names of some acts you don't recognize. And right in the middle, taking up residence directly front and center, is a peaceful painting of a mountainous region with one single solitary deer in the foreground. You wonder if he chose it because something about the deer being all alone spoke to him, or if it was just a coinscidence.
"It ain't much," Joel fidgets slightly and you realize your silence may have unintentionally made him a little nervous, "but it's mine. Great neighbors, good schools, safe area." He moves to his dresser and begins rummaging for pajamas.
"I like it, too," you say softly. He pauses before twisting to look at you, but your eyes are back on the posters. "I didn't realize music was such a big interest of yours."
He follows your gaze and nods. "Yeah, I like to check out concerts when I can."
"And you play guitar?" you ask. Joel shuts a dresser drawer and tosses clean clothes onto the bed.
"Wouldn't say that. Used to, when I had more time. But now—" Joel strips his shirt over his head and you immediately lock onto his broad chest, "—I don't really practice as much. Can't seem to bring myself to get rid of the thing, though."
You feel a little hypnotized for a second as he stands there shirtless because it takes you until a fresh shirt is almost over his head when you blink and stop him.
"Wait, you've gotta shower," you say, stepping forward, "you stink like whiskey and cigarettes."
Joel frowns and lifts one arm to sniff himself. "I don't smell it."
"Of course you don't, you're nose blind to it by now. Don't put fresh clothes on—" You stop him again when he lifts his shirt to shove it over his head and he eyeballs you with a look you can read a mile away.
"You're just tryin' to get me naked."
"Oh, shut up," you say, but the smile that tugs across your face takes the bite out of your words.
Joel dramatically sighs in defeat and drops the clean shirt back on his bed. "Fine," he grumbles, undoing his belt buckle as he walks to the bathroom attached to his room, "but you're comin' with me."
"What? Why?"
"I'm drunk," he says over his shoulder. Then his jeans slide down his legs, along with his boxers, and your mouth goes dry at the sight of his bare backside. "Might fall 'n hit my head. You'll never be able to live with yourself."
You want to say something snippy in response, but you don't. Instead, you leave your water by the bed and pad across the carpet to the bathroom. This room isn't decorated that much, save for a fancy sounding soap next to his sink that you find yourself reaching for.
"Wouldn't take you for a shea butter and eucalyptus kind of guy," you say, taking a sniff. Behind you, the water is already turned on, warming up as you investigate the room further. But then Joel's hands are on your hips, lifting up your sweatshirt so his palms can glide slowly across your stomach and you pause.
"Gotta keep my hands soft f'you, don't I?" he murmurs in your ear before his teeth gently graze your lobe. Your eyelids flutter and you feel the heat already building below your neckline. Your head tips back to rest on his shoulder and his lips keep moving, grazing lightly over your throat while he pushes your sweatshirt up further.
You tilt your chin to the side so your mouth is right next to his ear. "But I like them a little rough," you whisper, then smile when you hear him groan.
"Yeah, I know you do, honey," he says gruffly against your neck. Goosebumps erupt over your skin from the scratch of his beard. His fingers splay wide across your hips and squeeze. "Goddamn, you're so pretty. Missed you so much."
"It's only been five days," you tease, squirming out of his hold. He pouts and your gaze drops to find him fully naked and half hard.
"Five very long days," he says, reaching for you again. You giggle and swat his hands away.
"Clean up first," you tell him. He rolls his head back and makes a frustrated noise before doing as he's told and turning his attention back to the shower.
"Not fair. Teasin' me like this," he says after he steps behind the glass door. You perch on the edge of his sink, swinging your legs playfully over the side as you strip your sweatshirt off. The steam from the shower and the heat of Joel's touch is too much, so you leave it in a pile with his clothes, not really caring if it smells like his night out when you pick it up tomorrow.
Of course, his gaze tracks the movement through the glass and he gives you an appreciative look when you're left in just a tight camisole and your sleep shorts.
"What'd I just say?"
You laugh. "It's hot in here!"
He rolls his eyes and grumbles something under his breath before reaching for his soap. You watch with your lower lip snagged between your teeth as he lathers up: white, foamy bubbles slide effortlessly down his strong arms, his broad chest, his thick cock. You swallow.
Joel glances at you every so often as you shamelessly watch those big hands glide over his dark hair, threading shampoo through the messy locks and then scrub mindlessly at his short beard. Your face must give you away, you think, because it's hard to hide the arousal building in your core the longer you stare. It's also impossible not to notice that he's now fully erect between his legs. The sight of his cock bobbing every time he turns around makes your thighs press together tightly, desperately trying to quell the ache.
Fuck it, you think, and slide off the counter.
"What're you doin'?" Joel asks when you crack open the glass door.
"Missed a spot," you say, reaching in to snag his washcloth. "Turn around."
He smirks and does as you say so you can pretend to wash a spot on his back when in reality, all you want to do is feel the heat and strength of his body under your fingertips.
"Get it?" he asks.
"Yep," you lie, and what happens next is so fast you hardly have time to register it.
Joel takes the washcloth with one hand and your wrist with the other, tugging you inside the shower and pressing you against the cool tile wall in a heartbeat. You squeal when the hot water from the shower head pelts your still very much clothed body, but Joel doesn't care. He presses his wet body against yours and kisses you so deeply that it steals your breath, and any sense that was left in your brain is gone.
Soaked clothes be damned. Your arms circle around his neck and your lips part, inviting his tongue to sweep inside your mouth, past your teeth, pulling a soft moan from your throat. Your hair sticks to your skin, along with your clothes. It's uncomfortable and messy but you don't care. You don't care. For the first time in forever, disorder doesn't bother you. The desire to live in the moment is overriding that voice in your head that is typically deafening, and it feels... exhilarating.
"Did I thank you for pickin' us up tonight?" Joel murmurs against your lips. Before you can answer, his fingers peel open your shorts and sneak past your panties. You gasp into his mouth and he smirks.
"No—no," you stammer when his finger finds your slit. He strokes you there a few times, refusing to touch your clit or press so much as a fingertip inside you.
"No?" he echos.
"Maybe. May—be you d-did..." You trail off because your muscles are going rigid with anticipation and it's pulling all your focus. "Can—can't remember."
Joel tuts under his breath. "Then lemme thank you in a way I'll know you remember."
Your head knocks back against the wall when one thick finger slips inside your pussy. The loud moan that leaves your mouth surely would have gotten Tommy's attention had Joel not muffled it with his lips. He kisses you with so much heat that your knees buckle, or maybe it's the way he crooks his finger just right inside you, it's hard to tell. Joel's free arm wraps around your waist for support when he feels you weaken, pinning you against the wall as the water falls in sheets around you both.
His name harshly rips from your throat when he adds a second finger. The stretch is sharp, your body is too tense, but it quickly melts into pleasure after a few snaps of his wrist.
"Goddamn," Joel breathes, "you're so wet for me."
You shudder when his thumb brushes a tight circle over your clit.
"It's—the water," you gasp unconvincingly.
Joel chuckles and dips his chin down to suck on your neck.
"Bullshit," he mumbles, "I saw the way you were droolin' over this cock, watchin' me. 'N if I could stand the feelin' of a wet condom, I'd be fuckin' you senseless right now."
A shiver rolls straight down your spine.
"I need these off," you pant, shifting your hips. "Take these off—please—"
The fingers inside you stall but remain right where they are while his free hand slips from your waist to tug down your sopping wet bottoms. They fall at your feet with a loud splat and you sigh with relief now that Joel has better access to your body, then he picks up right where he left off.
You whimper and squirm under his touch, body tightening around his fingers when he spreads them apart inside you, reminding you how much you can take and how easy it would be to slip his cock inside you right now.
An insane part of you, the one lost to the haze of pleasure he's currently pulling from your body, reaches down. Your fingers wrap around his cock and you almost angle it so you can sink down on it but the broken moan that falls from Joel's lips echos and skitters over the cool tile walls and stops you.
"Are—are you...?"
"More," he begs, then presses down firmly over your clit. Stars streak across your vision and you obey, sliding your fist up and down, feeling the way he twitches in your palm, reveling in the way he can't seem to remember his own name but he's still managing to fuck you deep and fast with two of his fingers.
"Fuck, that's it," he groans, "keep goin', j-just like that..."
White hot heat fills your body, spreads through your limbs and knocks the air from your lungs. His hips begin to rock steadily into your fist, chasing your touch. Your muscles pull tighter every time he presses his fingers against that devastatingly sensitive spot inside you, and it feels selfish to want more when he's making you feel so good, and yet—
"I want you to fuck me," you whine, "Joel, p-please, I wanna fee—"
His mouth sears over yours, probably shutting you up so he wouldn't be tempted to do something stupid. His tongue pushes into your mouth in rhythm with his fingers. It sets your skin on fire and makes you want to tear off your tank top so you can feel every inch of his warm, wet skin against yours.
When your thumb glides over the tip of his cock and your fist twists down with just the right amount of pressure, his palm slaps loudly against the wall next to your head and he comes, pouring his sticky release all over your fingers and groaning brokenly into your mouth.
"M'sorry," he gasps, hips still flexing, "oh, fu-uck, m'sor—"
"Don't stop," you rasp, clean hand coming up to clutch feverishly at his shoulder. His wrist snaps steadily, the heel of his hand slapping against your swollen clit, driving you higher and higher—literally. At some point you've risen to your tiptoes like your body is elevating but eventually there's no where else to go except to give in.
You bury your face into the crook of his neck when you come, body convulsing in waves as his fingers fuck you through it. Your hand is still wrapped around his cock, only loosening when your body goes limp and sags against his chest.
"Good girl," he whispers hoarsely. Your eyes flutter shut against his shoulder and you're so tired that you don't even wince when he removes his fingers, but you do crack an eye open when he raises his hand to his mouth without hesitation. You watch in a daze as he slides both fingers against his tongue, hollows his cheeks, and softly hums at the taste. Joel catches you staring and you think he's going to make some type of filthy joke, but to your surprise, his expression remains serious. He makes a show of taking his time, licking his fingers clean while you watch with your wet hair and cheek stuck to his shoulder. If it weren't for the water loudly falling around you, you're certain he would be able to hear your heart beating frantically in your chest.
"I know you don't like it," Joel begins after he slowly removes his clean fingers, "but you taste so fuckin' good, honey."
His words ricochet in your brain on a loop: you taste so fuckin' good, you taste so fuckin' good. Joel steps back and makes sure you can stand before helping clean your hand under the shower stream, then lifts the hem of your shirt over your head. It peels off like a second skin and joins the rest of your clothes in the tub. Next, he twists the shower knob to turn off the water and you watch him reach for a fresh towel. He wraps you up first, rubbing your arms to make sure you're warm, and you still haven't said a word. You taste so fuckin' good. Then he grabs one for himself and you watch dumbly as he dries his hair, then his upper body before tying the towel loosely around his waist.
You taste so fuckin' good.
"C'mon," he says softly, offering you his hand. You swallow tightly and shakily take it, allowing him to lead you out of the shower and back into his room. When the air conditioning hits your skin, you shiver, but Joel is quickly offering you a pair of his boxers and a well worn black tshirt. Your eyelids feel heavy as you watch him fall to his knees to help you step into the boxers, one leg at a time. The tips of his fingers trail lightly up the back of your leg with a look on his face like he's admiring a piece of art, then he gently removes the towel, letting it fall to the floor, leaving you topless. His eyes darken when they lock onto your breasts, your nipples hardening under his heavy gaze, but he doesn't try anything. He motions for you to lift your arms so you do, then the soft shirt that smells just like him is gliding over your skin and you swear you could fall asleep standing up, you're that comfortable. You taste so fuckin' good.
"Let's get some sleep, sweetheart," he murmurs after cupping your face and brushing his lips tenderly over your own.
It's not until the lights are off and his bare body is curved around yours that you feel brave enough to speak.
"It's not that I don't like it."
The arm that is draped over your waist stiffens slightly. It's the only indication he's heard you. You let the words settle in the air for a moment, not quite sure what to say next. Then Joel finally speaks.
"Wanna tell me 'bout it, or no?"
You swallow and stare into the darkness. Even though you couldn't see him anyway, you're glad he's behind you. It feels safer this way. Easier.
"I dated someone once," you say timidly, "who wasn't very... nice about it."
Joel stays quiet and lets you talk. He lets you say what you're comfortable saying and he doesn't push or grow impatient with how long it takes you to get the words out. His thumb just rubs soothingly over your hip, a reminder that he's listening.
"I can't... can't relax enough to really enjoy it anymore," you finally manage to admit. "I'm too in my head now. Being the only one wh—who gets anything from it... it's too much pressure or—something."
Joel's lips press against your shoulder blade but still remains silent. He can feel your muscles, every single one tense and practically trembling along the curve of his body.
"Can you please say something?" you whisper.
"If you don't want me to, I won't," he says softly, "but if you trust me enough one day to let me try, I promise you ain't gonna be the only one who enjoys it."
Your heart cartwheels in your chest. You want to believe him, but it's hard. It's so, so hard. You want to trust Joel, you really do, but you're just not ready yet. The walls you've built up took several years to build, and it's going to take some time to knock them down. But you feel a little lighter after sharing this small piece with him, so you figure that's a good sign.
"Can I ask you one thing?" Joel's voice is soft and deep against your back, and his body warming you under his covers is quickly putting you to sleep, but still you give him a sleepy mhmm.
"Where is he now?"
"Prison," you whisper before you can even consider lying. Maybe you didn't want to lie.
There's a pause, then when Joel speaks, the softness in his voice is gone.
"Did—did he... hurt you?"
You hear him, but you don't answer. You don't need to. He already knows.
***
You wake up the next morning to Joel's big hands sliding over the curves of your body, slowly, like he's trying not to wake you. And he's successful, for the most part, because you're aware of him but your head is still heavy with sleep and your muscles are so relaxed and loose in his comfortable bed, so you don't open your eyes. You let his hands wander under your—his—shirt, and bask in the warmth from the morning sun streaming through the window. Or, wait—that warmth might be coming from his body pressing firmly against your back. Either way, it's heavenly, so you let yourself drift.
"I like wakin' up with you in my bed," he mumbles before sucking on a spot behind your ear. Your skin flashes with goosebumps from the delicate graze of his beard and you smile—one thing about Joel is he will never let a vulnerable moment make you feel uncomfortable. Ending the night on a sensitive topic would normally leave anyone waking up feeling raw and exposed, but he knows well enough by now to understand you'll share more when you're ready.
"Shouldn't you be hungover?" you ask sleepily. His arms tighten around your torso.
"Nah. Got the cure right here," he says while simultaneously pushing his hips against your ass. You feel the hard outline of his cock and your pulse skips.
"Joel, your brother—"
"He can sleep through a hurricane," he says, cutting you off. Then his fingers drift up and brush gently over one of your nipples and your spine straightens. You don't fully believe him, but you're willing to test that theory because Joel is just too irresistible at the moment and hell, he's still completely naked. You feel it now when you reach back and circle your fist around his cock. A breath gets caught in your throat and his fingers gently squeeze your nipple with a grunt.
Your gaze sweeps over to the digital clock on his dresser and you convince yourself it's probably too early for Tommy to be awake yet anyway, so you release your hold on his erection and begin to push his boxers down your legs, but when you start to shimmy out of his hold to remove his shirt, he stops you.
"Leave it on," he mutters while squeezing your other breast, "I like it. Looks—looks good on you."
"Yeah?" you breathe with a smirk over your shoulder. Joel kisses you for the first time that morning with a soft mhmm, then pulls away to reach for his nightstand. Still laying on your side, you listen to the drawer open, then the telltale sound of foil crinkling before a beat of silence where you assume he's rolling on the condom. You make a move to roll over when he stops you, pressing his chest up against your back again.
"Wanna fuck you like this," he murmurs before hooking an arm under your knee and lifting it up. You gasp softly when your legs spread open so brazenly in the morning light, then shudder with anticipation because there's something you really like about being maneuvered in his bed like this, especially when you can't get a clear visual. When the tip of his cock bumps against your pussy, you nearly jump out of your skin. Luckily, Joel is still holding open your legs so he manages to keep you in position, but he still chuckles in your ear and whispers for you to stay still.
He notches at your entrance and hardly gives you a chance to breathe before pushing in. Your legs tense at the intrusion and your fingers grab at the pillow under your head for something to hold onto, but Joel's grip under your knee remains firm.
"Shit," he groans, "so fuckin' warm, Christ—"
He pushes in further, splitting you open inch by inch. One hand drops between your legs and your fingers spread around his girth so you can feel him enter you and—shit—he's so thick and it feels so good.
You whine his name through clenched teeth and squeeze your eyes shut, only remembering to exhale once his hips grow flush with your ass.
"You're so hard," you whimper. He shifts and drives himself even deeper, making your jaw drop.
"All 'cause of you, honey," he growls, teeth skimming your ear, then your throat. "Always 'cause of you. So fuckin'... soft 'n—pretty." He sounds pained behind you as he showers you with praise and you can't tell if it's because he's trying to stay quiet or if the deep rock of his hips sinking into your cunt is stealing his breath the same way it's stealing yours.
Your heavy gaze drops down between your legs, where you can just barely see him disappearing inside you over and over, but the angle is too severe to truly see it all. Instead, you have to imagine how your cunt looks stretched open on his cock, you feel how wet he is every time he withdraws his hips, you imagine how his knuckles have to be white with how hard he's gripping your knee.
"So good to me, lettin' me ha-have you like this," he pants in your ear, "what'd I do to—deserve you?"
You hum and arch your back, just a little. Just enough to allow him in deeper. Then your fingers drift up, away from where he's impaling you, and begin to draw slow circles over your neglected clit.
With a sigh, you start to roll your hips. You want to answer but you can't. Nothing comes to mind because... well. Frankly, it's still hard to comprehend he actually likes you as much as he says he does. But it's okay, because he's not really looking for you to reply. He's too fixated on the way your pussy flutters around his length and how your tits look bouncing softly inside his shirt with every deep thrust.
His trembling arm pinned under your side snakes up the front of your shirt and finds your right breast, palming and massaging it while he groans into the back of your neck. Heat burns through your limbs as you rub your clit faster, bringing yourself closer to the edge, but then Joel's hand releases your breast and drops to flick your fingers away. You almost cry out in protest but then the firm pad of his finger is there, pressing down and making you feel much better than you own hand.
"Gotta let me—take care of you sometimes," he says, "lemme give you what you need."
Your eyes roll back because Jesus Christ, easier said than fucking done. You've been taking care of yourself for so long, refusing to rely on anyone anymore after you've been burned, but here's this man—this strong, funny, sweet, sexy, man—who's begging you to let go a little and allow him to help you. And you want him to. You really want him to.
"Okay," you breathe. His hips jerk harder and he opens your hips wider.
"Good girl," he groans, and you have to turn to muffle the feral sounds that rip from your throat into your pillow. "Just wanna ta—take care of you, make you feel good."
"You do," you gasp, body jostling from the force of his thrusts. Your balance is fucked laying on your side but Joel has a good grip around you—you're not going anywhere. Your hand flies back to grab the back of his head, pulling his mouth down to your neck. His lips suction over your throat and then you turn your chin so he can kiss you, which he does. Without hesitation, his mouth seals over yours and his tongue parts your lips. Having him like this—pummeling you from behind, strong arm wrapped around your middle stroking your clit, soft lips moving perfectly against yours—it's an addicting feeling. The kiss only gets broken because the tip of his cock presses tightly against a spot that has you throwing your head back and gasping for air. Then his teeth are there, biting gently at your lower lip while hitting that same spot over and over and—
"Oh, fuck—" you moan, clawing at the back of his head while your muscles pull tight, "—fuck, Joel, I'm—"
The words get knocked out of you when he starts to fuck you faster. Hot puffs of air leave his mouth and cascade over your face and neck. He's struggling to hold on so you can come first and that just makes you even more turned on. Your cunt clenches around him in response and he gasps but doesn't stop. His fingers scrub at your clit and his hips collide roughly against your ass with so much determination that you're fairly certain if a bomb went off outside his window, he still wouldn't stop.
The heat builds bright hot in your belly and spreads to your thighs, which ache from being held open so long but you know the soreness will be worth it. In fact, you hope you are sore. You want to feel him whenever you move the rest of the day. You want to carry that secret reminder of how good he fucks you. The fantasy sends sparks behind your eyelids and you gasp his name, probably way too loudly, but you don't care anymore.
"That's it," he grunts, "let g-go, baby, c'mon. I ne—need it. Wanna wat—watch that pretty face when y-you come."
Baby. He doesn't call you that often, maybe only once or twice, but shit—hearing it today sets something off in your brain. His voice is so soft around the word, making it sound full of meaning rather than some throwaway term of endearment that gets picked in the heat of the moment.
Maybe he did that on purpose.
Maybe you really like it.
You open your mouth, ready to warn him, but your orgasm tears through you unexpectedly and instead your voice breaks over the words, splintering into the air as your vision blurs and your body gives in, jolting with pleasure in his hold.
You must have been too loud because when your senses start to return, you realize Joel's mouth is covering yours. But then a second later he's coming with a muffled groan of your name and you don't really care anymore because the hot throb of his cock between your legs is all you want to think about. At some point you pull his hand away from your clit, too overstimulated to take any more, but he's lost in his own hazy pleasure, still riding out his orgasm with weak, stunted rolls of his hips. You know it's over when a shudder rockets down his spine and his grip around your middle loosens, but you both still lay there, intertwined and breathless.
"Christ," he finally rasps, resting his sweaty forehead on your shoulder as he pants for air. You wince a bit when he drops your leg and immediately flex the joints to encourage circulation to return. Then his breath begins to level out and you feel the soft graze of his mouth over your skin before he sweeps the hair out of your eyes. "You okay, darlin'? Still with me?"
"Mhm," you reply, but your eyes are closed and your limbs are boneless, suggesting otherwise. "Think I need a nap," you mumble, then smile when you feel his fingers drift carefully over your face, like he's memorizing it. A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, you can feel it pressed against your back, jolting your body with his as he quietly laughs and kisses your cheek.
"You can stay here as long as you want," he says before shifting his hips back. His cock slips out of you and you make a soft noise but otherwise remain still. "Any time you want, for that matter."
"Asking me to move in already?" you giggle into the pillow.
"If it means I get to wake up to this every day, I'll start packin' your shit right now."
"You're crazy," you sigh before rolling onto your back. You're stiff as hell but you feel good. So, so good. Your eyes flutter open to find Joel leaning on his elbow, looking down at you with the dopey smile that shows off those goddamn dimples.
"Ain't my fault. You make me crazy."
"So it's my fault?"
"Yeah. Fuckin'—minx," he grins before cupping your cheek and kissing you so sweetly you almost forget he just fucked the life out of you like an animal. Almost.
You hum happily when he pecks a few small kisses against your lips, deciding to just let yourself enjoy the moment without worrying or overthinking or panicking or... any of the other bullshit you're prone to doing.
"I'm stealing this shirt," you whisper with your eyes closed, plucking feebly at the shirt he dressed you in the night before. His mouth twitches, you can feel the sharp bristles of his beard before he speaks.
"Anythin' you want, it's yours."
Your eyes pop open and give him a mischievous look. "Anything?"
He nods very seriously. "Anythin'."
You tap your chin for a moment before raising an eyebrow, which he returns as he waits for your request.
"How about breakfast?"
"What do you like?"
"Do you have eggs?"
"I do."
"And toast?"
"Got it."
"Extra butter?"
Joel laughs and pushes himself up. Your eyes trail over his stark naked body as he strolls casually to his bathroom.
"Comin' right up, honey."
He disappears into the room to dispose of the condom and clean himself up while you stretch out happily in his bed, like a cat in the sun. When he returns, he goes to his dresser for some clothes and you watch lazily as he gets himself ready.
"Alright, so," he says brightly, "eggs, toast with extra butter, and sausage. You stay right here—"
"I didn't say anything about sausage."
"Didn't have to. Know you already love it." Then he winks at you and you groan in disgust.
"You're gross."
"Ain't what you were sayin' twenty minutes ago."
You throw a pillow in his general direction and he ducks, missing the impact with a laugh. But when he reaches for the doorknob, you suddenly sit up in bed and clear your throat.
"Wait—"
He glances back at you and drops his arm to his side. He's still smiling and it makes you smile, too, because you put that smile on his face. You made him feel happy.
So, with only a slight tremor to your voice, you square your shoulders and swallow your nerves.
"I... have a crush on you."
His eyes slowly brighten and his smile widens. He takes a step forward, back in your direction, but then stops.
"You like me." It's not a question.
"I do."
"How much?"
Your mouth twists and you frown as if you're thinking, then hold up your thumb and forefinger, measuring about an inch of space between the two. "This much?"
"Bullshit," Joel laughs, and you can't help it. You laugh too, drop your hand in your lap, and tilt your head to the side.
"Yeah. You're right. That was bullshit."
And this time, he doesn't hold himself back. He crosses the room in three long strides and bends down, fists sinking into the mattress on either side of your hips, and he kisses you. It's firm and sweet and made all the better by your matching smiles. When he pulls away, your nose bumps gently against his when you speak.
"I like you a lot."
"I know," he whispers, taking away any chance of there being an awkward, vulnerable moment, then gives you one more quick kiss before straightening up.
"I'll be back," he tells you, turning towards the door once again. "Get some rest. I got a feelin' you'll like me even more after breakfast, you'll need your strength."
"Shut up," you giggle, falling into his sheets. The door opens then shuts and you lay there, content, surrounded by his scent and his things and his clothes. It's scary, you know that, but you can't stop yourself. It feels so good to be with him. And, hell, maybe he actually is different.
How else will you know unless you give it a try?
"Tommy! You left the goddamn door unlocked again!"
"Jesus, Joel, my fuckin' head—"
Then there's shuffling and grunting downstairs that sounds way too familiar and your eyes open to stare, unamused, at the ceiling.
Summary: Your an ancient species of pixies and run into the mandalorian, what starts as a three day mission turns into you never leaving. (First meet and few scenarios of your life after it. hopefully soon to have a part 2) 1.4K words
Requested: The mandalorian with a fairy/pixie wife and Grogu with his fairy/pixie mother
Masterlist
A/N: Got carried away writing this and now I wanna turn it into a mini series, already have headcanons and a part 2 planned and started writing. Disclaimer: is not accurate to mandalorian timeline and uses a made up Star Wars species so don’t come for em for any inaccuracies 😭
The first time you met Din Djarin was on some trading planet in a dingy cantina. The night had been slow so far, you’d been trying to talk to the bartender and a few other people sat around you but no one was really interested in making conversation. So when a mandalorian in full shiny beskar armour walks in your interest is very much peaked. From your place sat at the bar you observed him and how he cared for the cute green child next to him. You were dying to talk to him and mainly the child but you waited for them to settle first.
Unbeknownst to you due to his helmet, whilst he sat there observing his surroundings while grogu was eating, his eyes focused on you, noticing that you would not stop talking whether to yourself or the bartender who definitely wasn’t listening he didn’t know. He could see your eyes unmoving from him and grogu but didn’t feel threatened by your presence so didn’t feel the need to keep his hands over his weapon. Your presence almost calmed him maybe it was due to the fact you were glowing, literally glowing. It wasn't unusual to encounter strange species in the galaxy. Din had spent enough years bounty hunting to know there was always something lurking on some forgotten moon and the green child next to him was proof there was always a new species to encounter.
But you? You looked like a myth. Small, at least compared to most humanoids looking as though you’d barely reach Din's shoulder. Delicate iridescent wings folded against your back with golden freckles scattered across your cheeks like stars.
You eventually made your way over to din after not being able to hold yourself back anymore, excitement at seeing something as cute as grogu take over you. You had slid into his booth and immediately started chatting his ear off. His visor just stared at you, occasionally making a noise in response. He only put up with you because you seemed to make Grogu very happy, atleast that’s what he told himself , he was in constant fits of giggles beside him because of you. He noticed you even let him pull your food away from in front of you with nothing but a smile on your face. Din himself couldn’t help but be warmed from your actions a rare smile forming on his face behind the armour. Amongst your chatter he had learned that you belonged to an ancient species called the Aurali, a species so rare most people believed they were fairy tales. He felt sympathy for you knowing what it felt like to be one of the last of your kind.
It was a day or two later when he ran into you again, Din had accepted a simple transport job, to deliver a passenger it was easy credits and shouldn’t have complications. That passenger had turned out to be you. A naturalist who spent her days exploring planets, collecting strange plants, helping random strangers, and accidentally causing chaos everywhere you went.
The mission had originally been scheduled for three days but once that time was up you didn’t leave both parties finding reasons, or rather excuses as to why you needed to stay and so what should have been three days then became three weeks. Three weeks eventually became three months and somehow months further down the line you still hadn’t left. Not because Din had asked, of course not, Din Djarin would never ask something like that. Instead you simply stayed whether to babysit the child while he went on a mission or help around in your own way and Din never said anything because he found he quite liked your company but if anyone were to ask it was because of the love Grogu had for you.
Each day spent aboard the razor crest brought something new some days you were helping repair the Crest and the next you were making Grogu tiny flower crowns. Others were less pleasant and brought danger and pain but somewhere along the way you all became a makeshift family.
You currently sat on the Razor Crest's control panel, talking Dins ear off while he concentrated on something, a regular occurrence at this point. "You know" you said cheerfully, kicking your feet, "if you keep staring at hyperspace too long you start seeing shapes” Din kept his eyes on the viewport.
"I know”
"Last week I saw a bantha”
"Mm”
"It was dancing”
"Mm”
"And then it exploded”
Silence. You leaned closer. “That wasn't a normal response”
"I'm used to your chaos”
"Oh” You grinned. “That's actually kind of sweet” Din immediately regretted speaking. From his seat behind, Grogu giggled. The little traitor din thought. The galaxy had thrown you into Din's life completely by accident or perhaps by fate but you brought so much warmth with you how could he complain.
"Din!"
He immediately sighed, you were using his name. Which meant trouble.
"Diiiiiin!"
Definitely trouble. He entered the cargo hold where you were stood on top of a crate covered in blue paint. Grogu sat beside you, also covered in blue paint.
Din just stared, internally sighing at what he’d just walked into.
"What happened?"
You pointed dramatically. “The child started it”
Grogu made an innocent noise, Din turned his visor to stare at him and he immediately hid behind your leg. Coward.
"You gave him paint” he said blankly, you could feel the unimpressed look through his armour.
"In my defense, I thought he was creating art”
Grogu proudly pointed to a handprint which was on the wall.
Din closed his eyes, not that you could see but you did hear the deep, modulated sigh he let out.
Of course. The wall. Why not the wall? Why not permanently stain his ship? The Razor Crest clearly hadn't suffered enough.
"Can you explain this?" he asked.
"Absolutely” You straightened, ready to dive into your explanation.
"First, Grogu discovered paint”
"Mhm”
"Then he discovered fingerprints”
"Mm”
"Then he discovered walls”
Din nodded slowly. "Then?"
You smiled sheepishly. "Then things escalated” you raised your arms in a half shrug not managing to suppress your smile.
Though you caused Din enough stress to knock 10 years off his life he couldn’t deny the happiness that you brought to both him and Grogu. You made Grogu happier than he'd ever seen him. The child adored you, maybe it was because your species naturally radiated warmth through the Force or because you were just a soft touch when it came to him, never being able to say no to anything he wanted. Either way, Grogu followed you everywhere, like a tiny green shadow. If you were cooking, he was there. If you were exploring, he was there. If you were getting into trouble...unfortunately he was there.
One afternoon Din found both of you missing, a terrifying discovery because missing usually meant danger. He searched the Crest, no sign of either of you. He managed to pick up on faint laughter coming from outside around the other side of the ship. Sure enough, there you were. Safe. He managed to breathe out a small sigh of relief before striding over to you two. You lay before him in a field of glowing flowers with Grogu curled up against your side fast asleep.
Your wings shimmered softly in the sunlight while tiny specs of lights floated around you, he suspected Aurali magic. Din stood there quietly. Just watching how you looked so peaceful, content and beautiful. For once the galaxy wasn't trying to kill any of you. Then Grogu opened one eye, saw Din standing above and did his little wave then promptly fell asleep again. The kid had somehow become even more relaxed than before, snuggling deeper into your side. You slowly peeled open your eyes.
"Hi”
"Hi” he breathed, smiling beneath his helmet.
You smiled brightly up at him “Want to join us?"
"No”
"Okay” you shut your eyes but the smile remained on your face. A pause then you said
"There's room”
Another pause. Din turned away looking at the flowers then looked back at you then to Grogu.
Eventually he sat down making you grin triumphantly.
"I win”
"I didn't agree to anything”
"You sat”
"So?"
"That's basically affection from you” and he couldn’t deny the way his heart warmed at the sight of his child and you snuggled up next to him, how he longed to reach out and touch you.
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.”
Pedro meets a pretty young woman at a bar who seems to have no idea who he is. Intrigued by this, he ends up hooking up with you. Months into your relationship, you have something to confess.
Contains: smut, p in v, consensual protected sex, condoms, age gap (50&29), oral sex (f receiving), fingering, feral!Pedro, lying, angst, crying, bad conscience about age gap, bodily fluids, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, mild dom/sub dynamic, reassurance, aftercare, fluff, love confessions, nervousness, mild pain during sex, comfort
Wordcount: 12,656
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Pedro laughed and put his glass back on the counter with a low thud.
"Oh shut up…" he grinned, feeling heat spread in his cheeks from being the center of attention. Or maybe it was the alcohol in his system.
"No, no, no…" his friends disagreed in unison, raising their glasses to celebrate him.
Despite the faint flattery, Pedro felt the good mood in his bones. He had just finished a movie that had taken many months of hard work, so of course his head would have been swimming even without the whiskey in his glass.
He was in a bar with his best friends, he could use his next few weeks to rest, and he was satisfied with the outcome of the movie. Indeed, there was reason to have a good time tonight.
"Next round is on me!" Pedro laughed, even though half of his friends couldn't hear him over the loud noise around them. The other half shook their heads in protest, but he was faster than them. As swiftly as the wind, Pedro stood up from the table, grabbed his wallet and swayed his index finger in front of them.
"I insist!" he shouted, giving them a wry smirk before heading for the counter where people were lined up in front of the bartender like children watching animals behind the fence at a zoo.
"Can I get another round for my friends?" Pedro asked the bartender, a young man with a dark beard and piercing grey eyes that seemed to look straight into his soul. He just hoped the man wouldn't look too closely and make a scene in the middle of the bar. Most of the time, Pedro didn't mind taking one or two pictures with fans, but the place was pretty crowded, and since he wanted to celebrate with his friends, he wasn't keen to draw everyone's attention to him and wait for such a long time while everyone was having their share of him.
"Of course!" the young man said and gave him a friendly nod. If he had recognized him, he didn't hint at it, which Pedro was relieved by.
"Excuse me…"
He briefly flinched at the voice of a woman, a heaviness settling in his stomach. Shit. Well, now he would have to get through it and just hope that the woman wouldn't inform anyone else in the bar of his presence.
"You dropped something."
Pedro finally turned around, glaring at you through narrow eyes.
"What?"
"You dropped something. Here you go."
You quickly lowered yourself to the floor and picked up a small item, throwing your hair over your shoulder as you straightened up. With a shy smile, you handed him his wallet, which must have fallen out of his back pocket.
"Thank you – so much," Pedro stammered, taken aback by the unexpected encounter. He had been certain that you approached him to ask for a picture, but there was nothing shimmering in your eyes that resembled recognition or excitement. Just… kindness.
You were young, significantly younger than him. Maybe around thirty or in your late thirties, tops. But gosh, you were pretty, and he was positive that it wasn't just the dim light shining onto your face in such an intimate way. There was something about you causing his nerves to prickle and his mouth to dry up.
"I'm sorry, I'm an idiot. I always keep my wallet in my pocket, but it has fallen out a million times before. Thank you, honestly. Can I – Can I thank you by buying you a drink?"
Your grin broadened, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, though you seemed a little unsettled.
"Really? I mean, I – you don't have to. Seriously."
"I want to," Pedro simply said over the noise and took a step toward the counter.
His friends could wait. This was more important.
Pedro couldn't remember when the last time was that he had met someone your age who didn't know his name or any other personal details about his life. Usually, at this point in a conversation, the other person would have shoved their phone in his face, told him about their favorite projects of his and asked him for a hug. Not that he minded his fame, he really didn't. Yet it was refreshing to stand in front of a woman who had absolutely no intentions or expectations. Someone who was getting to know him like human beings usually did when one of them wasn't a famous actor. Pedro hadn't experienced it in so long that he felt almost eager to find out what it was like. Of course, he would buy you that drink if it meant talking to you just a little longer.
"Thank you. Okay…" you whispered and took your seat on a stool while Pedro ordered two Mojitos.
"Is that okay? Do you like Mojitos?" he asked, which made your eyes light up.
"Yes. Of course, yeah," you answered and crossed your legs, drumming your fingers on the counter.
"Good. I'm sorry, I just ordered without asking you, which is kind of stupid because I wanted to invite you…"
"It's fine. Seriously."
Taking his bottom lip between his teeth, Pedro exhaled softly. "Are you here with friends?"
"Yes. But they kind of ditched me."
His eyebrows lifted, curiosity sparking on his face. "Ditched you how?"
"Well, the plan was to come here with three friends. One of them asked to bring her girlfriend last minute. We agreed, but I should've known that the two of them would leave after an hour, which is exactly what happened. The second one met a guy while waiting in the bathroom line, and the third one just got a phone call and left to pick up her friend because she got arrested."
Pedro's features drew with disbelief, his eyes wide but a feeble grin tugging at his lips.
"Arrested?"
"It's nothing bad," you uttered, making a dismissive hand gesture. "She drove too fast, that's it."
"So they just left you here alone?" Pedro wanted to know and rested his right elbow on the counter, slightly leaning in.
"Yeah. Which is why I planned to leave. That was right before I saw your wallet fall out of your pocket." You smiled, allusively glancing at the brown leather, glinting in the bright light. Pedro now held it in his hand, just in case he would drop it again and there wouldn't be someone to help him as you had.
"I'm really sorry. That doesn't sound like a good night."
"Oh, I don't mind. Besides… I'm not so alone now, right?"
Pedro bared his teeth as he gave you another smile. You were definitely interesting, that much was for sure. A young woman alone in the bar after her friends had ditched her… And a woman who was seemingly unaware of his identity. Pedro wondered whether you just didn't recognize him like that, the room a little dark and his hair messier than usual, or if you just hadn't seen his face before. At least, he could rule out the possibility of you being drunk. You were able to stand steadily on your own, and he couldn't smell any alcohol on you after all.
"No, you're not."
"Oh, but I don't wanna occupy you if you're – are you here with people? Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you away from them. I mean, if you're not on your own."
Your eyes were wide as though you had just realized something that made you deeply regret your previous phrasing. It made Pedro grin, though he tried to hide it in order to spare you the embarrassment. He didn't want you thinking that he was laughing about you.
"I was the one who bought you that drink, wasn't I? You think I would've done that if I didn't wanna be… occupied?"
If Pedro wasn't mistaken, you were blushing, your pupils scurrying over the counter as though searching for something.
"Right…"
"But to answer your question: Yes, I'm here with friends."
"Oh, great!" you said and took a swig from your Mojito, which the bartender had placed in front of you, as well as one cocktail in front of Pedro.
"Is it your birthday?"
"What makes you think that?" Pedro chuckled before remembering the homemade crown one of his friends had put on his head a little earlier. On the back, the name of the movie that had just wrapped filming could be read, but it seemed like you hadn't spotted the lettering so far.
"Oh, right… No, it's not my birthday. It's just… work stuff."
"Work stuff? What do you mean?" you laughed and tilted your head to the side.
"Well, we had a major success today. So my friends and I decided to go for a drink." It wasn't even a blunt lie. Wrapping a film in time definitely counted as a major success.
"Oh great! I'm so happy for you. What do you do?"
Pedro realized that he had reached a dead end if he didn't want to keep the lie up. Normally, he wouldn't have cared, since you were a stranger that he probably would never see again, but the idea of coming up with a completely dishonest story made his stomach twist. He didn't know why, but Pedro didn't want to tell you a false tale. But neither did he want this quite appealing dynamic to shift by telling you who he was. Even if you had never heard of him, one click on your phone would be enough to find out that he wasn't just a normal guy grabbing a drink at the bar with his friends.
And what would happen then? There was a good chance you would ask for a selfie, but what was even more likely was that you would start acting differently around him. That was what people did most of the time when they discerned his face behind his large sunglasses or underneath the cap he had pulled deeply into his face. Pedro rarely complained about it since he had enough people in his life who kept him grounded and viewed him as their friend or a family member instead of a celebrity, but it hadn't gone unnoticed by him either. How their voices became higher, their behavior a little tense as they made an extra amount of effort around him.
In the end, Pedro decided to find a balance. He wouldn't lie to you but just not go as much into detail as he would have had to in order to give you the whole picture.
"Oh, I'm working on film sets. Just a bunch of boring stuff."
"Film sets? Oh wow," you whispered, giving him a look of sheer admiration. No, this was exactly what he didn't want.
"It's not that exciting. I swear to you. It sounds so glamorous, but it's mostly just waiting around, following orders and going home tired."
Fortunately, your expression softened at that, and he felt like he had the version he had just met in front of him again. Good.
"But I hope you're not tired today," you smirked, twisting a strand of hair around your finger. "I mean, you have to celebrate whatever that success is you're celebrating."
Pedro didn't know whether you were consciously sending him signals by toying with your hair like that, but he liked to believe that you did. Because it fit exactly with the fluttering of his heart. God, you were cute. And somehow, although he had met you not more than five minutes ago, it felt so easy and effortless talking to you. Or it was the mere fact that it had been years since he had met a person like that. In a crowded bar, his wrist still hurting from the many autographs he had given on set earlier, and a person in front of him who saw him for what he was instead of his name and profession. Pedro didn't like to get all self-pitiful and complain about things that others were working hard for their whole lives, but in that moment, he simply appreciated the circumstances and the fact that out of all people, it had been you who had picked up his wallet.
"No," he grinned, resting his chin on his palm. "I'm not that tired today."
Ten minutes later, Pedro had bought a second drink for you, gin this time.
His friends were long forgotten, and so was the fact that he had promised himself not to stay too long but rather have a good night's rest after those weeks of long shooting days.
This was much better.
You were just throwing your head back, laughing about something Pedro had said, which he had already forgotten. It wasn't hard to get distracted by your beautiful laugh, how your lips parted and how confidently you showed your teeth while your whole body trembled. He liked when people laughed with their whole body, and he especially loved it when people weren't afraid to show their joy.
"I had the worst haircut at around 14," you told him, shaking your head at the seemingly horrible memory. Right, the two of you were talking about hairstyles, and Pedro had just told you about some of his worst decisions regarding his appearance throughout the years.
"You got any photos?"
"Definitely not," you giggled and raised your index finger. "A few years later, when I realized how awful it was, I literally went around and deleted all the evidence. I think my grandmother might have a picture in her drawer, but she had to promise me that she's never gonna take it out of there."
"Well, I guess we're gonna have to visit your grandmother then," Pedro whispered, his mouth curled and his eyes sparkling. "What was it? You're gonna let me guess?"
"Sure." You challengingly folded your arms and twisted your lips.
"Mhm… A bowl cut that went wrong?" Pedro asked and tried to picture how it might have looked on you. He couldn't imagine that any haircut would make you look bad, though.
"No. Though the part about it going wrong is correct."
"Did you cut it yourself?" Pedro wanted to know, working his brain to come up with more ideas for the most horrible hairstyles that might have been fashionable fifteen years ago.
"No, a friend of mine did. She's actually one of the friends I came here with today."
"It can't be that bad then. If you're still friends."
You laughed at that, then finally cleared your throat to reveal the truth about your haircut.
"You know, I wanted bangs. Because everyone had bangs. And so my friend started cutting, and she cut it too short. And then she tried to make it look less radical by cutting the hair around my face, and in the end, I had a mullet. And even a very bad one."
His eyebrows shot upward, Pedro pursed his lips, trying to figure out what you might have looked like.
"But people wear mullets again, don't they?"
"Not mine. Definitely not mine."
Pedro burst into laughter, really craving to see a picture that captured that moment in your life, but before he could ask for it again, you emptied your glass and shyly wiped over your mouth with the back of your hand.
"I really don't want you to stay away from your friends because of me…" you admitted, peering at him through your lashes, which frankly, drove him insane.
He couldn't let you go yet. And if he had to, he at least needed something from you: your phone number or your name on Instagram. But at that point, you finding out about his true job would be inevitable. Unless… you didn't just not know his face but also his name. It would be worth it, wouldn't it? The alternative was to part ways with you and never see your pretty face again. Never see again how you nibbled at your thumbnail, only to quickly drop it once you realized what you were doing.
"I told you, I don't mind. I… I'm rather fond of such lovely company."
Heat shot to your face at his compliments, painting your cheeks a light red and making his stomach bubble with excitement and a delightful warmth.
"And what about them?"
"Oh, they surely haven't even noticed my absence," Pedro lied, hoping none of them were searching the room too extensively for him. Perhaps the alcohol had done its job, and they were all too busy singing along to the music or gossiping about anyone they had ever met instead of bothering about his whereabouts.
"Are you sure?"
"A hundred percent sure."
With that, Pedro swallowed hard, moistening his throat. "Besides… I just don't feel like leaving you here alone."
You looked slightly to the side, finger nervously tapping on your thigh.
"You don't need to worry about me," you whispered, chewing on your lower lip.
"But I do. And to be honest, I'm also just a very selfish man who doesn't feel like letting you go just yet."
"You're selfish?" you repeated, a mischievous glimmer in your pupils.
"I can be very selfish. If I want something very badly."
"Then I better not get in your way, right?"
He drew a deep breath, relishing your little cat-and-mouse game, which was precisely to his liking.
"Oh, but I want you right there. In my way." Pedro shifted a little closer, his knee touching yours.
"Well, what do you want?" you whispered, darting your eyes up at him, a thin, glossy layer hanging over them. There were multiple possible explanations for your agitation, but Pedro prayed it had to do with him and not the empty glass in front of you. Shit, he felt the alcohol as well, but at least he was certain he would have been just as smitten with you if he had stayed sober. You were too enchanting and adorable not to feel drawn to, no matter his alcohol level.
"Do you really wanna know?" Pedro whispered in your ear, your heads so close now that his friends at the table probably wouldn't have made out his face among the many people. If only there hadn't been that stupid crown on top of his head…
"Yes," you panted, your hands gripping the edge of the counter as his breath fanned your earlobe.
"Are you sure? Because it's… bad. It's not what I should say to such a lovely girl like you, who I've just met."
"I wanna know," you insisted, almost begging him with your quiet voice. Pedro saw stars, his head spinning and his body feeling so limp he craved something to hold onto. What had he done to deserve someone so sweet and perfect? He wanted you so badly, and he didn't even know in what way.
On one hand, he couldn't stop thinking about getting you into his bed, undressing you, and fucking you while you continued to make those beautiful sounds for him, but on the other hand, he didn't want this evening to end with a one-night stand after which Pedro and you would never see each other again.
"Please," you muttered, which caused the last thread holding his composure together to snap. His hand found your hip, fingers digging into your flesh as his lips touched your ear.
"I wanna have you naked underneath me," he said bluntly, hoping that it wasn't too much and that you wouldn't be appalled by his directness. You had asked for it, though, hadn't you? With wide eyes, you glared up at him, even though it hadn't diminished your arousal in any way. There was something innocent about you, but maybe it was just the fact that you were so much younger than him. He shouldn't want you like this, but his critical thinking was overcast by the alcohol, by the stuffy air in here, the beauty you emitted, and his desire to touch you without your stupid jeans in the way –
"Please take me with you," you suddenly whispered, interrupting Pedro's quite chaotic train of thought.
"You want me to take you with me? Where?"
For a brief second, something like nervousness flickered across your face, your teeth grazing your bottom lip.
The bathroom.
Yes, that would be an option. But then again, it wasn't really how Pedro imagined things. You deserved better than to be fucked over some dirty sink. Especially because he hoped things wouldn't be a one-time thing. Christ, what was he even doing here… He was supposed to enjoy a casual night out with his friends after finishing a movie, and now he was about to abandon them for a young woman he couldn't get out of his head.
"I want you," you whispered, putting your hand on top of his, beckoning him to trace it higher up your leg.
"You wanna come home with me?" Pedro really prayed that you would agree to see him again. Should he ask now, or would that come across as strange?
"Yes… Please." It seemed as though you had forgotten all about not wanting to rip him away from his friends, just like Pedro had. Because you didn't protest—or in fact, say anything—as he guided you out of the crowded bar a few minutes later, hoping that no one would recognize him now. It would have been quite possibly the worst development.
But Pedro was lucky. His hand firm on the small of your back, he held the door open for you and then drew a heavy breath through his mouth once the two of you were outside. It was so quiet all of a sudden that his ear rang, and when he cleared his throat, his own voice sounded unfamiliar to him.
"You still wanna do this?" Pedro chuckled, even though he found it an odd thing to say just a few seconds later. Your lips curved, your hand reaching for his wrist to pull him toward you.
"Yes. I do. If you promise me you won't tell anyone."
His mouth crashed into yours before he could think about it properly and come to the conclusion that it would be unwise to kiss a stranger in the middle of Manhattan.
Fuck it.
No one would recognize him anyway in the dark, his face covered by your head. Still, Pedro gently shoved you toward the black van waiting for him a few feet down the street, which would take the two of you to his apartment in the West Village.
"Why?" he spoke against your lips, bringing his hands to your waist.
"Because I've never done something like that before…"
Your words, or rather, the content of them, ignited a little fire within his heart. God, he shouldn't feel so turned on by the fact that you were throwing all your habits overboard in order to go home with him. And, of course, there was your unawareness of his stardom and the thought that you had no special interest in him beyond your sexual desire. You didn't want to fuck him because his name was Pedro Pascal, but because you wanted him. You had met a stranger in the bar, someone you felt so attracted to that you were trusting him to take you to his apartment.
"I won't tell anyone…" he murmured and hummed gently, seeing that your back was about to touch his car.
"Careful…" he whispered and knocked on the window of the passenger seat. His driver nodded in understanding, and a second later, the rear doors were unlocked.
"You… why do you have a driver?" you asked quietly, but allowed Pedro to help you inside without hesitation.
"I told you, I work in film."
That was all the answer you got for now, even though he was positive you would have more questions once the two of you were at his apartment, located on one of New York's most expensive streets.
The car started moving, and Pedro's hands were immediately all over your body again, this time taking hold of your face and neck.
"I'm y/n, by the way," you panted, your index and middle fingers hooked into the collar of his shirt.
"Pedro."
His heart skipped a beat, waiting for a suspicious noise of realization from you, but it didn't come. Thank god.
"Do you think we should…" you began, clearly reluctant to make out in the car with the driver just a few feet away, but Pedro just pushed his face against yours and stroked up your thigh. Of course, you were right, and he should just wait the five-minute drive to his apartment, but he had a hunch that sitting next to you without touching you would be impossible. Your scent, your silky hair, your warm skin were all too tempting to just sit there, actionless. Besides, his driver was much too professional to comment on his feral behavior.
"It's okay. Just relax… Let me help you relax."
Faces squeezed together, Pedro's hand quickly dropped to the opening of your jeans, where he hastily undid the button and zipper. He didn't have much time, but he wanted to give you at least something before their arrival. Most of all, it was his selfish, egoistical yearning to hear your pretty voice beg him for more while he was taking you up to his apartment… Yes, that was the kind of outcome he was hoping for. Leading you up the staircase while your glossy eyes glanced up at him in awe of the things he had just made you feel in the car. Your lips parted, eager and hungry for more.
"Huh. Fuck, I - " you stammered, sucking uneven breaths through your teeth while Pedro nimbly slid his right hand past your waistband like it was exactly where it belonged.
"I know… Open your legs a bit wider for me, baby."
You did, though it was a struggle in the tight space in the back of the car. His driver probably couldn't even see anything except their rapid, greedy kissing and maybe your arms slung around his neck. Definitely not his hand disappearing in your pants.
"That's it…" Pedro exhaled, pressing his palm against your clothed pussy, desperately searching for any wetness.
There it was… Through the lace of your underwear – why were you even wearing lace for a casual night out with your friends? – he felt a certain dampness, which made him wish he could just shove your jeans down right here and right now and smell and taste you. Well, perhaps he could do that in a few minutes. There was something immensely ardent about doing it in the back seat of a vehicle, though.
"Do you like that?" he purred, moving his hand in circles to create friction against your clit.
"Y-Yes," you whimpered, thrusting your hips and shifting closer against Pedro's palm as he rolled his hand into your cunt.
"You're so wet… All that for me?"
"Mhm," you cried out, your hands grasping his bicep to pull him closer.
"How naughty… I thought you were just at the bar for a night out with your friends. And here you are, dripping all over my hand."
Slowly, Pedro pushed the fabric of your panties aside and inserted his middle finger inside your clenched hole without any warning. Your body wriggled, the muscles in your legs tensing while Pedro mercilessly entered you to the hilt. You were properly soaked with your natural body fluids, which made him soothe you in satisfaction.
"Taking it so well, sweetheart… So beautiful. And so goddamn wet… You think you can take another finger?"
The fabric bothered him, but as of now, he couldn't just take them off so effortlessly, and ripping them wasn't an option either.
"Yes," you whined, arching your chest toward him when Pedro pressed his thumb into your pulsing clit. Somehow, every part of your body was prickling with heat, whether it was your face, your lips, your pussy, or the side of your neck, which Pedro was still gripping tightly while scissoring you open. Just when he was about to comply and add his ring finger, the car came to a stop, and you squealed, both your heads brutally torn back to the present by the sudden intrusion. Pedro pulled his hand back fast, feeling his heart thunder in his chest.
"I'm sorry for disturbing you, but we're at your apartment," the driver spoke. Pedro was too caught in the moment to figure out whether Mike's voice was laced with amusement like he had expected it, or if he was at least trying to act unsuspecting like he wished.
"Thank you," Pedro answered with his raspy, hoarse voice and opened the door with his left hand. His right… well, he didn't want to ruin the expensive interior of the van.
With a quiet thud, your back met the wall next to the door to his apartment.
He protected the back of your head with his hand to ensure he wasn't hurting you when he pressed you into the wall with his whole weight and passion. Now that they were in a completely private place with no one observing them, Pedro wanted nothing more than to fulfill his wishes and opened your jeans for a second time that night. With skilled fingers, he shoved the fabric down your hips, waiting for it to drop onto the ground and then slowly sank to his knees in front of you.
"Pedro – " you began, nervousness resonating in your low tone, but as his lips kissed your bare knee, the rest of your words caught in your throat.
"It's okay. I'm gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart."
Sure, his aged knees hurt a little on the hard floor, but he simply couldn't wait long enough to guide you to his bedroom or couch. Besides, there was a desk nearby, which he could make you sit on top of in case this position became too impractical.
"I – I just want…" you whimpered and buried your fingers in his locks, your nails grazing his scalp in a way that was most delicious to him.
"Yeah? What do you want?" Pedro's mouth was pressed against your mound, which allowed him to finally take in your scent. And gosh… you smelled amazing. Clean, yet surrounded by a strong musky note.
Blood rushed to his cock, which had been hard the moment he first kissed you in the car. He briefly considered taking himself out and pumping his cock while making out with your sweet pussy, but for now, he didn't have the patience that such actions would demand. He had to dive straight in and lick through your folds that smelled so perfect, so seductive…
"Please. Please touch me, I – I need it so bad." You sounded close to tears, which elicited a hint of pity in him.
He wasn't consciously edging you; he was just savoring the sight in front of him, worshipping every inch of skin that he gradually unwrapped like a present.
"I know, baby. I'm gonna make it better. Gonna kiss the pain away."
His lips enclosed your bundle of nerves, and he hollowed his cheeks to apply pressure on the bud as the lacy fabric stung his skin. Your brow furrowed, which Pedro couldn't see from that angle, but your noises were more than enough to confirm that he was doing more than ordinarily well.
"Ah. Ow, fuck… Yes. Yes, please." Pedro smiled contently, then stuck out his tongue to tease your clit through the thin layer.
"Pedro," you cried out, rolling your hips as though to plead with him to proceed faster.
"Take it off. Please," you additionally begged, but Pedro had too much fun teasing you with your pretty underwear, which he felt you had put on just for him, though this was obviously not the case since neither of you had expected to hook up with a stranger tonight.
"Relax. I got you. Just gonna let your panties stay on your body a little longer… You can't see it, but you look so pretty with them. Just let me play with them a little, okay?"
Your hand lying flat on the wall behind you, Pedro ran a hand up your stomach and slipped it underneath your shirt.
"Y-Yes," you choked, knees turning to jelly as his hand cupped your left breast through your bra and gently cradled your flesh.
"Jesus Christ, sweetheart… What have I done to deserve all that, mhm? You smell so good, you felt so good around my finger, and I know you're gonna taste divine."
It was Pedro's cue to slowly shove the fabric out of his way and press an open-mouthed kiss to your opening. His tongue quickly swirled around your hole, feeling your wetness prickle on his skin, and then a few seconds after that, he entered you with his fat muscle.
All of it had happened too quickly for you to catch up in time, but now, you gasped for air so loudly that Pedro briefly glanced up your body to check if you were okay. Of course, you were. Your cheeks were just a little ruddy, and you looked out of the loop, overwhelmed by how good he was capable of making you feel. His hand clasped around your breast tightened a little, squeezing and kneading your warm flesh. He grinned when he felt you grab his wrist, encouraging him to do more and explore more of your body, but for now, he was utterly smitten with the taste of your pussy, which is why he focused on that part of you.
"You're gonna drive me fucking insane, sweetheart," Pedro grunted, but then was quick to stick his tongue back inside. He couldn't reach as deeply as he could with his fingers, but he could taste you and feel your juices trickle down his chin, a sensation grand enough that he wished he would never have to separate from your core. You also received all the necessary stimulation on your clit through his nose, scrunched up against the upper part of your pussy.
God, if only time would stop right now. If only he could do this every single day, every hour, for the rest of his life. It was all of you that kept him under this spell, not just your pussy. You were so responsive and reacted to him so sweetly that Pedro craved to explore more of you. He wanted to know all your most sensitive spots, tease you until he had discovered every side of you, and find out how much he could coax out of you before the two of you were too exhausted to even connect your lips. He wanted to know you in every way possible and not stop until these feelings were quenched. It was one thing to have you pressed up against the wall, but another to listen to you sharing your most hidden desires with him. That was what he wanted... yes.
"Please, Pedro…" you breathed, knees dangerously close to giving in, which would cause you to collapse on top of him. He could definitely imagine worse things than that. Maybe he should just ask you to sit on his face and hope you forgot all about time and place… Maybe you would roll your hips into him all night and – His eyes pinched shut as he felt you pull harshly at his strands.
Right. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed how he had stopped with the twirls of his tongue. Pedro seized the opportunity to switch things up a little and replaced his tongue with his finger. He was still owing you a second finger, after all.
"Rock against my mouth, y/n. Take what you need," Pedro requested and pressed his flat tongue against your clit. That way, he couldn't exactly trace your most sensitive spot with his pointed tongue as well as he would have liked, but you could create all the necessary friction on your own while he fucked you with his finger. You clenched heavenly around him, and Pedro loved to watch all those little reactions, such as your pussy flattening whenever he circled your nipple or your hips uncontrollably twitching when he curled his finger inside you. You were enjoying yourself, and for some reason, there was nothing that could possibly have brought Pedro more pleasure than that idea.
"Ready for a second finger, little one?" he grinned and finally pushed down your underwear at that very moment. He couldn't help it. He needed to feel all of you, feel the pulse in your clit in his entire body until the thrumming of his heart was in perfect sync with you.
"Yes. Yes, please," you pleaded, more than thrilled by the course of action.
"Take a deep breath for me."
You must have rewired something in his brain; there was no other explanation. He pressed his thick ring finger inside you, humming gently as he realized that he hadn't taken off the piece of jewelry yet. You must have felt it too, given the way you were bending your neck to make out his face between your legs.
"You're not married, are you?"
Pedro chuckled softly and reassuringly brushed over your naked thigh. "No, I'm not… I can still take it off though. If it's too cold."
"No," you quickly murmured, relaxing your shoulders and letting your head fall back against the wall. "I wanna cum, Pedro."
He laughed tenderly, sucking your little nub in his mouth and curling his fingers inside you in the meantime.
"You wanna cum or you're gonna cum?"
"I don't know," you whimpered, sounding as though you were deeply frustrated about something you couldn't quite pinpoint.
"It's okay… Take your time. Do you want me to go faster?"
"I don't know," you whined again, knees shaking and your body squirming unrestrainedly.
"Shh… it's okay. It's okay, baby. Just relax and let me take care of you. You don't have to do anything. I know what you need."
With that, Pedro stood up in front of you, not because he wanted to leave that spot between your legs, but because he figured it was time for a little change in your position. You seemed more than ready and in need of him to finish what he had started, but for one, he didn't trust that you could stand on your own, and also, he wanted you calm. And he wasn't sure whether he would achieve that with you standing and your hands desperately dragging at his hair like you were seeking something. Laying you down and having your body sprawled out in front of him would make things easier for both of you.
You didn't seem to perceive Pedro rising to his feet until he placed one hand on the back of your neck and draped the other around your waist.
"Let me get you to bed, okay, sweetheart?"
You nodded before your eyes became round. "But you – you're gonna touch me again, right?"
"Of course, darling," Pedro laughed, then effortlessly hauled you up in his arms, cradling your head against his chest. "I'm gonna do a lot more than that… if you want me to."
"Yes. I want everything."
Pedro suppressed another amused giggle, since your words had sounded more serious than one would suspect from the phrasing alone. Your face buried in his neck, he carried you through the hallway and into his bedroom, where he cautiously laid you down on the bed.
"Pedro?" you asked, or rather whispered, scrutinizing the room with blown pupils.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Are you rich?"
"Am I rich?" Pedro repeated, his chest vibrating with laughter. "I work in film."
"Well, what exactly do you do… in film?"
While taking off his shirt, Pedro thought about a reply that did reality justice without ruining the intimate moment between the two of you. There was no way around it now. You didn't deserve to be lied to, and he couldn't give you some trite explanation again.
"I'm an actor," he therefore whispered, threw his shirt in a corner of the room, and approached the bed.
"An actor? What movies have you made?"
"That doesn't really matter now…" Pedro mumbled, parting your knees with his hand and letting some of his weight press you deeper into the mattress.
"Do I know them?"
As a response, he yanked your shirt up, bundled the fabric right underneath your shoulders, and moved the cups of your bra aside.
"You haven't answered me," you giggled, which earned you a disapproving huff.
"I know. 'Cause I got more important things to attend to… more important than my stupid movies…"
"I'm sure they're not stupid," you babbled, body straining as you suddenly felt his hand cup your sex once more.
"Pedro," you hissed, writhing with your hips, but he remained unwavering and just twisted his wrist the slightest.
"I want you to cum for me. And you know what I would like to do then?"
You shook your head, even though there was a feverish glow upon your skin, making your eyes look glassy, almost like a doll.
"I would like to fuck you. Would you like me to do that too?"
His fingers were back inside you, reaching so deep that you threw your head to the side, searching for something only Pedro could give you.
"Y-Yes," you cried, rolling your hips forward, but this time he wanted to remain in charge of your actions, which was why he moved his thumb on his own and teased your clit the way he saw fit.
"I'm gonna make you all wet and pretty for me and then fuck you deep…"
"Yes," you yelped again, closing your eyes and biting down so hard on your bottom lip that it turned scarlet red.
"I wanna make you feel it all the way up in your belly… I want that pretty little head of yours only to think about my cock all the way inside you."
He twisted his finger as though to give you a little taste of what it would feel like to have his length inside you, but you were certain it would be an even more exceptional experience to be stuffed full by his manhood.
His dirty talk continued, and so did the swipes and pumps of his skilled fingers between your legs. Your head was swimming, your vision blurred, which made it impossible to determine exactly where he was touching you or how he was moving the pads of his fingers, but what you knew was that it was good. That it was stealing your breath away and guiding you right to the verge of an orgasm.
"I'm gonna cum," you informed him. Meanwhile, Pedro crawled down your body swiftly and replaced his thumb on your clit with his lips, sucking and kissing the nub until, with one final, sharp thrust into your core, you were pushed over the edge and came with a soft yell.
"Oww…" you mewled, trapping Pedro's head with your legs, which you clamped tightly.
"Good girl… That's it, just let it go… Don't forget to breathe… That's right, breathe for me…"
Your body moved as though you were floating above the rippling surface of the ocean, the tides softly cradling you while Pedro tenderly touched you through your high.
"Pedro…" you whispered, grabbing the silk sheets beneath you with both hands.
"Just feel it… It's good, isn't it?"
You reached for his head to pull at his strands and transmit the inexplicable feelings inside your body, but Pedro just snatched your wrists and planted them on top of your stomach.
"Shh… Just breathe…"
"Pedro," you uttered, wriggling your hands beneath his grasp, making him raise his eyebrows.
"What is it?"
"I want you. Please. Please, fuck me."
His features shifted, and with a chuckle, he slowly climbed on top of you again.
"You're getting a little ahead of yourself, mhm? Feeling a little greedy?" Twisting a strand around his index finger, Pedro kissed you right next to your ear.
"Please," you repeated, wrapping your legs around his hips.
"Y/n?"
"Yes."
Your face gleamed with anticipation, which was so endearing that his heart stumbled in his chest. Yet there was something he had to inquire about before he could listen to his throbbing cock with his whole heart and claim what he wanted so badly.
"How old are you?"
Your chin jutted forward, a faint crease forming on your forehead. "Twenty-nine, why?"
"Jesus…" He had almost expected, rather feared, a number obscenely young, but twenty-nine was far worse than what he had hoped when he had seen you for the first time.
"You're young," Pedro sighed, cupping your face, his aged hand stroking your soft skin.
"And?"
"Too young."
Urgency flared in your eyes, your heels digging into his lower back. "No. I want it, Pedro, please. It can't be that bad, I – "
"I'm 21 years older than you."
Pedro wasn't seriously considering backing away now, if he was being honest with himself. He might be irresponsible and horrible for it, but his own selfish desires to be buried inside you overshadowed his nagging conscience. Hell, perhaps he hadn't demanded to know your age earlier for that very reason. Maybe he simply hadn't wanted to know the ugly truth. And even now, he couldn't walk away and leave someone as pretty and appealing as you in his bed. Yet it would feel good to hear you beg just a little longer, so that this critical voice inside his head was at least a little less noisy, believing that he wasn't corrupting you but rather doing you a favor by giving in to your wants and needs. After doing the math, you stubbornly tautened your face muscles and arched off the bed, putting your chest on perfect display. Jesus… As if he could have ever walked away.
"I don't care. I still want it. Please. I'm twenty-nine, I can make those choices. And I want you to fuck me. Please, Pedro. Please."
You were begging so lovely that Pedro was this close to denying you your wishes one last time. His dick was painfully hard against the restraints of his pants, though, and the idea of finally taking himself out, and not only that but also feeding you his cock, was simply too bewitching. So, Pedro adjusted you on your back, parting your legs a little wider and placing your hands on the bed on either side of your head.
"Alright. I'm gonna fuck you. Probably gonna go to hell for it, but whatever…"
You giggled softly at that, which Pedro rewarded with a teasing bite on your chin. Then he reached for the bedside table, opened the top drawer, and grabbed one of the plastic packages he stored there along with his reading glasses and some tissues.
"I'm on the pill," it suddenly burst out of you, making Pedro's hand slow down in the air. "I promise. We can go raw."
His forehead wrinkled, and he put the condom down on the mattress right next to you.
"Sweetheart, I –… No. No, we're not gonna go raw."
"Why?" you asked, sounding almost offended. "You don't trust me?"
"I trust you. I just – it would be wrong."
"Why?" you hissed, lips compressed, which caused Pedro to gently trace along your cheekbone. He felt somewhere between amused and annoyed by your mulishness and eagerness to feel him without any separation, but most importantly, he had to calm you and convince you that it would be foolish to go without protection.
"I don't wanna risk anything. You're so young – "
"So that's what this is about?" you whispered.
"No. I don't know. I just wanna make sure nothing bad is gonna happen. You're on the pill, that's great, but we're not gonna go raw. We're only doing this 100 percent safely."
"But – "
"I said no," Pedro said, his voice a little louder, laced with authority now. "I only want what's best for you."
You growled something incomprehensible but didn't speak up again while Pedro's eyes wandered to the condom.
"We don't have to do anything at all if that's what you want. Your choice."
"No!" you quickly protested, hands flying to his broad shoulders. "No, I want it. I want it either way."
"Okay," Pedro murmured and finally picked up the package again.
He undid his trousers, shoved them down his legs along with his boxers, and inaudibly chuckled at the way you licked over your lips. Then he opened the condom with deft fingers, throwing the plastic on the nightstand before sliding the rubber over his manhood. You barely saw anything of him except for the rough outline, but as Pedro settled between your legs, his length slapped against your tummy, giving you an idea of his thickness.
"Pedro…" you muttered under your breath, your index finger tracing the veins on his forearm.
"It's okay… We're gonna make it fit, I promise."
He wasn't seriously concerned about working himself inside you. You were more than well prepared for him, had been drenching his hand with your juices, and he was positive that a little bit of sweet whispering in your ear would put you at ease quickly. Still, he needed you to trust him with your whole heart while you showed yourself from your most vulnerable side, opening up to him and allowing him to see and feel every last inch of you.
"Can I – can I touch it?"
The corners of Pedro's mouth lifted. He carefully took your hand and brought it to his thick cock, helping you form a fist and glide it up and down his shaft.
"It's so big," you panted, looking down between your bodies, but you couldn't see much in the darkness.
"Don't worry your pretty head about it. It's gonna fit. I'm gonna go slowly and make sure it won't hurt."
You nodded slowly, still unable to take your eyes off his center until Pedro raised your chin with his finger.
"Are you ready, babygirl?"
"Yes," you replied, determinedly staring back at him while Pedro replaced your hand around his cock with his and trailed the tip along your folds, giving your clit some extra attention, which made you jolt.
"Sensitive, aren't you?" Pedro chuckled and notched his tip against your entrance. Shit, he really was big, and right now, you were all cramped and tense, your pussy barely letting in his tip.
"Relax for me, sweetheart," he demanded, carefully circling your clit to make your muscles loosen.
"I don't want it to hurt," you whispered, squeezing his arm while Pedro soothingly kissed your hairline.
"Shh… I know. I know, baby. You tell me to stop and I stop. I mean it. If it hurts, if it feels uncomfortable, or if you change your mind, you tell me so. But I can't say that it's not gonna hurt a little bit. Do you still want me to go on?"
"Y-Yes," you claimed with no reluctance, brushing a sweaty strand of hair out of your face. After spending another minute rubbing your clit, Pedro whispered some sweet nonsense in your ear while thrusting his hips forward. This time, it worked a lot better, and within a few seconds, he was halfway inside you. You drew a sharp breath through your teeth, clutching his bicep firmly, but you didn't stop him.
"Is that okay?" Pedro asked, just to make sure.
"Yes. Just – hurts a little. But it's okay."
"When did you last sleep with someone?" he wanted to know, not just because he was genuinely interested, but also because it was a good distraction from the faint sting in your core while he fed you more of his cock.
"Like… half a year ago, maybe?" you breathed, sweat gathering on your focused brow.
"That's okay… you just need a little more time to warm up."
Not long after, Pedro was finally sheathed fully inside you, the hair curling at his base touching your pussy. His head was spinning, little flashes sparkling in his view at how tight and warm you felt. He could have come on the spot, he was certain, though he couldn't fully let the pleasure consume him, as he first needed to check on you.
"Talk to me, sweetheart… Are you okay? Look at me."
Your eyes set on him, though there was a dense haze over your vision, like you weren't fully there.
"Yes, Pedro…" you muttered nonetheless, clenching around him so hard that Pedro pinched his eyes shut.
"Please move," you then added, shuddering as a reaction to his brushes over your bundle of nerves.
"Are you sure? How do you feel, mhm? Does it still hurt?"
"Not much. I just… I wanna feel it."
Although he was still hesitant to completely let go, Pedro pulled away a little and then thrust his cock back inside, attentively watching you for your reactions. You moaned lowly, lids shutting, but he couldn't track any pain or discomfort in your features, which was why he settled into a slow but steady rhythm of sliding in and out of you.
"You're so – big, Pedro," you hummed after a while, your brow glistening with a thick layer of sweat, but your eyes a bit clearer now.
"Can you feel it right here? Am I all the way up here, baby?" Pedro connected his flat palm with your lower belly, applying some force to find out whether he was actually kissing and stimulating your insides like he had intended.
"Y-Yes… I think so," you howled, hauling up your hips, broken gasps leaving your throat. It provoked Pedro to reach for one of the pillows next to your head and slip it underneath your pelvis, which would change the angle and perhaps make it even more pleasurable for you.
"Is that good like that?" he questioned, but merely got a euphoric whine as an answer.
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart, but I'm not gonna last long…" Pedro mumbled after a while, pacing the movements of his finger around your clit. "You feel so fucking good, I can't – can't help it, baby, I'm sorry."
Pedro's eyes were squeezed shut, excitement tangible in every line and crease across his face. His muscles were coiled and constricted, ready to loosen and limber up, his nerves already prickling like they knew exactly what was coming. You didn't reply, too focused on rolling your hips in accordance with his thrusts, which caused Pedro to address you again.
"You're gonna cum again, baby, I promise. I'm gonna make you cum again, but I – shit, I gotta – "
You took him in so wonderfully, it robbed him of the words bubbling in the back of his throat as well as his ability to speak in general. His hips snapped forward faster now, crashing into yours with a quiet smacking sound, which made your eyes roll back in your head.
"I'm close," you cried out, grabbing the wrist of his right hand, which was drawing messy patterns over your bundle of nerves.
Pedro's body was rippling with joy, the anticipation of reaching his apex at the same time as you sounding intoxicating in his head. Right now, he even regretted using that damn condom since he couldn't get over the idea of filling you up to the brim, but his conscience surely wouldn't have allowed it, and besides, he would have felt guilty afterward.
Pedro lowered his head, kissing up your neck and inhaling your scent while his thrusts became even faster, though also a lot more unrhythmical and irregular. But his finger remained focused, rubbing your clit in tight, firm circles. He interpreted each shallow gasp of yours as a sign that he was on the right track, and when your head fell back into the cushions at last, Pedro let go as well.
"Fuck…" he groaned, feeling his cock spill cum into the condom while you spasmed and throbbed around him. Your perfect, warm walls that had already hugged him so beautifully for the past minutes felt even more exhilarating around him, and Pedro just wished he could make this moment last forever.
"Ohh. Yes, fuck – " you whimpered, lashes fluttering and your mouth agape.
When he felt that his balls were empty, he glared at your face, his own lips curling as he took in your patchy, flushed cheeks that looked blazing hot.
"Do you even know how perfect you feel, babygirl? I don't wanna pull out, shit."
"Then don't. Pull out," you laughed softly, grabbing the side of his face as Pedro kissed you slowly.
"Jesus Christ… The prettiest, most gorgeous…"
He didn't specify what exactly he was referring to, but it didn't matter. Whatever words followed in your mind, they certainly wouldn't be wrong as he relished just about any part of your body. His dick twitched again, causing your sensitive walls to quiver around him and your throat to produce a quiet wheeze.
Although he much regretted doing so, Pedro cautiously withdrew, pulled back, peeled off the used condom, and threw it into the trash can beside his bed. Something within him stirred in the best way possible at the view before him as he shifted his gaze back to you, your sprawled-out hair, the look of sheer adoration and satisfaction on your face, and your intertwined fingers resting on your stomach. Pedro wanted to scoop you up in his arms more than anything, hold you, and shower you with kisses. He wasn't supposed to feel that way about a woman twenty years younger than him, especially one he had just met for the very first time. But one couldn't shut up their feelings, right? And adoration was probably the word that best summed up the turmoil raging inside his chest right now.
"How about I get a washcloth now and get you cleaned up?"
Pedro laid down next to you, absent-mindedly caressing your skin while you cleared your throat.
"Okay, Pedro…"
He was gone just for a minute, wetting a towel with warm water, and then returned to the bedroom. You had turned onto your side, but at his sight, you rolled onto your back again, expectantly spreading your thighs for him.
"I'm gonna be careful… Gonna be kind to your sweet, sore pussy."
He was right, you instinctively flinched at the first contact with the rough material, but Pedro ended your protest with an arm snaked around your waist, effectively holding you down while he wiped your cunt clean with the most sensitive care in the world. He only briefly cleaned the skin around your clit and avoided directly touching your nub.
When he was done, the towel wasn't so warm anymore, and Pedro softly squeezed your hip as he crawled back to the end of the bed.
"I'm gonna be right back. Don't move an inch." Though he doubted that you even could if you had wanted to, Pedro waited for your slight nod, then rushed to the bathroom to put the washcloth in the basket for his dirty laundry.
Walking back into the bedroom, he whistled a familiar tune that had been stuck in his head since his visit to the bar, but he stopped at once when he heard a sniffle coming from the bed.
"Y/n?"
He hurried to the edge of the bed and sat down, his eyes flying open at the sight of your tears. Shit, what had happened? Were you in pain? Had he hurt you? Had he crossed a line he wasn’t aware of? Had he been careless with you?
"Hey, what's wrong? Y/n, look at me, c'mon… What's going on?" Pedro suppressed the urge to grab your face, not wanting to make anything worse, so he just took your hand instead and squeezed it reassuringly.
"Please talk to me, sweetheart. Is there anything I did wrong? Are you in pain?"
You rapidly shook your head, which made Pedro's heart feel a little lighter. Still, you wouldn't stop crying, even hiccupping occasionally while trying to blink away the tears flooding your eyes.
"N-No… I – I just…" Your voice broke midsentence, your lower lip quivering as Pedro tried to make sense of the scene unfolding in front of him. Something had upset you, but what could it possibly be? Had he said something?
"What is it, baby?" Pedro repeated, lifting your frail hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles.
"You – Are you doing this all the time?"
He needed a moment to understand what you were referring to, let alone what you were implying. Once he did, the area around his eyes softened, and he slowly lowered your hand.
"You mean going home with women?" he asked, just to be certain.
You nodded and weakly wiped the wetness from your cheeks.
"Oh, sweetheart…" Pedro whispered and couldn’t help himself but lean in and kiss your hairline.
"You – You're an actor. You're in films, and you – you have this apartment, so you – you bring lots of women here, right? And you're – you're gonna throw me out and – and find the next woman to take home tomorrow."
Pedro's heart melted a little at your rapid rambling, and he wished for nothing more than to silence you with a kiss to stop your nonsense. You couldn't have been further from the truth.
"Baby…" Pedro cut you off and cupped your cheek in his large palm. "No. Stop saying such things."
"But it's true, isn't it? I didn't – I didn't… think."
"I'm not gonna throw you out. And I don't want you to go," Pedro uttered while climbing onto the bed beside you, hauling up the blanket so that the two of you could slip underneath. "I thought I made that clear."
You still observed him with wide, glossy eyes, although the tears had stopped streaming down your face.
"No, I'm not bringing women here every weekend. I've had one-night stands before, but that was a long time ago, and it's definitely not what I've had in mind for you."
He gently poked you in the side, then pulled you against his chest, cradling your head while feeling your hair give way to his fingers.
"Really?" you mumbled. "What did you have in mind for me?"
"Oh, little one…" Pedro sighed, almost feeling apologetic about how wrong you had been about all of this. How badly you had misjudged his intentions with you. You poor thing had probably raked your brain, contemplating at what point during the night he was going to kick you out and whether he would at least call you an Uber.
No, you were going to stay here. Until the morning, and then hopefully a bit longer. And then he would ask for your number and call you a little later. Screw the three-day rule. Maybe the two of you could grab a coffee in the afternoon and walk around Central Park, given that it would be a warm spring day tomorrow.
"I have a lot of things in mind for you," he whispered and dragged your hand to his lips once more. "And they definitely don't involve kicking you out, baby."
"Really?" you muttered, your eyes sparkling in the dark and somehow lighting up the whole room.
"Yes. If it were up to me, I would wait a really long time for the getting-out-of-here part…"
You giggled quietly, wiping your cheeks with the remnants of your tears, which fortunately weren't followed by new ones.
And Pedro smiled. The turmoil in his stomach eased.
You hadn't contradicted him, which meant that you didn't desire to flee from him either.
Sure, he would have to talk to you about the whole being-a-famous-actor thing. But everything in its own time…
Five months later
Pedro had felt your uneasiness all day.
It had started at breakfast, when you hadn't stopped playing with the handle of your cup even long after it had been empty. You were a nervous thing at times, but never like this, especially when there was no reason.
Your restlessness had spread through the whole day, Pedro patiently waiting for you to give him a hint or even explicitly address the elephant in the room, but you hadn't made a single allusion.
To be honest, he wouldn't have expected you to speak up on your own, since it was mostly Pedro in your relationship who took care of problems or initiated clarifying talks, but he had hoped for at least something to work with.
When Pedro and you sat on the couch in the evening, you nervously sipping on a cup of tea while he went through some lines, he just had to open his mouth. Otherwise, his brain might explode and those weren't good conditions to get those damn scripts into his head. Besides, he seriously worried that something was nagging at you, or that he had done something to hurt you, which he obviously wanted to avoid at all costs.
"Sweetheart," Pedro whispered, his voice low as he wanted you to be as calm as possible in your stressed state of mind.
"Yes?" you murmured equally quietly, raising your lips from the edge of the mug.
"What's wrong?"
"What do you mean?"
Pedro sighed and put down the paper sheets, feeling positive that this might take a bit longer. "You're nervous today. You can't sit still."
"I – " you began, but he shut you up by raising his hand.
"No. Don't lie to me. And don't try to fool me. I know you, and I know there's something on your mind. And I want you to tell me."
You tilted your head in torment, your bottom lip shivering dangerously.
"N-No… you… you don't," you whimpered, which made Pedro's whole demeanor shift.
Swiftly, he reached for the side of your head and rubbed your temple with his thumb.
"Hey… it's okay, it's alright, sweetie. Of course, I want you to tell me. I got you, you know that."
"But you – " you stammered, gaze dropped to your feet. "If you – if you knew, you wouldn't want to know."
"What do you mean?" His brow creased in confusion, but instead of giving him a reply, you just shook your head repeatedly.
"Talk to me, y/n. Whatever it is, I'm here for you. You can tell me anything."
Determinedly, you wiped over your eyes and swallowed the lump in your throat.
"I… I meant to tell you for a while. I promise. I'm so – I know I should've told you sooner. Or just – I shouldn't have done it at all."
Now, he really was curious, since he couldn't imagine what you, his perfect, innocent, sweet girl, could have possibly done wrong. He was sure that nothing you might tell him now could upset him, not when you were looking up at him with those puppy eyes anyway.
"Okay. Go on."
"I'm sorry. For doing it and for – for waiting so long to tell you."
Pedro nodded, exhaling deeply. "It's okay. Just tell me what it is."
"I… The night that we met."
You stopped, waiting for him to react. As if he would ever forget that night. It had been one of the best evenings in his life, the very reason he was sitting here with you so happily.
"Yes. What about it?"
"I didn't tell you the truth exactly. I lied to you."
Although Pedro was happy about you finally articulating yourself and giving him the much-needed information, he stumbled over the word lied. He hated when you lied to him, and he just couldn't imagine what the hell you were speaking of.
"Lied about what?"
You nervously sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes still fixed in front of you rather than on his face.
"I'm sorry. I… I know it's bad. I acted like I didn't know you. But I did."
The two of you were surrounded by a heavy silence while the words sank in. His mind automatically replayed the whole interaction: your conversation by the counter, the drive to his apartment, the intimate moments you had shared beneath the covers… Now, he was watching everything from a different angle. Of course, Pedro couldn't remember every word the two of you had exchanged, but some phrases had stood out to him as they had been the seeds of where you were now in your relationship. Knowing that you had in fact been fully aware of who you were talking to changed some of those memories. Just a little.
"Okay…" Pedro uttered, squeezing your hand tightly. "You knew who I was. From the beginning?"
You nodded, still avoiding his gaze, which felt like a punch in his stomach.
"Tell me what happened. When did you decide to lie?"
After clearing your throat and blinking a few tears away, you began speaking slowly at first.
"When… When I picked up your wallet, I didn't know who you were. I swear. But then you – you turned around and I recognized you. I was about to say something, but then – I don't know, I – you looked so calm and – and happy. And natural. And kind. And I thought that if I said something about knowing you, you might switch into that professional mode, and I just didn't want that. I wanted you to be you."
"Baby…" Pedro sighed, but before he could express his disbelief, you continued, the words tumbling out like they had been stuck in your throat for a long time.
"I'm so sorry. I know that it was bad, but you know, I didn't expect – that any of this would happen. I thought we would just talk and then – then you bought me that drink and suddenly we were in your car. I knew I should've told you, but… but the right moment just didn't come. It happened so fast, and when we laid in bed that night, I knew that I made a mistake, but I was too scared to tell you. I thought you would hate me if I said it."
At last, your eyes found his, and the pain glimmering in your dark pupils was almost too much for Pedro to bear. How was he supposed to be angry with you? It was more than obvious how badly you had been feeling and still felt, and that you regretted lying with your whole heart.
"You've been carrying all that with you? You thought I wouldn't wanna be with you if you told me?"
"Yes," you murmured, nodding slightly.
"And why did you decide to tell me now?"
You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for more confessions.
"I don't know. I've wanted to tell you for so long. After things got serious, I promised myself I would talk to you when we went to that Italian place for my birthday. But… But everything was so beautiful and I had the best birthday of my life, so I didn't want to ruin it. It just – It became too much, and I just – I thought about it every day, and I knew I finally had to say it. Before this stupid secret would kill me…"
For a moment, neither of you said anything, though Pedro was still holding your hand, his gaze lingering on your lips.
"Do you hate me now?" you asked shyly, as though you feared his answer.
"You really think I could ever hate you?"
Shrugging your shoulders, you longingly gripped his fingers, too afraid for him to let go.
"I love you. And that's not gonna change."
"But I – I lied to you. Our relationship is based on a lie," you whimpered, close to tears again. Therefore, he pulled you in for a hug, sliding his hands down your spine as he pressed your face against his collarbone.
"No, it's not… Maybe I was a bit more fond of you in the beginning just because you made me feel so normal and I could just be myself with you. You had no expectations. But then, I fell for you because of who you are. I didn't fall in love with you because I thought you didn't know who I was. I specifically fell in love with you because of how you saw me. How you treated me, how you gave your heart into our relationship, how you let me see you."
You sniffled softly, and Pedro combed his fingers through your hair.
"Baby, I've spent the past five months with you, and they were the best five months of my life. You think I care about something that you didn't tell me during the first twenty-four hours since we met? You think the happiness of my past five months just doesn't count because of one lie? You think it's just gonna make me forget those weeks with you?"
"I'm sorry," you repeated, pressing a kiss through his shirt against his chest.
"I know. I believe you. But I love you no matter what. I fell in love with you, baby, for who you are. Maybe – yes, maybe it made the start easier because I was just extraordinarily interested in you since you treated me so normal, so… maybe I should even feel grateful. That you acted that way and made me want to get to know you. 'Cause look where it got us."
You laughed quietly, tilting your head up at him while Pedro draped both arms around you, holding you firmly against his chest.
"I'm still sorry. And I swear, I'm not gonna lie to you again. Never."
"I know. But I want you to stop feeling bad about it. I forgive you. Besides, I told you all about my job within the first day of knowing you. So don't say our relationship is built on a lie, sweetheart. Don't be silly."
He tapped his fingers tenderly on your bicep, inhaling the scent of your hair, while you finally, feeling a heavy weight lift from your heart, relaxed completely in his grasp.
"Thank you, Pedro. I love you so much. And I – I don't wanna lose you."
"You're not gonna lose me. Never. I'm not gonna let that happen."
Although the problem that had been gnawing at you for weeks was finally resolved, you remained flush against Pedro's body for the next hour. Not because you needed more comfort or solace, but simply because it felt too good to let go.
You believed him when he said he forgave you and that this wouldn't end the relationship like you had feared in your worst nightmares. But having his hands glide up and down your back, occasionally sliding your shirt to the side to caress your bare skin while whispering his love in your ear over and over, was so beautiful that you didn’t intend to move a single muscle. At least, not until you absolutely had to.
Joel's no longer just your sleazy older neighbour, watching you every night through his bedroom window as you get ready for bed. He all but has made himself at home in your life. And he intends to make sure he stays right where he is.
Warnings
+18 – mdni; shameless smut, implied voyeurism, masturbation, dry humping, (mentioned) consensual somnophilia, boob-fucking, oral (fem receiving), unprotected p in v sex, breeding kink, sleazy!Joel, undefined age gap, daddy kink
a/n
PRETTY MUCH what the title suggests! our sleazy-peeping-nighbourhood Joel graduated to breeding Joel. I really have no excuses for this other than that I really wanted to write it?? Also as a ty for all your likes, reblogs & comments on Peeping Joel!! 🖤 y'alls input is what keeps me motivated to write!! not beta-read, happy reading <3
word count – ~2.1k
as seen on – archiveofourown
He was rock hard. It wasn’t like there was anything he could do to help it—- was just you, and your nightly routine. In a way he’d pavloved himself. He knows that. Your shorts had barely hit the ground in front of the bed and his cock had stirred to life.
Didn’t help that he was laying in your bed now. That he could hear you move about in the ensuite, water running, the sound of products moving across the counter and being opened, used.
How couldn’t he sit there, in your sheets. Working himself while he waited for you.
“You sleazy pig,” you didn’t even seem shocked, walking back into your bedroom, seeing him in all of his naked glory, dad-bod — although his belly was the result of beer and not the healthiest diet; fist around his cock, stroking himself. “Can’t believe you,” you shook your head, even as you pulled your top over your head.
Joel groaned, watching your breasts spill free, “She says, showin’ me her glorious fucking tits.”
You only rolled your eyes, snatching the lotion he’d used as lube, to lather it into your skin. First your arms and chest and maybe you made a show out of it. Making sure he got a good fucking view of your breasts as you worked the lotion into your skin. Nipples pebbling and all. Just like you had when you knew he sat in front of his window every night.
“Fucking tease,” he groaned, cock twitching.
“Oh so you’re complaining?” You asked, tossing your panties at him.
And Joel didn’t disappoint, nose pressed into them, inhaling deep. “You dirty old fuck,” you rolled your eyes, climbing on top of him.
“Gotta love how ya actin’ like ya ain’t liking it,” he clicked his tongue, a hand on your hips, the other taking a hand full of your glorious fucking tits.No doubt expecting you to sink down on him.
But you had a better idea.
Grinding your slick cunt along his cock, root to tip and back again. Feeling every inch of him glide through slick folds. Teasing your clit just right. “Fuck,” you moaned, head falling back.
“See babygirl, knew ya liked my cock.” Of course he was smug about it. “Just like that,” he encouraged you. “Knew ya liked Daddy’s cock better than ya silly little toys.”
“Asshole!” The insult lacked bite, which may or may not be due to the word being wrapped into a moan.
“You like it,” he countered, clearly enjoying himself. Using the hand on your hip to guide you along his cock.
And fuck he was right.
“No,” he tried to shift, tried to sink into you. “Not tonight,” you breathed.
“C’mon, babygirl…” he complained, fingers flexing against your hip. “We’ll be careful.”
“No Daddy,” you reached for his hands, pinning them on his chest where you braced your weight. “Someone used the last condom this morning and didn’t get any new ones.”
A year in and he had fucked you plenty. On and against every surface of your home and his, including the windows facing your bedrooms.
Your body pressed into the cool glass while he had sunken into you from behind. He had refused to clean the shape of your glorious curves off of the glass.
Not that he slept much in his own bed now.
Too comfortable in yours, with your body in his arms.
After the first time, condoms had become a staple. Sometimes he pulled them off, just to paint white ribbons across your skin.
He knew that you weren’t on birth control, that you weren’t fond the side-effects and had promised to take care of protection. And he had, an always replaced stash of condoms, the ultra-sensitive kind. Because he longed to feel you around him.
He’d meant to get new ones three days ago, but between work running late and you complaining that you needed him he’d simply forgot. Using the last before breakfast and after waking you with his tongue in your cunt.
“Just the tip?” He tried, while you still worked yourself on top of him.
“Yeah right,” you moaned, “You can’t even resist now and want me to believe you will resist sinking balls deep into me?” You clicked your tongue, a wicked little grin tucking on your lips.
Oh how he loved that smart mouth of yours.
Just as much as he loved to stuff it, like when you believed he’d let you sass him over on your way home from the grocery store some five months ago.
He had to pull over, unable to concentrate while your smart tongue had worked him to make up for rolling your eyes and calling him a grumpy old man.
Not that he had expected you to follow through, when he’d unbuckled his belt and opened the fly of his pants enough to pull his cock out. When he should have known better… well aware that his babygirl never backed down from a challenge.
──────────
“‘ll pull out?” He promised, and you scoffed.
“I know school’s been a while for you,” he had half a mind to tuck his hand free to smack your behind for that “But you should know that that ain’t save at all.”
You had a point.
Not that he wanted to admit that.
“What? Ya not keen on givin’ me a little Miller?”
“Joel,” you half whined, half moaned.
“’s not what y’call me babygirl. Not when ya cunt is drippin’ all over m’cock.” You didn’t respond, go figure, but you didn’t stop rolling your hips either. “Y’d look so beautiful with m’child. All round a soft an glowin’,” you threw your head back, weather because of how good he felt under you or because of the picture he pained, Joel wasn’t sure.
But he used your movement to tuck one of his hands free from under yours, not to move it back to your hip to guide you, but to trace along the soft skin below your navel instead.
“Would spoil ya rotten!” He declared.
“Sure y’would,” you moaned. “And I’d be the talk of the street. Pregnant from my sleazy neighbour who’s twice my age…”
“‘m not sleazy.”
“Sure, you didn’t watch me for month jerking off,” you countered.
He flashed you a grin. “’s not my fault, babygirl. Ya put on a spectacular show.” And he knew now that you had, just for him. “‘sides, ain’t matter what they think. We can move.”
Your movements grew erratic, your pace picking up—- he knew you were close. His hand slipped back to your waist, to guide you, but his thumb kept drawing soft circles into the skin of your belly.
“Y-you gonna tell me you want,” you panted, “A white–- picket fence?”
“Nah, not m’style,” he mused, “But if’s what you want then…” he trailed off. “‘ll build ya a whole fuckin’ castle if’s what ya want.”
“That’s—- quite the promise,” you moaned, her fingers flexing against his chest. “Just to cum inside of me.”
“Ain’t just cuming inside of ya, babygirl,” a low rumble, his cock twitching under you. “Would make sure it sticks.” He felt it, the tensing of your abdominal muscles, the coil behind your navel snapping as your orgasm tore through you. Hips bucking and back arching.
A glorious sight.
But so would be you, round with his baby. He hadn’t lied. Hell he’d even do the white picked fence if you wanted that. Complete with a Golden Retriever and and whatever else your heart desired.
Preferably his cock, day and night.
“Pervert,” you panted. Had you read his mind?
“Just sayin’…” he was still rock hard, still craved the welcoming depth of your cunt. Now more than ever. And he wasn’t above begging you to feel it wrapped around his cock. Too so because the thought of you pregnant with his child, the thought of you being his was far too tempting to dismiss it. “‘d take good care of ya.”
“Yeah, yeah, spoiling me rotten, I heard you.”
“Good, was worried ya were t’far gone t’hear.” You flicked his painfully hard nipple, making his cock twitch and him groan. “C’mon, ya can’t tell me y’haven’t thought ‘bout it.”
“What? Having your child or your cock, bare, inside of me.”
“Both.” His thumb still drew idle patterns into your soft skin. “Need one f’the other an one leads t’the other.”
“Oh so you did pay attention in biology?” You arched a brow and he smacked your ass with his unoccupied hand and you didn’t yelp. You fucking giggled.
God you would be the death of him.
──────────
He finished between your glorious tits. And not that he was complaining about that… but he would have loved feeling you wrapped around him still.
Not that the sight of thick white ribbons covering your skin didn’t make up for that. Enough, that he took a moment to admire it, while he caught his breath.
“Gonna buy condoms first thing tomorrow,” he sighed, climbing off you to get a wet cloth and clean your chest. Paying extra attention to your breasts.
“Heard that one before,” you tease while he pulled you into his arms.
His chest to your back.
“Gonna do it,” he breathed into your neck while a large hand settled above your abdomen. “Meant what I said babygirl,” his voice sounded soft with exhaustion and something else. “Gonna build ya a castle…”
The topic didn’t come up again. Joel stocked up on condoms and then proceeded to fuck you seven ways to Sunday.
In the kitchen instead of breakfast, in the shower after an exhausting day, in the back of his truck because you’d snarked him, irritated after work, while muttering something about fucking the bad mood right out of you.
And frequently after watching you go through nightly routine. Rock hard like the first time he saw you across the small strip of grass through the window.
“You’re impossible,” you rolled your eyes, finding him working his cock yet again.
“T’word y’re lookin’ for is irresistible.”
You snorted, shimmying out of your panties. “Sure,” you reached for the lotion, aware he’d used it too, to lather a some into your arms. “Quit jerking off and put your hands to better you,”
“Am puttin’,” you tossed the lotion onto his naked belly, “Hey!” He complained, even as he reached for the lotion to squeeze a generous amount into the palm of his hand.
He worked the lotion into your left leg first, starting at the calf, moving over your thigh and to your ass. Down right massaging it into your skin. Your right leg received the same treatment before he moved on to your hips, waist and belly.
By the time you had settled astride him, fingers loosely pumping along his length, he had moved on to your breast, making quite the show out of lathering cream onto your skin. Massaging until it had fully settled into your skin.
Then, and only then did he shift and reach for the nightstand, to get a condom.
He barely got the drawer open before you sunk down on him.
“Fuck,” he moaned, hands immediately flying to your hips. “Y’sure babygirl?”
You nodded, watching him out of hooded eyes and Joel immediately shifted you under him, a thigh hooked over his hip, his breath hot against your lips.
There was no rush to his movements, slow and deep. Savouring each deep thrust. And fuck you’d forgotten how good he felt like that. “If this sticks,” your teeth caught his bottom lip.
“Gonna make it stick,” he grunted before you could finish your sentence.
“Then you better get started on the promised castle,” you teased, reminding him of his promise from weeks ago. Fingers in his hair, nails against his scalp.
Joel’s hips bucked. “First thing t’morrow babygirl.” He promised and even though you had been fine the first time around, when he’d finally caved and marched over here, you somehow didn’t doubt that he would manage to knock you up just because he decided to.
“Fuck y’feel so good babygirl,” he groaned, while your nails left crimson-shaped imprints on his shoulder. “An ya gonna look so pretty. All round ’n soft with m’baby,” you clenched around him. “Oh so y’really want it,” you had half a mind to wipe the smug grin of his face but then his cock dragged against that spot that made your toes girl. “Look at’cha squeezin’ me.” He moaned. “So tight babygirl—-”
He was hot on your heels when your orgasm rips through you, spilling deep inside of you.
“’s right babygirl, keep squeezin’ Daddy’s cock,” he groaned, still catching his breath when he pulled you into his arms. “Keep milkin’ my cock, makin’ sure it sticks.”
Warnings: language, drinking, reader has a lot of issues (anxiety, self doubt, traumatic past not yet explored but it's implied, panic attacks), jealousy, Joel likes bossy women, smut (18+, piv sex)
Other parts can be found here
The nerves leading up to your first date with Joel were ridiculous all week. Can you even call it a first date if you've already had sex twice? Whatever. Regardless, the spiraling and the overthinking were on another level, even for you.
It's just a beer, it's just a beer, you kept repeating to yourself. But you knew that wasn't true. For him, maybe, but for you? This was a huge step. Something you haven't done in years, and for good reason. If you still saw your therapist, you're certain she would be proud of you for doing this after everything that's happened. As you finish your makeup, you roll your eyes at yourself in the mirror, knowing exactly what she would have said if she knew you wanted her approval.
You don't need anyone's approval but your own.
Unfortunately, you've never been able to wrap your arms around that piece of advice. You still seek it out constantly.
You swipe some lipgloss on and run your fingers through your hair a few times, tilting your head back and forth until you're satisfied with how it lays before you flick off the light and head towards your kitchen.
The jeans you picked are cute, you think. Tight enough to show off your curves but not too tight that you'll be uncomfortable. The tank top is flowy with skinny straps and a little low cut. It had you second guessing if you looked too desperate, but your backup outfit was a dress and you're certain that would have looked ridiculous in the dive bar you picked. Then you forced yourself to stop overthinking it and just wear the goddamn tank top because Joel's already seen your tits anyway, so who cares?
You take a deep breath and take a long sip of water, gaze flickering anxiously to the clock on your wall. God, you're so out of practice for stuff like this, what were you thinking?
Maybe you should cancel. Fake an illness. A death in the family. No, that's too dark. Sweat begins to bead at your temples as your pulse kicks up.
This was a huge mistake. You're not ready.
Shaky fingers pick up your phone. As you're about to text him some weak excuse, there's a knock at your door and you freeze.
Shit. Too late.
Your heart is in your throat as you slowly walk down the hallway, towards your door. Every step makes the panic rise. Your vision narrows. You try to swallow but your throat's too tight.
Nothing bad is going to happen.
Numb fingers wrap around your doorknob and you tug it open.
Joel is waiting on the other side looking... great. Clean. You blink hard. You've only ever seen him working, when he's covered in sweat and dirt and wearing junk clothes. But the man before you now is freshly showered, beard is trimmed, and he's wearing some type of cologne with a hint of spice. You think you've smelled traces of it on him before but to have the full effect now is very different. It's throwing you off, making you forget about your insecurities entirely.
You're staring. You haven't said anything and you're staring at him like a crazy person. Say something.
"Uh, hi."
Brilliant. Great job.
When you lift your gaze to meet his eyes, you find you weren't the only one gawking. Joel looks speechless for once in his life as he slowly takes in your outfit. All his bravado is mysteriously missing for a minute and it's giving you a much needed ego boost.
"Those for me?" you ask smugly, pointing at the white flowers he's clutching in his fist. Finally, Joel shakes his head like he's snapping out of a trance and looks down.
"Jesus—yes, sorry darlin'."
He hands you the flowers and you grin before sniffing them and making a pleased sound. "Thank you," you say sincerely, and his expression softens.
"Welcome."
"Let me put these in water before we go," you tell him, turning on your heel and walking back into your kitchen. "You can come in if you want," you toss breezily over your shoulder. What were you so worried for?
Joel's head tilts to the side as he stares at your ass disappearing down your hall. "Like the view right here just fine," he drawls, and you shoot him a weak look of offense before slipping out of sight. When you return, he's smiling that easy smile that makes his dimple crease. It's an entirely different feeling walking towards your door the second time—the panic has been replaced with excitement. This is Joel—he's easy to talk to. He's fun. This should be a good night.
He leads you to his truck with his palm pressed firmly against your spine. It's not a controlling touch, just a gentle guide. You like it more than you care to admit.
"Did I tell you how pretty you look?" he asks after helping you into the truck. He braces one forearm above the door with a grin as you get comfortable in the passenger seat.
"You didn't," you say, looking up at him through your lashes, "but it was strongly implied."
"You sayin' you got a good read on me?" he teases.
"Like a book, Miller," you grin. He chuckles then pushes off the door before closing it and rounding the front to slide into the driver's seat. Before he shifts the truck into reverse, he breathes loudly through his nose and shakes his head.
"Wow," he whispers like he's in awe. You feel your chest warm, assuming the breathlessness in his voice was your doing.
"What?" you ask a little timidly.
He shakes his head again in disbelief, looking entirely serious when he says, "Nothin'. Just... can't believe my two girls are finally together."
You pause as you try to process what he just said.
"Your—"
"You 'n my truck."
"Oh, my god!" you groan, embarrassed you allowed yourself to think he was about to say something heartfelt in the first place. "Don't compare me to your truck. And I'm not your girl."
He throws his head back with a laugh and despite yourself, you giggle. He makes it so easy when you're together that even the drive to the bar isn't awkward. He has the radio on low and he hums along with some country tune, fingers tapping occasionally on the wheel. You let the fresh breeze from the open windows caress your skin and relax your body. Occasionally, you glance his way when he's too busy watching the road to notice. The jeans he's wearing are clean. Belt looks nicer, too. Not new, but probably the clothes he sets aside for dates or parties or any time he needs to look presentable. You like imagining what that looks like, in his house. A certain drawer housing clothes that may go untouched but a few times a year. And you like the idea of him pulling out those clothes for you.
His shirt is different, too. It's a plain black tee but it's still bright, so you know he hasn't needed to wash it much yet. On top of that is a dark green flannel, buttons open and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You can't see his boots but you hazard a guess those are nicer than the dirty work boots you're used to seeing.
Eventually he catches on and shifts in his seat.
"Wishin' you cancelled on me already?" he asks, eyes still pinned on the road.
"Not yet," you reply, leaving out your panic attack before he arrived. He doesn't need to know about all that.
He hums and casually taps his fingers against the steering wheel again, squinting as he approaches an intersection. "You go to this bar a lot?"
"I used to," you admit, gaze drifting through the windshield to gauge where you are. "Back when I was in college I came here more often than I probably should've."
"That's a relief. Thought you picked this place so yes wouldn't run into anyone you knew," he grins.
"Oh, that too," you joke smoothly, and he laughs again before slowing and throwing on his turn signal to pull into the parking lot.
Joel helps you slide out of the passenger seat. You murmur your thanks and walk side by side towards the bar.
When a jeep backs out of a parking spot, Joel immediately redirects you and places his body between yours and the car. His expression gives nothing away. He didn't do it as a performance. He just... did it. Like it's second nature, he didn't think twice. Something about it makes your pulse skip.
Even from here, you can hear the music pumping from the jukebox. A few people linger outside to smoke with beers dangling from their fingertips. They casually watch you approach and nod to you both when Joel reaches forward to open the door for you.
Inside, the bar looks the same as it always did. You think they may have fixed some of the cracked seats on the barstools but otherwise, nothing else really changed. There are still a few televisions mounted high up on the walls showing a different sporting event on each one. There are still four pool tables and a dart board tucked into the back of the room, near the bathrooms. The lighting is still dim and the crowd is still the same—a mix of college students blowing off steam and a middle aged crowd scattered amongst the bar and surrounding tables.
It's loud already at only nine at night. There's a college football game on the television above the bartender's heads that most people seem to be focused on. And as Joel leads you to the bar to order, your boots still stick to the floors just like they always did before. If it wasn't so loud, you bet you'd be able to hear them unstick with every step.
"What do you like to drink?" Joel asks after he wedges himself a spot against the bar. He pulls out his wallet and looks at you expectantly. "Wine? Some mixed drink?"
"A beer, whatever kind you're having."
He gives you a surprised look and a nod before turning back to the bar. Behind him, you awkwardly tuck your hands into the back pockets of your jeans and wait, looking around. You spot a couple empty tables near the front windows and you tap Joel's shoulder.
"I'm gonna go grab a—"
But before you can finish your sentence, a familiar face appears behind the bar. It takes you a moment to recognize him, but he clocks you right away and frowns.
"Hey! I remember you! Didn't I say you ain't allowed here anymore?"
Your eyes go wide with horror but Joel just grins easily and sets back to watch the exchange.
"No! That was—"
"Nah, it was you. You and that other girl you were always with. Gave me too many goddamn headaches. Actually—" He leans forward across the bar with a towel dangling over his shoulder. "That friend of yours never did pay me back for the pool table."
"Pool table?" Joel repeats, clearly amused. Your cheeks burn.
"Had to refelt it. Wasn't cheap."
"That wasn't me," you insist.
"Sure as shit was."
You groan and prop your hands on your hips. "C'mon, Dave. That was a long time ago and it was her heels that scratched up the felt, not mine."
Joel laughs, clearly delighted.
Dave's eyes drift slowly between you and Joel before relenting and straightening back up. But then he points a finger at you and you cower a little.
"You can stay. But none of that bullshit anymore, you hear?"
"Yes," you promise, throughly embarrassed.
Joel tilts his head towards Dave. "Two drafts. And don't worry, I'll keep an eye on her," he says. When Dave grunts and turns around to pull the tap, Joel's gaze finds yours and adds so only you can hear, "she's a good girl now."
You narrow your eyes, ignoring the arousal blooming low in your belly at the term of endearment. "Don't start," you warn.
Joel barks out a laugh and grabs the two glasses after paying. "You got alotta explain' to do," he murmurs in your ear before trailing after you to an empty table. You slide into the curved booth right in front of the window and Joel follows. The creak of the thick vinyl seats under his weight can be heard over the classic rock song pouring from the jukebox speakers. On the table is an abandoned bucket of shelled peanuts and you quickly grab one just for something to busy your hands.
"So," Joel says, twisting his body to face yours. His free arm is popped on the top of your seat as the other cups his glass on the table. You like the way he slightly curves his body around yours. "Care to explain what that was all 'bout?"
You shrug, cracking into the peanut shell. "Can't really remember. It was a lifetime ago."
"Bullshit," he laughs, "tell me. You get up to no good back in the day or what?"
You grin up at him and pop a peanut into your mouth. "Maybe."
"Yeah? And who's the other girl?"
Your throat tightens at the memory. "I don't talk to her anymore."
Joel doesn't notice your discomfort. You're better at hiding it now.
"No? Why not? She tearin' up felt in some other bar now?"
He takes a sip from his beer while you chew. "Something like that," you say, and before he can push further, you change the subject. "Have you ever gotten kicked out of a bar before?"
He rolls his eyes and sets down his beer. "Oh, Christ. Yeah. Not my fault, though."
"Oh, I'm sure."
"I mean it!"
"Likely story," you grin, and just like that, the memory of another life fades.
"It was my little brother's fault mostly," he continues, snatching up a peanut. His arm is still propped up on the seat behind you, his hand inches from the back of your neck. You melt into the seat a little so he's closer.
"You have a brother?"
He nods. "Tommy. He's... well, he thinks he's a white knight sometimes. Gets him in trouble."
"So you're the real white knight?"
Joel smirks as he chews. "That's bein' generous."
"Well, you help him out when he's in trouble, right?" you press.
"Outta obligation, not 'cause I'm some hero."
"Oh, don't think I said hero." You playfully poke him in the ribs. He flinches and grabs your hand with a flirty grin.
"Haven't even had a sip of beer and you're already gettin' handsy with me."
You roll your eyes with a smile and yank your hand out of his grip. "You're the one who's holding onto me like Velcro."
"Gotta make sure you don't end up on that pool table again, I made a promise to good ol' Dave."
"Oh, you just loved that, didn't you?"
"I did." He takes another sip of his beer and you follow suit, your eyes never leaving one another over the rims of your glasses. He sets it down and subtly shifts a little closer. "Like findin' out more 'bout you. You're a mystery, y'know that?"
"Am I?" you ask innocently before taking another drink.
"Mhm," he hums, gaze slowly dragging across your face like he's searching for something. "So far, all's I know 'bout you is you work a whole lot 'n you like that you're good at it." He rubs his chin thoughtfully for a second as you pluck another peanut from the bucket. "Well, know a few other things, too. Wouldn't wanna say it in front of mixed company, though."
You smack his shoulder and he laughs. God, his laugh is so infectious. Every time you try to keep a stern expression, you fail.
"What'd I say?" he exclaims, rubbing his shoulder with a shit eating grin.
"You know what you said," you scold, throwing the peanut at his chest.
"Hey! Meant your burnt cookies, I don't know what you're thinkin'."
"Oh, yeah right."
"Didn't wanna embarrass you," he says defensively. You look around the bar, at the oblivious patrons, and then back at him.
"I think I'll live."
There's a brief pause where neither of you say anything, but it's not uncomfortable. He doesn't stop smiling and neither do you. There's a pull between you that leaves you both feeling a little exhilarated.
"Well?" he asks you as his fingers brush gently against your hair. You find yourself drawing even closer to him, like a magnet. To distract yourself, you take another long sip from your beer before catching his eye again.
"Well... what?" you reply.
"Gonna tell me somethin' 'bout yourself or you gonna make me work harder for it?"
You grin and cross your legs under the table. Your foot nudges his leg but neither of you move.
"What do you want to know?"
Joel thinks about it over a healthy drink from his glass before setting it down with determination.
"When was your last relationship?"
You laugh, mostly to cover up the sheer panic you know would otherwise be written all over your face. You're sure of it because you can feel your blood run cold at the mere mention of your romantic past.
"Let's start with something a little less..." you trail off and Joel throws you a lifeline.
"Intense?"
You nod. "Yeah. Intense."
"Alright," he says easily, entirely unbothered by you dodging the question. "You got any family?"
That's easier. You tell him about growing up with your parents and sister just outside of Austin. It was a normal childhood, by all accounts. It wasn't until the last few years when you grew apart. You leave that out and focus on the good times, before you grew up. You tell him about your sister who went to school in London and ended up falling in love with her classmate and getting married out there. How you only visited her twice but it was a beautiful city and you want to go again one day.
"What's keepin' you from seein' her?"
"Work, I guess."
Joel tsks. "Shocker."
"I know," you grin.
The way he's looking at you is making your stomach flip. He's so genuine and warm and funny... he's making it very hard to resist his charm.
"What are you thinkin' 'bout?" he asks. His gaze is heavier than before and it feels like yours is the same. At some point, your legs pressed together under the table and neither of you made the effort to separate them.
"I was thinking you clean up pretty nice," you tease softly. Then your fingers pluck at his open flannel, giving the fabric a playful tug.
Joel chuckles. "You, too. Still don't mind that flimsy robe of yours, though."
"That was my back up outfit."
"Would've gotten kicked outta here a second time for that," Joel grins, dipping his chin down. He's so close he hardly has to raise his voice over the music.
"What makes you think I've only been kicked out once?" The heat of his body surrounds you: his arm across the back of your seat, his leg against yours under the table, his mouth mere inches away from your own. If you wanted, you could kiss him right now. Maybe you should.
There's a low rumble that comes from his chest and his eyes grow darker. "And here I just got done vouchin' for what a good girl you are," he murmurs. "You gonna make a liar outta me?"
Your hand finds his leg and he breathes in sharp when you slowly curl your fingers along the inside of his thigh.
"What can I say?" you sigh, lips barely grazing his mouth. "Sometimes I'm trouble."
He groans and leans in, closing those last remaining centimeters with a slow, firm kiss. It's not messy or passionate, but it doesn't have to be. Even without tasting his tongue, you're still ready to crawl into his lap right here and now. Your fingers on his thigh tighten and his mouth parts ever so slightly, just enough for you each to take a breath before your lips slot together once again. The hand that's been taking up residence on top of your seat is now cupping your cheek, his thumb is swiping gently along your jaw, and it's so intense and sweet at the same time that you're dizzy with need and something else you can't quite admit yet.
The loud sound of billiard balls cracking together across the bar pull you out of it, but just barely. His forehead presses against yours after the kiss is broken and you each draw in a deep breath, clearing away the clouds of desire that took over your better judgement for a few weak moments.
"I'll go get us a couple more," he finally murmurs, pointing to your empty glasses when he inevitably leans back in his seat. His cheeks look a little pink and you have to stifle a smile behind your hand.
"You don't have to—" you start to say, but he cuts you off.
"If I don't get up right now, I'll end us gettin' us both banned for life," he winks, and your face flushes with heat as you laugh. Joel stands with your glasses and begins to weave his way towards the bar.
You prop your elbow on the table and rest your chin in your hand as you watch him from your booth. His back is to you so you feel free to let your gaze linger over his rugged frame, broad shoulders, and dark hair. He's so insanely sexy, just leaning against the bar so casually with that flannel exposing his strong, tanned forearms and his jeans hugging his waist just right. It almost isn't fair how good he looks, how well he fits in. Where's the flaw? What's the catch with Joel? Nobody looks as good as him and has a fun personality. You already know he's great in bed, so it's not that, either.
Stop it. You're doing it again. Stop looking for problems.
You pinch the bridge of your nose and shake loose the invasive thoughts. It's easier with a beer in your system to let that go and relax, but when your gaze settles back on Joel at the bar, another unexpected intense feeling flares up: jealousy. Because at some point in the last thirty seconds when you looked away, a very young and very blonde college girl sporting a mini skirt and cowboy boots has found a spot next to Joel at the bar and appears to be getting just a little too close for your liking.
Your lips press together as you watch, studying her body language like a hawk. She's leaning forward and saying something to Joel, then her perfectly manicured finger points to something. He glances over and plucks some napkins out of a dispenser and hands them over with a polite smile, but she's not done. She appears to be extremely grateful. She leans forward again, expressing her thanks while gently placing a hand on his arm, conveniently giving him a generous view of her cleavage.
Anger drips heavier in your veins with each bat of her fake eyelashes and every high pitched giggle that reaches your ears. You can tell Joel is trying to limit his interactions with her while still being polite, but she's not taking the hint and fucking Dave is ignoring that side of the bar entirely.
He's not your boyfriend, you have to remind yourself. But he is your date. So how much longer do you allow this to go on before doing something?
When she leans in to whisper something in his ear that makes him jerk backwards and laugh awkwardly, you get your answer. Enough is enough.
Joel's face is red as you approach from behind, and when you get closer you can hear him stammering something while the blonde watches him like a siren: all lust filled eyes with a seductive smile.
"Hey, baby," you breathe, stepping between them. You can see the discomfort in his expression, one that slips into a mix of fear and relief when his eyes settle on you. He opens his mouth, either to explain or reply, but you cut him off when you clutch his shirt and yank him down for an obnoxiously deep kiss. You make sure to moan a little so the blonde behind you hears, then you let him go with a breathless laugh.
"I missed you. What's taking so long?" you ask innocently while swiping some of your lip gloss from the corner of his mouth. Joel's eyes are wide with shock until he figures out your game, then they soften with a knowing smile.
"Busy up here. And this young lady was askin' for help," he says, jutting his chin over your shoulder. He doesn't tear his gaze away from you, though, and you like that.
Slowly, you turn to face the blonde, who is doing her best to act innocuous. You give her a smile while dropping your hand, possessively slipping your fingers between Joel's. You lazily size her up and down, then tilt your head to the side.
"Is there something we can help you with?" you ask sweetly, leaning against Joel's chest. You know you're laying it on thick and so does he. You can feel the rumble of laughter through your back and you grin.
"Uh, no," she replies with a tight smile of her own, "he was just telling me which whiskey is best."
"Oh!" you blink with surprise while Joel murmurs your order to Dave across the bar. "You're old enough to drink?"
Joel says your name softly in your ear, a light warning.
The blonde narrows her eyes at you, the mask shifting ever so slightly. "Yes. In fact, it's my birthday."
"Oh, happy birthday," you gush. Joel's fingers flex around your own. "Don't tell me you're celebrating all by yourself?" You plaster on a cheesy smile while the blonde flicks her perfectly curled hair over her shoulder to gesture to a table near the darts.
"No, my friends are over there."
When she turns back to you, your smile drops and the sweetness from your voice is gone.
"Good. You should probably go join them."
A subtle threat is laced in your tone and the blonde picks up on it easily. She slips off the stool and straightens her skirt, offers Joel a cordial wave, and disappears into the crowd.
"Goddamn," Joel chuckles after you turn around, dropping his hand with a glare.
"What did she say to you?"
"What? When?"
"You know when," you snap, "your face was red as a tomato."
Joel smirks and swipes his palm over his mouth with a shrug. "Said it was her birthday but she wanted to take me to the bathroom 'n give me a gift."
Your jaw drops. "That fucking—"
You spin back in her direction, rage boiling over, when Joel snags your arm. "Darlin', easy, a man can only get so hard."
"We got a problem here?" Dave asks, loudly setting down two beers with a scowl. You straighten up and try to unclench your jaw.
"No," you seethe.
"Good." His eyes shift wearily between you and Joel, then juts a finger in your direction. "I'm watchin' you."
You roll your eyes and grab your beer, too pissed to care.
"One foot outta line—" Dave warns Joel, and Joel waves him off before grabbing the other beer.
"Yeah, yeah. I got it."
He rushes after you, looping an arm around your waist and tugging you into his side.
"You're full'a surprises," he murmurs in your ear.
You scoff and slide into the booth, still too angry to think about much else, and take a long sip from your beer and Joel joins you.
"Does that happen often?" you ask with an edge to your voice.
"No," he says, "took me by surprise. I was tryin' to be nice." His arm resumes its post on the top of your seat and his other hand finds a home on your leg. His fingers squeeze a little as he inches forward while you take another angry gulp from your glass to settle the adrenaline. "Can I tell you a secret?" he asks, dipping low so his lips graze your ear. You find yourself leaning closer and the rage pumping through your veins begins to slow.
"What?" you reply, trying to maintain your scowl, but you're failing. Your brows cannot stay furrowed tonight.
Joel smirks and something dangerous shifts behind his eyes. "That was pretty fuckin' sexy, what you did," he admits, and despite yourself, your chest fills with pride. "Never had someone do somethin' like that for me."
"Try not to get a big head over it," you tease with a smile. The last of your anger dissipates and you poke him gently in the ribs.
"Oh, too late for that, honey," Joel laughs. He curls his body inwards more so you can feel that heat again and the hand on your thigh slides up slowly before reaching for your wrist. There's a familiar pull between your legs almost immediately from his touch.
His fingers delicately hold your wrist in your lap before he shifts in his seat and suspiciously glances around the bar. You're confused until he subtly moves your palm to the front of his jeans and you suck in a sharp breath when you feel him, hot and rock hard behind his zipper.
"Joel—"
"Wasn't kiddin'," he whispers in your ear before his lips find a sensitive spot on your throat. You bite your lip and try to ignore the warmth pooling between your thighs, but it's impossible. The gentle graze of his mouth raises the temperature of your skin and without thinking, your hand presses forward. You feel him twitch under your palm and your eyelids flutter in a desperate attempt to remain present and aware of your surroundings.
"Joel..." you try again, but your voice is merely a whisper. Still, he hums in acknowledgement, but his mouth is busy trailing down your neck. You swallow hard. "As fun as it was the other times, I'd really like to not get kicked out of here again tonight."
He makes a disappointed noise before reluctantly pulling back. Your hand falls from his lap to his leg as you stare at one another, tension thick.
"Sorry," he murmurs, voice strained. His heavy gaze drags slowly across your face, both of you equally flushed, hearts pumping wildly in your chests. Then he grins. "I really do wanna know more 'bout you, I swear it."
"I know," you giggle, tension breaking a bit.
"Can't seem to help myself when you get all pissed off," he continues, running his fingers through his hair. "You're doin' somethin' crazy to me, darlin'."
You laugh again, hiding behind your hair. You're not ready to admit it, but he's certainly doing something to you, too.
"Okay," you take a deep breath so as to fight through the veil of arousal clinging to your body, "what, uh... what movies do you like?"
The next hour or so carries on like that. Ten minutes of harmless questions, a joke here or there, and inevitably one of you finds a reason to touch the other. The tension builds again until you snap out of it and then the cycle repeats itself.
It's the beer, you think. It's making you both a little too relaxed. That's the only reasonable explaination for the unusually spectacular date. The connection feels strong because the beer is strong. That's all.
After you finish your drinks and the bar fills up with a much more rowdy crowd, Joel suggests heading out. As disappointed as you are for the night to end, you agree and stand to follow him hand in hand through the throngs of people laughing and milling around on the dance floor. It's only when you're a few feet away from the door that Joel stops and turns to you with a grin.
"Guess I wasn't that special," he says loudly over the music, then nods towards a dark booth in the corner. Your gaze follows and you burst out laughing when you spot a shock of familiar blonde hair all over some guy a few years younger than Joel.
"Sorry she broke your heart," you giggle, stumbling out of the bar side by side. Both hands curl around his bicep as you walk through the parking lot wearing matching grins.
"I'll survive," he jokes, fishing the keys out of his pocket. The music from the jukebox is fading behind you. Laughter and glasses clinking thin with every step. Instead, you begin to hear the soothing sound of crickets chirping from the nearby grass. You're silent for a minute, letting the quiet settle around you like a blanket. It's peaceful and you tip your chin up to gaze at the stars, knowing Joel won't let you trip.
"Wanna walk for a bit?" he asks once his truck is in view. Your eyes tear away from the inky night sky to look at him.
"Sure. Are you not good to drive?"
"Nah, ain't that," he says, grinning at you with that dimple. "Just don't want the night to end yet."
"Oh," you breathe, then hide your shy smile by pretending to study something imaginary across the street.
Your hands fall from his bicep and he laces his fingers between yours as you walk down the cracked sidewalk. You pass restaurants, mostly pizza and fast food places with later hours to accommodate the bar patrons. On the corner is a theater that just let out and your gaze drifts up to read the marquee.
"Oh, that one's supposed to be good," you murmur. Joel reads it and nods.
"Wanna see it next weekend?"
He says it so easily, so casually, that he has you agreeing without even missing that awkward step that typically comes after a first date, the one that has both sides wondering if it went as well as you thought and if it would lead to anything more. Joel decides to eliminate all doubt before the night is even over. He's so smooth about it that you wouldn't know for sure if he was as excited as you if you didn't happen to catch the smile stretched across his face before he swiped his palm over his mouth to hide it.
Eventually, you come to the riverwalk. It's such a calm atmosphere: lights from underneath the railings brighten your path, there's mostly couples strolling quietly along that give you an occasional nod and you smile to yourself when teenagers go racing by on bikes or scooters. Joel doesn't lead you that far, otherwise it will take forever to eventually get back to his truck, so instead he finds a secluded spot with a view and leans against the railing on his forearms. You follow his lead but shiver when the metal railing touches your skin. He notices and immediately shrugs off his flannel, draping it around your shoulders.
"Thank you," you murmur, sliding your arms into the sleeves. The heat from his body is still in the fabric. His scent clings to the fibers and it makes you a little hazy with want to have his shirt engulfing you like this because it's reminding you of the way his body felt folded around you while pummeling you from behind.
When you catch his eye, you think you see the same flash of lust there, but he averts his gaze to the water too quickly.
"Don't come here at night often," he says. The light breeze slips through his hair and it makes you want to run your fingers through it.
"Me, either," you admit, "it's nice."
Despite just wearing a short sleeved shirt now, you still feel the heat rolling off his body. You lean a little closer and watch the water lazily roll under the walkway towards the shore.
"Was it as bad as you thought it'd be?"
You glance sideways at him when he asks the question.
"What?"
He shrugs, eyes still scanning the scenery. "Tonight. Our date."
"Oh," you laugh, "I had a great time. I didn't think it would be bad."
"No?"
He shifts a little, body angling more towards you now. You do the same, leaving one arm on the railing for support and you shake your head.
Joel smiles. "Good. The way you kept makin' excuses when I'd ask before had me wonderin' if it was me."
Guilt blooms a little in your chest. "No," you tell him softly, "it's definitely not because of you."
He gives you a few moments to elaborate but you don't. He doesn't ask, either, which you appreciate. And he doesn't make you feel bad for not sharing. It's almost frustratingly perfect.
You stay there a little longer, shoulders pressed together as you stare at the view and people watch whoever happens to walk by. Your fingers lace together at some point and you only let go halfway back to his truck when he buys you both ice cream.
"Shit," he grumbles when he sees how good your strawberry cone looks. You raise an eyebrow at him while taking a generous lick.
"Buyer's remorse?"
"No," he says stubbornly after tasting his butter pecan. "It's an underrated flavor."
"I'm sure it is."
You walk a few minutes in silence, past the theater again, which is now closed. With your ice cream half gone, Joel crumbles.
"Lemme try yours."
"No! I told you you should have gotten a different one."
You take a stubborn lick of your ice cream and Joel pouts. "I'll give you some of mine," he offers, holding out his cone. You shake your head.
"No, thanks. This is perfect."
Less than a minute goes by with Joel side-eyeing you until he can't take it anymore and he suddenly lunges, trying to grab a lick of your ice cream, but you yank it away just in time.
"Stop!" you squeal, giggling when he tries and fails again. A crowd of drunk twenty-something year olds stumble past in the opposite direction, loudly swearing at one another and cracking lewd jokes, but neither of you notice because Joel figures out a way to get what he wants by pressing you up against the brick wall of a pizza parlor and kissing you so deeply that the entire world around you fades.
"Mmm," he hums, licking his lips after he breaks the kiss. You're lucky you're still clutching your ice cream in your right hand because you almost forget where you are when his body is pressed against yours like this and the faint taste of butter pecan mixed with strawberry lingers on your tongue.
"It's good," he confirms, then thinks about it for a moment before a sly smile stretches across his face. "Can't decide if it's better than mine. Lemme taste it again—"
Your laugh gets cut short by another kiss, but this time you're somewhat prepared. His beard scratches against your lips and chin and you're quickly becoming addicted to the burn, but it's nothing compared to the way his mouth moves against yours, the firm yet soft seal of his kiss, the measured swipe of his tongue behind your teeth, the gentle way he cups your face.
The way Joel Miller kisses is utterly euphoric.
When he pulls away, you have to stifle a whine of protest for your own dignity, but his hand still cradles your cheek as he smiles down at you.
"What do you think?" he asks softly. You're not sure what he means. What do you think about... the kiss? The weather? The president's latest cabinet pick?
"I think..." you pant, heavy eyes dropping to his mouth. Your thumb swipes under his lower lip and you swear he leans forward. "I think it's an underrated flavor," you finish, gaze darting up at him playfully. He smirks.
"Told ya."
The ice cream is gone by the time you wander back to the bar parking lot. Based on the noise filtering from the open door, it sounds like it got much busier since you left. A few motorcycles rumble into the parking lot behind you and Joel tucks you protectively into his side even though there's no chance of them coming anywhere close enough to hitting you.
When he opens the passenger door, he helps you hop in. His hand lingers on your waist a little longer than necessary and you grin.
"Do you want your flannel back?" you ask him. He shakes his head.
"Looks better on you."
Your cheeks warm from the compliment and in the brief moment you have to yourself after he shuts the door, you drag in a loud, steadying breath to calm your nerves. Why are you so nervous anyway? You've already slept with him twice. Yet somehow, being on this date with him feels so much more vulnerable than being naked.
On the drive back to your house, you try your best to keep the conversation light, but it's hard when his hand rests so comfortably on your thigh. All you can think about is dragging him into your house, back into your bed, because the tension that's been ebbing and flowing all evening is making you feel like you may implode.
"How much longer do you have next door?" you ask him at some point. His fingers tighten around the denim of your jeans as he makes a turn, one handed.
"'Bout a week or two."
You hum and keep looking out your window, fingers itching to touch him.
"Then what?"
"Puttin' on an addition for a family who's expectin' a baby in a few months," he tells you. "Spot's over in my neck of the woods, couple streets over."
"Where do you live?" you ask, a little ashamed you haven't asked before.
"Off Rossler, in a little cul-de-sac," he says. You map it out in your head.
"That's not too far from me."
"'Bout fifteen minutes."
"And do you live alone?"
Joel laughs. "You askin' if I got a secret family or somethin'?"
You can't help but grin in return. "I mean, I'd hope not, but you never know."
"Well, I don't. But Tommy'll be comin' to stay for a couple weeks pretty soon. He's in the army and he'll be home on leave."
That surprises you. "I thought you said he's a trouble maker?"
"That I did."
"Hmm," is all you say in response. A comfortable silence falls between you, only to be broken once Joel turns onto your street.
"I like spendin' time with you," he says abruptly. Your gaze skirts to the side in surprise when you hear the earnestness in his voice. "I know you said you don't really do relationships but I want you to know, I don't plan on seein' anyone else."
Joel removes his hand from your thigh so he can properly turn into your driveway, allowing you a chance to process what he's just said. When he shifts the truck into park and nervously glances in your direction, you realize you've taken too long to formulate a response.
"I like spending time with you, too," you say softly. The corner of his mouth lifts and he looks straight ahead, turning the key in the ignition. The headlights blink off, casting your driveway into darkness.
"Lemme walk you up," he tells you before popping open his door and sliding out of his seat. His boots hit the fine gravel and you hear the soft crunch under his weight before his door shuts and you're left in momentary silence. Your eyes track him rounding the front of his truck and you smile as you unbuckle your seatbelt.
You should just thank him for tonight. Maybe give him a chaste kiss. Tell him you're looking forward to next weekend. But you know you can't leave it at just that. It's almost laughable now as you breathlessly ask him to come inside as one hand fumbles with your lock, unable to focus when his mouth is pressed against your throat and his hands are squeezing your hips.
Somehow you manage to both kick off your shoes and push your door shut, even with your mouths seared together in a heated kiss. You mumble the hollow offer of a drink against his lips and as expected, he just shakes his head and pushes you down your hallway, mouth barely giving you a reprieve.
"You look so good," he growls, yanking the collar of his flannel down to expose one of your shoulders. Your breath stutters as you blindly navigate your bedroom, the sharp press of his lips over your skin sending shocks of arousal throughout your entire body.
Calloused fingers gently slip the thin strap of your tank top down next and the flowy material gives way, nearly exposing one breast. Joel helps it the rest of the way, curling his fingers underneath and pulling it down so his warm mouth can cover your nipple with a groan. The backs of your thighs bump against your mattress and you fall back, leaving Joel standing at the edge of your bed with his mouth open while you scoot backwards.
"You coming?" you tease before lifting your shirt over your head and tossing it onto your floor, joining the flannel.
"Not yet," Joel says back, and you giggle before his body folds forward, covering yours. Excited fingers find the soft waves styled on the back of his head and he kisses you again, stealing your breath when your nipples peak and graze against the fabric of his shirt.
"Been thinkin' 'bout this all night," he confesses with one more wet kiss before his lips drag down your jaw. "Been half hard since I picked you up."
You groan and arch your back, lifting your hips off the bed. His hand finds the button to your jeans and he undoes them in a heartbeat, zipper following soon after. Instead of tugging the denim down your legs, his hand delves down, greedy fingers seeking out your pussy and groaning deep when he finds you wet and aching for him.
The pad of his middle finger drags slow and firm over your clit and you moan, holding his face against your throat in a death grip. You're so sensitive from the buildup all evening that your body feels like a coil ready to snap.
Joel only gives you a few long, teasing strokes before he removes his hand and sits back on his knees to pull your jeans down. You eagerly assist, breathlessly lifting your hips and straightening your legs until they're left somewhere at the foot of your bed. You watch, heat licking up your spine as he strips off his shirt and starts to work on his pants. The arousing sound of his belt buckle clinking in the otherwise quiet room makes you shiver with anticipation. Joel sees it and smirks.
"Dyin' for it, ain't you?"
"Shut up," you whisper, eyes glued to the way he pushes his pants down and off, leaving him in only a plain pair of black boxer briefs.
"Mm, there she is," he breathes with a crooked grin. You roll your eyes.
"Get over here," you tell him, and his body jolts forward, eager to obey, but then he stops.
"Just one thing first," he says, bending forward at your waist. His lips find your hip and his beard drags slowly across your skin, distracting you from his hands pulling down your panties until you feel the cool air of your bedroom between your legs. Your eyes flutter closed under his gentle kisses and you almost forget where you are until his broad shoulders nudge your thighs apart and he settles his weight between your legs.
"Wha—what are you doing?" Your thighs tense when his hands glide up to hold them open.
"Wanna taste you," he says, voice low and thick. "Wanna make you feel good."
"No, that's okay," you tell him. Your throat tightens as the panic begins to rise.
"It's okay, just relax." His voice is soft and you jump when his thumbs spread you open. You can feel his exhale fan over your wetness and your muscles seize.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to," he smirks, "been thinkin' 'bout it for weeks."
When his mouth dips to taste you, you fist his hair and yank him up. You might have been a little too harsh based on the surprised look on his face.
"Sorry," you whisper shakily, "just... I'd rather not."
Something passes over his face that makes your stomach twist with guilt and you let go of his hair.
"It's not you," you assure him, "I—I just really want you to fuck me."
He scans your face and you can tell immediately he doesn't buy it, but thankfully he lets it go. He pushes himself onto his hands and crawls up to hover over your body and you relax instantly.
"Alright, honey," he says soothingly, "alright. Lemme take care of you, then."
Joel doesn't let your weird moment ruin the mood and you're eternally grateful for it. When his lips press firmly against yours and his weight settles between your hips, all is forgotten for at least the night. But something tells you the topic is only tabled, not dismissed entirely.
Desperate hands push blindly at the band of his boxers and you can feel him smirk against your lips.
"Take these off," you hiss, nipping impatiently at his chin.
"So fuckin' pushy," he chuckles before eventually helping slide the boxers down his legs.
"I know what I want," you reply with a pleased look as you watch him finally free his cock. You widen your thighs and reach for him, circling your fist slowly around his girth and giving him a few measured strokes. His eyelids flutter under your touch and it gives you a little rush, having him quite literally in the palm of your hand.
"Hang on." He sounds a little breathless when your hips tilt and the tip of his cock brushes against your folds. You bite your lip and pout when he shoos your hand away.
"What?"
He slides off the bed and searches for his wallet, wordlessly answering your question when he plucks a condom from somewhere in the depths of the leather and shows it to you like a prize.
The frustrated noise you make is involuntary, but Joel reacts to it all the same.
"I was over nine pounds when I was born," he tells you, tearing the foil and rolling the condom carefully down his length. His eyes flicker up to you and he tuts. "Ain't gonna do that to you, darlin'."
"God!" you exclaim, covering your face. "Don't put that image in my head right before you fuck me."
Joel just laughs and shuffles forward on his knees. His long fingers curl around your thighs, holding your hips wide. When you feel his cock nudge against your opening, your hands fall from your face with an eager gasp.
"Yeah, thought that's all it'd take," he murmurs, pushing forward just an inch. Your head drops back into the pillows with a moan. "First taste of this cock's got that smart mouth makin' sweet noises for me, ain't that right?"
"Asshole," you breathe, arching off the bed when he feeds you a few more inches. Joel chuckles again and leans down, mouthing at your jaw, then throat, then breasts until he's fully sheathed inside you with a relieved sigh. He spots an old hickey he left half faded on your skin and his lips seal around it, sucking on the skin to deepen the mark, to stake his claim.
"Fuck," you whisper, fingers rising to get lost in his hair. He grunts a little when your nails rake gently over his scalp. Then his hips withdraw just so he can slowly sink back into your cunt.
"So wet," he groans, eyes squeezing shut. "Feel so goddamn good, drives me fuckin' crazy."
You preen at the praise and let your hands fall to his strong shoulders, palms skirting over the warm, sun-kissed skin. He's so attentive to your body, studying your reactions every time he buries himself inside you, hands always searching your soft skin and committing every slope to memory. His mouth is always on you, either lightly nipping at your jaw or brushing his lips across your collarbone or kissing you to stifle his groans.
Joel usually starts slow, lets you adjust, then fucks hard, but today he notices how you seem to like it like this. You like being fucked slow. It's easy to tell—you're more relaxed and vocal underneath him. Your hips roll to match his thrusts and you're already short of breath.
"You like it like this?" he grunts, and when your eyes find his he nearly crumbles. You're entirely lost, floating. He can see it in your face. You look so soft like this, so open, that it nearly does him in. Then your lips part to answer, but nothing comes out.
"Hm? Like it nice 'n slow?" He finds your leg and pulls your knee up to press against your chest. A choked sound echoes from your throat and your eyes roll. There's something so intoxicating, having you like this, that it's making his vision swim. He can't tear his eyes away, utterly engrossed with watching how you gasp every time he fills you, how your jaw slackens with every slow roll of his hips, how your face warms and your skin glistens from the pleasure.
Oh, he likes this. He likes making you feel this good. He likes being the person to do this to you, to see you like this, so relaxed and open. And he enjoys peeling back the layers and finding out more things about you. It makes him wonder if it just feels better to be fucked slow and deep, or if there's another reason.
"Eyes on me, honey," he murmurs. His thumb and forefinger tilt your chin and your eyes flutter open. He grins and shifts his weight, deepening the angle and keeping your knee pressed firmly to your chest. The way your brows pinch together when you whine has his stomach pulling tight.
"Fuck, that's it," he groans, still holding your chin. Your mouth is ajar and your gaze is hazy but you're focused on him. Sweat beads at Joel's hairline, desperate to slam into you, to fuck you hard and fast and flip you over and do it again. But he holds firm, he maintains that slow pace, he keeps flexing his hips so he can reach the deepest parts of you because seeing you trembling and moaning so sweetly like this is something he can't resist.
"Joel," you whisper, but your voice shakes. He nods and leans in, lets his parted lips hover above yours but doesn't let them touch. Not yet.
"Doin' so good," he says softly, and when your cunt clenches in response, he says it again. "So good. Takin' it so fuckin' good, darlin'."
You whimper and claw at his shoulders, trying to draw him down. Sweat trickles down the side of his head and your chest heaves but he keeps moving, he keeps his relentless, steady pace because something about it is tearing your walls down and he's desperate to see more.
Slick pools around his length, he can feel it. He can feel the way you respond to his words, to his gentle touches, and he keeps filing it all away, reminders not only for now, but for the future, of things that you like. Or, perhaps, need.
"You're beautiful, y'know that?" he murmurs, lips centimeters from grazing your own, "so beautiful. Y'know how good it felt to have the prettiest girl in the bar next to me all night?"
It's hard to push through the fog in your brain. The pressure building low at the base of your spine is climbing. The heat in your belly is growing. Whatever he's doing and saying is scratching an itch you didn't even know you had and it's got you so far gone, you barely remember your own name. And yet, through the pleasure and praise, your mind snags on one particular piece Joel just said and your heart skips a beat.
"I—" you swallow, throat dry. "I... made you feel good?"
If the question throws him off, he doesn't show it.
"'Course you did, honey," he replies smoothly, "y'make me feel good all the time, thought you knew that."
You whine and cup your hand around the back of his neck. It's impossible to get any closer, not a sliver of light can sneak between your bodies, but you need it. You need him. And maybe later you'll be embarrassed, but not tonight.
"Again," you beg, breath fanning over his lips.
"Y'feel so good," he tells you without hesitation. He keeps moving slow, making sure you feel every inch of him. Your fingers around his neck tighten. Damp curls flop against his forehead. "You're perfect. You fit around me so well, shit—" His hips stall for a moment when you flutter around his cock, nearly pulling him over the edge. You whimper and curl your free leg around his waist. Joel pants heavily above you, and your jaw drops open more, eager to swallow down his moans. "You're gonna make me come, sweetheart," he gasps, the admission only dragging your orgasm closer to the surface.
"Please," you whisper, ignoring the sweat collecting under your bent knee, between your breasts, on the back of your neck. "Please, Joel, please..." you continue, eyes rolling back right before his mouth presses softly against yours.
Of course, he'll give you anything you want. He wants to tell you so, he wants to tell you how fucked up you have him, how much he thinks about you and how badly he wants you, but he needs to be careful. Dumping too much on you will scare you off, he's figured that much out by now. Still, the words claw up his throat, begging to push past his lips and into your mouth so you can't escape them.
When you come, it's quiet, but he feels it like an earthquake. Your body shakes, your cunt pulses, and your free hand snags on the sheets, fingers gripping the fabric so tightly it almost tears. His deep groans tumble from his mouth into yours when he follows, hips stuttering as his hand clenches around your waist, holding you still as he spills into the condom.
The kiss doesn't end until the sweat on your bodies begins to cool. He can't tear himself away, he needs this almost as badly as you. The hand on the back of his neck doesn't loosen. His hand on your waist doesn't move. Your bodies remain intertwined until a dull cramp forms in your bent leg and you wince when he slips his cock from between your thighs.
When Joel makes a move to get up, you make a soft noise of protest that tugs at his chest.
"Gotta clean up, honey," he reminds you before folding the sheets across your body to trap the heat. Your hand finally falls from his neck and he reluctantly pushes himself up. Your eyes are closed, face flushed and muscles loose. He can't stop himself from kissing your forehead before disappearing into the bathroom to take care of the condom and wash up.
When he returns, you're exactly where he left you but now you're curled up on your side under the sheets, looking content and sleepy. Joel pauses for a moment before bending down slowly to collect his clothes, but then to his relief, you speak.
"Stay?"
It's a soft mumble that makes his heart soar. He doesn't hesitate to drop his jeans and slip back into bed, under your sheets. His body curls around yours and you nuzzle tiredly against his chest. Joel tries to fight sleep as long as possible so he can soak up this feeling, but his eyelids grow heavy soon after your breathing deepens.
A strong sense of optimism washes over him before he falls asleep.
Warnings: language, drinking, reader has a lot of issues (anxiety, self doubt, traumatic past not yet explored but it's implied, panic attacks), jealousy, Joel likes bossy women, smut (18+, piv sex)
Other parts can be found here
The nerves leading up to your first date with Joel were ridiculous all week. Can you even call it a first date if you've already had sex twice? Whatever. Regardless, the spiraling and the overthinking were on another level, even for you.
It's just a beer, it's just a beer, you kept repeating to yourself. But you knew that wasn't true. For him, maybe, but for you? This was a huge step. Something you haven't done in years, and for good reason. If you still saw your therapist, you're certain she would be proud of you for doing this after everything that's happened. As you finish your makeup, you roll your eyes at yourself in the mirror, knowing exactly what she would have said if she knew you wanted her approval.
You don't need anyone's approval but your own.
Unfortunately, you've never been able to wrap your arms around that piece of advice. You still seek it out constantly.
You swipe some lipgloss on and run your fingers through your hair a few times, tilting your head back and forth until you're satisfied with how it lays before you flick off the light and head towards your kitchen.
The jeans you picked are cute, you think. Tight enough to show off your curves but not too tight that you'll be uncomfortable. The tank top is flowy with skinny straps and a little low cut. It had you second guessing if you looked too desperate, but your backup outfit was a dress and you're certain that would have looked ridiculous in the dive bar you picked. Then you forced yourself to stop overthinking it and just wear the goddamn tank top because Joel's already seen your tits anyway, so who cares?
You take a deep breath and take a long sip of water, gaze flickering anxiously to the clock on your wall. God, you're so out of practice for stuff like this, what were you thinking?
Maybe you should cancel. Fake an illness. A death in the family. No, that's too dark. Sweat begins to bead at your temples as your pulse kicks up.
This was a huge mistake. You're not ready.
Shaky fingers pick up your phone. As you're about to text him some weak excuse, there's a knock at your door and you freeze.
Shit. Too late.
Your heart is in your throat as you slowly walk down the hallway, towards your door. Every step makes the panic rise. Your vision narrows. You try to swallow but your throat's too tight.
Nothing bad is going to happen.
Numb fingers wrap around your doorknob and you tug it open.
Joel is waiting on the other side looking... great. Clean. You blink hard. You've only ever seen him working, when he's covered in sweat and dirt and wearing junk clothes. But the man before you now is freshly showered, beard is trimmed, and he's wearing some type of cologne with a hint of spice. You think you've smelled traces of it on him before but to have the full effect now is very different. It's throwing you off, making you forget about your insecurities entirely.
You're staring. You haven't said anything and you're staring at him like a crazy person. Say something.
"Uh, hi."
Brilliant. Great job.
When you lift your gaze to meet his eyes, you find you weren't the only one gawking. Joel looks speechless for once in his life as he slowly takes in your outfit. All his bravado is mysteriously missing for a minute and it's giving you a much needed ego boost.
"Those for me?" you ask smugly, pointing at the white flowers he's clutching in his fist. Finally, Joel shakes his head like he's snapping out of a trance and looks down.
"Jesus—yes, sorry darlin'."
He hands you the flowers and you grin before sniffing them and making a pleased sound. "Thank you," you say sincerely, and his expression softens.
"Welcome."
"Let me put these in water before we go," you tell him, turning on your heel and walking back into your kitchen. "You can come in if you want," you toss breezily over your shoulder. What were you so worried for?
Joel's head tilts to the side as he stares at your ass disappearing down your hall. "Like the view right here just fine," he drawls, and you shoot him a weak look of offense before slipping out of sight. When you return, he's smiling that easy smile that makes his dimple crease. It's an entirely different feeling walking towards your door the second time—the panic has been replaced with excitement. This is Joel—he's easy to talk to. He's fun. This should be a good night.
He leads you to his truck with his palm pressed firmly against your spine. It's not a controlling touch, just a gentle guide. You like it more than you care to admit.
"Did I tell you how pretty you look?" he asks after helping you into the truck. He braces one forearm above the door with a grin as you get comfortable in the passenger seat.
"You didn't," you say, looking up at him through your lashes, "but it was strongly implied."
"You sayin' you got a good read on me?" he teases.
"Like a book, Miller," you grin. He chuckles then pushes off the door before closing it and rounding the front to slide into the driver's seat. Before he shifts the truck into reverse, he breathes loudly through his nose and shakes his head.
"Wow," he whispers like he's in awe. You feel your chest warm, assuming the breathlessness in his voice was your doing.
"What?" you ask a little timidly.
He shakes his head again in disbelief, looking entirely serious when he says, "Nothin'. Just... can't believe my two girls are finally together."
You pause as you try to process what he just said.
"Your—"
"You 'n my truck."
"Oh, my god!" you groan, embarrassed you allowed yourself to think he was about to say something heartfelt in the first place. "Don't compare me to your truck. And I'm not your girl."
He throws his head back with a laugh and despite yourself, you giggle. He makes it so easy when you're together that even the drive to the bar isn't awkward. He has the radio on low and he hums along with some country tune, fingers tapping occasionally on the wheel. You let the fresh breeze from the open windows caress your skin and relax your body. Occasionally, you glance his way when he's too busy watching the road to notice. The jeans he's wearing are clean. Belt looks nicer, too. Not new, but probably the clothes he sets aside for dates or parties or any time he needs to look presentable. You like imagining what that looks like, in his house. A certain drawer housing clothes that may go untouched but a few times a year. And you like the idea of him pulling out those clothes for you.
His shirt is different, too. It's a plain black tee but it's still bright, so you know he hasn't needed to wash it much yet. On top of that is a dark green flannel, buttons open and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You can't see his boots but you hazard a guess those are nicer than the dirty work boots you're used to seeing.
Eventually he catches on and shifts in his seat.
"Wishin' you cancelled on me already?" he asks, eyes still pinned on the road.
"Not yet," you reply, leaving out your panic attack before he arrived. He doesn't need to know about all that.
He hums and casually taps his fingers against the steering wheel again, squinting as he approaches an intersection. "You go to this bar a lot?"
"I used to," you admit, gaze drifting through the windshield to gauge where you are. "Back when I was in college I came here more often than I probably should've."
"That's a relief. Thought you picked this place so yes wouldn't run into anyone you knew," he grins.
"Oh, that too," you joke smoothly, and he laughs again before slowing and throwing on his turn signal to pull into the parking lot.
Joel helps you slide out of the passenger seat. You murmur your thanks and walk side by side towards the bar.
When a jeep backs out of a parking spot, Joel immediately redirects you and places his body between yours and the car. His expression gives nothing away. He didn't do it as a performance. He just... did it. Like it's second nature, he didn't think twice. Something about it makes your pulse skip.
Even from here, you can hear the music pumping from the jukebox. A few people linger outside to smoke with beers dangling from their fingertips. They casually watch you approach and nod to you both when Joel reaches forward to open the door for you.
Inside, the bar looks the same as it always did. You think they may have fixed some of the cracked seats on the barstools but otherwise, nothing else really changed. There are still a few televisions mounted high up on the walls showing a different sporting event on each one. There are still four pool tables and a dart board tucked into the back of the room, near the bathrooms. The lighting is still dim and the crowd is still the same—a mix of college students blowing off steam and a middle aged crowd scattered amongst the bar and surrounding tables.
It's loud already at only nine at night. There's a college football game on the television above the bartender's heads that most people seem to be focused on. And as Joel leads you to the bar to order, your boots still stick to the floors just like they always did before. If it wasn't so loud, you bet you'd be able to hear them unstick with every step.
"What do you like to drink?" Joel asks after he wedges himself a spot against the bar. He pulls out his wallet and looks at you expectantly. "Wine? Some mixed drink?"
"A beer, whatever kind you're having."
He gives you a surprised look and a nod before turning back to the bar. Behind him, you awkwardly tuck your hands into the back pockets of your jeans and wait, looking around. You spot a couple empty tables near the front windows and you tap Joel's shoulder.
"I'm gonna go grab a—"
But before you can finish your sentence, a familiar face appears behind the bar. It takes you a moment to recognize him, but he clocks you right away and frowns.
"Hey! I remember you! Didn't I say you ain't allowed here anymore?"
Your eyes go wide with horror but Joel just grins easily and sets back to watch the exchange.
"No! That was—"
"Nah, it was you. You and that other girl you were always with. Gave me too many goddamn headaches. Actually—" He leans forward across the bar with a towel dangling over his shoulder. "That friend of yours never did pay me back for the pool table."
"Pool table?" Joel repeats, clearly amused. Your cheeks burn.
"Had to refelt it. Wasn't cheap."
"That wasn't me," you insist.
"Sure as shit was."
You groan and prop your hands on your hips. "C'mon, Dave. That was a long time ago and it was her heels that scratched up the felt, not mine."
Joel laughs, clearly delighted.
Dave's eyes drift slowly between you and Joel before relenting and straightening back up. But then he points a finger at you and you cower a little.
"You can stay. But none of that bullshit anymore, you hear?"
"Yes," you promise, throughly embarrassed.
Joel tilts his head towards Dave. "Two drafts. And don't worry, I'll keep an eye on her," he says. When Dave grunts and turns around to pull the tap, Joel's gaze finds yours and adds so only you can hear, "she's a good girl now."
You narrow your eyes, ignoring the arousal blooming low in your belly at the term of endearment. "Don't start," you warn.
Joel barks out a laugh and grabs the two glasses after paying. "You got alotta explain' to do," he murmurs in your ear before trailing after you to an empty table. You slide into the curved booth right in front of the window and Joel follows. The creak of the thick vinyl seats under his weight can be heard over the classic rock song pouring from the jukebox speakers. On the table is an abandoned bucket of shelled peanuts and you quickly grab one just for something to busy your hands.
"So," Joel says, twisting his body to face yours. His free arm is popped on the top of your seat as the other cups his glass on the table. You like the way he slightly curves his body around yours. "Care to explain what that was all 'bout?"
You shrug, cracking into the peanut shell. "Can't really remember. It was a lifetime ago."
"Bullshit," he laughs, "tell me. You get up to no good back in the day or what?"
You grin up at him and pop a peanut into your mouth. "Maybe."
"Yeah? And who's the other girl?"
Your throat tightens at the memory. "I don't talk to her anymore."
Joel doesn't notice your discomfort. You're better at hiding it now.
"No? Why not? She tearin' up felt in some other bar now?"
He takes a sip from his beer while you chew. "Something like that," you say, and before he can push further, you change the subject. "Have you ever gotten kicked out of a bar before?"
He rolls his eyes and sets down his beer. "Oh, Christ. Yeah. Not my fault, though."
"Oh, I'm sure."
"I mean it!"
"Likely story," you grin, and just like that, the memory of another life fades.
"It was my little brother's fault mostly," he continues, snatching up a peanut. His arm is still propped up on the seat behind you, his hand inches from the back of your neck. You melt into the seat a little so he's closer.
"You have a brother?"
He nods. "Tommy. He's... well, he thinks he's a white knight sometimes. Gets him in trouble."
"So you're the real white knight?"
Joel smirks as he chews. "That's bein' generous."
"Well, you help him out when he's in trouble, right?" you press.
"Outta obligation, not 'cause I'm some hero."
"Oh, don't think I said hero." You playfully poke him in the ribs. He flinches and grabs your hand with a flirty grin.
"Haven't even had a sip of beer and you're already gettin' handsy with me."
You roll your eyes with a smile and yank your hand out of his grip. "You're the one who's holding onto me like Velcro."
"Gotta make sure you don't end up on that pool table again, I made a promise to good ol' Dave."
"Oh, you just loved that, didn't you?"
"I did." He takes another sip of his beer and you follow suit, your eyes never leaving one another over the rims of your glasses. He sets it down and subtly shifts a little closer. "Like findin' out more 'bout you. You're a mystery, y'know that?"
"Am I?" you ask innocently before taking another drink.
"Mhm," he hums, gaze slowly dragging across your face like he's searching for something. "So far, all's I know 'bout you is you work a whole lot 'n you like that you're good at it." He rubs his chin thoughtfully for a second as you pluck another peanut from the bucket. "Well, know a few other things, too. Wouldn't wanna say it in front of mixed company, though."
You smack his shoulder and he laughs. God, his laugh is so infectious. Every time you try to keep a stern expression, you fail.
"What'd I say?" he exclaims, rubbing his shoulder with a shit eating grin.
"You know what you said," you scold, throwing the peanut at his chest.
"Hey! Meant your burnt cookies, I don't know what you're thinkin'."
"Oh, yeah right."
"Didn't wanna embarrass you," he says defensively. You look around the bar, at the oblivious patrons, and then back at him.
"I think I'll live."
There's a brief pause where neither of you say anything, but it's not uncomfortable. He doesn't stop smiling and neither do you. There's a pull between you that leaves you both feeling a little exhilarated.
"Well?" he asks you as his fingers brush gently against your hair. You find yourself drawing even closer to him, like a magnet. To distract yourself, you take another long sip from your beer before catching his eye again.
"Well... what?" you reply.
"Gonna tell me somethin' 'bout yourself or you gonna make me work harder for it?"
You grin and cross your legs under the table. Your foot nudges his leg but neither of you move.
"What do you want to know?"
Joel thinks about it over a healthy drink from his glass before setting it down with determination.
"When was your last relationship?"
You laugh, mostly to cover up the sheer panic you know would otherwise be written all over your face. You're sure of it because you can feel your blood run cold at the mere mention of your romantic past.
"Let's start with something a little less..." you trail off and Joel throws you a lifeline.
"Intense?"
You nod. "Yeah. Intense."
"Alright," he says easily, entirely unbothered by you dodging the question. "You got any family?"
That's easier. You tell him about growing up with your parents and sister just outside of Austin. It was a normal childhood, by all accounts. It wasn't until the last few years when you grew apart. You leave that out and focus on the good times, before you grew up. You tell him about your sister who went to school in London and ended up falling in love with her classmate and getting married out there. How you only visited her twice but it was a beautiful city and you want to go again one day.
"What's keepin' you from seein' her?"
"Work, I guess."
Joel tsks. "Shocker."
"I know," you grin.
The way he's looking at you is making your stomach flip. He's so genuine and warm and funny... he's making it very hard to resist his charm.
"What are you thinkin' 'bout?" he asks. His gaze is heavier than before and it feels like yours is the same. At some point, your legs pressed together under the table and neither of you made the effort to separate them.
"I was thinking you clean up pretty nice," you tease softly. Then your fingers pluck at his open flannel, giving the fabric a playful tug.
Joel chuckles. "You, too. Still don't mind that flimsy robe of yours, though."
"That was my back up outfit."
"Would've gotten kicked outta here a second time for that," Joel grins, dipping his chin down. He's so close he hardly has to raise his voice over the music.
"What makes you think I've only been kicked out once?" The heat of his body surrounds you: his arm across the back of your seat, his leg against yours under the table, his mouth mere inches away from your own. If you wanted, you could kiss him right now. Maybe you should.
There's a low rumble that comes from his chest and his eyes grow darker. "And here I just got done vouchin' for what a good girl you are," he murmurs. "You gonna make a liar outta me?"
Your hand finds his leg and he breathes in sharp when you slowly curl your fingers along the inside of his thigh.
"What can I say?" you sigh, lips barely grazing his mouth. "Sometimes I'm trouble."
He groans and leans in, closing those last remaining centimeters with a slow, firm kiss. It's not messy or passionate, but it doesn't have to be. Even without tasting his tongue, you're still ready to crawl into his lap right here and now. Your fingers on his thigh tighten and his mouth parts ever so slightly, just enough for you each to take a breath before your lips slot together once again. The hand that's been taking up residence on top of your seat is now cupping your cheek, his thumb is swiping gently along your jaw, and it's so intense and sweet at the same time that you're dizzy with need and something else you can't quite admit yet.
The loud sound of billiard balls cracking together across the bar pull you out of it, but just barely. His forehead presses against yours after the kiss is broken and you each draw in a deep breath, clearing away the clouds of desire that took over your better judgement for a few weak moments.
"I'll go get us a couple more," he finally murmurs, pointing to your empty glasses when he inevitably leans back in his seat. His cheeks look a little pink and you have to stifle a smile behind your hand.
"You don't have to—" you start to say, but he cuts you off.
"If I don't get up right now, I'll end us gettin' us both banned for life," he winks, and your face flushes with heat as you laugh. Joel stands with your glasses and begins to weave his way towards the bar.
You prop your elbow on the table and rest your chin in your hand as you watch him from your booth. His back is to you so you feel free to let your gaze linger over his rugged frame, broad shoulders, and dark hair. He's so insanely sexy, just leaning against the bar so casually with that flannel exposing his strong, tanned forearms and his jeans hugging his waist just right. It almost isn't fair how good he looks, how well he fits in. Where's the flaw? What's the catch with Joel? Nobody looks as good as him and has a fun personality. You already know he's great in bed, so it's not that, either.
Stop it. You're doing it again. Stop looking for problems.
You pinch the bridge of your nose and shake loose the invasive thoughts. It's easier with a beer in your system to let that go and relax, but when your gaze settles back on Joel at the bar, another unexpected intense feeling flares up: jealousy. Because at some point in the last thirty seconds when you looked away, a very young and very blonde college girl sporting a mini skirt and cowboy boots has found a spot next to Joel at the bar and appears to be getting just a little too close for your liking.
Your lips press together as you watch, studying her body language like a hawk. She's leaning forward and saying something to Joel, then her perfectly manicured finger points to something. He glances over and plucks some napkins out of a dispenser and hands them over with a polite smile, but she's not done. She appears to be extremely grateful. She leans forward again, expressing her thanks while gently placing a hand on his arm, conveniently giving him a generous view of her cleavage.
Anger drips heavier in your veins with each bat of her fake eyelashes and every high pitched giggle that reaches your ears. You can tell Joel is trying to limit his interactions with her while still being polite, but she's not taking the hint and fucking Dave is ignoring that side of the bar entirely.
He's not your boyfriend, you have to remind yourself. But he is your date. So how much longer do you allow this to go on before doing something?
When she leans in to whisper something in his ear that makes him jerk backwards and laugh awkwardly, you get your answer. Enough is enough.
Joel's face is red as you approach from behind, and when you get closer you can hear him stammering something while the blonde watches him like a siren: all lust filled eyes with a seductive smile.
"Hey, baby," you breathe, stepping between them. You can see the discomfort in his expression, one that slips into a mix of fear and relief when his eyes settle on you. He opens his mouth, either to explain or reply, but you cut him off when you clutch his shirt and yank him down for an obnoxiously deep kiss. You make sure to moan a little so the blonde behind you hears, then you let him go with a breathless laugh.
"I missed you. What's taking so long?" you ask innocently while swiping some of your lip gloss from the corner of his mouth. Joel's eyes are wide with shock until he figures out your game, then they soften with a knowing smile.
"Busy up here. And this young lady was askin' for help," he says, jutting his chin over your shoulder. He doesn't tear his gaze away from you, though, and you like that.
Slowly, you turn to face the blonde, who is doing her best to act innocuous. You give her a smile while dropping your hand, possessively slipping your fingers between Joel's. You lazily size her up and down, then tilt your head to the side.
"Is there something we can help you with?" you ask sweetly, leaning against Joel's chest. You know you're laying it on thick and so does he. You can feel the rumble of laughter through your back and you grin.
"Uh, no," she replies with a tight smile of her own, "he was just telling me which whiskey is best."
"Oh!" you blink with surprise while Joel murmurs your order to Dave across the bar. "You're old enough to drink?"
Joel says your name softly in your ear, a light warning.
The blonde narrows her eyes at you, the mask shifting ever so slightly. "Yes. In fact, it's my birthday."
"Oh, happy birthday," you gush. Joel's fingers flex around your own. "Don't tell me you're celebrating all by yourself?" You plaster on a cheesy smile while the blonde flicks her perfectly curled hair over her shoulder to gesture to a table near the darts.
"No, my friends are over there."
When she turns back to you, your smile drops and the sweetness from your voice is gone.
"Good. You should probably go join them."
A subtle threat is laced in your tone and the blonde picks up on it easily. She slips off the stool and straightens her skirt, offers Joel a cordial wave, and disappears into the crowd.
"Goddamn," Joel chuckles after you turn around, dropping his hand with a glare.
"What did she say to you?"
"What? When?"
"You know when," you snap, "your face was red as a tomato."
Joel smirks and swipes his palm over his mouth with a shrug. "Said it was her birthday but she wanted to take me to the bathroom 'n give me a gift."
Your jaw drops. "That fucking—"
You spin back in her direction, rage boiling over, when Joel snags your arm. "Darlin', easy, a man can only get so hard."
"We got a problem here?" Dave asks, loudly setting down two beers with a scowl. You straighten up and try to unclench your jaw.
"No," you seethe.
"Good." His eyes shift wearily between you and Joel, then juts a finger in your direction. "I'm watchin' you."
You roll your eyes and grab your beer, too pissed to care.
"One foot outta line—" Dave warns Joel, and Joel waves him off before grabbing the other beer.
"Yeah, yeah. I got it."
He rushes after you, looping an arm around your waist and tugging you into his side.
"You're full'a surprises," he murmurs in your ear.
You scoff and slide into the booth, still too angry to think about much else, and take a long sip from your beer and Joel joins you.
"Does that happen often?" you ask with an edge to your voice.
"No," he says, "took me by surprise. I was tryin' to be nice." His arm resumes its post on the top of your seat and his other hand finds a home on your leg. His fingers squeeze a little as he inches forward while you take another angry gulp from your glass to settle the adrenaline. "Can I tell you a secret?" he asks, dipping low so his lips graze your ear. You find yourself leaning closer and the rage pumping through your veins begins to slow.
"What?" you reply, trying to maintain your scowl, but you're failing. Your brows cannot stay furrowed tonight.
Joel smirks and something dangerous shifts behind his eyes. "That was pretty fuckin' sexy, what you did," he admits, and despite yourself, your chest fills with pride. "Never had someone do somethin' like that for me."
"Try not to get a big head over it," you tease with a smile. The last of your anger dissipates and you poke him gently in the ribs.
"Oh, too late for that, honey," Joel laughs. He curls his body inwards more so you can feel that heat again and the hand on your thigh slides up slowly before reaching for your wrist. There's a familiar pull between your legs almost immediately from his touch.
His fingers delicately hold your wrist in your lap before he shifts in his seat and suspiciously glances around the bar. You're confused until he subtly moves your palm to the front of his jeans and you suck in a sharp breath when you feel him, hot and rock hard behind his zipper.
"Joel—"
"Wasn't kiddin'," he whispers in your ear before his lips find a sensitive spot on your throat. You bite your lip and try to ignore the warmth pooling between your thighs, but it's impossible. The gentle graze of his mouth raises the temperature of your skin and without thinking, your hand presses forward. You feel him twitch under your palm and your eyelids flutter in a desperate attempt to remain present and aware of your surroundings.
"Joel..." you try again, but your voice is merely a whisper. Still, he hums in acknowledgement, but his mouth is busy trailing down your neck. You swallow hard. "As fun as it was the other times, I'd really like to not get kicked out of here again tonight."
He makes a disappointed noise before reluctantly pulling back. Your hand falls from his lap to his leg as you stare at one another, tension thick.
"Sorry," he murmurs, voice strained. His heavy gaze drags slowly across your face, both of you equally flushed, hearts pumping wildly in your chests. Then he grins. "I really do wanna know more 'bout you, I swear it."
"I know," you giggle, tension breaking a bit.
"Can't seem to help myself when you get all pissed off," he continues, running his fingers through his hair. "You're doin' somethin' crazy to me, darlin'."
You laugh again, hiding behind your hair. You're not ready to admit it, but he's certainly doing something to you, too.
"Okay," you take a deep breath so as to fight through the veil of arousal clinging to your body, "what, uh... what movies do you like?"
The next hour or so carries on like that. Ten minutes of harmless questions, a joke here or there, and inevitably one of you finds a reason to touch the other. The tension builds again until you snap out of it and then the cycle repeats itself.
It's the beer, you think. It's making you both a little too relaxed. That's the only reasonable explaination for the unusually spectacular date. The connection feels strong because the beer is strong. That's all.
After you finish your drinks and the bar fills up with a much more rowdy crowd, Joel suggests heading out. As disappointed as you are for the night to end, you agree and stand to follow him hand in hand through the throngs of people laughing and milling around on the dance floor. It's only when you're a few feet away from the door that Joel stops and turns to you with a grin.
"Guess I wasn't that special," he says loudly over the music, then nods towards a dark booth in the corner. Your gaze follows and you burst out laughing when you spot a shock of familiar blonde hair all over some guy a few years younger than Joel.
"Sorry she broke your heart," you giggle, stumbling out of the bar side by side. Both hands curl around his bicep as you walk through the parking lot wearing matching grins.
"I'll survive," he jokes, fishing the keys out of his pocket. The music from the jukebox is fading behind you. Laughter and glasses clinking thin with every step. Instead, you begin to hear the soothing sound of crickets chirping from the nearby grass. You're silent for a minute, letting the quiet settle around you like a blanket. It's peaceful and you tip your chin up to gaze at the stars, knowing Joel won't let you trip.
"Wanna walk for a bit?" he asks once his truck is in view. Your eyes tear away from the inky night sky to look at him.
"Sure. Are you not good to drive?"
"Nah, ain't that," he says, grinning at you with that dimple. "Just don't want the night to end yet."
"Oh," you breathe, then hide your shy smile by pretending to study something imaginary across the street.
Your hands fall from his bicep and he laces his fingers between yours as you walk down the cracked sidewalk. You pass restaurants, mostly pizza and fast food places with later hours to accommodate the bar patrons. On the corner is a theater that just let out and your gaze drifts up to read the marquee.
"Oh, that one's supposed to be good," you murmur. Joel reads it and nods.
"Wanna see it next weekend?"
He says it so easily, so casually, that he has you agreeing without even missing that awkward step that typically comes after a first date, the one that has both sides wondering if it went as well as you thought and if it would lead to anything more. Joel decides to eliminate all doubt before the night is even over. He's so smooth about it that you wouldn't know for sure if he was as excited as you if you didn't happen to catch the smile stretched across his face before he swiped his palm over his mouth to hide it.
Eventually, you come to the riverwalk. It's such a calm atmosphere: lights from underneath the railings brighten your path, there's mostly couples strolling quietly along that give you an occasional nod and you smile to yourself when teenagers go racing by on bikes or scooters. Joel doesn't lead you that far, otherwise it will take forever to eventually get back to his truck, so instead he finds a secluded spot with a view and leans against the railing on his forearms. You follow his lead but shiver when the metal railing touches your skin. He notices and immediately shrugs off his flannel, draping it around your shoulders.
"Thank you," you murmur, sliding your arms into the sleeves. The heat from his body is still in the fabric. His scent clings to the fibers and it makes you a little hazy with want to have his shirt engulfing you like this because it's reminding you of the way his body felt folded around you while pummeling you from behind.
When you catch his eye, you think you see the same flash of lust there, but he averts his gaze to the water too quickly.
"Don't come here at night often," he says. The light breeze slips through his hair and it makes you want to run your fingers through it.
"Me, either," you admit, "it's nice."
Despite just wearing a short sleeved shirt now, you still feel the heat rolling off his body. You lean a little closer and watch the water lazily roll under the walkway towards the shore.
"Was it as bad as you thought it'd be?"
You glance sideways at him when he asks the question.
"What?"
He shrugs, eyes still scanning the scenery. "Tonight. Our date."
"Oh," you laugh, "I had a great time. I didn't think it would be bad."
"No?"
He shifts a little, body angling more towards you now. You do the same, leaving one arm on the railing for support and you shake your head.
Joel smiles. "Good. The way you kept makin' excuses when I'd ask before had me wonderin' if it was me."
Guilt blooms a little in your chest. "No," you tell him softly, "it's definitely not because of you."
He gives you a few moments to elaborate but you don't. He doesn't ask, either, which you appreciate. And he doesn't make you feel bad for not sharing. It's almost frustratingly perfect.
You stay there a little longer, shoulders pressed together as you stare at the view and people watch whoever happens to walk by. Your fingers lace together at some point and you only let go halfway back to his truck when he buys you both ice cream.
"Shit," he grumbles when he sees how good your strawberry cone looks. You raise an eyebrow at him while taking a generous lick.
"Buyer's remorse?"
"No," he says stubbornly after tasting his butter pecan. "It's an underrated flavor."
"I'm sure it is."
You walk a few minutes in silence, past the theater again, which is now closed. With your ice cream half gone, Joel crumbles.
"Lemme try yours."
"No! I told you you should have gotten a different one."
You take a stubborn lick of your ice cream and Joel pouts. "I'll give you some of mine," he offers, holding out his cone. You shake your head.
"No, thanks. This is perfect."
Less than a minute goes by with Joel side-eyeing you until he can't take it anymore and he suddenly lunges, trying to grab a lick of your ice cream, but you yank it away just in time.
"Stop!" you squeal, giggling when he tries and fails again. A crowd of drunk twenty-something year olds stumble past in the opposite direction, loudly swearing at one another and cracking lewd jokes, but neither of you notice because Joel figures out a way to get what he wants by pressing you up against the brick wall of a pizza parlor and kissing you so deeply that the entire world around you fades.
"Mmm," he hums, licking his lips after he breaks the kiss. You're lucky you're still clutching your ice cream in your right hand because you almost forget where you are when his body is pressed against yours like this and the faint taste of butter pecan mixed with strawberry lingers on your tongue.
"It's good," he confirms, then thinks about it for a moment before a sly smile stretches across his face. "Can't decide if it's better than mine. Lemme taste it again—"
Your laugh gets cut short by another kiss, but this time you're somewhat prepared. His beard scratches against your lips and chin and you're quickly becoming addicted to the burn, but it's nothing compared to the way his mouth moves against yours, the firm yet soft seal of his kiss, the measured swipe of his tongue behind your teeth, the gentle way he cups your face.
The way Joel Miller kisses is utterly euphoric.
When he pulls away, you have to stifle a whine of protest for your own dignity, but his hand still cradles your cheek as he smiles down at you.
"What do you think?" he asks softly. You're not sure what he means. What do you think about... the kiss? The weather? The president's latest cabinet pick?
"I think..." you pant, heavy eyes dropping to his mouth. Your thumb swipes under his lower lip and you swear he leans forward. "I think it's an underrated flavor," you finish, gaze darting up at him playfully. He smirks.
"Told ya."
The ice cream is gone by the time you wander back to the bar parking lot. Based on the noise filtering from the open door, it sounds like it got much busier since you left. A few motorcycles rumble into the parking lot behind you and Joel tucks you protectively into his side even though there's no chance of them coming anywhere close enough to hitting you.
When he opens the passenger door, he helps you hop in. His hand lingers on your waist a little longer than necessary and you grin.
"Do you want your flannel back?" you ask him. He shakes his head.
"Looks better on you."
Your cheeks warm from the compliment and in the brief moment you have to yourself after he shuts the door, you drag in a loud, steadying breath to calm your nerves. Why are you so nervous anyway? You've already slept with him twice. Yet somehow, being on this date with him feels so much more vulnerable than being naked.
On the drive back to your house, you try your best to keep the conversation light, but it's hard when his hand rests so comfortably on your thigh. All you can think about is dragging him into your house, back into your bed, because the tension that's been ebbing and flowing all evening is making you feel like you may implode.
"How much longer do you have next door?" you ask him at some point. His fingers tighten around the denim of your jeans as he makes a turn, one handed.
"'Bout a week or two."
You hum and keep looking out your window, fingers itching to touch him.
"Then what?"
"Puttin' on an addition for a family who's expectin' a baby in a few months," he tells you. "Spot's over in my neck of the woods, couple streets over."
"Where do you live?" you ask, a little ashamed you haven't asked before.
"Off Rossler, in a little cul-de-sac," he says. You map it out in your head.
"That's not too far from me."
"'Bout fifteen minutes."
"And do you live alone?"
Joel laughs. "You askin' if I got a secret family or somethin'?"
You can't help but grin in return. "I mean, I'd hope not, but you never know."
"Well, I don't. But Tommy'll be comin' to stay for a couple weeks pretty soon. He's in the army and he'll be home on leave."
That surprises you. "I thought you said he's a trouble maker?"
"That I did."
"Hmm," is all you say in response. A comfortable silence falls between you, only to be broken once Joel turns onto your street.
"I like spendin' time with you," he says abruptly. Your gaze skirts to the side in surprise when you hear the earnestness in his voice. "I know you said you don't really do relationships but I want you to know, I don't plan on seein' anyone else."
Joel removes his hand from your thigh so he can properly turn into your driveway, allowing you a chance to process what he's just said. When he shifts the truck into park and nervously glances in your direction, you realize you've taken too long to formulate a response.
"I like spending time with you, too," you say softly. The corner of his mouth lifts and he looks straight ahead, turning the key in the ignition. The headlights blink off, casting your driveway into darkness.
"Lemme walk you up," he tells you before popping open his door and sliding out of his seat. His boots hit the fine gravel and you hear the soft crunch under his weight before his door shuts and you're left in momentary silence. Your eyes track him rounding the front of his truck and you smile as you unbuckle your seatbelt.
You should just thank him for tonight. Maybe give him a chaste kiss. Tell him you're looking forward to next weekend. But you know you can't leave it at just that. It's almost laughable now as you breathlessly ask him to come inside as one hand fumbles with your lock, unable to focus when his mouth is pressed against your throat and his hands are squeezing your hips.
Somehow you manage to both kick off your shoes and push your door shut, even with your mouths seared together in a heated kiss. You mumble the hollow offer of a drink against his lips and as expected, he just shakes his head and pushes you down your hallway, mouth barely giving you a reprieve.
"You look so good," he growls, yanking the collar of his flannel down to expose one of your shoulders. Your breath stutters as you blindly navigate your bedroom, the sharp press of his lips over your skin sending shocks of arousal throughout your entire body.
Calloused fingers gently slip the thin strap of your tank top down next and the flowy material gives way, nearly exposing one breast. Joel helps it the rest of the way, curling his fingers underneath and pulling it down so his warm mouth can cover your nipple with a groan. The backs of your thighs bump against your mattress and you fall back, leaving Joel standing at the edge of your bed with his mouth open while you scoot backwards.
"You coming?" you tease before lifting your shirt over your head and tossing it onto your floor, joining the flannel.
"Not yet," Joel says back, and you giggle before his body folds forward, covering yours. Excited fingers find the soft waves styled on the back of his head and he kisses you again, stealing your breath when your nipples peak and graze against the fabric of his shirt.
"Been thinkin' 'bout this all night," he confesses with one more wet kiss before his lips drag down your jaw. "Been half hard since I picked you up."
You groan and arch your back, lifting your hips off the bed. His hand finds the button to your jeans and he undoes them in a heartbeat, zipper following soon after. Instead of tugging the denim down your legs, his hand delves down, greedy fingers seeking out your pussy and groaning deep when he finds you wet and aching for him.
The pad of his middle finger drags slow and firm over your clit and you moan, holding his face against your throat in a death grip. You're so sensitive from the buildup all evening that your body feels like a coil ready to snap.
Joel only gives you a few long, teasing strokes before he removes his hand and sits back on his knees to pull your jeans down. You eagerly assist, breathlessly lifting your hips and straightening your legs until they're left somewhere at the foot of your bed. You watch, heat licking up your spine as he strips off his shirt and starts to work on his pants. The arousing sound of his belt buckle clinking in the otherwise quiet room makes you shiver with anticipation. Joel sees it and smirks.
"Dyin' for it, ain't you?"
"Shut up," you whisper, eyes glued to the way he pushes his pants down and off, leaving him in only a plain pair of black boxer briefs.
"Mm, there she is," he breathes with a crooked grin. You roll your eyes.
"Get over here," you tell him, and his body jolts forward, eager to obey, but then he stops.
"Just one thing first," he says, bending forward at your waist. His lips find your hip and his beard drags slowly across your skin, distracting you from his hands pulling down your panties until you feel the cool air of your bedroom between your legs. Your eyes flutter closed under his gentle kisses and you almost forget where you are until his broad shoulders nudge your thighs apart and he settles his weight between your legs.
"Wha—what are you doing?" Your thighs tense when his hands glide up to hold them open.
"Wanna taste you," he says, voice low and thick. "Wanna make you feel good."
"No, that's okay," you tell him. Your throat tightens as the panic begins to rise.
"It's okay, just relax." His voice is soft and you jump when his thumbs spread you open. You can feel his exhale fan over your wetness and your muscles seize.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to," he smirks, "been thinkin' 'bout it for weeks."
When his mouth dips to taste you, you fist his hair and yank him up. You might have been a little too harsh based on the surprised look on his face.
"Sorry," you whisper shakily, "just... I'd rather not."
Something passes over his face that makes your stomach twist with guilt and you let go of his hair.
"It's not you," you assure him, "I—I just really want you to fuck me."
He scans your face and you can tell immediately he doesn't buy it, but thankfully he lets it go. He pushes himself onto his hands and crawls up to hover over your body and you relax instantly.
"Alright, honey," he says soothingly, "alright. Lemme take care of you, then."
Joel doesn't let your weird moment ruin the mood and you're eternally grateful for it. When his lips press firmly against yours and his weight settles between your hips, all is forgotten for at least the night. But something tells you the topic is only tabled, not dismissed entirely.
Desperate hands push blindly at the band of his boxers and you can feel him smirk against your lips.
"Take these off," you hiss, nipping impatiently at his chin.
"So fuckin' pushy," he chuckles before eventually helping slide the boxers down his legs.
"I know what I want," you reply with a pleased look as you watch him finally free his cock. You widen your thighs and reach for him, circling your fist slowly around his girth and giving him a few measured strokes. His eyelids flutter under your touch and it gives you a little rush, having him quite literally in the palm of your hand.
"Hang on." He sounds a little breathless when your hips tilt and the tip of his cock brushes against your folds. You bite your lip and pout when he shoos your hand away.
"What?"
He slides off the bed and searches for his wallet, wordlessly answering your question when he plucks a condom from somewhere in the depths of the leather and shows it to you like a prize.
The frustrated noise you make is involuntary, but Joel reacts to it all the same.
"I was over nine pounds when I was born," he tells you, tearing the foil and rolling the condom carefully down his length. His eyes flicker up to you and he tuts. "Ain't gonna do that to you, darlin'."
"God!" you exclaim, covering your face. "Don't put that image in my head right before you fuck me."
Joel just laughs and shuffles forward on his knees. His long fingers curl around your thighs, holding your hips wide. When you feel his cock nudge against your opening, your hands fall from your face with an eager gasp.
"Yeah, thought that's all it'd take," he murmurs, pushing forward just an inch. Your head drops back into the pillows with a moan. "First taste of this cock's got that smart mouth makin' sweet noises for me, ain't that right?"
"Asshole," you breathe, arching off the bed when he feeds you a few more inches. Joel chuckles again and leans down, mouthing at your jaw, then throat, then breasts until he's fully sheathed inside you with a relieved sigh. He spots an old hickey he left half faded on your skin and his lips seal around it, sucking on the skin to deepen the mark, to stake his claim.
"Fuck," you whisper, fingers rising to get lost in his hair. He grunts a little when your nails rake gently over his scalp. Then his hips withdraw just so he can slowly sink back into your cunt.
"So wet," he groans, eyes squeezing shut. "Feel so goddamn good, drives me fuckin' crazy."
You preen at the praise and let your hands fall to his strong shoulders, palms skirting over the warm, sun-kissed skin. He's so attentive to your body, studying your reactions every time he buries himself inside you, hands always searching your soft skin and committing every slope to memory. His mouth is always on you, either lightly nipping at your jaw or brushing his lips across your collarbone or kissing you to stifle his groans.
Joel usually starts slow, lets you adjust, then fucks hard, but today he notices how you seem to like it like this. You like being fucked slow. It's easy to tell—you're more relaxed and vocal underneath him. Your hips roll to match his thrusts and you're already short of breath.
"You like it like this?" he grunts, and when your eyes find his he nearly crumbles. You're entirely lost, floating. He can see it in your face. You look so soft like this, so open, that it nearly does him in. Then your lips part to answer, but nothing comes out.
"Hm? Like it nice 'n slow?" He finds your leg and pulls your knee up to press against your chest. A choked sound echoes from your throat and your eyes roll. There's something so intoxicating, having you like this, that it's making his vision swim. He can't tear his eyes away, utterly engrossed with watching how you gasp every time he fills you, how your jaw slackens with every slow roll of his hips, how your face warms and your skin glistens from the pleasure.
Oh, he likes this. He likes making you feel this good. He likes being the person to do this to you, to see you like this, so relaxed and open. And he enjoys peeling back the layers and finding out more things about you. It makes him wonder if it just feels better to be fucked slow and deep, or if there's another reason.
"Eyes on me, honey," he murmurs. His thumb and forefinger tilt your chin and your eyes flutter open. He grins and shifts his weight, deepening the angle and keeping your knee pressed firmly to your chest. The way your brows pinch together when you whine has his stomach pulling tight.
"Fuck, that's it," he groans, still holding your chin. Your mouth is ajar and your gaze is hazy but you're focused on him. Sweat beads at Joel's hairline, desperate to slam into you, to fuck you hard and fast and flip you over and do it again. But he holds firm, he maintains that slow pace, he keeps flexing his hips so he can reach the deepest parts of you because seeing you trembling and moaning so sweetly like this is something he can't resist.
"Joel," you whisper, but your voice shakes. He nods and leans in, lets his parted lips hover above yours but doesn't let them touch. Not yet.
"Doin' so good," he says softly, and when your cunt clenches in response, he says it again. "So good. Takin' it so fuckin' good, darlin'."
You whimper and claw at his shoulders, trying to draw him down. Sweat trickles down the side of his head and your chest heaves but he keeps moving, he keeps his relentless, steady pace because something about it is tearing your walls down and he's desperate to see more.
Slick pools around his length, he can feel it. He can feel the way you respond to his words, to his gentle touches, and he keeps filing it all away, reminders not only for now, but for the future, of things that you like. Or, perhaps, need.
"You're beautiful, y'know that?" he murmurs, lips centimeters from grazing your own, "so beautiful. Y'know how good it felt to have the prettiest girl in the bar next to me all night?"
It's hard to push through the fog in your brain. The pressure building low at the base of your spine is climbing. The heat in your belly is growing. Whatever he's doing and saying is scratching an itch you didn't even know you had and it's got you so far gone, you barely remember your own name. And yet, through the pleasure and praise, your mind snags on one particular piece Joel just said and your heart skips a beat.
"I—" you swallow, throat dry. "I... made you feel good?"
If the question throws him off, he doesn't show it.
"'Course you did, honey," he replies smoothly, "y'make me feel good all the time, thought you knew that."
You whine and cup your hand around the back of his neck. It's impossible to get any closer, not a sliver of light can sneak between your bodies, but you need it. You need him. And maybe later you'll be embarrassed, but not tonight.
"Again," you beg, breath fanning over his lips.
"Y'feel so good," he tells you without hesitation. He keeps moving slow, making sure you feel every inch of him. Your fingers around his neck tighten. Damp curls flop against his forehead. "You're perfect. You fit around me so well, shit—" His hips stall for a moment when you flutter around his cock, nearly pulling him over the edge. You whimper and curl your free leg around his waist. Joel pants heavily above you, and your jaw drops open more, eager to swallow down his moans. "You're gonna make me come, sweetheart," he gasps, the admission only dragging your orgasm closer to the surface.
"Please," you whisper, ignoring the sweat collecting under your bent knee, between your breasts, on the back of your neck. "Please, Joel, please..." you continue, eyes rolling back right before his mouth presses softly against yours.
Of course, he'll give you anything you want. He wants to tell you so, he wants to tell you how fucked up you have him, how much he thinks about you and how badly he wants you, but he needs to be careful. Dumping too much on you will scare you off, he's figured that much out by now. Still, the words claw up his throat, begging to push past his lips and into your mouth so you can't escape them.
When you come, it's quiet, but he feels it like an earthquake. Your body shakes, your cunt pulses, and your free hand snags on the sheets, fingers gripping the fabric so tightly it almost tears. His deep groans tumble from his mouth into yours when he follows, hips stuttering as his hand clenches around your waist, holding you still as he spills into the condom.
The kiss doesn't end until the sweat on your bodies begins to cool. He can't tear himself away, he needs this almost as badly as you. The hand on the back of his neck doesn't loosen. His hand on your waist doesn't move. Your bodies remain intertwined until a dull cramp forms in your bent leg and you wince when he slips his cock from between your thighs.
When Joel makes a move to get up, you make a soft noise of protest that tugs at his chest.
"Gotta clean up, honey," he reminds you before folding the sheets across your body to trap the heat. Your hand finally falls from his neck and he reluctantly pushes himself up. Your eyes are closed, face flushed and muscles loose. He can't stop himself from kissing your forehead before disappearing into the bathroom to take care of the condom and wash up.
When he returns, you're exactly where he left you but now you're curled up on your side under the sheets, looking content and sleepy. Joel pauses for a moment before bending down slowly to collect his clothes, but then to his relief, you speak.
"Stay?"
It's a soft mumble that makes his heart soar. He doesn't hesitate to drop his jeans and slip back into bed, under your sheets. His body curls around yours and you nuzzle tiredly against his chest. Joel tries to fight sleep as long as possible so he can soak up this feeling, but his eyelids grow heavy soon after your breathing deepens.
A strong sense of optimism washes over him before he falls asleep.
summary. there's finally peace in nevarro. this allows you to settle with your little family at the outskirts of what once was a bounty hunter hive, and with a break from missions, it leaves too much free time. ╱ 3k
warnings/tags. +18 (minors dni), pwp, p. in v., creampie (are condoms a thing in space?), oral (f. receiving), sensory deprivation, sub!din (he's so important to me), switch!reader, the helmet stays ON, they're so in love with each other ew ew ew
note. this comes both from a place of love as a place of lust for my favorite awkward tin can! having seen the movie twice + re-watched the series, i think it's finally time i write for the first ppcu character i knew he played (the first canonically would be maxwell lord but i didn't know it was my husband and made fun of him/the spanish dub with my bro, anyway💔). #marilore: see, my dad bought disney+ in the pandemic because he heard abt this new tv show and star wars it's our thing: we're geeks since forever! he made me star wars pilled since i was born. how would i know i'd fall down the pedro rabbit hole with tlou +2 yrs later and then stan after watching gladiator II randomly one morning i decided to skip class. this thing got too long lmao bye (i just love to talk about myself!)
If someone told you how much things would change around, you'd laugh in their faces.
Nevarro? The place that was nothing more but a meet-up for the Bounty Hunters' Guild? Now being anything other than that?
A home.
And if they told you that wouldn't be the only thing to change, well, what would you expect?
Certainly not the famed Mandalorian being that home for you.
Once rivals at work, then hasty allies due to unforeseen complications involving a certain little green alien. Among the stars and the quietness his stoic nature provided, you found a place within the beats of a heart that had just learn how to feel again. Where before stood nothing but darkness, a body on auto-pilot, now lay a man who you could read: in his pauses and stances, in the tilt of his helmet, in the slight cracks of his voice if an emotion was hard to hide under beskar and indifference.
The Mandalorian, living legend, was more than the beskar warrior that had defeated Moff Gideon and wielded the Darksaber: underneath, he was Din Djarin, your lover.
And you, the Guild's second best: who kept winning his jobs, who he once deemed annoying and reckless. Who almost put once his life to end if it wasn't for Grogu changing your heart. Now his cyar'ika.
The universe worked in mysterious ways: the way fate had intertwined your lives with duty and heart, a soul and warrior pride. A house, a baby to raise as one of your kind.
The very same one that's cooing right now as you play with his hands.
"We should definitely get him a bed"
Din's head turns around, stopping whatever task he had in his hands.
"He likes to sleep on the floor"
You gasp. "Why are you talking about him as if he was a Massiff? That's your son!"
He returns his attention to the gun he was cleaning, losing interest in the conversation. "Then Grogu can sleep on the bed with us"
You carry up Grogu before walking up to him, forcing him to turn by his shoulder.
"He'll eventually grow it out"
"It'll take years, probably centuries. Didn't you hear the Jedi?"
"I did, I'm not deaf. Maybe you are, or just empty brained"
To prove said point, you knock on his helmet. The beskar makes an echoing sound that bounces off the walls.
"Stop" Din warns, although his voice sounds remotely angry. Bothered, if anything.
No matter the love, some things don't change: him finding your antics annoying.
"Do you want your son to remember how stingy you were?" you balance him on your hip, "How daddy didn't spare a few credits for a decent crib?"
You raise Grogu to his face, aligning it with his visor. The child babbles, as if he truly understands the role he has to play.
"How can you say no to that cute face?" you taunt with a baby voice, moving Grogu. "To those cute big eyes and large ears?"
He stands up. "Put him down. You're going to drop it"
You narrow your eyes. Then, pretend to. Din instantly goes alert-mode, arms raised and ready to catch him.
"It's not funny"
"You're not fun"
He sighs, probably rolling his eyes under the helmet.
"You're such a child, cyar'ika"
You turn Grogu to look at you, his big eyes rooted in your face as he giggles.
"That makes us two, eh?"
Without telling you, Din proceeds to take him from your hold.
"Hey!"
"It's time he rests" It's all he says, walking towards the bed.
You cross your arms. "You just did that to take him away from me"
He gives his back to you, focused on Grogu and his fingers wrapped around his.
"Maybe"
You huff. "I'm going to cook something. For me"
Din doesn't grant you a reply this time.
"Suit yourself" you bite back.
The thing about being rivals for about two decades, is the petty banter never seemed to die out.
It's rarely serious, probably only when you chastise his suicidal tendencies when he's piloting, so of course it doesn't last.
Which is why he's right now coming from behind you, hand on your waist. Din wasn't much into physical contact as he was into proving his love through actions, so any small touch was highly appreciated by you.
"He fell asleep"
You stirr the pot, "In the floor or the bed?"
His reply is curt, "Floor"
You sometimes forget he's not much of a talker.
"You're bent on proving your point" you flicker his signet, "stubborn as a Mudhorn once they pick up a fight"
"Maybe..." his voice dwindles, not before going out with a rasp. You recognize the pattern of his breathing, the way it hitches, "...maybe I wanted the bed to be free"
You turn the stove off and take a better look at him, desperately wishing to see his face.
The last time you saw it, he did it for Grogu. You understood, but can't say it didn't sting even a bit.
Would his eyes be a darker shade, crowded with lust? Would he sport a grin or a smirk? Is he looking at you with desire, with need? And where those same lips still as kissable as they looked that day? Would they eat you, devour, like a starved man if he let you see? Leave marks; bites, to show everyone around what to him belonged?
"That's raw" he whispers, voice croaking.
Your voice breaks, too.
"Who cares? We're not eating anymore"
"Not that" he agrees.
Din gently pressed you against the soft sheets of the bed, your breath hitching as he placed himself on top.
His hands tremble slightly as he touches your skin, a contrast to the stoic, effective and unbreakable warrior he portrayed: this powerful, quiet man was trembling in your arms.
No matter the time that has passed since his confession back in Maldo Kreis, when he thought you'd find death at the hands, well, teeth, of giant spiders. He had, since then, been completely undone by you, and each time he touched you―such reverence on every tip of his finger that grazed your skin, he made sure to prove nothing had changed since then.
He's quick to get rid of his garments, not without a little help from you to quit most of his armor.
"Din" you breathe as soon as his body is free―everywhere but face, your fingers digging into the skin of his shoulders. You tug him closer, encouraging. "Don't stop"
He lets out a strangled sound that's half a groan, half a sigh of relief at your command.
"You have no idea," Din murmurs, voice thick with adoration, "how much I need you"
He pulls back, and even though you can't see his eyes, you feel the vulnerability ooze from them. The way his breath picks up a quick pace, as if the effort of letting you see him like this is almost as consuming as the sight of you, underneath, ready for him. For a moment, it's like he's seeing through you, trying to commit every detail to memory.
You extend your hands, letting him take them. You caress them until the trembling stops, guiding them to your hips. His hands grip the skin of your hips like you were his anchor.
Din was, if anything, willingly, desperately, surrendering to you.
"Don't be afraid" you softly coo, voice barely above a whisper, "it's not our first"
"Please" he whispers, pained. It was a plea, asking permission to let the mental armor off so he can fall apart in your arms.
"Let yourself go, Din. Let me help you" you whisper. "Now, tell me: what do you want?"
"You" he answers without missing a beat, trepidation laced in his breath, "just you"
He grabs your shirt, jacket long discarded on the floor without caring; it's a miracle you didn't throw it over Grogu's sleeping form.
"Can I?"
You nod, breathlessly. "Yes"
He pulls the fabric over your head, fingers fumbling with your pants.
"Why do you carry guns inside the house?" he protests, undoing your belt.
"When you take the knife out of your shoe, I will"
Suddenly you're only in your underwear, shivering because of the cold.
"Dank farrik. We should've bought that heater, the fireplace barely feels there"
"Don't worry" he crawls down, between your opening legs, "I'll make you warm"
He looks up at you.
"Can I..." he starts, cracking in the last word, "...can I taste you?" Din's fingers slide to the waistband of your underwear, "please"
"But, your face-"
"You're right" he backtracks, "I don't know why I-"
You cut him off, "I can cover my eyes"
Din lets out what seems like a sound of pure relief, probably at the solution around his creed or the fact he'll get to taste you. Maybe it's the lust speaking over his rationale, but he's saying:
"Why hadn't we thought about that before?"
"I think fighting Imps and trying to keep Grogu safe took all the time"
He sports a crooked grin under the helmet. "This is the way"
You click your tongue, "You wouldn't be too happy if I was the one saying that"
You don't waste more time.
Your hands reach out to his helmet, slowly pulling it off. He stops you before you get to see more than his chin.
"Close your eyes" he mutters with a quiet, vulnerable, raw voice. It is equally thick with desperation, more than before.
"I will"
The helmet comes off with a hiss. All you see is dark, hands holding to the beskar.
"I have an idea"
You hear Din's breath hitch, a small yelp dying on his lips. Lips you'd die to see.
The helmet feels heavy on your head, and you wonder if he feels so too or it's used to it at this point.
"Don't worry" you throw your head back, "eyes on the roof"
You sense his hesitation, "I'm not looking"
It takes some minutes for him to reply, "I know"
"Then" you extend your hand, "what's wrong?"
You feel him draw closer, search the warmth of your hand. And then, it happens.
Your body freezes, feeling him place his cheek on your palm, rubbing against it. You cup it on instinct, the rough of his stubble tickling. You giggle, fighting back tears.
"You haven't cut it"
"I know you like it"
You laugh with glossy eyes he can't see, your heart swelling with the intention.
"But I can't see it"
The bed cracks as he lowers himself. "I'm sorry. I just... I really wanted to taste you. I've thought... about it, for so long. What your lips would taste like, how you-" he cuts his rambling off, whispering his thoughts out loud. "I'm not an... expert. I have never done it before. But I know I can make you feel good. I'll be so good for you, I promise"
Heat runs straight to your core, making it clench around nothing.
"Yes" you breath, giving him permission.
Din's hands grip your thighs as he hooks his fingers into the sides of your underwear and slowly pulls them down.
"Cyar'ika..." he breathes, "you're so beautiful"
And then his mouth's on you.
It's a bit clumsy, slow enough to feel both deliberate and unsure. It may be just Din, maybe having him like this for the first time, anyone, but its devastating.
The way he explores you with his tongue, learning every fold, sensitive spot, taking his time, dragging the flame that's set in your belly, knot tightening as your toes curl. It's overwhelming: the intensity of his focus, the way he seems hellbent on putting your pleasure first―making you feel something.
"Din" you call shakily, hands falling to your sides into fists curled on the sheets as the pressure builds higher and higher, a tight coil ready to snap. It becomes almost unbearable, your knuckles turning white. "I-"
Without thinking, your hands fly to his hair, feeling the brown strands you once saw at Moff Gideon's ship, fingers curling as they pull on locks that have grown longer since then.
Din stops. You gasp at the loss, forcing yourself not to look at him.
"Wh- What happened? Did I hurt you?" you ask, voice laced with urgency and panic as you try to catch your breath.
His voice is rough, "Do it again"
You falter, unsure if you heard well. "What?"
"Please, do it again" he rasps, drunk in pleasure. "Pull my hair. I... I liked it"
Devoid of the helmet, his voice rings much clear, intentions even more obvious.
The confession sends a fresh wave of arousal through you. Hesitating, you reach for his hair again, consciously this time, feeling it in your fingers, playing with it until his breath rags softly and you feel the damp of his sweat pour through your tips. Finally, you tighten them again, pulling harder this time.
A low moan falls from his lips before he dives back in, mouth more demanding, hungrier.
In response, you grip and pull another tug that evokes a ragged, beautiful sound from his throat. His body trembles with intoxicating pleasure as his mouth dives into you yet again.
Every movement of his tongue, every suck of your cunt: he wasn't trying to just get you off, Din was, like everything he did, trying to prove his loyalty and love with actions; no words were easy, but showing you he was yours, his devotion, like this, he could do it.
You can feel his moans vibrating against you, little whimpers of pleasure that he can't hold back every time you tighten your grip.
"Din" you gasp.
Your hips start to move against his face, chasing friction as the pressure builds within.
"Are you close?" Din rasps, and it takes all of you to not look at him. All you can do is imagine the sight of his glistening lips, pupils blown wide. How undone he might look, just by testing you.
You can only nod, a half cry getting lost in the air.
His movements become more focused, determined. His lips seal around you, and it's the closest you'll get to a kiss.
Your vision begins to blur. You pull his hair again, harder this time, with a sharp yank that makes him cry against you.
The coil snaps, pleasure crashing into you as the vibration was the final push to fall into your orgasm, the waves of pleasure crashing over you, blinding you.
He laps softly as you ride your orgasm, like a starving dog until you're left limp and trembling, legs barely able to hold you up.
"Din"
Like hypnotized by your voice, he stops the kisses on your inner thighs and looks at you, feeling his gaze burn over your spent body.
"Yes?"
"Kiss me"
There's silence where you sense both his discomfort and insecurity.
Your chest aches. "I won't look. Kiss me, please"
You hear him sigh. "You won't look?"
"No" you gulp, throat dry, "but before you cover yourself again, let me know what it's like to kiss you"
"Cyar'ika..." he warns.
"I'll be a good girl, Din. But I- I need to do it. I haven't stopped thinking about it since I saw your face. I won't even look at it. Just let me... let me kiss you"
He stays, still.
"Okay" he whispers, voice hoarse. "I'll do it"
You only manage a breathless nod. "Okay... That's okay"
Any price to pay would be worth it if it meant getting to kiss him for the first time.
A fine tremor still runs through him as he removes the helmet. When he lifts it off your face, you hear him sigh in relief at the sight of your closed eyes.
"Good girl" he mumbles, reigniting the fire in your belly.
"Can I... Will you ay least let me touch you?"
He stops, and you know he still hasn't put his helmet on.
"If I can't see you..." you swallow. "I want to touch you, Din"
He doesn't refuse nor allow it.
"Don't deny me" you plead.
"Will it-" he stops, dragging out the words, "will it make you happy?"
You nod.
Then, his hand finds yours, interlocking his fingers with your own. They land on his face, eyes softly tracing through his skin, rough little hairs, and swollen lips, while his breath stutters with desperate hunger.
"Kiss me now"
He leans in, unsure at first, until he's all over your mouth. You feel him stop, heartbeat picking up.
"Do it again"
He locks your mouth onto his, messy, and hungry, like he had a taste of you and now it isn't enough. It will never be.
Like he wants to devour you, memorize the inside of your mouth for something that'll probably never happen, the violation of something so sacred―but your love might be the only religion he will bend his knees for tonight.
The kiss feels like a dying star: exploding, but a light that never goes out. It only fades, into a memory you'll fall yourself asleep too, hidden within desire and the echoes of your heart, chasing that feeling, that high, you'll never get back. Putting your fingers over your lips, to remember his kiss, to feel something. A pressure, to suffocate the one over your heart.
But for now, it's enough.
Because Din bending the rules of his creed for you is proof of his unyielding heart.
And it belongs to you. All of it, tonight.
"Please" he whispers against your lips, the word a needy sound. "I need to be inside you. Please, I need to feel you. Show you you're mine"
You call his name in a cry as he crawled up over you, body covering yours.
"Cyar'ika" he whispers with raw devotion.
The helmet locks. You look up.
"Din" you whisper, looking at the man you love.
He settles between your legs, hips pressing forward, hard length straining against his pants.
Din's breath comes in harsh, uneven pants.
"Do it" you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him down, guiding him to your entrance. He slowly pushes inside, a broken whine coming out of his mouth, "make me yours"
He fills you completely in an aching stretch, but it burns so good.
He doesn't move, just stays there, buried deep inside you, breath in harsh, uneven puffs under his helmet. he was trembling, his breath coming in harsh, uneven pants.
"Please, don't let me go" he whispers, voice muffled against the beskar. "I love you"
"I won't" you promise, "I love you"
Something breaks by the way he looks at you, even through his visor. You feel the intensity of his stare and his moves, slow at first, then with a little more confidence. His thrusts were deep and messy, not fast but laced with desperate want.
Every sound Din makes is a broken whimper, some sounding like your name. He was also clingy, hands never leaving your body, one in your hip, the other laced with your fingers. Even if you can't see his face, the intimacy of everything is overwhelming.
This isn't just sex, but a confession: Din, laying himself bare, every scathed piece under the unbreakable beskar. And you take them as they are, holding him close, meeting his thrusts, whispering words of encouragement against his helmet.
"Say it again" he pants, voice hoarse with emotion, "that you love me"
"I love you, Din" you whisper firmly. You bite back a scandalous moan, "as long as the galaxy stands"
The words seemed to fuel something raw in him, unraveling a desire that makes each thrust deliberate, with an edge: he's desperate to claim you, to mark you as his own.
"Mine" he croaks out, rhythm faltering as his own release starts to build, "all mine"
You come first, a soft cry falling from your lips. Your walls tighten around his length, and that's what makes him come. He looks at the roof, letting out a gasp while his body shudders under the force of his release, a broken call for your name spilling from his lips.
Before his body gives out, you feel it: the strain of holding back, of being the first time.
A single tear rolls from under the helmet and falls over your body.
"Din-"
Wordlessly, he collapses on top of you, body weight pressing you into the mattress. It feels lighter, somehow, than the nights cuddled in the cramped space of the old Razor Crest.
His body, scarred and soft, still trembling through the aftershocks, pale from not seeing the sun and flushed because of earlier events―it's yours for the night.
Din's face remains hidden, yet you can tell he looks at you with quiet, tender, loving eyes.
"Please stay"
You reach up, pulling him closer by his neck.
"I promised I would"
He makes a pause before speaking again.
"...Forever?"
"Well" you look next to you, where Grogu is fast asleep still. It seems nothing can wake him up, "you guys need me"
"That's not what I meant-"
"...as much as I need you too"
He chuckles softly, and you can picture a smirk drawn over those lips you touched moments ago. Kissed, for the first time.
"Din, look at me"
He turns towards you. "I am"
You find his hand, pulling it to kiss knuckles that have killed many men, that have pulled the trigger to end lives. The same ones that pull you closer as he lays next to you, bodies seeking each other's warmth.
"I'm here" you whisper, as faithful as a prayer. Your own creed, "and I'm not going anywhere"
[SUMMARY: You accidentally send a nude to your neighbor Joel Miller]
Masturbation
It was like any other evening, except today you decided to take some pictures of yourself that you knew Josh would enjoy. Josh and you weren’t anything serious, just a fling that started after you came home from college. He lived a few blocks away and would come around when your dad was at work, it was nice not having any strings attached. It wasn’t exactly your thing to send nudes but you decided to surprise him. One spicy topless photo, you smiled to yourself with excitement loving how it came out. He had just been texting you and you knew he’d love the unexpected tease. Giggling to yourself you attached the photo along with a message.
“Can’t wait for you to suck on them tonight.”
And sent.
That’s when you felt the ultimate sinking feeling in your stomach. Josh’s name was no longer at the top of the text thread..
Joel Miller.
“Oh shit!” You felt your stomach twist into a knot as you rushed pulling your straps back up.
“Oh my god…oh my god” you panicked, your fingers moving quickly back and forth between Josh’s thread and Joel’s. How the hell did it get to Joel? You scrolled up as you swallowed nervously, your heart pounding when you noticed his text.
“Hey, no need to get burgers for the BBQ tomorrow. Your dad said you were stopping to grab some today, Tommy and I already did. See you tomorrow.” You stared blankly at the text.
The fucking BBQ.
Your dads annual Memorial Day BBQ.
Your hands still shaking, how the hell were you suppose to come back from this? Accidentally sending a nude to your neighbor? Your dad’s friend? Then you had to face him the very next day, it felt like a damn nightmare.
Joel, I’m so sorry. That was not meant for you.
Please forget this happened.
You sent the text and threw your phone on the bed.
~~
Joel stood in the kitchen after a long day at work, he grabbed a beer from the fridge when his phone lit up. He figured it was you, responding about the burgers. Taking a sip of his beer he practically choked on his drink when he realized what you sent him.
Surely it was an accident.
Joel wiped his mouth and turned placing his phone on the counter. Almost afraid to touch it but unable to look away.
“Jesus” he whispered to himself.
Joel found himself analyzing the photo, the straps to your tank top pulled down, the way you bit your bottom lip, the glare of the sun from your window directly hitting your breasts.
Then another text appeared.
Joel, I’m so sorry. That was not meant for you.
Please forget this happened.
Before he could even register the text the sound of the door opened making him quickly exit out of the message thread and clear his throat.
“The hells wrong with you? Look like you seen a ghost” Tommy joked as he walked past him.
Joel took another sip of his beer and shoved his phone in his pocket.
“Yeah uh- just a long day. Sarah should be home soon, Miley’s dad is driving her back.”
“Ok, I’ll order some pizza” Tommy called out from his room as Joel walked to his.
He needed to be alone after what he just saw. Still in disbelief he sat at the edge of his bed, leaning forward he brushed his hand over his face before sitting back up and reaching back in his pocket.
Hesitantly he clicked on your name and there it was. His eyes focused on the image before him, something he wasn’t suppose to see. Something he knew he should delete it but he couldn’t stop looking at, his eyes lingering on every part of you he could see. The soft curve of your neck, the way your thin gold chain sat delicately on your collarbone. The charm shaped into a heart sat on your chest, his eyes moved lower just where the curve of your breasts began. They were plump, nipples erect, that’s when he felt his cock twitch in his pants. His thumb hovered just over them, he pictured how soft they must feel when suddenly your father’s name flashed on his screen.
“Shit-“ he stood up almost panting, pacing back and forth in the room as the phone rang realizing what he was just doing. He looked down at his phone again, your fathers name continuing to flash on the screen. He took a deep breath and without thinking twice answered the call.
“Yeah, Bobby?”
“Hey, just wanted to ask if you can do me a favor, I’m getting stuck at work later than expected. If you can just pick up a few boxes of beers for the BBQ and drop them off at the house tonight, I’ll give you the money when I see you. My schedule won’t give me time.”
Dropping them off at the house meant seeing you. Before Joel could even find a way out your father was interrupted with work and quickly thanked Joel for the favor and hung up.
“Tommy!” Joel called as he walked out of his bedroom hoping his brother was still around. Of course he stepped out again with his luck. Defeated, Joel grabbed his keys and walked out.
~~
Joel hadn’t said a word which made it all the more humiliating. You could barely look at your phone, even telling Josh you wanted to reschedule for another night.
Then you heard the bell.
“Why would he still show up” You whispered to yourself as you paced down the stairs going straight for the door.
“Didn’t you get my mes-“ you opened the door to see Joel standing before you. Your skin instantly getting hot, you felt your stomach turn.
“Joel-“ you whispered.
“Uh- your dad called me. Asked me to drop me these off for tomorrow” he could barely look you in the eye. His hands fidgety as he distracted himself with anything to stop himself from looking at you.
“Oh..um-“ you looked down at the boxes of beer. He took advantage in that second to steal a glance before quickly looking away.
“I’ll bring them to the fridge out back-“
“I got em” he quickly picked up the boxes, all four of them at once. You awkwardly stepped aside and let him make his way out the back door and he began to stack the fridge full with beers. You stood close by watching, arms crossed unsure of what to say but knowing something had to be said.
Once he finished he stared into the fridge for a moment, hand on the door as if he was searching for something.
Probably stalling having to turn back to you.
You swallowed nervously before blurting out words you barely thought over.
“I’m sorry about the picture” Joel stiffened before taking a double look at you as he closed the fridge door.
“Huh? Yeah- it’s-“
“It was meant to be sent to someone else, I didn’t notice you had just texted me.”
“Figured that much.” Joel turned towards you but still couldn’t find it in him to look directly at you. Hands in his pockets he stood still, wishing your dad would just appear.
“You can’t even look at me” you whispered with an embarrassed smile, your words making him finally look up at you, his jaw tensing up. And in that moment you realized you didn’t know how the hell you could even be looking at him.
“I uh-“ you suddenly lost your train of thought.
“Um- can we just somehow pretend it never happened?” You spoke quickly then bit your bottom lip nervously looking away. Joel’s gaze darkened at the sight of you doing exactly what you were doing in the photo. He made himself look away.
As if he could pretend it never happened.
All he could think about from the moment you opened the damn door were your breasts.
He caught himself getting lost at the image in his head and cleared his throat straightening himself up.
“Better get back, I’ll see y’all tomorrow.” He looked at you for one short moment and gave you a nod before quickly walking out.
~~
Joel stared at his ceiling that night fighting the urge to take another look at the picture. Finding it hard to delete it.
He knew he should’ve.
Looking over at his nightstand he reached over for his phone. He clicked on the messages, his thumb hovering over your name. Without thinking he clicked it and there it was. Joel took a deep breath as his eyes instantly began tracing the curve of your breasts and then he read over the message.
Can’t wait for you to suck on them tonight.
His cock throbbed, he quickly put the phone face down beside him and brushed his hand over his face.
“The hell am I doin’?” He muttered to himself. His breathing quickened, his hand rested on his chest as the most intimate thoughts ran through his mind. The thought of how you must feel, the thought of his very hands cupping them. He was now rock hard beneath his boxers, his hand reaching below…he couldn’t resist. He cursed at himself grabbing the phone, your picture still there in front, his other hand shoving his boxers down far enough for his cock to spring up out of them. He looked over and knocked over his alarm clock desperately grabbing a bottle of lotion.
And he let his mind go to work.
His hand closing around his shaft, he started off with slow steady strokes.
Joel pictured his tongue sliding over your nipples, he pictured himself sucking on them as you moaned pulling him closer against you.
The thought of you moaning made him move faster, his precum building up at the tip of his cock. His chest rising and falling deeply the faster he moved, he couldn’t get his eyes off your breasts. The thought of you riding him as they bounced freely, he groaned involuntarily, the noise slipping out on a breath like his body betrayed him. Joel hadn’t felt something this intense building up inside in a long time. His hand moving rapidly as he imagined how your pussy must feel like tightening around him. The thought of you riding him and using his body to your advantage. The thought of you cumming all over his cock—his cum shot out of him. He panted as the phone fell onto the bed, his hips jolting upwards against his hand as he moaned as low as he was able to so he wouldn’t be heard throughout the house.
“Jesus Christ-“ he looked down as his cum spilled out of him over his hand, his face flushed as he threw his head back barely able to catch his breath. His hand didn’t move, he lay still panting for dear life realizing what he’d just done.
Maybe now that he relieved himself, just maybe..he could move on from it.
~~
You could smell the charcoal from your window as you got ready for the BBQ. Your dad excitedly prepping the food playing some of his favorite music as guests slowly began to arrive. It was still early as you went through your wardrobe deciding what to wear, you were excited to see Josh tonight. You went with a soft pink sundress you hadn’t worn in a couple years. Looking at yourself in the mirror you put a drop of lipgloss on when you heard Joel’s voice out your window. Replaying what happened yesterday and hearing his laughter outside with your dad made your cheeks flush.
You took a deep breath and shook it off, focusing on Josh tonight was all you needed.
Greeting a few of the neighbors as you made your way by the pool in the back you had a quick laugh with your friend Serena. The sound of your laughter distracted Joel as your father spoke about yesterday’s game. Your dad’s eyes on the grill as Joel stood close by with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a cold beer.
Light caught the fabric of your dress when you moved, and for a second Joel just…stopped listening. His eyes wandering over the dress you wore. What the hell were you thinking coming down here in that, knowing what you’d just sent him. The dress complimented your breasts perfectly, your gold hearted chain sitting just above the sight of your cleavage.
He took a step to the side, dragging his gaze away like it cost him something, staring instead at the edge of the table as if it had suddenly become interesting.
“-Yeah,” he said absently, realizing your dad was still talking. He gave a short nod that didn’t match whatever he’d just agreed to.
You didn’t notice. Of course you didn’t.
You moved through the yard easily, hair catching the sun, completely unaware of the way Joel had gone still again the moment you were in his line of sight.
He took a slow sip of his drink, jaw tightening just slightly, like he could will his thoughts back into place if he tried hard enough.
Then you looked up and for a moment you both locked eyes. He didn’t look away as fast as he should’ve, that’s when you realized a certain look in his eye. A look you had never seen in him. It distracted you for a just a moment until Josh came into view blocking the sight of Joel.
“Hey gorgeous!”
“Hi!” You smiled awkwardly as he picked you up for a hug.
“Careful my dad’s close by” you whispered with a giggle. Yes, you may have been a grown adult but you didn’t want your dad knowing who you were messing around with. He looked at Josh so respectfully, God knows he wouldn’t if he knew what you two were up to.
Joel watched from a distance, of course it was Josh. Sonny’s son from the hardware store, he should’ve known. He never really liked the kid, just never knew why.
“Joel!” Bobby’s voice snapped him out of it.
“The hell you starin’ at?” He chuckled looking over, thankfully you and Josh had moved elsewhere.
“I’m asking if you want a burger, they’re ready”
“Oh yeah-“ he cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Yeah, sure.”
~~
The evening went on, Joel sat with Tommy and Bobby sharing a few stories, having a few laughs. Sarah played in the pool with a few of her friends as everyone enjoyed the warm day.
Joel could still hear you at times laughing sitting with your friends, sitting next to Josh. That’s when a few others left the party, clearing out the space enough where you and Josh were no longer blocked from his view. Still, you were distracted with your stories to notice your father looking your way.
“So Josh huh?” Tommy chuckled nudging Bobby. Joel sat silently waiting for your dad’s reaction.
“Ahh, they’re just friends. He’s a good kid, I trust him around”
“Just friends alright” Joel muttered under his breath before taking a sip of his beer.
Tommy excused himself to use the restroom while your dad went in to check what was left in the fridge. You noticed both of them walking in and looked back to see Joel looking out at the pool, smiling at his daughter laughing with her friends.
“Hey, let me grab us some more drinks from the cooler.” You patted Josh’s knee who nodded as he continued talking with the others.
Joel didn’t notice you walking towards him at first, just until you reached a few feet away.
“Hey” you smiled as his body tensed up.
“Hey” he put the beer down by his feet and sat up straight.
“I’m glad it didn’t rain today” you attempted to make normal conversation but truthfully something was lingering in your mind. Something you couldn’t help but want to ask.
“Mhm” Joel kept it short, he crossed his arms looking away knowing exactly what you did to him anytime he would look at you too long. He didn’t know what the hell you were still doing there in front of him in that damn dress.
Then before you could stop yourself, you leaned slightly closer and whispered.
“So…did you delete it?”
That finally made him look at you properly..really look at you.
His expression barely changed, but something heavier settled behind his eyes.
Joel exhaled once through his nose, gaze dropping briefly toward the grass.
“Thought we agreed not to talk about that again.”
“We didn’t agree,” you whispered back. “You avoided answering.”
A muscle moved in his jaw.
“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”
“Joel.” Your voice came out quieter than you meant it to.
He looked over toward the yard automatically, checking your father wasn’t nearby before lowering his voice too.
“No,” he said finally.
Your breath caught a little.
“No….?”
Joel rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking irritated with himself for even admitting that much.
“Haven’t gotten around to it.”
“That’s a lie.”
His eyes snapped back to yours.
You watched something change there briefly but it was there.
Because the truth was obvious now, a man like Joel Miller didn’t “forget” things.
Especially not things he wanted to keep.
“You should probably delete it,” you said softly.
“Probably.”
But he still hadn’t moved or looked away.
You swallowed. “So why haven’t you?”
Joel stared at you for a long moment before answering, voice low enough you almost missed it.
“Didn’t seem right lookin’ at it again just to delete it.”
Your chest tightened.
That was not an answer and it was definitely not the truth, what he said was worse.
Joel seemed to realize that too, because he immediately grabbed his beer and took a sip like he needed the distraction.
“Then delete the whole thread? You won’t even happen to open the message” you insisted when suddenly Josh’s voice came up behind you.
“Hey’d you get lost?” Josh laughed making you softly gasp. Joel kept his eyes on you as you turned to smile at Josh.
“No, I got it. Got caught up talking about something he needed me to help with Sarah.” You lied. Josh looked down at Joel who had his eyes narrowed on him.
“Well-“ you cleared your throat but before you finished your sentence Joel was grabbing drinks from the cooler and handed them to you.
“Thanks” you spoke softly, you and Josh turned back to your friends but you looked back, Joel was on his feet just about to walk away… but not before his gaze dropped once more to your dress.
Something lit up inside you. Something you had never felt with Joel in the few years that you knew him. It was hard to deny that it excited you.
Summary: Like a moth to a flame, you're drawn to Joel yet again.
Warnings: reader's got some deep insecurities and anxiety she's struggling with (self doubt, feeling not good enough, putting up walls, panic attacks, etc), language, smut (18+), piv sex, oral sex, competency kink, praise kink
Masterlist
It's been a week.
Seven full days since Joel was in your bed. And like a coward, you avoided going outside whenever his crew was working next door. But even if you wanted to, they didn't give you much of a reason. His crew was respectful and quieter, mostly because they began working indoors now. But you still caught glimpses of Joel frequently going in and out of the house to grab something from the trucks.
You hadn't spoken. It was like it never happened. But it did. You know it did, because his name and number are still scribbled at the bottom of the white board you have on your fridge, right underneath the list of items you need to grab from the grocery store next time you go. It glares at you every time you get milk for your coffee. Your gaze naturally drifts to the digits scrawled in his unique handwriting, like a beacon scanning the sea.
You never called him. You're not even sure what you would say if you did. Yet you can't bring yourself to erase his script from the board.
Around Thursday, your mind starts playing tricks on you. Right on schedule. You overanalyze everything and the further away you get from the last time you spoke to him, the more fuzzy the memory grows. What was his mood when he left? Did he regret it? Was he ashamed or feeling guilty? Is that why he never gave your house so much as a glance all week? Was he trying to forget?
It doesn't matter, you keep telling yourself. You didn't want anything more from him, you made that abundantly clear. So why are you still obsessing over it? Why are you even thinking about it now, a full week later, while you watch his crew eat lunch together in the shade on your neighbor's front lawn? Why are you scanning the group for those familiar broad shoulders and warm eyes and feeling disappointed when you can't find him?
Your computer monitor goes black from being left unattended for so long while you continue to look. You don't even notice.
He's avoiding you.
Well, you're avoiding him, aren't you?
You try to shake the invasive thoughts loose but they don't budge. Doubt begins to fester in the corners of your mind.
You set the parameters, you remind yourself. You're the one who didn't call him.
You pinch the bridge of your nose as the wave of insecurity washes over you.
It's easier this way. You don't get hurt this way.
You breathe slowly—in, then out. Then do it again, repeating your mantra to yourself until the tightness in your throat eases and you can feel again.
"Jesus," you mutter to yourself. How pathetic. You had sex with the man once. You hardly know him and yet you still have the same issues you always have when it comes to men you've dated.
Slowly, your gaze lifts to look out your window again. Finally, you spot him. He's under a tree with two other workers with a cooler open in front of him. He's holding a half eaten sub in one hand and a clear gallon jug of water in the other. They're laughing about something and even from this distance, you can see that dimple appear next to the corner of his mouth. His eyes soften and crinkle a little bit when he smiles and says something back, making his crew laugh even harder.
Without realizing it, the tension in your shoulders loosens. Your pulse slows and your mind is no longer clouded with insecurities. You feel steady again.
Suddenly struck with what you think is a fabulous idea, you stand up, nearly knocking over your chair in the process.
"Cookies."
Some demon possesses you to hurry to your kitchen and whip open your fridge for a roll of chocolate chip cookie dough you bought a few weeks ago and you get to work. Your eyes only settle twice on his number scrawled with black ink on the board while you preheat your oven and slice up the roll.
When you slide the baking sheet onto the top shelf and close the oven with a soft, satisfying thud, you dust your hands and smile to yourself. You're far from a domestic goddess, but baking some premade cookies is certainly a skill you possess.
They work hard, right? There's no harm in bringing them cookies. It's not weird.
There's a tall, narrow cupboard next to the fridge where you store most of your dry goods, including the baking spray you're looking to return to its spot on the bottom shelf, but when you open the door and notice the mess of items scattered on all four shelves, you frown.
Glancing at the clock to confirm you have a full hour before your next meeting, you decide it's the perfect time to reorganize your pantry. It's definitely not because you're fighting the urge to pretty yourself up with a touch of makeup and a spritz of perfume at the thought of being close to Joel again soon.
Ten minutes later you have two shelves of items scattered around your kitchen floor. It feels good to clean and organize. It helps ground you when your anxiety flares up, like a gentle reminder you do have control. After disinfecting the shelves themselves, you carefully place all the items back, turning the labels forward and lining up cans in a perfectly straight line.
You stand to admire your work with a pleased smile. Halfway done. Just as you lean forward to empty the last two shelves, you smell it. Burning.
You forgot to set a timer. Shit.
With a panic, you straighten up way too quickly, cracking your head on the top shelf of your pantry in the process. You cry out and stumble back, rubbing the sore spot just in time to watch in horror as the wood snaps from its place against the wall and shifts forward.
"No!" you yell, but it's hopeless. A bag of flour explodes on the ground. A glass jar of something pickled comes next. Salad dressing that is thankfully in a plastic bottle follows, along with a half opened bag of cookies and some stale cereal. You close your eyes so you don't have to watch the rest but you can hear it, your tidy little world giving into a chaotic mess at your feet.
If you were a crier, now would be the time. Instead, the usual wave of panic surges through your veins, your pulse speeds up, and your throat starts to close.
"It's f-fine," you whisper to yourself, forcing your eyes open. "It's just... I can fix this." But it's not helping. And the cookies are still burning. And your life is still crumbling. And you're still not good en—
Stop. Your eyes squeeze shut again.
One, two, three, breathe. One, two, three, out.
Your jaw is clenched hard but you force yourself to go through the motions to calm your body.
Triage. It's what you do best. You do it at work all the time.
Your eyes fly open and you look around.
Oven first. A fire is worse.
You grab a mitt and yank the burned cookies out of the oven, only to take the tray and put it immediately on your back porch so the smoke doesn't set off your smoke detector because you're fairly certain that high pitched squeal will actually be the last straw right now.
Second. The mess on the floor. Liquid traveling under appliances is bad. That means more work. So you set yourself on stopping the slow moving trail of vinegar and god knows what else.
Once that is cleaned up, you begin to feel calmer. Actually seeing progress being made helps, it always does. Cleaning up the flour and cereal and all the other dry goods is easier. Your throat relaxes and your pulse returns to normal.
Your floors needed to be mopped anyway, you think after all the shattered pieces of glass are swept up. Not to be deterred, you grab a new baking pan, put in another batch of cookies, and actually set the fucking timer before you get a mop and clean up the floors from any sticky residue.
Once the batch is finished in the oven—looking perfect, actually—your kitchen smells clean and your life is back in order. Just the way you like it.
"Alright," you breathe, flicking some hair out of your eyes. You find a cheap plate made for outdoor entertaining and place the cookies on it, trying to make them look as aesthetically pleasing as possible, but at the end of the day they're just... cookies from a tube. Whatever.
You peer out your window, readying yourself to take them over to the crew. That's when it hits you: what the hell do you even say? 'Here's some cookies, you're working so hard on a house that isn't even mine'?
You could give them just to Joel, but you know that'll look even worse. At that point you might as well just get a shirt that says we had sex on it.
This was a stupid idea. What were you thinking?
And what's worse is, if you don't give these cookies away, you'll end up eating them all by yourself in two days.
From your spot in your living room, you can see some of the men beginning to stand. Their break is coming to an end, along with your window.
Apology cookies. That's it!
You'll take these cookies over as an apology for being annoyed with them the last few weeks.
There's only time to rake your fingers through your hair once or twice. That's good. You don't want to look like you're trying too hard.
Yeah, like bringing them fresh baked cookies doesn't look like you're trying hard.
After wrapping the plate tightly with plastic wrap, you head out your front door with what you hope is a casual look on your face and an energetic pep in your step. Gravel crunches under your sneakers as you walk across your driveway, alerting a couple of the men to your presence. You try to ignore the kick in your chest the closer each step brings you to Joel.
"Well, look who it is," one of the older workers says wearily when you're within earshot. You smile sweetly at him, closing the distance between you and the crew. It's impossible not to notice the way they all stop laughing and talking as you approach, making you feel like you're about to give a presentation in front of an audience or something. It's certainly not helping your nerves, but you power through as if you were leading a meeting at work.
"Gentlemen," you greet them, coming to a stop. Joel is the last to turn but something tells you he knew it was you that was approaching. He doesn't look surprised to see you. In fact, you think he looks pleased. At least, based on the way he lets his gaze slowly take you in tells you he's pleased.
You ignore the way your stomach flutters.
"Oh," you say lightly with a smirk when you lock eyes with him. "Gentlemen... and Joel," you correct yourself, making some of the guys chuckle. Joel included.
"Somethin' you need, darlin'?" he asks. That familiar southern twang has your pulse skipping in your throat.
"Need? No. Want? Yes." You lift the plate of wrapped cookies for them to see. Instantly, their eyes light up as they all look at the plate. All except Joel, who keeps his gaze directly on you. "I wanted to come over and give all of you these cookies. As an apology."
"I'll take those, thank you," a scrawny looking younger guy with a terrible sunburn says, snatching the plate from your hands. You smile as he takes it over to the crew.
"Apology for what?" Joel presses, still not showing the least bit interest in the snacks. The rest of the men have started tearing into the plastic, your conversation no doubt fading into the background.
"Apology for being... rigid these last few weeks." You clasp your hands in front of you, addressing solely Joel now that the crew has forgotten you existed.
Joel steps closer so he can lower his voice. "Feelin' rigid again today, sweetheart?"
You bristle but your face gives you away. He can read how flustered you are at the vaguest hint of your last encounter and it only encourages him.
"No!" you choke, "Jesus, Joel. I'm just trying to be nice."
"That so?"
Your eyes flicker to his crew. Not a single soul is paying either of you any attention.
"Of course. What else would it be?"
A deep, thoughtful hum rumbles in his chest as he inches a little closer. The heat of his gaze sets your skin on fire. Every spot of your body he lingers on comes alive.
"Could be you were lookin' for my attention," he says rather boldly. You scoff even though your cheeks flush almost immediately.
"Don't flatter yourself. Actually—" You turn to face him head on, arms crossed defiantly across your chest. You tilt your chin up to pin him with your most confident glare. "I was hoping to borrow a drill. So, yeah, you could say I have an ulterior motive. Not the one you wish, though."
"A... drill?" he repeats, voice filled with doubt. His brown eyes sparkle with amusement as he looks down at you, his shadow shielding you from the powerful Texas sun. "What do you need a drill for?"
You jut a thumb casually over your shoulder, back towards the direction of your house. "I broke a shelf in my pantry. I need to fix it."
His mouth twitches as he thinks over what you said, like he's trying to decide if you're lying or not. You can see the gears in his head working, no doubt trying to come up with something to say that will make you squirm.
"Sure. I'll let you borrow a drill. You know how to use one?"
You shrug. "How hard can it be?"
Joel rolls his eyes with a sigh before motioning you towards the lawn. "C'mon, Handy Ma'am."
You laugh at the lame joke and follow him to his truck. Now that his back is to you, you allow yourself a few moments to admire his strong shoulders and easy gait. It's exciting, knowing what this man is capable of behind closed doors, surrounded by people who wouldn't suspect a thing.
Joel opens the back of his cab and reaches forward with a grunt. You bite your lower lip and try not to stare too long at the way his shirt rides up, revealing just the slightest hint of his boxers. Suddenly, your mouth feels dry.
"Think this one'll do the job," he says, emerging with a yellow cordless drill. He holds it up and presses the trigger a few times in rapid succession, making sure the battery is charged before handing it over to you.
"Thank you," you say, eyes widening briefly when you feel the weight of it in your hand. It's heavier than you expect.
Joel must see your uncertainty and quirks an eyebrow at you. "You need help?"
"No," you shake your head quickly. "I can do it."
You can't, but he doesn't have to know. You can pretend you fixed it when you return it to him later.
A slightly awkward moment of silence settles between you, like you're both trying to find a reason to keep the conversation going without looking like you're desperate. You pretend to inspect the drill while Joel casually studies the sky.
"Wondered if I scared you off," he finally says, chin still tilted upwards. "Didn't wanna pester you or nothin' but... I was thinkin' 'bout you."
The softness in his voice catches you off guard. "Oh, uh..." you stammer, surprised. "No. Not scared. Just... busy."
"Yeah. Good. That's good." He drops his gaze to look at you once before staring at something on the ground. His jaw rocks from side to side and he clears his throat. It occurs to you then that he's... uneasy? Nervous?
It shouldn't, but it relaxes you for some reason.
"I thought about you, too," you admit quietly. His face lights up with a cocky grin and you immediately regret it.
"Yeah? You thought 'bout me?"
"Oh, shut up."
"No, tell me. What were you thinkin' 'bout?"
"I take it back."
"Can't. It's already out there."
"You're impossible!" You aim the drill at him and press the trigger. The gentle whir acts as a soundtrack to his laughter, which only makes you scowl.
"Just got one question for you," he says, still laughing. Despite yourself, you can feel the corners of your mouth tug upwards at the way he looks at you like you're the only thing worth looking at in that moment.
"What?" you reply dryly.
He leans in then and you forget to breathe, nearly dropping the drill in your hand from the way he smells like the earth and coffee and some spicy undertone. Probably deodorant or shampoo—
Stop it.
"Wanna screw?"
You gasp, face hot as you quickly scan your surroundings. Luckily, no one overheard him. At least, you don't think they did. Still, you're about to rip into him when you turn back around only to find him smugly standing there holding up a... well, an actual screw.
"Excuse me?" you hiss.
"Said... do—you—want—a—screw?"
"That is not what you said."
"You're hearin' what you wanna hear, darlin'."
You make a frustrated noise and turn on your heel, back towards your house. "Thanks for the drill!"
"Hey, wait!"
"No, Joel, I don't want a screw!"
Some of the men in his crew chuckle as you march past but you don't care.
"I was just jokin'," Joel says after catching up with you. "Gimme that, I'll do it," he adds, reaching for the drill.
"I can do it."
"No, you can't. You ain't ever touched a drill before in your life, have you?"
Your pace slows and your grip on the drill loosens. "Well, no, not technically—"
"Then lemme help you. It'll take ten minutes, I don't mind." Joel turns and walks backwards next to you so he can address his men. "Imma help her fix her shelf, get back to workin' on that framin', need it done 'fore the concrete guys come next week."
You hear an amused murmur behind you and you stiffen. You don't need to hear what they said. You already know.
"They're gonna think something's going on," you scold him, embarrassed as you stomp up your porch steps.
"Well, somethin' is goin' on," he argues. You stop dead in your tracks and turn on him, making him stumble.
"This is not like last time," you warn him, pointing a finger at his chest. His wide, tanned, sweaty, gorgeous chest.
"I know, I know," he says, palms in the air. You stare at him for another moment, making sure he understood and was being serious before lowering your hand and offering him the drill.
"Good. Follow me."
You miss his sly grin when you turn to open your door.
***
"How the hell'd you do this?"
"Huh?"
Joel gestures to the splintered wood. "This. You take a hammer to it?"
"No, I—my head, I knocked into it when I was cleaning."
Joel gives you an incredulous look before focusing back on the shelf. "Goddamn. You alright?"
You huff, brushing off his concern. "Of course. Can you fix it?"
Joel clicked his tongue as he examines the wood further before peeking inside your pantry. "Gonna need a new piece of wood. I got some scrap in the back of my truck, gimme a second, be right back."
"Oh, forget it. It's too much trouble. I'll figure someth—"
"It ain't too much trouble," Joel says firmly, cutting you off. He gives you a sincere look, like he wants to make sure you understand. "It'll take a minute. You're doin' me the favor, anyway. Less wood I gotta unload later."
Before you can argue further, he disappears down your hallway and back out the front door. Your screen swings shut and you hear the dull thud of his boots hitting your porch, then the sound fades and you're left all alone in your kitchen, struggling yet again with your inner demons.
You're a burden.
You never even called him, you don't deserve his help.
He doesn't care about that. He doesn't care about you like that. He got laid, he got what he wanted and left his number because he thought it was the right thing to do.
It didn't mean anything.
"Oh, my god. What is wrong with me?" you mutter, rubbing your eyes in frustration. You shake it off, straighten your shoulders and smooth out your shirt just in time because a moment later, you hear Joel jog up your front steps and open the door.
You take a deep breath and force a smile when he triumphantly enters your kitchen, holding up a piece of wood.
"This should do it."
"Great."
Joel kneels down with a heavy grunt and gets to work, but something caught your eye: he returned wearing a tool belt.
It looks good on him.
Snap out of it.
"Do you want something to drink?" You're already moving towards a cupboard, pulling down two glasses before he answers.
"Sure."
You have half a pitcher of lemonade you made a few days ago—the powdered kind, obviously. Your culinary prowess only extends to cookie dough logs, not reaming citrus.
There's a high pitched squeal from the drill and the grating sound of wood being punctured and twisted by metal. You wince and set his lemonade down on the counter behind him, then take yours a few feet away to your small kitchen island. With a little jump, you hoist yourself up to sit on the edge of the counter, bare legs dangling over the sides as you sip your lemonade and watch Joel work.
He unclips a flashlight from his belt and pops it between his teeth so he can see what he's doing. He's all business, focused entirely on doing the job and nothing else. There's no awkward air, no sexually charged quips. When Joel Miller is working, he's putting his entire focus on doing a good job.
It's kind of hot, when you think about it. His head must be an encyclopedia of manual labor. He knows the exact right screw to use, the right wood... he knows to avoid the back panel because there's likely electrical running back there for your refrigerator. He knows to install the shelf a little lower than before because you're shorter than the pantry.
He's smart. A different kind of smart than you're used to. Watching him work gives you a new found appreciation for him.
You don't realize you're staring until he pockets the flashlight and peers out from inside the pantry with a knowing smirk.
"See somethin' you like?"
Normally, you'd bite back with some sarcastic remark to cut him off at the knees, but this time, you're flustered and you can't shake it off in time to think of anything clever.
"Uh—" You clear your throat and take a sip from your glass, hoping he can't see the way you're breathing a little faster. But he does see it. He sees everything. The smile slips from his face and his gaze darkens fractionally when you rub the back of your neck and take a deep breath before responding. "How long have you, uh—how long have you done this?"
Joel pauses a moment, still leaning halfway inside your pantry with the drill poised against the wood. He can see the way you fidget on your counter, the way your thighs press together and your teeth dig into your lower lip.
"What? Construction?" he eventually asks. You nod. "All my life. Started out at a landscaping company right outta high school, then went to U Tech to be a welder. Took some classes here 'n there 'bout different things. Hopped around a bit to find what suited me best."
"And what was that?"
He frowns. "What?"
"What suited you best?" you clarify. Joel smiles and drags his gaze back to your shelf. Before pressing the trigger for the drill, he answers.
"None of it. Liked it all, so I started this business. Little bit of everythin' that way."
The sound of the drill drowned out the space left for you to reply.
He makes it sound so simple. Like of course he just started a business from the ground up because that's what he knew he wanted to do. And he seems to be good at it. And enjoy it. You wonder if he knows how rare that is.
You're too lost in your own musings to realize he had been talking. You blink and refocus on him, standing next to your pantry with the drill at his side and his tool belt slung comfortably around his waist, looking at you expectantly.
"Huh?"
"I said, how long you been doin' your job?"
"Oh. Uh, almost ten years. Started as an intern during my final semester of college and accepted a job after graduating. Never really considered anywhere else."
"Why?"
You swing your legs and shrug. "Easier than starting over, I guess."
"Do you like it?"
You think about his question. Do you? You want to say yes, but you're not even sure anymore. You're pretty sure you used to, right?
"I'm good at it," you finally say. But Joel sees through it. Of course he does.
"Didn't really answer the question."
You laugh and look down at your freshly mopped floors. "I like that I'm good at it, how about that?"
Joel hums to himself and slowly turns to examine your shelf. He gives it a little shake, taps the top to make sure it's steady, then tests the door before making a satisfied noise and stepping back.
"You're all set here."
You lean forward a bit to look inside the pantry, impressed with how quickly and neatly he was able to fix it. There's no question you wouldn't have been able to do the job half as good.
"Thank you."
Joel grins, giving you a flash of that dimple, before picking up a few loose screws from the ground and pocketing them somewhere in his belt. You catch a glimpse of his stomach and you swallow hard. Your gaze shifts briefly to the clock—you still have twenty minutes before your next meeting.
"Anythin' else?" he asks, glancing around the kitchen. He picks up the lemonade and leans a hip against your counter while he drinks. His eyes settle on the whiteboard on your fridge, where his writing is still scrawled with his name and number, and guilt blooms in your chest.
"Yeah," you say softly, pulling his attention from the board. Slowly, he sets down the empty glass where he found it. He raises his brows, waiting, then you lift your hand and curl your finger, beckoning him forward. His expression softens and he does as you wish, closing the space between you until he's standing between your knees, inches apart. You drop your hand and hook your finger around his tool belt, giving him a playful smirk. That's all he needs to see. He presses both palms flat against the countertops on either side of your hips and tips his face down, brushing his lips gently over your own.
He's testing. Wondering if he's reading the room right. You respond with a little more pressure and he relaxes into the kiss with a sigh. Your arms loosely circle around his neck and you part your lips, inviting his tongue to dance with your own. He's so warm and smells so good, you almost forgot. Your mind goes hazy as you give in, letting your fingers thread gently through the hair at the nape of his neck. He practically purrs into your mouth, clearly enjoying the affection.
"I have twenty minutes," you breathe, pulling back just enough to whisper the offer.
"I can work with that," he replies just as softly. Then his mouth is pressing eagerly to yours, sealing the deal.
His hands slide up your shirt, mapping the skin underneath. He makes a pleased sound and kisses you a little harder when you shift forward, pressing yourself closer.
Joel flattens his palm against your spine, drawing you in. You welcome it by wrapping your legs around his waist and deepening the kiss with a soft sound.
He's so good at this, you think. He's good at making you feel good, at turning your brain off. All the static in your head leading up to this moment vanishes under his touch.
You break the kiss when your leg slides down and collides with a tape measure strapped to his hip. You glare at it like it offended you but Joel doesn't notice—his mouth trails down your jaw, pausing at your throat to graze his teeth gently over your pulse point. A shiver rolls down your spine.
"As much as I like this," you murmur, unlocking your legs from his waist, "it's gotta go."
You tug hopelessly at the tool belt and Joel chuckles, low and deep next to your ear.
"Oh, you like it, huh?" he teases while simultaneously dropping his hands to his belt. You roll your eyes.
"Don't start."
"You got a little fantasy? That what this is?" He unfastens the tool belt and leaves it in a heap on the floor.
"No, it is not a fant—"
"I can dress up like all the village people if that's what you're into."
"Oh, my god, shut up," you groan before yanking him forward, covering your mouth over his. But you're smiling. He can tell.
His hands fly up to cup your face, his fingertips dig into your cheeks, and he kisses you so carefully that it catches you off guard. You lean into it and let him set the pace. You don't mind so much. His lips massage your mouth open and then his tongue dips past your teeth, searching for its mate. He tastes like lemon, sharp and sweet against your tongue, which undoubtably tastes the same, yet you think it tastes better on him.
He's a great kisser, but you'll never give him the satisfaction of admitting it.
"Fifteen minutes," you warn him, already breathless when you whisper against his lips. He smiles and his eyes crinkle in that way that makes your heart stutter so you push that silly feeling down before sliding off the counter and dropping to your knees.
You have to stifle a laugh when his eyes grow wide. His button is already undone and you have his zipper halfway down before he finds his voice.
"Y-you—we don't g-gotta—"
"I want to," you tell him, hooking your fingers over the waistband of his jeans and pulling them down his legs.
"Darlin'—"
"Joel," you say firmly. You stare up at him from your spot on the kitchen floor. He just continues to flounder and grow red in the face, but at least he stopped talking. "Let me do this. Please?"
His eyelids flutter shut and he groans. "C'mon, that ain't fair."
"What?"
"Sayin' please like that."
"How'd I say it?" you tease as you pull his boxers down to his ankles. His cock bobs to attention and you shimmy forward, pressing your thighs together to quell the ache burning between your legs. When your hand gently wraps around the base, he gasps and his eyes fly open. You start to stroke him, admiring how thick and hard he is for you already.
"Joel? You didn't answer me."
"Huh?" His voice is about two octaves higher.
"I said—" You lean forward, making sure to hold eye contact when you stick your tongue out and slowly drag a thick stripe up the underside of his cock. His arms fly forward to brace himself on the counter behind you. "How'd I say it?"
You flick the tip of your tongue over the head, licking up a small drop of arousal that rests there. Joel swallows hard and takes a deep breath, steadying himself. When he's ready, he drops his voice so it's rough and deep above you.
"Said it like you might die if I don't stuff my cock in that pretty little mouth of yours."
You grin right before wrapping your lips around him with an exaggerated moan. His eyes roll to the back of his head and his jaw slowly drops the further you take him, inch by inch, only stopping once he tickles the back of your throat.
"Oh, fu—goddamn—"
One hand finds the back of your head and his fingers splay wide. He's not pressing you forward or tugging on your hair like other men before him had done. It's just a steady, grounding weight as you begin to move, slowly at first, savoring the way his breath hitches every time you swallow him again.
"You're good at that," he gasps, watching you bob up and down. Your fist covers the rest of him you can't take, twisting and pumping in rhythm. He groans again and a fresh wave of wetness pools between your thighs. "S-so good. That's it. Tha-a-t's it, oh, shit—look so pretty like this, honey. Shoulda known that smart m-mouth has many talents."
It shouldn't, but the praise warms your chest like the soft glow from hazy sunbeams. You don't think he even realizes it, that's the worst part. He's not saying it to get what he wants. He genuinely means it when he compliments you.
It propels you, making you suck harder, moan louder, and even though tears sting the backs of your eyes from how badly your jaw burns, you don't stop because Joel just keeps telling you over and over and over again in that warm, deep drawl what a good girl you are and you make him feel so good and you drive him fuckin' crazy.
"Slow down—wait—"
His voice is pained. It's the only thing that pulls you out of it. You slow down but you keep him in your mouth, sucking gently on the tip as you gaze up at him curiously with watery eyes.
And Joel? Joel looks like a complete wreck.
His face is flushed. Neck, too. He's panting and a little sweaty at the temples just from the few minutes you've been on your knees. It has you brimming with pride, and from the looks of it, forcing him to hold eye contact with his cock filling your mouth is just making him crumble even more.
"Jesus Christ, I'm gonna come if you don't stop," he whines. Your tongue slowly swirls around his girth and you just tip your head to the side, giving him a look that says, well, that's the point.
He receives your wordless message and shakes his head.
"Wanna fuck you. Wanna feel that tight pussy again." Your eyes dart to the clock on the wall—ten minutes. The hand on the back of your head tightens and you focus back on his face. His throat bobs before he speaks. "Gonna let me, sweetheart? Gonna let me make you come?"
You make a frustrated noise before releasing him from your mouth and stand up. His dick twitches from the cool air of your kitchen, wet and angry looking from being left unattended. Without thinking, you turn around so your back is to Joel and begin to unbutton your shorts, but he swivels you back around to face him.
"Nuh-uh. Wanna see you."
You open your mouth to protest—you're pressed for time as it is, pausing and picking this up in your bedroom is a mood killer at this point—but he just scoops you up and somehow, with his jeans and underwear bunched around his ankles—carries you a few feet away to your kitchen table.
"Jesus," you murmur when your back hits the firm wood. But then his mouth is on you and his hands are pushing down your shorts and you forget what you were annoyed about in the first place.
He pulls away only briefly, just to bend down to fish a condom from his wallet while you work on removing your panties. With eight minutes left, the thick tip of his cock is finally pressing into you and like a puppet on a string, your spine arches and your jaw drops at the stretch.
"Shit," you whisper, breathing deep as he settles inside you.
"Yeah, miss me, sweetheart?"
You scrunch your nose with your eyes pinched shut as you adjust to the heavy feeling of him prying you open.
"Don't... get cocky," you breathe, thighs relaxing around his hips with a sigh.
"Don't get what?" Joel pushes in deeper and you gasp.
"Asshole," you mutter, but when your eyelids flutter open, he can see the traces of amusement you're desperately trying to hide. "You're the one begging for my pussy a minute ago," you clip back, and Joel smirks before he shifts his hips.
"Got me there," he says, slowly thrusting back inside you. A traitorous soft moan slips past your lips and his gaze darkens, like a predator honing in on its prey. He continues to work you open with slow, deep thrusts, lost in the way you respond to each one and wishing more than ever he could have dragged you to your bed, stripped you naked, and taken his time with you.
"Five... minutes..." you remind him when you start to roll your hips in sync with his movements. Joel's eyes dart to the clock and he groans before falling forward, caging you in on your table. He buries his face against your throat and begins to move faster. The table legs scrape against the floor each time your hips collide and you roll your head backwards as the heat builds low in your stomach.
"Right there," you gasp. He grunts and fucks you harder, the head of his cock kissing a soft spot deep inside that is slowly making you come undone. His lips messily suck at your throat, the sharp scratch from his beard sending chills down your spine.
Your fingers get lost in his hair, desperate for something to hold onto as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. It's so easy to fall back into this with him. Dangerously so. After the first time, you thought you got it out of your system. Unfortunately for your work hard now and play later mindset, the hot, annoying, funny construction worker next door has figured out how to read you like a book. He's gotten under your skin and burrowed into your brain, taking up space where once you held plans on advancing in your company, ideas for the latest projects, and innovative ways to acquire new business.
Case in point, you never take a lunch break, and yet here you are, baking cookies like June fucking Cleaver and getting railed on your kitchen table two minutes before your next call.
"Joel," you pant, vision going blurry at the edges, "m'close."
He lifts his head from your throat so he can study your face, just like he said he wanted to do. He grunts, hooking one of your legs over his forearm to widen your hips. You cry out and tug on his hair. His eyes roll back for a moment before he blinks hard and snaps out of it.
"Let go," he says, teeth clenched like he's fighting off his orgasm, "give it to me. C'mon, know you can do it. Lemme feel you."
You writhe and whimper, arching your back to deepen the angle. You're so close that it burns the back of your throat. But the ticking clock on the wall is adding too much pressure and you feel yourself starting to lose what he so expertly built up.
"I—fuck—"
You squeeze your eyes shut and make a frustrated noise. Joel senses it: the way your muscles give up, the exasperated furrow of your brow, and he quickly grabs your chin.
"Look at me."
His voice is so deep and commanding that your eyes snap open in shock. He's inches away from your face, forcing you to stare deep into his eyes. His hips never stop. He never loses rhythm, still hitting that sensitive spot that holds you right at the edge.
He doesn't say anything else. Just makes you hold his gaze so you can see the fire in his eyes and the desperation on his face.
Don't think about the time. Don't you dare think about work. Stay with him. Focus on him. On this.
Another sharp snap of his hips sends you soaring. Relief rolls down your spine and through your limbs. An embarrassing sound rips from your throat and your cheeks burn but you don't look away. He stays locked on you, watching the way your face melts with pleasure. He growls low and fucks you harder, chasing his own high. Your table knocks loudly against the wall but you're too lost in a hazy bubble to notice.
"Good job," he breathes, and your heart stutters. "Feels better, don't it? You deserve to feel good, baby."
Your eyes roll back and you let out a weak moan from the praise. The words hit you just right and he knows it. Joel smiles to himself before feverishly capturing your lips with his and letting go with a heavy groan.
Your chest tightens when his hips slow and you wonder what it would feel like to have him dripping out of you during your call. You wonder if the people on the other end would be able to tell what he just did to you.
Your phone pings brightly on the counter and you both freeze, mouths still pressed together but unmoving now. With a sigh, you tilt your head away to look for it, but Joel pushes himself up and grabs it himself, handing it over while still buried deep inside you.
"Hope you don't gotta be on camera," he grins.
You tap in your passcode on your phone and laugh softly. "I think I'll make up some technical issue."
Joel makes a pleased noise before settling back down on top of you to catch his breath. You join the call and pray no one asks you any questions for at least ten more minutes because he seems so content to just wrap his arms around you and quietly bury his face against the side of your neck.
This is nice, you think, closing your eyes while the familiar sound of boring higher-ups chirps from the speaker of your phone. Your heart rates slow in tandem and the sweat cools on your skin as the next few minutes tick by. Your fingers drift unwillingly to his hair and you play idly with the soft curls there. You swear you feel him relax even further into your hold from your gentle touch.
It's peaceful but you know it needs to end. He needs to get back to work. So do you. But for once, you don't want to be the one to push someone away first.
The choice gets taken from you anyway when you suddenly hear your name from the phone and your eyes snap open. You reach to unmute and Joel pushes himself up on his hands, careful not to make any noise.
"Yes, I believe that's correct at this juncture, but I do have a follow up meeting on the books with the client next week where I'll confirm."
The robotic voice thanks you and you mute yourself again before your gaze slides to Joel.
"Guess that's my cue," he says with a lopsided grin, then he winces when he pulls his half hard cock from between your legs.
You watch lazily as he rolls off the condom and tosses it in your trash. What do you say now? This isn't something you regularly do. Joel doesn't make it awkward and you both have to get back to work, so there's no reason to linger, yet you still feel like you need to say something.
You push yourself up and rub the back of your neck before hunting for your panties and shorts on the floor.
"Uh, thanks," you say, buttoning your shorts. Joel is picking up his tool belt and when you speak, he glances up.
"For the sex or for the shelf?"
You laugh. "Both. But mostly the shelf."
Joel gives you a teasing look and sets the belt on your counter so his hands are free when he crosses the room to join you.
"Y'know," he begins, rubbing his chin, "next time you wanna see me, you don't gotta go through all the trouble of burnin' cookies and breakin' shelves. Left my number right there."
He juts his thumb over his shoulder towards your fridge and your gaze follows. Your stomach twists with guilt again. You didn't expect him to bring that up, but you suppose you'd want an answer if it was you putting yourself out there.
Then you blink and look up at him in surprise. "Burned cookies?"
He grins and his head tilts towards your back deck, where the charred baking sheet of cookies still remains, solidified like a goddamn fossil.
Your face flares with heat. "Oh."
"Yeah. Oh."
Your phone is in your hand, executives are yapping away. You should be listening. You want to get ahead, right? Every meeting is a chance to make a splash. Make your mark. And yet... it's the last thing on your mind.
"Listen," you sigh, and Joel folds his arms across his chest. You drop your gaze so you don't get distracted by the muscles straining against his worn, soft shirt. And you definitely stop thinking about what it would feel like to wear that very same shirt on your own body. Because those thoughts don't have a place here. Not with you. Not anymore.
"I'm listenin'," he urges, lifting one eyebrow.
"I don't do..." Your hands flail as you search for the right word. Joel just waits, amused. "I tend to stay away from... relationships," you say, instantly feeling raw and exposed. You don't need to explain why. You don't owe him anything. Just leave it at that.
"Honey," Joel smiles, "I ain't lookin' to buy you a ring, I just wanna buy you a beer."
You chew your bottom lip, avoiding his gaze. He gives you a minute to think it over, but when it becomes clear you don't have a response, he shrugs and turns to pick up his belt.
"Ain't that serious," he adds, masking his hurt by clearing his throat. "Just thought it'd be nice to talk to you when neither of us gotta run back to work."
"Why?"
His hands still and he slowly turns around. "Huh?"
You shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking a little timid. It's not a look he's used to seeing on you.
"Why... do you want to talk to me?" you finally whisper, gaze glued to the ground. It hits him then that whatever walls you built up must be for a reason, something that cuts much deeper than his initial assessment of you being the overachiever, workaholic type.
He makes sure to straighten his spine and take a deep breath, facing you full on so you know what he's about to say means something.
"'Cause I like you, sweetheart. And I wanna get to know you better."
The softness in his voice makes you flinch. He lets you sit with it for a few more minutes, not rushing you, not saying anything more. He waits patiently while your brain turns over what he's said until you finally blink and meet his eye.
The walls are back up, but it's gentler now.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"I'll think about it."
"Is the answer okay, or you'll think 'bout it?"
You roll your eyes. "Same thing."
"It ain't. See—okay implies: yes, Joel, I'll give you a call tonight. I'll tell you my favorite bar and when I'm free, and I'll even let you pick me up in your beautiful, shiny truck—"
"Your truck is not beautiful."
He raises a finger in warning. "Don't talk bad 'bout her again. Hurt her feelin's last time."
When you crack a smile, Joel does the same. His chest lifts to see you happy and out of whatever dark place you disappeared to inside your head a moment ago. He doesn't like that, and he makes a note to be extra careful with you until you're willing to tell him more.
The voices coming from your speakerphone grow louder as a few different men talk over one another, drawing your attention down to your hand. Joel decides not to push you further and heads towards the door, tool belt slung over his shoulder.
"You know where to find me," he calls when he opens your front door. You look up but stay where you are in your kitchen. "I'll be waitin'," he adds after a pause, then quietly shuts the door behind him.
Your heart thuds loudly in your chest when you're left all alone once again. The conversation happening in your hand should be your primary focus, but it's not. The men are loud, but the numbers scrawled on your fridge are louder.
That familiar, creeping fear claws its way up your throat. That swell of panic and a fresh wave of uncertainty follows.
It's just a beer. It's not serious. It's not like—
With a determination you haven't felt outside of work in a long while, you stomp to your fridge and stare at his name scrawled in black ink. He's got blocky writing. But his numbers are sharp.
You smirk.
Of course the numbers are sharp. He's a contractor. He lives and breathes numbers, just like you, but in a very different way.
Don't overthink it.
You punch the numbers into your phone and stare blankly at the empty text message. You swallow tightly, ignoring the pang in your chest and the voices arguing over projections or referrals or something that seems incredibly insignificant now.
It's a big leap. Something you swore you'd never do again. Yet here you are, about to do it, because something about Joel just feels... different. And you're really interested in finding out if you're right.
What's the worst that could happen?
You wince.
Okay, bad question. You know the worst that could happen. You've lived it. Barely.
Stop it.
You take a deep breath and quickly tap out one word. Four letters. And hit send.
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.
hey girl do you hv any recs for having a baby with joel?😁
Hi, love! Unfortunately, I rarely read baby fics but I asked my Milla @milla-frenchy and she recced this series, it’s really good - Trial And Error by @thetriumphantpanda
Oh, and I highly recommend Joel dealing with his preggo wife by @pedge-page. This couple is hilarious and super sexy🤤
Also tagging some lovely people who might help the nonnie out with recs and self-recs🙏
I know I’m late to this but I SAW THIS PREGGO BY JOEL BAT SIGNAL LIGHT UP AND MY HORNY UNHINGED SELF (who does not have a joel miller- shaped breeding kink at all nuh uh) IS BACK WITH SOME RECS!! 🤰
💗 Doctor’s Orders by the talented @honeyandruin
💗 Me, You, and Baby, Too by the talented @javierpena-inatacvest
💗 Let Me Help You by the talented @sprigsofhazel
💗 ’Till it Sticks by the talented @shadowqueen2024 (has 3 parts!)
💗 You forget, he reminds by the talented @littledes1re
💗 Guardian by the talented @isabellaboo2025 (has two parts)
💗 A Christmas Baby by the talented @joelslastofus
💗 Just to be Sure by the talented @justagalwhowrites
💗 Ours by the talented @pandapetals
💗 Before We Knew by the talented @cherryblossomcowgirl
💗 Sounds like a promise by the talented @poorsoulofmine
I’m probably forgetting some amazing joel as your baby daddy -fics, but hopefully these scratch the itch a little bit!! 🤭
Hi! I hope you're doing well 💛? This is the same anon who asked if you still write fics with Pedro Pascal. I wanted to send in a fic request that’s been sitting in my head for a while.
I’d love something Pedro Pascal x reader, where the reader is very shy, nerdy, and kind of invisible to the world. She’s on the chubbier side and doesn’t see herself as attractive at all; guys never really notice her, and she’s grown used to feeling overlooked. She decides, just this once, to step out of her comfort zone and dresses up for an event (maybe a premiere or something similar), almost like a one-night transformation where she allows herself to feel seen. That’s where she meets Pedro. Somehow, they click, and the night ends with them going back to his place.
For her, it’s really overwhelming, she’s never been on a date/kissed/slept with anyone, not even received flowers. So this moment feels surreal. Part of her believes this might be her only chance to ever experience something like this; to be wanted, to feel close to someone, even if it’s just for one night. She wants to know what it feels like, even if it ends up being awkward or imperfect. At the same time, she’s terrified; of intimacy, of being seen, of being vulnerable, of what it means to actually be cared for. I’d love if the story really leans into that emotional push and pull: her longing for connection vs. her instinct to run from it.
And in the end, despite everything, she leaves while he’s asleep, very Cinderella-like, slipping away before morning. Not because she didn’t feel something, but because it’s almost impossible for her to believe that someone like him could truly want or care for her as she is. It feels safer to disappear before she has to face that possibility. If possible, I’d love some softness from him too; patience, reassurance, small moments that mean everything to her, like he sees her in a way no one else ever has. I don't mind if it ends in sad or happy ending.
Thank you so much if you decide to write this 🥺.
The Weight of Being Seen
Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Curvy F!Reader
Warning/Rating: 18+; explicit, graphic sexual activity (manual/oral stimulation, penetration, orgasm described in detail), protected sex, language.
Word Count: 6.5 K
The dress didn’t fit the way dresses fit other women.
You had known that the moment you zipped it up, standing in the cramped dressing room under fluorescent lights that made your skin look sallow and tired. The fabric clung in places you wished it wouldn’t, skimmed over curves you had spent years trying to hide beneath oversized sweaters and dark jeans. But the saleswoman had smiled - genuinely, you thought - and said you looked beautiful, and for reasons you couldn’t quite articulate, you had believed her just enough to swipe your credit card.
Now, standing in front of your bathroom mirror an hour before the premiere, you barely recognized yourself.
The dress was a deep emerald green, the kind of color that should have made you disappear but somehow didn’t. Your hair, usually pulled back in a messay bun, fell in soft waves around your shoulders. You had watched three Youtube tutorials to get your makeup right - nothing dramatic, just enough to make your eyes look bigger, your lips fuller, your cheekbones more defined.
You looked… different. Not transformed, exactly. Not like the heroines in the romance novels you devoured late at night, the ones who took off their glasses and suddenly became irresistible. But different enough that your heart hammered against your ribs as you slipped on the heels you had practiced walking in for the past week.
Just one night, you told yourself, the same mantra you had been repeating since your colleague had offered you her plus-one ticket to the premiere. Just one night of being someone else. Someone visible.
The premiere was for a film you had actually wanted to see - a thoughtful indie drama that had been generating Oscar buzz. Your colleague knew you would appreciate it more than she would, and besides, she had said with a knowing smile, you deserved a night out. You had almost said no. Almost stayed home with your books and your cat and your comfortable invisibility.
But something had shifted in you lately. Some quiet desperation that whispered: What if this is all there is? What if you never even try?
So here you were, stepping out of an Uber in front of a venue that glittered with lights and beautiful people, your hands trembling as you clutched your small purse.
The premiere was exactly as overwhelming as you had feared.
Everywhere you looked, there were people who belonged - actors with perfect skin and practiced smiles, industry professionals who moved through the crowd with easy confidence, couples who touched each other with casual intimacy that made your chest ache. You had collected your drink from the bar (white wine, because it seemed like what people drank at these things) and drifted to the edges of the room, finding a quiet corner near a tall window that overlooked the city.
This was familiar territory. The periphery. The shadows. You had spent your whole life here, watching other people live while you remained safely invisible.
In high school, you had been the girl guys asked for homework help, never for dates. In college, you had watched your roommates get ready for parties you were never invited to, had smiled and said you preferred staying in anyway. At work, you were competent, reliable, forgettable - the person who could be counted on to handle the difficult projects but never the one invited for drinks afterward.
You had told yourself it didn’t matter. That you were fine alone. That romance was for other people, people wh oknew how to be charming and flirtatious and comfortable in their own skin.
But standing here, watching a couple near the bar lean into each other and laugh, you felt the weight of all those years of invisibility pressing down on your chest.
Just one night, you reminded yourself. Tomorrow you can go back to being invisible. But tonight, you’re here. You’re trying.
“Not a fan of crowds?”
The voice came from beside you, warm and slightly amused, and you startled so badly you nearly spilled your wine.
When you turned, your brain short-circuited.
Pedro Pascal was standing next to you, hands in his pockets, looking at you with genuine curiosity in his dark eyes.
Pedro Pascal.
You had seen him in countless films and shows, had admired his talent and his seemingly genuine kindness in interviews. He was one of those actors who felt real somehow, despite the fame - someone you could imagine actually having a conversation with, if you were the kind of person who had conversations with famous actors.
Which you absolutely were not.
“I -” Your voice came out as a squeak. You cleared your throat, tried again. “No. I mean, yes. I mean - crowds aren’t really my thing.”
His smile widened, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Mine either, honestly. I’m only here because I know the director. But between you and me -” He leaned in slightly, conspiratorially. “I’d much rather be home in sweatpants watching The Great British Bake Off.”
The specificity of it surprised a laugh out of you. “Really?”
“Really. There’s something deeply soothing about watching people stress about whether their custard set properly.” He gestured to the space beside you. “Mind if I hide out here with you for a bit?”
Your mind was screaming that this couldn’t be real, that there must be some mistake, that any moment he would realize he was talking to the wrong person and politely excuse himself. But your mouth said, “Please do.”
He settled against the window beside you, close enough that you could smell his cologne - something warm and woody that made you want to lean closer. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that somehow looked both elegant and comfortable, and when he turned to look at you, really look at you, you felt your cheeks flush.
“I’m Pedro, by the way.”
“I know,” you blurted, then immediately wanted to sink through the floor. “I mean - yes. I’m -” you gave him your name, stumbling over the syllables like you had forgotten how to pronounce your own name.
“Beautiful name,” he said, and the way he said it - like he actually meant it, like he was tasting the syllables - made your heart stutter.
“Thank you. I didn’t - I mean, my parents chose it, so I can’t really take credit -” You were rambling. God, you were rambling. “Sorry. I’m not usually at things like this. I’m a little out of my element.”
“I couldn’t tell,” he said, and there was no mockery in it, just kindness. “You look like you belong here.”
The compliment landed like a physical touch, and you had to resist the urge to look around for the person he must actually be talking to. “I really don’t. I’m just - my colleague had an extra ticket, and I thought, why not? But honestly, I’ve been standing here trying to remember how to have a normal conversation with another human being.”
“Well, you’re doing great so far.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “What do you do? When you’re not attending premieres you’re not comfortable at?”
“I’m a research librarian. At the university.” You waited for his eyes to glaze over, for the polite nod that usually followed this revelation. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, genuinely interested.
“Yeah? What kind of research?”
And somehow - impossibly - you found yourself talking. About your work, about the obscure historical documents you helped professors and students track down, about the thrill of finding some long-forgotten letter or manuscript that changed someone’s entire thesis. He asked questions that showed he was actually listening, made comments that proved he understood what you were saying.
No one ever asked about your work like this. No one ever seemed to care.
“That sounds incredible,” he said after you had finished explaining a particularly exciting find from last month. “Like being a detective, but for history.”
“That’s exactly what it’s like.” You were smiling now, genuinely smiling, the anxiety that had been coiled in your chest loosening slightly. “Most people think it sounds boring.”
“Most people are idiots.” He said it so matter-of-factly that you laughed, a real laugh that surprised you with its brightness.
The conversation flowed easier after that. He told you about the film, about working with the director, about a disastrous audition he had early in his career that still made him cringe. You told him about your cat, about the fantasy novel series you were rereading for the fourth time, about your secret addiction to terrible reality TV.
“Wait, you watch Love Island?” He looked delighted.
“Religiously. I know it’s trash, but -”
“It’s brilliant trash,” he corrected. “The drama. The accents. The way they say ‘I’ve got a text’ like it’s a matter of national security.”
You were laughing again, and he was laughing too, and somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice whispered that this couldn’t be real. That men like him didn’t talk to women like you. That this was some kind of cosmic joke, and any moment the punchline would land.
But he was still there, still looking at you like you were the most interesting person in the room, and when his hand brushed yours on the windowsill - accidentally or intentionally, you couldn’t tell - electricity shot up your arm.
“Can I be honest with you?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, more intimate.
Your mouth went dry. “Okay.”
“I’m really glad I came tonight. I almost didn’t.” His eyes held yours, and there was something in them that made your breath catch. “But then I wouldn’t have met you.”
The words hung in the air between you, weighted with meaning you were afraid to interpret. Your instinct was to deflect, to make a joke, to protect yourself from the possibility of misunderstanding.
But instead, you heard yourself whisper, “I’m glad I came too.”
His smile was soft, almost tender. “Would you think I was crazy if I said I didn’t want this night to end? That I’d really like to keep talking to you somewhere quieter?”
Your heart stopped. Actually stopped.
He was asking you to leave with him. Pedro Pascal was asking you to leave with him.
Every rational part of your brain screamed that this was insane. That you barely knew him. That this kind of thing didn’t happen to people like you. That you were going to make a fool of yourself, that you would disappoint him, that this was a mistake.
But underneath the panic was something else. Something that had been buried for so long you had almost forgotten it existed.
Want.
You wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted, just once in your life, to know what it felt like to be chosen. To be desired. To be seen as something other than invisible.
Even if it was just for one night. Even if it ended in awkwardness or regret. Even if tomorrow you went back to being the person no one noticed.
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” you said, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.
The car ride to his apartment was a blur of city lights and mounting panic.
You sat in the back of the car he had called, hyperaware of every inch of space between you. He had settled beside you, close but not touching, and the almost-contact was driving you insane. You could smell his cologne, could feel the warmth radiating from his body, could see the way his hand rested on his thigh, so close to yours.
“You okay?” he asked softly, and you realized you had been holding your breath.
“Yes. No. Maybe.” You laughed shakily. “I’m just - this is very new for me.”
“We can just talk, you know.” His voice was gentle, reassuring. “No pressure. No expectations. I just wanted to spend more time with you.”
The kindness in his words made your eyes sting. When was the last time someone had been this considerate of your comfort? When had anyone ever made you feel like your feelings mattered?
“Okay,” you whispered.
His apartment was in a beautiful building in a quiet neighborhood, and when he unlocked the door and gestured for you to enter, you stepped into a space that felt surprisingly… normal. Lived-in. There were books stacked on the coffee table, a blanket draped over the couch, framed photos on the walls that looked personal rather than professionally staged.
“It’s not much,” he said, shrugging off his jacket. “But it’s home.”
“It’s lovely,” you said honestly, taking in the warm lighting, the comfortable furniture, the evidence of an actual life being lived here.
“Can I get you something to drink? Wine? Water? Tea?”
"Tea would be nice." You needed something to do with your hands, some way to ground yourself in the surreality of this moment.
He moved into the kitchen, and you perched on the edge of his couch, your hands clasped in your lap. This was really happening. You were in Pedro Pascal's apartment. He was making you tea. And unless you were completely misreading the situation, he'd brought you here because he wanted...
Your mind shied away from completing that thought.
He returned with two mugs, handing you one before settling beside you on the couch. Not too close, but close enough that you could feel the dip of the cushion, the warmth of his presence.
"So," he said, his eyes twinkling over the rim of his mug. "Tell me more about this cat of yours."
And just like that, the tension eased. You told him about Mr. Darcy (yes, you had named your cat Mr. Darcy, and no, you weren't embarrassed about it), about how he'd adopted you more than you'd adopted him, about his habit of sitting on whatever book you were trying to read.
Pedro told you about his family, about his childhood, about the strange surreality of fame and how sometimes he still felt like he was playing dress-up in someone else's life.
"I think everyone feels like that sometimes," you said softly. "Like they're pretending to be someone they're not."
"Is that how you felt tonight? At the premiere?"
You considered lying, but something about the way he was looking at you - really looking, like he genuinely wanted to know - made you tell the truth.
"I felt like Cinderella," you admitted. "Like I was playing dress-up. Like at midnight, everything would go back to normal and I'd remember that I'm just... me."
"Just you," he repeated, and there was something in his voice that made you look up. He'd set down his mug, and he was watching you with an intensity that stole your breath. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"I'm not -" You gestured helplessly at yourself. "I'm not the kind of person who gets noticed. I'm the person people look past. I'm okay with that, mostly. I've made peace with it. But tonight, I just wanted to know what it felt like. To be seen."
"I see you," he said quietly.
The words landed like a physical touch, and suddenly you couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but stare at him as he shifted closer, his hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.
The gesture was so tender, so intimate, that your eyes filled with tears.
"Hey," he murmured, his thumb brushing your cheek. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Everything. I don't -" Your voice broke. "I don't know how to do this."
"Do what?"
"This. Any of this. I've never -" The confession stuck in your throat, humiliation burning through you. But you forced yourself to continue. "I've never been on a date. Never been kissed. Never... any of it. And I know that's pathetic for someone my age, but guys just don't - they don't see me that way. They never have. And I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm terrified I'm going to disappoint you, but I also really, really want -"
He kissed you.
It was soft, gentle, questioning - his lips barely brushing yours, giving you every opportunity to pull away. But you didn't pull away. You leaned in, your hands coming up to clutch his shirt, and kissed him back with all the longing you'd been carrying for years.
He made a soft sound against your mouth, his hand sliding into your hair, and deepened the kiss slowly, carefully, like you were something precious. His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer, and you went willingly, desperately, your heart hammering so hard you thought it might break through your ribs.
When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes dark and warm and full of something that looked almost like wonder.
"You could never disappoint me," he whispered. "And for the record? I'm the lucky one here."
You wanted to argue, to tell him that was impossible, but he was kissing you again, and all your protests dissolved into sensation. The warmth of his mouth. The gentle pressure of his hands. The way he held you like you might break, like you mattered, like you were worth this tenderness.
"Is this okay?" he murmured against your lips.
"Yes," you breathed. "Yes, please don't stop."
He smiled against your mouth, and then he was kissing you deeper, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made heat pool low in your belly. Your hands found his hair, threading through the soft strands, and he groaned softly, the sound vibrating through you.
"Come here," he whispered, and guided you onto his lap, your legs straddling his thighs. The new position pressed you against him in ways that made you gasp, made you acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies.
His hands spanned your waist, thumbs stroking gentle circles through the fabric of your dress. "Still okay?"
You nodded, not trusting your voice, and he smiled before capturing your mouth again. This kiss was hungrier, more urgent, and you matched his intensity, pouring years of loneliness and longing into the slide of your lips against his.
When his hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts, you pulled back with a gasp.
"Too much?" he asked immediately, his hands stilling.
"No. I just -" You were trembling, overwhelmed by sensation and emotion. "I want this. I want you. But I'm scared."
"Of me?"
"Of this. Of being vulnerable. Of being seen." You forced yourself to meet his eyes. "Of believing this is real and then finding out it's not."
His expression softened, and he brought one hand up to cup your face. "This is real. I promise you, this is real. But we can slow down. We can stop. Whatever you need."
"I don't want to stop," you whispered. "I just - I need you to be patient with me. I need you to know that I have no idea what I'm doing."
"Then we'll figure it out together." He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. "And for what it's worth? I think you're doing just fine."
You laughed shakily, and he smiled, and somehow that broke through the worst of your panic. This was Pedro - kind, patient Pedro, who had spent the evening making you feel interesting and valued and seen. Who was looking at you now like you were beautiful.
"Okay," you said. "Okay."
"Okay?"
You kissed him in answer, and this time when his hands moved over your body, you let yourself sink into the sensation. Let yourself feel the way he touched you - reverently, carefully, like you were something precious. His hands mapped the curves you'd spent years hiding, and instead of pulling away in shame, you let him explore, let him show you that he wanted this. Wanted you.
"Bedroom?" he murmured against your neck, and you nodded, your breath coming in short gasps.
He stood, lifting you with him, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, clinging to him as he carried you down the hallway. The gesture should have made you self-conscious - you weren't small, weren't delicate - but he held you like you weighed nothing, like carrying you was a privilege rather than a burden.
His bedroom was dimly lit, the bed large and inviting, and when he laid you down on it, you felt the full weight of what was about to happen crash over you.
This was real. This was happening.
He must have seen the panic in your eyes because he stretched out beside you, propping himself up on one elbow, and just looked at you.
"Talk to me," he said softly. "What are you thinking?"
"That I can't believe this is happening. That I'm terrified. That I want this so badly it hurts." You swallowed hard. "That I'm afraid I won't be good at it. That you'll regret this."
"I won't regret this." He traced your jawline with one finger, the touch feather-light. "And there's no 'good at it' or 'bad at it.' There's just us, figuring out what feels right. Together."
"I don't know what feels right," you admitted. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."
"Then let me show you." He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "Tell me if anything doesn't feel good, okay? This is about both of us."
You nodded, and he smiled before kissing you again, slow and deep. His hands moved over your body with increasing confidence, learning what made you gasp, what made you arch into his touch. When he reached for the zipper of your dress, he paused.
"Can I?"
"Yes," you whispered.
He drew the zipper down slowly, his knuckles brushing your spine, and helped you slip the dress off. You were left in your simple cotton bra and underwear - nothing sexy, nothing special - and you fought the urge to cover yourself.
But he was looking at you like you were a masterpiece.
"God, you're beautiful," he breathed, and the reverence in his voice made your eyes sting.
"I'm not -"
"You are." He cut off your protest with a kiss. "You absolutely are."
His hands and mouth explored your body with a patience that undid you. He kissed the curve of your shoulder, the swell of your breast, the soft skin of your stomach. Every touch was deliberate, worshipful, designed to show you that he meant what he said.
When he unhooked your bra and drew it away, you instinctively moved to cover yourself, but he caught your hands.
"Don't hide from me," he murmured. "Please. You're perfect."
You weren't perfect. You knew you weren't. But the way he looked at you, the way he touched you - it made you feel like maybe, just for tonight, you could believe him.
He lavished attention on your breasts, his mouth and hands drawing sounds from you that you'd never made before. Pleasure built in waves, each one cresting higher than the last, and when his hand slid between your thighs, you gasped his name.
"Still okay?" he asked, his voice rough.
"Yes. God, yes."
He touched you through your underwear first, learning the shape of you, the rhythm that made you moan. When he finally slipped beneath the fabric, his fingers finding you wet and ready, you thought you might shatter from the intensity of it.
"You're so responsive," he murmured, his mouth against your neck. "So perfect. Do you have any idea how incredible you are?"
You couldn't answer, could only cling to him as he worked you higher, his fingers moving with a skill that suggested he was paying close attention to every reaction, every sound. When he slipped one finger inside you, you cried out, the sensation overwhelming.
"Too much?"
"No. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
He didn't stop. He built you up slowly, carefully, adding a second finger, his thumb circling in a way that made stars burst behind your eyelids. You'd touched yourself before, but this was different. This was someone else learning your body, someone else dedicated to your pleasure.
"That's it," he encouraged, his voice low and warm. "Let go. I've got you."
And you did. You let go, let the pleasure crash over you in waves that left you gasping and shaking. He worked you through it, his movements gentling as you came down, and when you finally opened your eyes, he was watching you with such tenderness that you wanted to cry.
"Beautiful," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You're so beautiful."
You pulled him down for a kiss, tasting the smile on his lips. "I want -" You hesitated, suddenly shy despite everything that had just happened. "I want to feel you. All of you."
His eyes darkened. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
He kissed you deeply, then pulled back to strip off his own clothes. You watched, mesmerized, as he revealed his body - the broad shoulders, the soft stomach, the evidence of his desire for you. When he was naked, he reached for his nightstand, pulling out a condom.
"Last chance to change your mind," he said softly. "No pressure. No judgment."
"I don't want to change my mind." You reached for him, pulling him back down to you. "I want this. I want you."
He positioned himself between your thighs, the weight of him grounding and thrilling all at once. "This might be uncomfortable at first," he warned. "Tell me if you need me to stop."
You nodded, and he kissed you as he began to push inside, slow and careful. There was pressure, a burning stretch that made you tense, and he paused immediately.
"Breathe," he murmured. "Just breathe. We'll go as slow as you need."
You focused on breathing, on relaxing, and gradually the discomfort eased. He moved incrementally, giving you time to adjust, and when he was finally fully inside you, you both stilled.
"Okay?" he asked, his voice strained.
"Okay," you confirmed, and experimentally shifted your hips.
The sensation was strange, overwhelming, but not bad. Not bad at all. He began to move, slow and steady, and gradually the strangeness gave way to pleasure. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groaned against your neck.
"You feel incredible," he breathed. "So perfect. So good."
The praise washed over you, mixing with the physical sensations until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. This was intimacy. This was connection. This was what you had been missing all these years.
He made love to you with a tenderness that broke your heart, his hands and mouth never stopping their exploration, his words a constant stream of encouragement and praise. When you came again, it was with his name on your lips and tears streaming down your face.
He followed soon after, his body shuddering against yours, and then he was gathering you close, pressing kisses to your hair, your face, your shoulders.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for trusting me."
You couldn't speak past the lump in your throat, so you just held him, memorizing the feeling of his body against yours, the sound of his heartbeat, the warmth of his skin.
This was real. For tonight, at least, this was real.
Afterward, he cleaned you both up with a warm washcloth, the gesture so intimate and caring that it made you want to cry all over again. Then he pulled you back into bed, tucking you against his side, your head on his chest.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your shoulder.
"Overwhelmed. Happy. Terrified." You laughed shakily. "All of the above."
"Terrified of what?"
Of this ending. Of tomorrow. Of you realizing you made a mistake.
But you couldn't say that, so instead you said, "Of how much I liked that."
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "I liked it too. A lot." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Stay tonight?"
The invitation was casual, but it felt weighted with meaning. Staying meant facing the morning. Meant seeing him in daylight. Meant the possibility of this being more than just one night.
It meant believing you deserved this.
"Okay," you whispered, because despite everything, you weren't ready to leave yet. Weren't ready to let go of this feeling.
He pulled the blankets over you both, his arms secure around you, and you let yourself relax into his embrace. For the first time in your life, you felt safe. Cherished. Wanted.
"Get some sleep," he murmured. "I'll be here when you wake up."
You closed your eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.
I'll be here when you wake up.
The promise settled over you like a blanket, warm and comforting and terrifying all at once.
Because you knew - even as you drifted toward sleep, even as his arms tightened around you - that you wouldn't be there when he woke up.
The first light of dawn crept through the windows, painting the room in shades of gray and gold.
You had barely slept, your mind too full of the night's events, your body too aware of Pedro's warmth beside you. He'd held you all night, even in sleep, his arm draped over your waist, his breath soft against your hair.
It had been perfect. All of it. The conversation, the connection, the tenderness with which he had touched you. He had made you feel seen in a way you had never experienced, had given you a gift you would carry with you for the rest of your life.
And that was exactly why you had to leave.
Because this - this beautiful, impossible night - couldn't last. In the harsh light of day, he would see you clearly. Would realize that you were just ordinary, unremarkable, nothing special. The magic would break, and you would be left with the humiliation of watching him try to let you down gently.
Better to leave now. Better to preserve this night as something perfect, something untainted by the inevitable disappointment.
Better to be the one who left before you could be left.
Moving carefully, you slipped out from under his arm. He stirred slightly, reaching for you in his sleep, and you froze, your heart in your throat. But he settled again, his breathing evening out, and you released a shaky breath.
Your dress was draped over a chair, and you pulled it on with trembling hands, not bothering with the zipper. Your shoes were by the door. Your purse on the coffee table.
You should leave a note. You knew you should. But what would you say? Thank you for the best night of my life, but I can't face the morning because I don't believe someone like you could actually want someone like me?
No. Better to just disappear. Like Cinderella fleeing the ball, leaving before the clock struck twelve and the magic ended.
You took one last look at him, memorizing the peaceful expression on his face, the way the early morning light caught in his hair. You wanted to press a kiss to his forehead, to whisper a goodbye, but you didn't trust yourself not to break down completely.
So instead, you turned and walked out of the bedroom, out of the apartment, out of the building, into the cool morning air.
The city was just waking up, the streets quiet except for the occasional car or early-morning jogger. You walked for several blocks before calling a car, your heels clicking against the pavement, your dress wrinkled and your makeup smudged.
You looked exactly like what you were: someone fleeing the scene of their own happiness.
When you finally made it home, Mr. Darcy greeted you with an indignant meow, demanding breakfast and attention. You fed him, then collapsed on your couch, still wearing your dress, and let the tears come.
You had done it. You had stepped out of your comfort zone, had experienced something beautiful and terrifying and real. You'd been seen, been wanted, been cherished - if only for a night.
And now it was over.
Your phone buzzed in your purse, and with shaking hands, you pulled it out. A text from an unknown number:
I woke up and you were gone. I hope you're okay. Last night was incredible. I'd really like to see you again. Please call me. - Pedro
Your vision blurred with fresh tears. He had given you his number. He wanted to see you again.
But wanting and keeping were different things. Eventually, he'd see the truth. Eventually, the novelty would wear off and he'd realize you were just... you.
Better to end it now. Better to keep last night as a perfect memory rather than watch it slowly tarnish.
Three days later, you were back at work, back in your comfortable clothes and your invisible life. Your colleague asked how the premiere was, and you smiled and said it was nice, and left it at that.
At night, alone in your apartment, you let yourself remember. The way he had looked at you. The gentleness of his touch. The sound of his voice saying you were beautiful.
You had had your Cinderella night. You had gone to the ball, had danced with the prince, had experienced magic.
And like Cinderella, you had fled before the spell could break.
Your phone buzzed again. Another text from Pedro:
I don't know what I did wrong, but I'm sorry. If you want space, I understand. But please know that night meant something to me. You mean something to me. If you ever want to talk, I'm here.
You read it three times, your heart breaking a little more with each word.
He hadn't done anything wrong. He had been perfect. That was the problem.
You were the one who was broken. The one who couldn't believe that someone could see all of you - the awkwardness, the insecurity, the ordinariness - and still want to stay.
You typed out a response a dozen times, deleted it a dozen times.
Finally, you turned off your phone and curled up on your couch with Mr. Darcy purring on your chest.
You had your night of being seen. Of being wanted. Of being Cinderella.
Now it was time to go back to being invisible.
Even if it hurt more than you would ever imagined it could.
Even if a part of you wondered - would always wonder - what might have happened if you had been brave enough to stay.
The library was quiet, the way you liked it. You were helping a graduate student track down a reference when you heard a familiar voice behind you.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for a book."
You froze, your heart stopping, then starting again at double speed.
Slowly, you turned around.
Pedro stood there, hands in his pockets, looking uncertain in a way you'd never seen him look before. He was dressed casually - jeans and a t-shirt - and there were shadows under his eyes that suggested he hadn't been sleeping well.
"Hi," he said softly.
"Hi," you whispered back.
The graduate student looked between you, clearly sensing the tension, and quietly excused herself.
You and Pedro stood there, the silence stretching between you, heavy with everything unsaid.
"How did you find me?" you finally asked.
"You told me where you worked. That night." He took a tentative step closer. "I'm sorry for showing up like this. I know you didn't respond to my texts, and I should probably take the hint, but I -" He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I needed to know if I did something wrong. If I hurt you somehow."
"You didn't." The words came out choked. "You were perfect. That night was perfect."
"Then why did you leave?" The pain in his voice made your chest ache. "Why did you disappear without a word?"
You couldn't meet his eyes. "Because it was easier than staying and watching you realize you made a mistake."
"A mistake?" He sounded genuinely confused. "What are you talking about?"
"Me. I'm talking about me." You forced yourself to look at him, to let him see the truth. "I'm not - I'm not the kind of person someone like you ends up with. I'm ordinary. Forgettable. And that night was - it was magical, but magic doesn't last. Eventually, you would have seen me clearly, and you would have realized -"
"That you're intelligent, and kind, and funny, and beautiful?" He closed the distance between you, his hands coming up to frame your face. "That talking to you is the most interesting conversation I've had in years? That being with you felt more real than anything I've experienced in a long time?"
Tears spilled down your cheeks. "You don't mean that."
"I do mean it." His thumbs brushed away your tears. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. About that night. About the way you laughed, the way you looked at me, the way you trusted me with something so precious." His voice dropped to a whisper. "You didn't just give me your body that night. You gave me your vulnerability, your honesty, your truth. And then you left before I could tell you how much that meant to me."
"I was scared," you admitted. "I'm still scared."
"Of what?"
"Of believing this is real. Of letting myself hope. Of -" Your voice broke. "Of being happy and then losing it."
"I can't promise you'll never lose it," he said gently. "I can't promise this will be easy, or that we won't mess up, or that everything will be perfect. But I can promise that I see you. Really see you. And I like what I see." He leaned his forehead against yours. "Give me a chance. Give us a chance. Please."
You wanted to. God, you wanted to so badly it hurt.
But the fear was still there, whispering that this couldn't last, that you'd only end up hurt.
"I don't know how," you whispered.
"Then let me show you." He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "One day at a time. One moment at a time. No pressure. No expectations. Just... us. Figuring it out together."
Together.
The word settled into your chest, warm and terrifying and full of possibility.
Maybe you didn't have to be Cinderella, fleeing before midnight. Maybe you could be brave enough to stay. To believe. To let yourself be seen and wanted and cherished.
Maybe you could let yourself be happy.
"Okay," you breathed. "Okay. One day at a time."
His smile was like the sun breaking through clouds. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
And when he kissed you there in the quiet library, surrounded by books and dust motes dancing in the afternoon light, you let yourself believe - just a little - that maybe magic could last after all.
Maybe you just had to be brave enough to hold onto it.
