Note I've been having this idea for a very long, long time and now that it's here... I am not sure, I hope it's not that stupid haha Bucky is not sad this time and that's a win for me.
The quantum tunnel hissed as it powered down, the air in the Avengers compound crackling with residual chroniton particles. You stumbled out, Sam right behind you, both of you looking like you’d just run a marathon through a hurricane.
“Status?” Steve’s voice was a sharp, worried bark from the control platform.
“We got it,” Sam wheezed, holding up the inert Tesseract cube in a lead-lined case. “But man, 1943 is a hell of a vibe. Very… sepia.”
You weren’t listening. You were standing stock still, your gaze locked on the vault door of the compound’s hangar where you knew he’d be waiting. He was always waiting. The man you’d painstakingly, lovingly pieced your life together with over the last three years.
Bucky was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a portrait of stoic relief. His dark hair was pulled back, his metal arm glinting dully under the fluorescent lights. He was all sharp angles, weary eyes, and the quiet, banked intensity of a man who had learned to be still after a century of storms.
You started walking towards him, a tired smile forming, when Steve’s hand on your arm stopped you.
“Hey,” Steve said, his voice low, his blue eyes filled with a strange, unreadable emotion. “You okay? The mission… it went smooth, right?”
“Smooth as time-travel gets,” you confirmed, trying to shrug him off. Your heart was already reaching for Bucky. “We were in and out. Didn’t even make a ripple.”
“You didn’t… run into anyone you shouldn’t have?” Steve pressed, his gaze flickering between you and Bucky.
You finally looked at him, a flicker of confusion in your chest. “We were in an abandoned warehouse district, Steve. The only people we saw were a couple of patrol officers two blocks away.”
Steve’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, releasing your arm. “Okay. Good. Glad you’re back.”
He let you go, and you closed the distance to Bucky. He unfolded his arms, pulling you into a fierce embrace. His scent—leather, gun oil, and the clean scent of his soap—enveloped you. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, and for a moment, the weird tension Steve had stirred up vanished.
“Told you not to worry, handsome.” you murmured against his skin.
He pulled back, his hands framing your face, his stormy grey eyes scanning every inch of you like he was cataloguing you back into existence. “I always worry,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Don’t go anywhere for a while, alright?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you said, leaning into his touch.
But you felt it. A subtle shift. A tremor in his fingers that had nothing to do with you. He was looking at you, but his gaze was distant, troubled.
Later that night, in the quiet of your shared quarters, the truth came out. You were curled up on the couch, your head in his lap, when he spoke.
“Steve told me.”
You went rigid. “Told you what?”
“Where you went. When you went.” His voice was flat, the way it got when he was trying to control a storm inside him. “The warehouse district in Brooklyn. That specific July night in 1943.”
Your heart plummeted. You sat up, turning to face him. “Bucky, it was just a drop-off point. We were there for maybe forty minutes.”
“I was there that night,” he said, not looking at you. He was staring at the metal fingers of his left hand, flexing them one by one. “Shipping out for England the next morning. I was… I was walking a dame home. A girl I’d met at a USO dance a few weeks prior. We cut through that district to avoid the rain.”
The air left your lungs. Oh, God.
“Steve said the chroniton trail was faint, but it was there. You and Sam were two blocks away.” He finally met your eyes, and the pain there was so raw it stole your breath. “You were there. In my world. And I was right there. I could have seen you.”
“You wouldn’t have,” you said, your voice a whisper. “We were careful. We didn’t interact with anyone. We didn’t change anything.”
“But you saw him, didn’t you?” he asked, the question sharp, cutting through your defense.
You wanted to lie. The instinct to protect him, to protect this, was overwhelming. But the look on his face demanded the truth.
“…Yes.”
It had been a fluke. A brief moment of downtime while Sam recalibrated the tunnel’s return coordinates. You’d stepped out of the abandoned warehouse for some fresh air, pulling your period-appropriate cap down low. The rain had just started, a soft drizzle that slicked the cobblestones.
And then you saw him.
He was on the other side of the street, laughing. His laugh was a sound you knew intimately, but this version was different. It was lighter, freer, untethered from decades of nightmares. He was in his army uniform, the jacket unbuttoned, his hat held over his heart as he said goodnight to a pretty blonde girl on a stoop. He helped her up the steps, tipped his hat, and then turned, jogging back down into the rain.
He was about to cross the street. Your street. He was going to walk right past you.
You should have gone back inside. You knew you should have. But your feet were rooted to the spot. This was Bucky. Your Bucky but it wasn’t yours at the same time. His cheeks were fuller, his jaw unclenched, his eyes clear of the ghosts that haunted your lover. He was young, whole, and utterly, devastatingly innocent of the horrors that awaited him.
He spotted you.
His step faltered. For a second, his gaze just… held. The rain was falling harder now, plastering strands of his dark hair to his forehead. He didn’t leer or catcall. He just looked at you with an expression of such open, guileless wonder that it felt like a physical blow to your chest.
He smiled. It was a small, almost shy thing, a stark contrast to the confident charmer Steve told you about or that you read in some books.
“Excuse me, miss,” he said, his voice carrying over the rain. It was the same voice, but without the gravel. “I know this is forward, but I—have we met?”
You shook your head, your voice trapped in your throat.
He took a step closer, his hat now held in front of him like a shield. “Are you lost? It’s not a good part of town for a dame to be out alone this late.”
You managed a weak smile, forcing the word out. “Waiting for my… my brother. He’ll be out in a minute.”
He nodded, but he didn’t move to leave. He just stood there, a respectful distance away, letting the rain soak his uniform jacket. He looked at you like you were the only source of light in the entire borough.
“I’m James but my friends call me Bucky. You can call me whatever you want, doll.” he said, and the simple introduction, devoid of any recognition of the Winter Soldier, of Hydra, of a hundred years of pain, almost made you sob. “I was just about to head home. I could wait with you, if you’d like. Make sure you get back safe.”
Your heart was screaming. This was the man you love. Unbroken. Pure. And he was looking at you with the first stirrings of something you recognized instantly—the same devotion your Bucky showed you every single day.
You whispered your name and you don’t know why it felt like a betrayal.
His smile widened, crinkling the corners of his eyes and he repeated it as if tasting the word. “That’s a pretty name for a… pretty woman who appears out of thin air in the rain.”
He said it as a joke, a charming line, but the way his eyes searched yours said he felt it, too. That cosmic click. The soul-deep recognition that transcended logic.
You saw Sam’s silhouette appear in the warehouse doorway. “Hey! We’re good to go!”
Panic seized you. You looked back at young Bucky. “I have to go.”
The light in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a flicker of desperate confusion. “Wait,” he said, reaching out a hand but stopping himself. “Will I see you again? I’m shipping out tomorrow, but—I’ll be back. I always come back, no matter what. Just tell me where to find you.”
The words were a knife. I always come back.
“Goodbye, Bucky,” you said, your voice breaking and a painful smile plastered on tour face.
You turned and walked away, forcing yourself not to look back. You heard him call out one more time, saying your name. “Please! I want to see you one more time.”
Sam had to physically pull you into the warehouse. “What the hell were you doing? We can’t interact with anyone!”
You didn’t answer. You just stood there, trembling, as the quantum tunnel enveloped you, the image of young Bucky’s hopeful, heartbroken face seared into your memory.
Now, back in your quarters, you sat across from your Bucky, the silence between you heavy with the ghost of his past self.
“He was so... good,” you finally said, the tears you’d been holding back since that night finally spilling over. “He was kind and sweet and he just looked at me like I was a miracle and he didn’t have any of the nightmares yet. He was going to ship out to war and he was happy.”
Bucky’s jaw was a granite line. He didn’t speak.
“And I wanted to tell him,” you confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I wanted to grab him and scream, ‘Don’t get on that train! Don’t go with Steve! Your life won't be the same’” You took a shuddering breath. “I could have saved him. I could have saved that Bucky. I could have saved you, Bucky but then… then you…”
He finished your sentence, his voice hollow. “Then I wouldn’t be here.”
You looked at him then, really looked. At the shadows under his eyes. At the way his metal hand was clamped around his flesh wrist like he was holding himself together. At the man who woke up screaming some nights, who flinched at sudden movements, who had spent decades being unmade and had somehow, against all odds, pieced himself back into someone who knew how to love you.
And the guilt you’d been carrying since that night in the rain finally found its voice.
“I’m selfish,” you said, and the words came out broken, ugly, raw. “Bucky, I’m so fucking selfish.”
He frowned, confusion cutting through his pain. “What are you talking about?”
“I could have saved him,” you repeated, your voice cracking. “I had the knowledge. I had the chance. I could have told him everything—Hydra, the train, Zola, all of it. I could have changed his trajectory. Maybe he would have deserted. Maybe he would have gone into hiding. Maybe he would have lived some quiet life in some small town, gotten married, had kids, grown old with all his limbs and all his memories intact. He would have been happy, Bucky. Truly happy. Without seventy years of being erased. Without Hydra in his head. Without—” your voice broke entirely, “—without any of this.”
You gestured at him, at the room, at the life you’d built together.
“But I didn’t,” you whispered. “I walked away. I let him ship out. I let him fall off that train. I let Hydra take him. Because if I saved him—if I saved that Bucky—then this Bucky wouldn’t exist. The one who came back. The one who fought through decades of brainwashing. The one who held me after every bad night. The one who learned to make my coffee exactly how I like it. The one I—” your voice gave out, a sob catching in your throat.
You looked down at your hands, unable to meet his eyes.
“I looked at that sweet, innocent man in the rain, and I chose you. I chose us. I chose this timeline, this version, this—” you laughed bitterly, “—this selfish, comfortable love that only exists because that man got tortured for seventy years. Because he got his arm ripped off. Because he was turned into a weapon. Because he suffered in ways I can’t even imagine.”
The tears were streaming down your face now, hot and relentless.
“What kind of person does that make me?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “What kind of person looks at someone she loves and thinks, I know how to save you from hell, but I won’t, because the version of you that comes out of that hell is the one who loves me back?”
You finally looked up at him, and your face was a wreck of grief and shame.
“I saw the life I could have given him,” you said. “A good life. A whole life. And I chose to let him burn so I could keep you. That’s not love. That’s… that’s consumption. That’s me putting my happiness over his entire existence. Over his soul.”
You wrapped your arms around yourself, shaking.
“He looked at me like I was a miracle,” you choked out. “And I was the one who sent him to his death. Because I was too selfish to let him go.”
The silence that followed was deafening. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Bucky. You were afraid of what you’d see—disgust, maybe, or worse, that hollow agreement that confirmed everything you’d just said about yourself.
But then his hands were on you.
His flesh hand cupped your face, tilting it up, while his metal hand gripped your hip, anchoring you. His eyes weren’t hollow. They were fierce, blazing with an intensity that stole the breath from your lungs.
There was nothing but love and devotion in those blue eyes.
“Listen to me,” he said, his voice low and rough. “And I need you to hear what I’m saying, because I’m only going to say it once.”
You stared at him, trembling.
“You didn’t send anyone to their death,” he said, each word deliberate, precise, like he was loading a weapon. “Zola did. Schmidt did. Fucking Hydra did. Not you. You are not responsible for the choices of monsters.”
“But I could have—”
“You could have what?” he cut you off, his grip tightening. “Risked creating a paradox that unravels the entire timeline? Risked stranding yourself in 1943 with no way back? Risked Sam’s life? Risked Steve’s existence? Risked the fate of everyone who ever lived because one soldier might get saved?”
You opened your mouth, but he kept going.
“And let’s say you did it,” he said, his voice dropping. “Let’s say you told him. Let’s say he believed you. Let’s say he avoided the train. You think that means he gets a happy life? You think Hydra just… gives up? You think Zola doesn’t find another soldier? You think the war just ends and Bucky Barnes goes home to Brooklyn and lives happily ever after?”
He let out a harsh breath.
“I’ve played this game,” he said. “I’ve spent a hundred nights lying awake thinking about every moment I could have done something different. Every alley I could have avoided. Every order I could have disobeyed. It’s a maze with no exit, sweetheart. There is no version of my story that doesn’t end in blood. The only difference is whose.”
You were crying harder now, but you couldn’t look away from him.
“And here’s the thing you’re not understanding,” he said, his voice cracking for the first time. “That boy in the rain? The one who looked at you like a miracle? He’s not gone. He’s not some separate person I used to be. He’s in here.” He pressed his flesh hand over his heart. “As much as I love to say I no longer know him, baby.”
His thumbs were wiping your tears but they still keep coming out.
“He’s the part of me that trusted Steve enough to follow him into a warzone. He’s the part of me that pulled me out of the ice when Hydra tried to freeze me for good. He’s the part of me that saw you years ago, and thought, there she is. There’s the face I’ve been looking for since before I knew what looking meant. Felt like a miracle, baby, one of those things I thought I lost after all the shit.” His voice broke on the last words.
“You didn’t choose to let him burn,” he said, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. “You chose to love the man who crawled out of the fire. That’s not selfish. That’s the most unselfish thing anyone’s ever done for me. Because you didn’t just take the easy parts. You took all of it. The nightmares, the triggers, the days I can’t get out of bed, the nights I wake up screaming. You took the version of me that’s held together with scars and guilt and whatever pieces I could salvage. And you didn’t flinch.”
You shook your head, trying to pull away. “But I could have saved you from all of that—”
“No,” he said, his voice sharp. “You could have saved a version of me that never knew you. A version of me that went to war and came back different anyway, because war changes people, sweetheart. It always does. A version of me that might have met some other girl, married her, had a life, and died of old age never knowing that somewhere out there, the woman his soul was reaching for was standing in the rain watching him walk away.”
He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes.
“You think that’s a better ending?” he asked. “You think I’d trade this—you, us, the first real happiness I’ve had since 1943—for a life where I never knew what it felt like to be loved by you?”
“But the pain you went through—”
“Is mine,” he said simply. “It’s mine. It’s part of me. And I’m not saying I’m grateful for it, because I’m not. I’m not grateful for a single thing Hydra did to me. But I am grateful that I survived it. I am grateful that I found my way back. And I am grateful, every single day, that you looked at the wreckage of what they made me and decided I was worth loving anyway.”
He pressed his lips to your forehead, then to each of your cheeks, tasting the salt of your tears.
“You didn’t send that man to his death,” he murmured against your skin. “You mourned him. You carried him with you. And then you came home to the man he became. That’s not selfish. That’s love. That’s the kind of love that says, I see all of you. Every version. Every scar. And I’m not leaving.”
You were sobbing now, your fists clenched in his shirt, and he just held you, his arms wrapped around you so tight it was almost hard to breathe.
“I’m jealous of him,” he admitted quietly after a long moment.
You let out a wet, confused laugh. “You’re jealous of the man you just told me I shouldn’t feel guilty about sacrificing?”
He huffed a soft laugh too, his thumb tracing circles on your back. “He got to meet you for the first time. He got to feel that lightning strike without any of the baggage. He got to look at you and think, maybe the world isn’t so bad after all.” He smiles at you, barely there but you saw it mostly on his eyes. “He got to see you wearing one of those outfits from those days, honey.” He winks at you.
You pulled back, wiping your face with the back of your hand while a small laugh is finally out of your system. “And what do you get?”
He looked at you then—really looked—and the intensity in his eyes made your breath catch.
“I get to keep you,” he said simply. “I get to wake up next to you. I get to fall asleep with your heartbeat under my ear. I get to learn every sound you make, every expression you wear, every way you say my name. I get to love you with all the pieces of me that survived. And that,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, “is more than that man in the rain could have ever dreamed of.”
You stared at him, your chest aching with a tangle of grief and relief and love so fierce it almost scared you.
“I’m still selfish,” you said quietly. “I still chose you being here.”
He shook his head slowly. “You chose us. And sweetheart, that’s not selfish. That’s the only choice that’s ever mattered.”
He kissed you then, soft and slow, like he had all the time in the world. Like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth all over again. When he pulled back, his eyes were wet too, but he was smiling—that small, genuine smile that was just for you.
“Now,” he said, his voice rough but warm, “I believe you owe me a night of not leaving this bed. And maybe some of those pancakes you make when you’re trying to apologize for things that aren’t your fault.”
You laughed, the sound watery but real. “Pancakes at midnight?”
“Best kind,” he said, pulling you toward the kitchen. “And then, I’m gonna show you exactly how not-jealous I am of a version of me who only got to see you for five minutes in the rain.”
He shot you a look over his shoulder, and for a moment, you saw him—the man in the rain, the soldier, the survivor, the man who had crawled through hell to find his way home.
Your selfishness, you realized, wasn’t in choosing him.
It was in thinking you ever had a choice at all.
In the quiet of the compound kitchen, with Bucky’s arms around you and the scent of pancakes filling the air, the ghost of a man in the rain finally, peacefully, let go.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (f!receiving). Age gap. Daddy kink. Breeding kink. Semi-public sex. Creampie. Squirting. Belly bulge. Drinking and drug use. They’re horny and IN LOVE, your honor. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk!
Note: This is the song I see Tess and Reader dancing to LOL
Word count: 16.5k
dividers by the lovely @saradika 💞
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
You looked beautiful walking down the aisle.
Really, in this floor-length gown, bouquet poised comfortably in front of you, and your hair styled to perfection, Joel Miller was certain he’d never seen a prettier sight in his life. You were walking to him, smiling.
He stood at the end of that aisle, in front of all your family and friends, sweating bullets and in disbelief.
Now would be a terrible time for his dick to get hard.
What with the way the lace and tulle were hugging your frame and how fitted those fucking black slacks were on the outline of his own lower half, he could probably be fully erect and showing everybody in attendance just how attracted he was to you now, and then what would happen? The wedding would get cancelled? Postponed?
Sorry folks, the man of the hour has a boner the size of Texas tucked under his briefs; can he get a day to relax?
No, he’d need a week for that, at least.
Seven full days of doing nothing but fucking you straight through the mattress could put a dent in the hard-on he was about to be sporting. He was a terrible person for it.
Still, you beamed at him with a look that said you’d love him for the rest of your life, and that was all that mattered in the moment. It was most of what consumed Joel’s thoughts as you made the procession toward him.
For better, for worse.
For richer, for poorer.
In sickness and in health.
To love and to—
“Fuck,” Joel muttered under his breath.
Beside him, his best friend—your father—shot him a look
That gaze told him everything he needed to know. Essentially: ‘Stop eyefucking my kid or I’ll kill you.’
And Joel knew he meant it.
He had the scar on his right temple to prove it. A mostly healed orbital fracture that still gave his old, weathered face a tougher look these days. Bruises gone but not entirely forgotten. The memory of his friend holding his head underwater for at least a minute, maybe longer.
That was after Mark had caught him kissing you once.
The first time he ever came to learn that his friend had been fucking his daughter for the last several months.
Mark had almost murdered him that day.
Now, he was standing beside him on his wedding day.
Joel blinked, and someone was clearing their throat. He couldn’t be sure how much time had passed, but he sensed it was probably time for him to grab the rings.
Then hand them over to his friend.
Since, you know, it was Mark’s big day.
Joel was just the best man, and you were one of the bridesmaids now standing across the way from him. Your expression was lax, to the point of looking almost bored, and Joel didn’t miss the way your brows raised slightly while you watched the ring exchange take place in front of you. Slyly, your eyes flitted to his; your lips twitched.
Dad and Helen picked the ugliest fucking bands, huh?
Joel had to bite back a smirk seeing that.
You were right. This was weird: begrudgingly accepting parts in the wedding of your father and his first love-former mistress and pretending like it wasn’t odd.
Given the fact that your dad had very begrudgingly accepted you and Joel as a couple after almost six months together, though, he wasn’t about to complain. No one could have predicted that the man who had beat him mercilessly in the ocean with a travel mug and almost put him in a coma would now have him as his best man and invite him out to dinner on a semi-regular basis. Joel would say this arrangement was just fine.
Ideal, even.
Right up until the time he’d divulge to his friend that he planned on marrying you someday, this would be great.
Mark was open-minded, and he tolerated having Joel around for now dating his only daughter, but that was mostly because you’d refused to see or speak to your dad in the weeks following his little ‘outburst’ in Galveston. After Joel had been concussed and kept in the hospital for close to a week pending a neuro eval, you’d sworn you would never let your father near you until he’d apologized to Joel and ‘calmed the fuck down.’
Joel reckoned that his friend seemed pretty sedate as he kissed his bride and turned toward the crowd, celebrating the vows they’d just taken.
You cheered with them.
You smiled sweetly enough, clapping and looking as breathtaking as he’d ever seen you, and your gaze lingered with them for maybe ten, fifteen seconds.
Then it drifted back to him.
It always went back to him, and Joel would never get used to it for as long as he lived. With a smile that was almost forlorn and fingers that were practically itching to put a ring on yours, he clapped, too, and he watched you.
Before he knew it, the ceremony was over.
The real party didn’t start until ten o’clock.
After a brief intermission spent traveling to the reception hall on the outskirts of Austin and pregaming hard with Tommy and Tess all the way, you feared you might topple over before ever setting foot on the property. You cradled a miniature green BuzzBall in your left hand and a flask of something strong and cheap in your right. Your dad just got married again, and you planned to drink until that stopped feeling weird to say. Just like your father probably thought each time he looked at you and Joel.
Fuck it. That was a problem to consider for another day. Right now, if you could get Joel to quit looking at you so strangely and try to enjoy this completely free boozefest, you’d be much better off. If you could decipher that look, and maybe stop worrying about the way the maid of honor—Helen’s sister—kept ogling him, you’d be set.
Tess hooked an arm around your neck and pulled you close. Her grin was wide and easy, and her eyes were semi-glazed as they scanned your immediate surroundings. You were just strolling in, the rest of the wedding party not too far behind, and music was blaring inside the rustic, spacious barn-turned-reception-venue.
“Odds of me nailing someone tonight…?” she started.
“Did F.E.D.R.A. abstinence camp teach you nothing?”
You made an effort to sound serious, but then the façade cracked in less than a second. Just remembering the time Tommy Miller had shipped you and Joel off to an anti-sex retreat, where you and Tess had met, was enough to send you both giggling your asses off. You had a sneaking suspicion your friend’s laughter was from more than just the booze, though, if you’d had to guess.
“Dude, are you fucking high?” you whispered, shrill.
Tess put a finger to her lips, as if keeping the truth secret, and you shoved her off. Playfully. Begging.
“Coke? Weed? Addy? I need you to share.”
And though you’d been trying to wean yourself off the party drugs before graduating college, tonight was different. You were letting loose more than you normally would, drunk on bottom-shelf spirits and changed into a tight, bright pink bodycon dress you’d recycled from a frat semi-formal years ago. You were teetering on heels.
“I can get y’all weed,” Tommy supplied in a second, sidling up next to you. “Gimme five and we’ll be good.”
You shot him a sidelong look, curious. The man had been livelier and brighter than you’d seen him in years since proposing to Maria a few weeks back. It made sense.
“Yeah, Dad? You got the hookup?” you teased.
“Fuck off,” Tommy chuckled, barely hiding his smirk.
Then he held up his hand, as if to say five minutes, and you believed him. He disappeared somewhere down a nearby hallway, and at the same time, the DJ at the front of the room made a too-smooth transition from one yacht rock classic to another. It reminded you of the time you’d celebrated your dad’s fifty-first birthday on a boat, and absently, you wondered whether Joel might not be available for a repeat partaking in what you did on the bridge deck together. You looked around, gravitating with Tess toward the open dance floor while you did.
Grinding to a Boz Scaggs song while everybody else was just starting to get their bearings arguably wasn’t your hottest look, but right now, neither one of you cared.
You took the center of the room while the rest of the massive group filtered in, both your family and friends and Helen’s all around, and the crowd grew quickly. String lights looped between beams overhead bathed the space in a warm yellow glow, and you knew that you could get used to this scene easily. You liked the music being played, and you loved the feeling coursing gently through your veins. The only thing that would make this moment better is if you could spot the elusive best man.
You’d agreed to keep it lowkey. Try not to make your father’s big day about you and Joel and your no-longer-secret relationship while you celebrated this occasion. But it was hard. You hadn’t been able to help but notice that Joel was treading around you a little differently than before, as if he were being extra careful not to say or do anything that might draw negative attention. That might’ve been because this was your first full-family event since you’d first started dating out in the open, and it was probably freaking Joel out a little. How do you explain dating the groom’s daughter, who also happens to be decades younger than you? What were the rules?
Apparently, Joel’s M.O. had been to stare at you intently for half the wedding ceremony, smiling in a strange and appreciative and partly inscrutable way, and then make himself scarce after. Leading you to wonder if maybe…
No, he was committed.
He was definitely committed.
Your future and his might not have been entirely secure, seeing as you were graduating in less than a month and were still waiting to see if you’d gotten that job in Austin or would have to keep searching—possibly even move out of state if you couldn’t lock down the right position.
It was scary. Growing, moving, changing in ways you couldn’t fully anticipate. Even as you bumped and grinded mindlessly with Tess, shoulders loose and hips swaying without any concern for the people dancing around you, you still worried. You always had that fear.
“I just love him so much,” you mumbled softly into Tess’s ear. The tunes had shifted to something old and country-western, and your heart swelled a little at the sound of it.
“I can tell.” Tess grinned, turning her head.
She didn’t need to say anything beyond that. Your friend clasped your hand in hers and made you do a spin, and without thinking, you did it. It made you kind of woozy.
Maybe weed was off the table.
Maybe you could enjoy this night without a medley of odd intoxicants, and you and Joel could just drive off into the night, head back to his place, and show each other just how much you loved each other, even if the next few months were the furthest thing from decided right now.
You hoped it would be enough; as you drifted toward a buffet table chock-full of hors d’oeuvres and started feasting with Tess, you really hoped that it would last.
With Joel, maybe a future wasn’t impossible. Maybe—
“—these fucking Rice Krispies are insane,” Tess cut in.
You inhaled another big, sugary clump and agreed. Your hands had been in just about every dish on this table, and, not surprisingly, it had been the sweet baked treats that kept your attention. You were devouring the shit, oblivious to any judging looks from the other guests.
Tess stuffed another in her mouth and moaned.
“If I could fuck a baked good…” you trailed off.
At the same time, a new person appeared beside you. Her face was flushed, and she was dressed just as you had been before—wearing a floor-length, mint green frock that sort of reminded you of a dentist’s office—as, apparently, she didn’t mind getting a little bit sweaty in the bridesmaid gown. She looked stunning anyway, and her face was radiant looking over the table. Then at Tess.
Her name was Sue. She was Helen’s cousin and undeniably one of the coolest people in that family.
She fucking hated the rings, too.
And some of the food, apparently.
“The Fettuccine Alfredo tastes like ass,” she remarked as soon as she’d gotten close enough for you and Tess to hear her over the music. “Anything OK to eat over here?”
“Rice Krispies,” Tess answered her through a mouthful.
Then she offered her one, and you got the sense that your friend just might get what she was hoping for earlier. Sue met her gaze with a grin and took the treat.
“Lovely. Thanks.” Then she took a big bite.
You peered curiously over her shoulder, for some reason feeling like something was around, though you weren’t sure what. Call it a sixth sense—or else just paranoia.
“Lucy really wants that guy, I think.”
Sue had just swallowed and was turning away, following your gaze to where it had conveniently landed on her cousin, the MOH. Your stomach churned for no discernible reason when you finally saw Joel beside her.
He wasn’t even looking at her.
He seemed bored to be standing, rolling a shoulder in his taut, precisely-tailored suit jacket and shifting a flute of champagne from one hand into the other. He looked debonair, completely in keeping with his surroundings.
To your dismay, you realized he also looked incredible standing next to Lucy, who was then wearing a long, strapless, cerulean dress and had her gaze latched onto him. Maybe because of this, and wanting to stifle that thought, you replied to Sue as honestly as you could.
“I don’t blame her. Such a hunk, isn’t he?”
That was the understatement of the century.
By the look in Lucy’s eyes, she wanted to eat him alive.
“She’s a matchmaker, I mean. Got this swanky, fun ass job in New York City and is always looking for recruits—even if they’re out here. You’d be amazed how many people would be willing to do long distance for a man like him.” And with a stab of her pointer finger in Joel’s direction, Sue indicated that you had the complete package on your hands. As if you didn’t already know it.
“Oh,” you said, pretending to mull the thought over.
“Well, Joel’s actually her—” Tess started to say.
“Daddy!” you gasped, caught off-guard.
Just then, the groom materialized beside you. Your dad was sweating, toting two beers in one hand and looking like he’d just run a mile. His bow tie was loose, and he had a dazed, sunny expression on his face. He sighed.
“My darlin’ daughter,” he slurred, all tender adulation.
The motherfucker was drunk.
Maybe buzzed off of something else.
“Hi, Dad,” you greeted him. You smothered a smile when he mauled you with a hug and almost dropped his beers.
“Great party, huh? I oughta do this shit more often.”
“Get…married?” Sue replied. Hopefully not again…
“Yeah,” your dad barked a laugh. “‘S’fun, ain’t it?”
“My cousin Lucy makes it happen for a living.”
“No shit!”
And if your skull weren’t throbbing so hard, you probably would’ve paid attention to the rest of that conversation. It went on for another five, ten, maybe even twenty-five minutes before you realized you hadn’t been tuning in. You were too busy watching Joel, seeing him occasionally talk to Lucy and feeling irrationally…off. Not that you suspected the two of anything but that she looked so damn good next to him. She was probably fifteen years older than you and seemed to fit your boyfriend in a way that you never thought possible. As it was, whatever you’d had to drink before seemed to be taking a double effect and then some; your head swam.
It felt like you were starting to float, almost.
You rubbed at your temples and blinked twice.
And, right as you were contemplating taking a step away for a breather of some kind, you heard your dad’s voice loud above all the rest of the crowd and the music then:
“She single herself? She looks to be about…Joel’s age.”
He didn’t even try to hide it.
He was drunk and trying to pawn his friend off—jokingly, of course. Using just enough humor in his tone not to piss you off completely, but you knew that he meant it.
You shook your head. It felt even lighter than it had before, and your fingers had begun to tingle with some discomfort. Venturing a step back, and cocking your head sideways toward the exit as you mapped out your impending escape, you felt a presence behind you.
“Wade!” A grin spread across your father’s face.
You turned and saw him. This wasn’t a complete surprise, as you’d spotted the man at the ceremony before—his family and yours had always been close, and he’d apparently had some spare time to visit—but your body was in shambles. Your heart rate had kicked up.
You weren’t sure what else to do, so you reached for the arm of your old childhood best friend, who was now standing beside you, and you tugged it lightly. Your stomach clenched for reasons unknown to you, and completely unrelated to the man whose elbow you were holding, and then you leaned over. Your voice was low.
“Hey, Wade. Wanna, uh…go outside for a sec?”
Two brows jumped up, and he nodded.
Before long, the two of you were strolling outside the building, through the two huge double doors and then drawing toward the patio in the back. You could only imagine what Tess and your father were thinking, knowing better than anyone else what this looked like.
Right now, it felt like your brain was a big pile of mush.
You just needed a stable body. Someone to lean on as you headed outside and possibly yakked your guts out.
Wade crouched as soon as you did. You took a pit stop right by the closest patio table, and, squatting and squeezing your eyes shut as a light wave of nausea washed over you, you could hear his voice beside you.
“You alright? You—shit, should I go get someone?”
Probably Joel.
If he weren’t currently getting needled into taking some sweet, amazing, age-appropriate woman from NYC out for dinner next week, you’d say you would love to have him here. You were also sincerely hoping your father would shut the fuck up about your relationship and just try to accept that you and Joel were staying together.
Maybe.
For now.
If you ever got this fucking job offe—
“You need a minute? Water or anything?” Wade asked.
With his hand resting on your back and his words wonderfully soft in comparison to the blaring music indoors and the constant ringing in your ears, he was a comfort. You shook your head, and you tried to stand up.
He helped you. You took a seat, gingerly, and breathed in.
The softest, slightest giggle followed it.
“Want me to get your dad?” Wade pressed, sitting too.
Something rich and smooth started to pool in your chest. Your lungs expanded again, and it was like a gust of wind had filled them up with new feeling—a lightness.
Your head quit pulsing as much. In its place, there was a faint spreading of heat, from the base of your skull to the top. You didn’t know what to make of that, except to say:
“Wade?”
“Yeah?”
“Did…Dad ask you to ask me out at any point tonight?”
You met his gaze and tried not to smile. Wade paused.
“Well…” he started.
“Shit.”
“He might’ve mentioned it, like…once,” he went on, a little bit sheepish. “Said you were dating some old guy.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
His best friend.
If Joel Miller was such a great guy, why couldn’t he be good for you? Why couldn’t your dad just…move on?
“How old are we talking, anyway?” Wade hummed.
“Almost…Almost as old as my dad. His friend.”
Wade’s eyes widened.
“Well, goddamn. Is it Tommy?”
“Nope. His brother, Joel, actually.”
“That is beekeeping age, dude. Damn.”
And as your friend said it, you noticed that his expression softened. His eyes shone. Your own concealed grin from before snuck in a tiny bit. Your head continued to spin.
Wade grinned, too, and then your resolve evaporated.
You couldn’t help but laugh: “Fuck off. Seriously.”
“You’re the one bangin’ the Crypt Keeper.”
“Say that again and I’ll kill you, Pritchett.”
But you and him both were already dissolving into giggles. Just like when you were kids. It was simple and easy, without a hint of there being anything more to it.
You laughed longer than you probably needed to, but your head and your mind within it were just so light. A heady feeling shrouded your senses, and the evening air around you seemed to prick at your skin. Every inch of moonlight shining down on the patio felt brighter, too.
You sat side-by-side and stared out at the dark, vast expanse of land beyond the yard. The rolling hills. Your mouth was dry, so you tried swallowing a couple times, even licked at your lips once. Wade cleared his throat.
“I should’ve known it was Joel,” he resumed presently. Amusement lingering in his tone. “The way he was staring at you every other second of the ceremony…”
“Like I had a big stain on my dress?” you teased.
“Like he was head over heels in love with you.”
When he said it, Wade’s voice was still light. His words didn’t harbor any particularly heavy feelings, and after you tilted your head to him, you found the man smiling.
“You know I’m right,” he said simply.
You didn’t know what to say to that, so you stayed quiet. Another soft, cooling rush rolled in, and you couldn’t quite tell whether it was a breeze or something deeper, beneath your skin. You’d never had somebody tell you a thing like that; silently, you wondered how obvious it was
And if Joel wasn’t ready to do this openly, in front of everyone you knew, well…what would you do about it?
What could you do if he ended up changing his mind?
You blinked twice and tried to brush those thoughts aside. As if reading your mind, or maybe just wanting to head back into the party, Wade stood. He held out a hand to you, wiggling his fingers in a beckoning gesture.
“Wanna come?”
“I’m alright. Be just a few minutes.”
You didn’t need to communicate that you wanted the alone time; Wade went back in. You were glad of it, no matter how much you enjoyed your friend’s company, and for the first time that night, you really missed Joel. Selfishly, you wanted him all to yourself, and you wanted those other folks inside to know that you were together.
Not just friends. Not just fuckbuddies. Committed.
In love, like Wade had said.
Perched on an old wooden bench as you were, you pulled your knees to your chest. You crossed your ankles, and then you rested your chin on one of your knees, peering out across the broad, darkened, and sweeping horizon. Your vision might’ve undulated a little, and your tongue could’ve felt as dry as crumbling parchment in your mouth, but your overall mood was one of gentle quiescence. You blinked slowly, and you sighed.
Waiting.
Joel wouldn’t waste another second.
He was sick of waiting, tired of having to pretend to give a shit about whatever the person in front of him was saying—most of the time, it had been a relative, a friend of a friend of a friend, or else a woman with a big, hopeful smile, looking to find an opening to give him their number. He wasn’t new to the world of weddings, had been to dozens and dozens over the course of his life, but this time, unlike any other occasion, he’d come with a date. You. The urge to be close again was painful.
Why he’d decided to let you mingle and make rounds on your own in the first place was no mystery to him. Joel saw how happy you looked with Tess, how carefree and full of life you always seemed in environments like these, and then he noticed how many looks you and him had gotten at the wedding. None of them were approving.
Joel didn’t have time to think about that now, though. Even if the faces of the people closest to you, including your own father, still followed him around like a shadow and plagued his every other waking moment, he had made up his mind not to worry again until you were back.
Together.
Touching.
Possibly—
“Fucking—” Tommy paused to catch his breath, falling right into step with Joel before he picked the pace up. “—nuts. This wedding is fucking insane, ain’t it, Joel?”
“I guess.”
His head was thrumming with a strange feeling, as if he couldn’t quite get his bearings like he normally could. About an hour ago, after one glass of champagne, he’d decided to stop drinking. Now he was blinking through a haze and searching the venue desperately for you, with his brother being a pain in the ass trotting alongside him.
“There she is, lovebird,” Tommy said suddenly.
Joel breathed a sigh of relief seeing you in the crowd.
At the center of the dance floor, just parting ways with your dad after what looked to be a quick father-daughter dance, your gait was decided and stiff. Your shoulders were squared, and you moved through the throngs of wedding-goers as if your mind were a hundred miles away. Fortunately, your path led you straight to them.
“Baby,” Joel started, reaching for you.
You paused, as if caught off-guard, then blinked.
“Dad is…such an asshole sometimes,” you said vaguely.
Weakly.
Joel’s chest tightened at the sound, and his fingers threaded through yours instinctively. He wanted to lift your hand to his mouth and press a reassuring kiss there—though, getting the sense it might not go over too well around the present crowd, he didn’t. He tried to speak.
Tommy talked over him, “Your dad bein’ a menace?”
“Spewing absolute fucking nonsense.”
“Like what?”
Those words came from Joel, concerned.
Briefly, your gaze flitted to his, and the mist before his eyes thinned a little. He still felt light-headed, but it was more akin to a need. Desire. Wanting to protect you here.
“Making stupid comments about me and…Joel.” You gestured toward him, movements jerky. “More backhanded bullshit. Jokes. And he is so high.”
Tommy perked up at that.
“But your dad doesn’t smoke.”
“I know! I have no idea how he—”
Shortly, his brother was turning to him.
“Joel, what did you do with the Rice Krispies I gave you?”
Joel frowned. Knit his brows and didn’t have to think.
“I set them out for the other guests to have. I—”
“Fuck!” Tommy swore. “Are you shittin’ me?”
“No. Why?”
“Those were my fuckin’ edibles, man!”
His brother’s whole expression blanched. His eyes all but bulged out of his head, and he turned around quick, probably to find the table where his goods had been stashed. Then, swiftly, he pivoted right back to you.
“You had some, too?” Tommy asked.
“Me, Tess, Sue—” you started.
“I’m gonna shit myself.”
Then he was off.
It had all happened so fast, Joel didn’t know what to say. The weed would certainly explain the haze that had settled over his mind, the uptick of his heart rate, and the heightened degree of panic when it came to hearing about your dad. In a very faint silver lining, at least the reception was adults-only—the youth were in no danger of getting baked, and it looked like the treats had only been passed around your immediate group. It didn’t alleviate every concern, as evidenced by your present expression, but at least you were both OK. For now.
Joel leaned down to press a kiss to your hand like he’d wanted to before, but you constricted your grip before he could. You tugged him sideways, over toward an exit.
“We’re leaving.”
And though that tone seemed to brook no argument, Joel slowed. He let you lead him through the space, out the front doors and into the warm summer night, but when you made it three or four steps outside, he dug his heels into the ground. He squeezed your hand gently.
“Sweet pea…”
“I’m just sick of him, Joel! He said he’d made his peace with this—with us—and like a fucking idiot, I believed him. Now he’s doing what he always does, and he’s going back on his word. Treating us like we’re…we’re…”
“Naïve?” Joel finished for you.
“Like we’re stupid for trying to do this!”
You’d said it with such force, releasing his hand and throwing your own in the air with a helpless, angry look. It was clear that tensions were high; no doubt elevated by the influence of drugs, but also just disgust with your father. The problem went deeper. Joel watched you with a tender gaze, wanting to take that pain away from you.
“Am I stupid?” you asked. “Am I stupid for thinking we—”
“Darlin’, don’t even say that. Please. We’re alright.”
“We can’t even kiss in front of people, Joel!”
Those words were steeped in indignation. For half a second, Joel suspected the feeling might be directed toward him, but then your features softened. Quickly. The anger melded to hurt, and you shook your head.
Your voice was hoarse when you resumed.
“You look better with her. Like you…fit.”
That left Joel gobsmacked for more than just a moment. He couldn’t even process what you’d said, where it had come from, or who on earth you might’ve been talking about then, when you went on, heedless. He swallowed.
“Girls close to your age, like Lucy—”
“Are you serious?”
He blinked.
You were being sincere. His whole body tensed, and in a movement that seemed more autonomic than conscious, he scowled. He straightened up, his suit jacket suddenly feeling three sizes too small, and he shook his head at you. For a moment, he showed his age.
“Now I know you ain’t thinkin’ straight,” he started, voice stern like a father’s. The two of you were buzzed, amped up, angrier than normal, and Joel shortly felt as if it were his job to make things clearer. To show you how he felt. “After everything we’ve been through already, you’re gonna stand there an’ tell me I would be better off with somebody else? Someone a little closer to me in age?”
Your lip trembled, but you nodded your head.
“Y-Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know, it’s just—”
“Do you even hear yourself right now?”
“I’m just saying it might be easier!”
“What, if I loved someone older?
“Dad seems to think it’d be—”
That snapped Joel’s resolve.
Before that, he’d been trying to rein in his frustration, try not to let it break loose on you. But with the mention of your father—the same man you’d just been vilifying left and right—he couldn’t stay silent. He wouldn’t be calm.
The man could do little more than grit his teeth and take your hand. Not pressing too hard, he still led you away, firmly, and his strides didn’t slow until he reached another spot outdoors, closer to the parking lot.
Shortly, you were against a wall. Joel pushed you up and nudged you back, your spine pressed flat to the surface with the sounds of the reception humming behind you.
Your legs didn’t wrap around his waist immediately; instead, they parted, just far enough to allow him between, and you reached up softly to cup his face.
You wanted to kiss him—it was the most natural thing.
Tightening his grip on your hips, Joel edged you further back. You slid into the shadows, away from two wide-open doors, and in this position, he reckoned you could hear him better. He was glad of this when he leaned in.
With a slight sneer in his tone: “Yeah? Dad thinks so?”
“Joel.”
His name was more like a breath. Or a moan. Your legs spread even wider, about to draw him in at any moment.
“Good thing daddy knows better than him. C’mere.”
In a blink, his lips were trailing across your cheek. Grazing your mouth. Feeling you out while you tipped your chin up to him, asking the man wordlessly for more.
Joel knew you well enough to sense when you were needy. It was clear as day when his hands slid up your thighs, taking the material of your hot pink dress with them and pulling tight. He reached between your legs, and your breath audibly hitched. You panted for him.
“Joel. Please.”
“You think someone else would ‘fit’ me better? Hm?” Joel echoed your words from earlier and watched you wince a little. Eager as you were, you didn’t want to fight.
Not anymore.
Joel obliged you, and he tugged your panties to the side.
He undid his belt, buckle, and zip in fewer than five seconds, and then he stepped even closer to you. He didn’t wait for you to try and jump up; he gripped your right leg and nudged it up. He hooked it comfortably around him and held your gaze as he angled himself.
The blunt head of his cock swiped through your heat maybe once or twice, and Joel could feel from those movements alone that you were soaked. Desire dripped from your center and coated him, and he couldn’t help but glance down. He watched your folds flare with each rutting motion, and he could hear it, too. Little whimpers matched the noises of your body meeting his, and Joel decided then that he wouldn’t make you wait any longer.
He sank in.
He didn’t need to be stern; from the way your body was open to him, hole aching and needy and wet, he pressed his hips once and was able to slide his cock in gently. This, contrasted with his words, was something else.
His voice was low and guttural as he murmured:
“I’d say we fit just fine. Don’t you think so?”
And as if to punctuate his remark, he drove in to the hilt. He shoved his cock so deep that he swore you’d be able to feel him in your throat, and then he held it. He looked up from the sight of your cunt getting stuffed with him, and he saw your mouth pop open. A strangled moan succeeded that look, along with a, ‘Fuck me, Joel.’
“That ain’t no answer.”
He withdrew to the tip. Fucked in again.
Your thigh trembled against his side as you reached up and squeezed his shoulder, a deeper moan spilling out. This only propelled Joel to pose his question again, lower
“C’mon. Say it. Ain’t—” A firm withdrawal. A sharp thrust. “—one fuckin’ pussy’ll fit me better’n yours. You know it.”
“B-But—”
“Ain’t just sex, neither. You mean everything to me.”
Joel could see the effect his words were having; in addition to the whimpers and the whines, your gaze was holding his own in the softest, rawest look. Your grip tightened on his white starched collar, and the neediness that Joel had seen before seemed to seep through your fingers. You held him close while he fucked you hard against the wall, and he would be lying if that feeling didn’t drive him insane: knowing that you needed him.
He would make you his wife someday.
That was why what you’d said had thrown him off as much as it did. He wasn’t expecting it—was too busy dreaming up all the different ways you two would be painting your babies’ nursery, taking road trips out to the beach or Santa Fe or any number of your new favorite vacation spots you would no doubt accumulate over the years. He was thinking long-term, and here you were, wondering whether he might not want somebody else.
He would show you what he wanted.
He could feel the way your back started to arch off the warm, wooden wall and how your pussy squeezed him tighter. He could feel each pulse; he relished it, and he fucked you deeper. No doubt, if someone were to walk outside the reception hall, take four or five steps to the left and turn their head, you’d be caught. You’d be entirely fucked, standing with your bodies mashed together and your clothes all thrown askew. Try as he might to have styled his hair that morning and kept it manageable, now, it was disheveled and wild. Damp and dark and gray as it had ever looked, grayer than the first time you’d ever done this. Absently, Joel wondered if you’d still love him after all those hairs had gone white.
As if in reply, you pulled him close for a kiss. You tugged the short, dampened curls at the nape of his neck, and you angled your hips. You accepted each thrust while he mumbled against your mouth, in between sloppy kisses.
“Feel me in here, baby?”
His free hand slid to your belly. The fingers splayed out.
“That’s where I belong.”
Another stroke. A soft and slow circling of his palm.
Faintly, he could feel the outline of his cock beneath your skin, and he knew you felt it, too. He sensed this from the way your eyelids fluttered and your walls clamped tighter around him, as if your cunt were trying to suck him in as deep as he could go. Joel wasn’t so mean as to deny you that feeling, so he went on. Kept talking gently as he did.
Perhaps owing to the high or the anxiety he’d been feeling all evening, the sublime ecstasy of being sheathed so far inside you, or else his most primal instincts kicking in, Joel’s thoughts were unyielding. They refused to be ignored, turning swiftly into words.
“Stay with me.”
The same ones had been plaguing him all day. Watching you walk down the aisle, smile and bat those pretty lashes at him, standing there completely oblivious to how badly he wanted this forever. It overpowered him.
He couldn’t resist the temptation to tell you all the rest.
While his hand traveled from your belly to cup your face, and your own pleasure continued to mount inside you at the steady cadence of his thrusts, Joel leaned in. His nose brushed yours, and he felt your breath hitch.
“Marry me.”
And, as if on cue, a spasm followed it. Not so much a squeeze but a sharp, concerted seizing of muscles more intense than Joel had ever felt it before, and your jaw went lax. Your lips parted just in time for him to kiss you again, work your tongue with his own, and keep mumbling those words over and over and over again.
You let him say it; you didn’t push him away or make fists in his suit jacket, telling him it was too soon, you weren’t ready. The truth was, you probably weren’t right now, but you likely knew that Joel was saying it to let you know. The reassurance was something you needed, and finally, it seemed, you found your voice again. It was soft.
“I—I want to. I want you, Joel.”
Your eyes were glazed, and your expression was strained in the midst of what looked to be the most dizzying climax of your life—Joel could feel the pulses continue to work themselves down his dick as he fucked you through it. Your arms wound around his neck. You nodded slowly.
Salt-and-pepper stubble tickled your cheeks with every movement. Wrinkled, sun-spotted skin made a stark contrast to your own, a belly that was broad and soft and slightly rounded over the place where his belt normally sat rested flush against your front. He’d never felt so close watching your gaze latch onto his. His balls ached.
“I want your babies someday, too,” you whispered softly.
There was a smile in your tone as you said it, and Joel could only groan. Of course you had to tell him that now.
“I’ll give you one right here,” he panted. “Right now.”
“Gotta graduate first. Get a real job,” you giggled.
“You’ll be on maternity leave your whole career.”
Joel didn’t mean it, really—he wanted you to achieve your goals, same as he always did—but the thought of you carrying his kid was tempting. It made his hips rut forward, cockhead nudging your cervix with a question.
A plea.
As fast as this had all played out, it didn’t seem you were keen on keeping him waiting for much longer. Your fingers threaded through his grays and pulled gently again. Your lips grazed his own, and your smile grew.
“C’mon then, old man. Show me.”
And he did.
Feeling maybe fifteen or twenty years younger than he was, and momentarily forgetting that you were the daughter of his best friend—the man whose wedding reception was taking place behind that very wall—he let his mind go blank. He felt his cock seize the reins and then empty himself inside, buried as deep as possible.
Idly, he hoped that it would stick.
Your shared reckless, wanton words may have been partly a product of how needy and horny you both were, but maybe there was more to it. Maybe you wouldn’t ask him to buy a Plan B tomorrow morning and just let it be.
He couldn’t wait for the day you met his gaze with a look of pure excitement, practically overflowing with joy as you told him it worked. Maybe that wouldn’t happen for months, or years, or however long you needed to feel secure in that decision, but Joel knew he’d be patient.
He’d be everything you needed and more. With ropes of his cum painting your insides and his cock pulsing gently, lips caressing you all over, he knew that it was only a matter of time. His friend would come around.
In the meantime, Joel decided he was done hiding.
After you’d adjusted your clothes and proceeded to take up residence at a nearby table, Joel pulling you into his lap and stroking your hair until your breaths had finally quieted against his chest, he led you inside. He held your hand all the way to the center of the room, where the crowd on the dance floor was just then starting to thin. It was clear you’d be visible to everyone there, and he watched your eyes dart left and right before flitting to his
Two big, callused palms held your waist. He moved at an easy pace, falling in time with the few couples that were dancing around you. More than once, he nudged your nose with his own, and his words reached you gently.
Most were notes of reassurance. Others were mumbled ‘I love yous’ and ‘Can you believe this is gonna be us someday, tyin’ the knot in front of all these people?’
That seemed to quiet your anxiety, at least for now. Even when he leaned down to take your lips in a kiss, when his fingers slid down and rested just above your rear end, you didn’t balk. If anything, you leaned closer to him.
The warmth of your body beneath his touch and the love etched in every feature was promise enough; he showed you the same, and when, at length, you decided it was time to call it a night, he didn’t hesitate. He led you off, his brain still buzzing on a high and the taste of your lips.
He didn’t register the look the groom gave him for long.
It might’ve lasted for a second or the whole time he was dancing with you. Leaving with you. He had the sense that that gaze was there, but the realization was as quick as anything to leave him. Joel might’ve decided to leave that well enough alone and simply slide out a side door, but then he remembered that this was his oldest friend. For as long as Joel could remember, Mark was a friend.
The man might’ve tried to drown him at one point, but that was all water under the bridge, both literally and figuratively. Still holding your hand in his, he diverted your course toward your father. He tried forcing a smile.
Your grip tightened on approaching. You frowned a bit.
Joel tried keeping his tone as casual as it could be.
“Hey, man—”
Your daughter calls me daddy, too. My cum is dripping out of her cunt right now, and you don’t even know it.
“—congratulations again. Give my best to Helen.”
After he said it, though, it was almost as if your dad had heard the words that he was thinking in between; his brows drew together, and his expression visibly hardened
Joel stuck out his free hand to him. Mark didn’t take it.
Instead, his friend’s gaze drifted to you beside him.
In the blink of an eye, the words were falling out.
“Are we done here, pumpkin?” he asked you.
And that tone was undeniably calm—so much so that Joel had to do a double take just to make sure that he heard him properly. Your grip constricted even tighter.
“Done?” Your own tone was flat. Puzzled. “With…what?”
Your father gestured between you and Joel, and slowly, his mouth curved into a smile. It was slight and sardonic. Those eyes holding yours were evidently meant to mock.
“This,” Mark answered simply. “Are we done?”
“I don’t—” you started, blinking.
“Mark.”
As soon as Joel spoke, his friend’s gaze—clearly inebriated—darted to him. It seemed more like a snarl.
Then, glancing back at you: “I’d say you’ve punished me more than enough now, sweetheart. You can stop fucking my friend to make me mad. It worked.”
His words were both scathing and reductive.
Summing up your entire relationship to such a sentence as that, including an accusation that you were doing it all just for him, was absurd. The tone of it floored Joel, too.
And yet he couldn’t do a thing, because you were speaking next. Your hand unclasped from his swiftly.
“You don’t even know what the fuck this is,” you spat.
“Oh, don’t I? I was a bad dad, I know that. An absent one. This is your way of showing that, by making sure my life is a living hell as long as you’re here, being used by him!”
And then his friend pointed, so as not to be misunderstood in the slightest. Your eyes widened.
You looked as if you were trapped between fleeing and just shoving the guy off his feet, as hard as you could.
You settled on a simple, scornful, “Fuck you.”
“You know I’m right. You can’t deny it.”
“We love each other, Dad. That’s it.”
And though Joel knew it wasn’t his place—this seemed more like a conversation between father and daughter, not for the boyfriend wanting to prove himself in some way—he tried chiming in anyway. He opened his mouth to speak, and at the same time, he saw your dad sneer.
“And if you believe that, you’re just as dumb as your mother. Nothing better than a stupid fucking slut.”
The next moment escaped him; it all happened so fast.
You grabbed a full, cold drink off the closest table, and you flung it directly in your father’s face. You let the cup jump from your hand and strike his nose in the process.
Then you turned and left.
It was as simple and as ugly as that.
Trailing behind you, briefly casting one stunned look over his shoulder toward his friend, where it seemed everyone else in the reception hall was staring as well, he saw the look on his face. He read the shock and pain clear as day.
Frankly, Joel no longer gave a fuck.
Hours later, your dad’s words still stung to remember.
Days later, they made it a little more difficult to eat.
Weeks later, on the morning that was supposed to mark the culmination of your entire academic career to date, you found yourself slumped on the floor of a bathroom stall, still dressed in your crimson cap and gown, and you wished that you were, for once in your life, able to make a decision that didn’t end up hurting someone. You also sincerely hoped this nausea was just a passing phase.
You got on your knees and threw up in the toilet again.
Outside, a soft voice cut in over the hum of fluorescents.
“You want me to get Joel? He’s been worried about you.”
“No.”
Your reply was almost too quick. You held your hair tight and shook your head, as if your roommate could somehow see it, and then you tried again, quieter.
“I’m—I’m alright. Just give me five minutes.”
As it turned out, you needed twenty.
When you reemerged from the bathroom, expression drained and skin sweating a lot more than it probably should have been, you expected to find Joel chatting with Aly’s parents. Cracking jokes with Dallas. Maybe checking his phone for the time, because your flight back to Austin was leaving that afternoon. You’d barely managed to get your dorm packed up in time, and you felt sick for almost all of it. The graduation ceremony was just the cherry on top. Of course, your dad wasn’t there.
That, you’d anticipated. You told him not to come.
What you weren’t planning to see was Joel standing outside the bathroom with his hands crammed full of pills—DayQuil, Dramamine, Advil, any bottle or brand you could think of, he had. He also wore a wan expression.
It almost matched yours, although you weren’t about to share that the reason for your sickly tinge was due to nonstop vomiting. It seemed you’d been feeling that way ever since your father had kicked you out of your childhood home and told you to live with Joel.
He hadn’t said those words, but ‘stupid fucking slut’ had had all of the same effect. Since then, you’d been scarce.
Sick as a dog and trying to convince yourself that it was simply issues with your old man making you feel like this.
It couldn’t have been anything other than that, because you had just graduated college, were still waiting on not one, but three callbacks for jobs in and around Austin, and your lease at your first apartment started next week. Your life was just beginning to look a little brighter, with Joel by your side and cheering you on every step of the way, and you couldn’t stand the thought of it changing.
You waved the medicine off as soon as you saw it.
“Joel, I’m fine. Really.” You tried forcing a smile.
“I just got it from Aly’s mom and a couple other parents around—had some Advil in my car, and we could go to Walgreens before we hit the airport. Do you need me t—”
“No. I feel much better now. Just had to sit for a little,” you cut him off, standing on tip-toes to kiss his nose.
“We sat for the last two hours,” Joel said, frowning.
Pretending not to hear that last remark, you turned to Aly. You stretched your arms out to your best friend and now former-roommate, and you tried not to look too sad.
You clearly failed miserably at that, because Aly scoffed.
“Don’t gimme that look,” she said, hauling you into the biggest, tightest hug that very nearly reawakened your nausea. “I’m gonna come and visit ‘til you’re sick of me. Seriously. Joel’s just gonna have to suck it up for now.”
“Oh, he will,” you murmured, half-smirking and half-wanting to cry. Everything made you teary these days.
You weren’t ready to say good-bye to anyone. Anything. This period of transition was difficult enough without having to move back home not having your old home, and now parting ways with your closest friend on a random sunny Saturday afternoon like it was nothing.
The waterworks were close, but you managed to keep them at bay through sheer force of will. You drew back.
“Don’t open this until you’re home,” Aly said suddenly.
Then she was pushing a makeup bag in your direction.
It didn’t look like anything out of the ordinary, as simple and nondescript as the little gold pouch happened to be, but you had no idea why she was handing it over to you.
You cocked a brow, accepting it with a puzzled look.
“What’s this f—” you started to say.
“For later. After you’ve settled in, and if things don’t…”
Aly paused, choosing words carefully before going on:
“If another ‘friend’ doesn’t come to visit you in a month.”
And although she was smiling while she said it, the implications were plain as day—and you didn’t like it.
You groaned.
“Aly, I am not—”
“I’m not saying you are! Just to be extra safe.”
“I had my friend two weeks ago. That’s not the problem.”
“You bled for one day. Didn’t even fill a tampon you said.”
“And I took Plan B the last time we…and, I mean, we’ve been using condoms every single time ever since then.”
You hated that this would be your last topic of discussion with your friend. At the same time, you knew that it was entirely true to her always looking out for you. She’d seen you sick as anything these last couple weeks, and it was only natural for her to be concerned. She probably figured that you wouldn’t buy whatever was stashed in this bag yourself, so she went ahead and did it for you.
You hoped you wouldn’t need to use it.
You hugged her again and wanted to stay.
After Dallas had assailed you with a similarly suffocating hug to your first, nearly crushing two ribs in the process, and you’d said your good-byes to the rest of the family and a few other friends, you regrouped with Joel. You headed out to the parking lot with him, taking off your cap and unzipping your gown to reveal a short white dress underneath. The afternoon heat was blistering.
Joel eyed you up and down once.
Twice.
He smiled and pulled you into his side as you walked.
“How’s it feel to be an official college grad, darlin’?”
As soon as his hand landed on your waist and pulled you in—when you felt the warmth of his breath on the top of your head before he placed a soft, affectionate kiss there—you couldn’t help it. The sun was shining too bright, and the stomach that you’d sworn was far too empty by now to heave again evidently had had a mind of its own.
You turned and puked on a Porsche.
Joel never knew fatherhood could be so difficult.
Standing in the old, half-dilapidated kitchen of his grandfather’s home, staring through the screen door leading out to the yard, he looked long and hard at the overgrown child sitting politely on the back porch steps.
Her eyes shone with a sweetness that he couldn’t ignore.
“You ain’t sleepin’ in here. I don’t care what Mama said.”
The big, brown eyes blinked up at him. The head cocked.
“And don’t be actin’ all mopey ‘bout it, neither. We’ve been feedin’ you, keepin’ you clean this whole month, tryin’ to find your real family in the meanwhile, and what’s the thanks we get? A steamin’ pile of shit in the living room. You ain’t spendin’ the night again, capiche?”
The kid scowled. She bared her teeth once in frustration.
Then her tail shortly quit wagging, as if she’d actually understood the meaning of his words, and she slumped.
With her head now resting on her front paws in a patch of grass off to the side, the inky black night beyond consuming everything but the little swath of light emitted from the bulb overhead, she watched him.
She huffed through her nose, clearly annoyed.
“Billie!” a voice sing-songed from inside.
That sound came from behind Joel, somewhere in the bedroom. It made the ears of his yappy, furry friend perk up, and no sooner had it rang out than the dog was padding back up the steps and right to the door.
With an expectant, See?-I’m-Fine look, she peered up.
“Go. Away,” Joel ordered, tone stern and authoritative.
Or at least trying to be. He couldn’t deny those eyes were his fucking kryptonite, and the longer he stood there watching her, the more his will began to crumble.
Then a hip bumped his. A flash of something in his periphery, and suddenly, you were slotted in between him and the door, ogling the ratty ball of fur on the deck.
You swung the door open at once.
“C’mere, sweet girl,” you crooned.
The lab bounded happily inside, sidling right up to you with her head held high. If Joel hadn’t known any better, he could’ve sworn he saw the little beast grin over at him.
Beaming somewhat smugly, as if to say, ‘I told you so.’
“That thing is not sleeping in here,” Joel huffed.
You turned to him, crouched by the dog.
“Says who?” you asked him.
“Says me. Damn dog already pissed and crapped and—”
“She’s just a baby, Joel. We can potty train her.” Then, scratching her behind the ears again. “Right, Billie?”
Joel put his hands on his hips, paternal consternation painted all over his face. He hated having to do this.
“You know we can’t be givin’ her no names, baby. It’ll just make it harder when we gotta give her back to her folks.”
You deflated a little hearing that. Kneeling on linoleum in an oversized gray tee that had once belonged to him, hand stroking over the yellow fur with an almost mournful touch, you chewed your bottom lip.
“Well, what if…what if we were her family?”
It just wasn’t realistic for the time being. You’d be moving into your apartment next week—and of course, the complex had a strict ‘No Pets’ policy—you were still on the hunt for a job, his own workload was getting heavier and heavier by the day, and you both had a busy month ahead. From Tommy and Maria’s destination wedding in just a few short weeks to the Billy Joel concert he’d bought tickets for and a million other things, it wasn’t wise at all to be taking on the responsibility of a pet.
Joel said as much by crouching beside you and the dog and stroking the lab’s back. He tried to use the gentlest tone he could muster up while he looked you in the eye.
“We agreed this was just a temporary thing, sweet pea.”
“You can’t always…plan for this stuff, though, right?”
You peered back up at him, and he sighed.
“No. No, you can’t. But with the place we’re at right now, I don’t think it’d be fair to either of us—or to this sweet little puppy—if we tried growing our home right now. We just don’t have the time to care for a dog. And I know you’d wanna be the best Mama you could possibly be.”
Joel expected that to get an understanding reaction out of you. A slow nod of your head, a little twitch of your lips to say that you saw what he meant and that you agreed with him—a pet just wasn’t in the cards for you right now
Instead, you burst into tears.
You rose to your feet and proceeded to flee the kitchen, hand over your face and sobs quick to rack through you.
Joel sat there, stunned for several seconds before the realization could even fully dawn on him. The dog beside him whined. She tilted her head to the left and watched the door where you’d gone out of, and then she stood up herself, about to follow you out. Joel shortly stopped her.
“Stay,” he commanded.
This time, thankfully, the lab obeyed.
She didn’t seem thrilled at the prospect of missing out on all the action, but she was wise enough not to try any stunts. With a little huff, she plopped down on the floor and watched him leave, same as she had done with you.
Joel’s head was whirring with too many thoughts at once to worry himself with anything else at the moment. He lumbered into the bedroom that he shared with you and looked around—you couldn’t be found on the bed, in the reading nook, packing clothes and going, so he figured…
“Honey?” Joel knocked loudly on the bathroom door.
He waited a second and heard nothing. Instinct told him not to barge in immediately, but curiosity and worry both seized him in a chokehold at once. He put his hand on the doorknob, and, following another brief pause—after calling your name and getting no answer—he walked in.
When he did, you were already turning from the sink.
Your eyes were clear, and your cheeks were dry; all that was left to remind him that you’d just broke down crying in front of him a minute or two ago was a faint ring of pink around your irises. That part you couldn’t mask.
The rest was an uncanny performance, though.
You forced a smile and tried breezing past him in the doorframe. Muttered something about this ‘ridiculous PMS’ and how ‘emotional these hormones make you.’
Joel didn’t believe a syllable of what you said—and even if your outburst were due in part to hormones, he wanted to know how he could help. Make you feel better. He took you by the shoulders before you could pass, and he stopped you in the door. He pressed your back gently to the wooden frame to make you meet his look in turn.
“Talk to me, sweetheart. What was that?” He tried making his voice sound as soft and calm as possible.
Then you smiled again. Practically leered in his face.
“I just get in these moods. You know I do. I really—”
“What? You think I’m stupid now or somethin’?”
And Joel didn’t intend for those words to come off so abrasive, but the circumstances—that plastic painted grin twisting so casually at the corners of your lips—had him fit to be tied, and that irritation was only growing by the second. His grip slid down to your upper arms, firm.
He hated being so fatherly, but he knew he had to say it.
“You and me, we’re gonna talk this over like two adults. Only way to work things out is communication. Now s—”
“I might be pregnant.”
You spoke, and in the same instant, his lower back broke.
That was what it felt like, anyway—every time he got a muscle spasm at this age, it felt like someone had taken a cattle prod to his spine and had a field day with it. Like his vertebrae were composed of the same material found in glow sticks, and somebody much, much bigger than him had just snapped that motherfucker in two, it—
“Shiiiiiiit, shit, shit,” Joel cursed over and over.
You froze. Your mouth fell open.
“I knew it. I…fucking knew it.”
That was an accusation.
A charge, more like.
Joel’s eyes widened, both with the pain blossoming from his lower back and the realization that you thought that his reaction stemmed from being disappointed about you possibly having his child. Your eyes welled up with tears all over again, this time shameless and staying put.
You turned and strode off just as he reached for you.
Joel couldn’t move far or fast in his present condition, so he placed a hand on the small of his back and wobbled behind you, wincing a little as he called out your name.
“Baby!”
“Said you wanted a whole brood of kids seconds before shooting your load in me, but the second I mention a pet, suddenly I’m the crazy one. Forget about your baby batter actually fucking doing its job and maybe knock—”
“Sweet pea, listen to me. Please.”
You were throwing clothes into a suitcase. The two of you had only planned to spend the weekend at his granddad’s, so you didn’t have very much to pack.
“I’ve heard enough.” You rubbed your bleary eyes.
Tears were flowing freely down your cheeks now, and Joel was rounding the edge of the bed, pain still radiating up his back and a million emotions coursing through him at once. Almost simultaneously, another spasm hit, and this time, it all but bowled him over.
Joel found himself crouched by the bed where you were busy chucking shirts, skirts, panties, and socks into your bag, and his whole lower back suddenly seized with pain.
Fuck middle age.
“Joel?”
Just as quick, you stopped what you were doing.
“Joel, oh—oh fuck, are you having a stroke?!”
Now it was his turn to feel taken aback.
Gripping the old, flimsy bedspread in one hand and his back in the other, Joel shook his head fiercely. Quickly.
“N-No. No, hon, I’m fine.”
He felt a million years old.
You rushed to his side, not a crack in your joints as you squatted. Your tone changed completely, and your hand started rubbing circles in his back. Thankfully, it wasn’t where he was hurting, and he could manage, hoarsely:
“Just my back. Are—Are we havin’ a baby, darlin’?”
“I have no idea! Are you dying on me, Miller?”
“Not quite—”
“Because if you are, I’ll fucking kill you.”
Those words were harsh, but the voice that spoke them was alarmingly small. Soft. Your eyes were as wide as saucers, and you couldn’t stop touching him the second you suspected that something was amiss. Your anger vanished. Joel took one, long look at you then and almost forgot the agony he was in. His lips twitched.
“Y’ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy. Just…back spasms.”
“What?”
“Happens when you’re over the age of forty and exist.”
“So you should be used to it, after a hundred years?”
Little shit.
You were helping him to his feet. Making him sit on the bed. Joel couldn’t help the little grunt of amusement that pushed out of his chest, but he also wasn’t in the mood to be humorous. His head was still throbbing. Spinning.
“S’why I was cussin’ up a storm right after you told me…it was just my damn back. You know, darlin’, you know…” Now his own voice was failing him. Joel was short of breath and sitting up from the headboard, trying to hold you in some way. Luckily, you let him take your hands. “Ain’t a soul on this earth I’d rather start a family with…”
When he squeezed your palms, you pressed back gently.
You didn’t retreat, but your voice wasn’t quite the same. Your eyes met his, almost hesitating, still glossy and wet.
“But you don’t even want a…a dog together. You said—”
“I know.” Joel winced, now regretting his choice of words earlier. “I know I said that we were busy, and maybe we don’t have all the resources right now to make it…easy.”
He had to pause, and perhaps you thought it was for effect, or because his back was still hurting him some, but the truth was that it had just started to dawn on him. His throat grew tight; he couldn’t swallow, and suddenly, it was his own eyes blinking fast. Stinging with emotion.
“But a baby?”
His voice splintered with that last word. He tried, although he couldn’t bring himself to go on just yet.
“I—I don’t know for sure,” you interjected, hurried. “Haven’t taken a test or anything. It’s just been weeks since I was supposed to have my period, and I’ve felt…”
The two of you were perched on the edge of the bed, and across from him, Joel saw your face looking pensive. His eyes rounded with a realization, memories flooding back.
“At graduation. You were sick,” he murmured. “You…?”
You chewed at the inside of your cheek.
“I’d been sick. Aly bought me a test.”
“But you didn’t take it?”
“No. I was too scared.”
You looked like you might’ve been about to say more, when, at length, your brows pinched, and your whole expression looked like it was about to cave in on itself. Like you couldn’t control the wave of emotion rolling in.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Joel wrapped you in his arms, and you started to sob.
Not like that slight, tight-lipped flow of tears that had started and ended before he could even blink; this one was long and poured straight into his chest, like a weight that was being stripped off of your back brick-by-brick.
You’d talked about babies before. You’d met his gaze with a bright, twinkling look in your own and told him you couldn’t wait. In softer, sensual, at-times spontaneous moments, you had sex and let him finish inside you, and you both went wild at the thought of his seed maybe sticking, but this? The reality was a different thing.
Joel let you cry as long as you needed, and he stroked your hair. He leaned back against the headboard, you safe and secure in his grasp, and he told you the truth.
“I love you,” he said, soft. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere, hear?”
You proceeded to sniffle, fisting his shirt, “But you…”
“Want this. Want you. Want the baby. The dog, the house, and the yard with the white picket fence. Everything you can think of, with you, I want.”
Another brief pause, and you peered up.
Joel went on without having to think.
“I only said what I said before ‘cause I thought it was the right thing to do. You’re just startin’ out in life, and I’m old as dirt, itchin’ to settle down and have you all to myself. But I know you’ve got stuff to figure out, like what you wanna be and where you wanna go, and I just want whatever that is to be your decision. Your choice.”
Those last words seemed to leave an impression. You blinked slowly, and then you sniffled again, thinking.
“Whether it’s a baby, this dog, a house, or anything else, you and me have all the time in the world to figure it out.”
Perhaps unconsciously, your hand then drifted to rest on your belly. The sight of it made Joel’s heart not only swell but want to burst in his chest, and he had to rein in his every impulse just to kiss your forehead and stay calm.
It was hard.
You searched his gaze.
“Whatever it is, I want it to be with you, Joel,” you said.
And when you tilted your chin up half a degree to press your lips to his, it was over. He kissed you deeply, with a feeling that would’ve almost surprised him if it weren’t so thoroughly embedded in his body by now. Every inch of him needed you, and every inch of him wanted to protect you, to keep you safe, and make sure that you knew he was ready to take this step. If you were ready.
Staring into your eyes after the two of you had pulled apart, both still sniffling and shedding some tears and laughing every now and then at how insane this was to be going through, Joel hoped that you would be ready.
“I love you, Miller,” you mumbled gently against his lips.
“I love you more,” he muttered back, and he meant it.
He was ready.
It all came down to Boston, the Bronco, and Billy Joel.
The singer’s namesake, a perpetually happy-go-lucky yellow lab, now sat between you and Joel in the front seat of the old car, panting loud. You didn’t blame her.
Currently, it was 103 degrees at the start of another blistering Austin heatwave, and the Bronco’s A/C was shot to shit. Your furry friend was keeping a brave face, but deep down, you knew she was dying inside listening to the Piano Man while waiting for her dad to pick up the pace. You couldn’t deny you were silently missing the winters in Massachusetts and wishing Joel was a little bit quicker with dressing. Beside you and Billie, in the driver’s seat, he was lacing up his left shoe.
He wore loafers, a crisp white polo, and khaki shorts.
The man had never looked more like a dad in his life; later today, you’d be finding out for certain if he was.
Seven days ago, you’d decided to wait a week before taking an at-home pregnancy test. Seven whole days hoping for that bloody chaos you’d come to despise the majority of your life—and still, to the present moment, nothing. You’d just parked outside Tommy and Maria’s house, planning to spend the afternoon celebrating them closing on said house, getting married in less than a month, and Maria landing a big promotion at her job.
You know, adult stuff.
Marriage, home ownership, career success, the whole nine yards. The only place you and Joel might’ve had them beat was a kid, but even that wasn’t a sure thing.
You wouldn’t tell anyone until it was, and once it was—if it was—you reckoned you’d be an absolute fucking mess.
You were already half-insane over the prospect of being a mother, much less learning that you were. At the same time, irrationally, you couldn’t keep your hands off Joel.
It was like the man had become a fucking drug lately.
Your sex drive was already through the roof as it was, and you’d always been wildly attracted to him before, but this was new. It was different. Nothing had ever made you more feral or needy than…whatever the fuck this was.
Presently, Joel hiked up his shorts even higher on one leg and opened the driver’s side door. He propped his foot up, about to try and fix the laces again, when Billie dove across his lap. She tore off down the lawn like her tail was on fire all the way to the backyard, where the sounds of the barbecue could no doubt be heard to her.
“Damn dog,” Joel muttered. He smiled saying it, though.
You were too busy ogling how big his thighs looked straining against cotton, wanting to take a bite out of one
Right as he fixed the wayward loafer laces and turned to say something to the effect of, ‘You ready, sweet pea?’, you reached over him and slammed the car door shut. You pulled—no, wrenched—your panties down your legs from under the hem of your red gingham dress and then straddled Joel’s lap. Then you changed your mind. You pried yourself off the old man and made your way into the backseat, where you two would have some room.
“You comin’?” You pouted up at him in the rearview.
It took Joel a half-second to process. He blinked.
“In…in the driveway?” He looked around briefly.
You knew the question, as well as the momentary bout of bewilderment, was mostly perfunctory; he’d gotten used to you needing him at all hours of the day, in the most unconventional places. This wasn’t the weirdest spot you’d done it by a long shot. Not even in the last week.
“This was the first place we ever had sex, y’know,” you said, batting your lashes at him sweetly. Teasing him. “Back when you defiled me coming home from college.”
“That ain’t how I remember it.” And Joel was already coming after you. Clambering over the front seats.
Then he was under you, lying down a little awkwardly with his gigantic frame taking up most of the space in the backseat. You sat on his belly. Lifted your dress skirt.
“You jumped me, didn’t ya, pretty girl?” Joel smirked.
“Might have. I was horny,” you replied, smiling, too.
Vaguely, you recalled calling him daddy in the lobby of that seedy backcountry motel, and the rest was history.
Now you were undoing his clothes again. Taking him out, same as you’d helped him do on that first night, and the overwhelming heat in the vehicle today hardly bothered you at all. You were reminiscing—brushing his bare tip between your thighs and smearing your wetness with him. You straddled his hips and looked around you both.
“My purse.” You reached over, mumbling, “Condoms.”
Joel grabbed your thighs and nudged you up his body before you could make it far. While fucking with rubbers and having him inside was the first thing on your mind, something else was on his. He angled you over his face.
Feeling stubble on your inner thighs, you whimpered.
“Y’let daddy have a taste first, right?” Joel hummed.
You had.
You and Joel had played a game of ‘Too Hot,’ and he’d topped it off by finishing you off with his lips and tongue. In keeping with tradition, it seemed only fair to give him the chance to do it again, but you were impatient, too.
The headrest beside you got a hard squeeze, shortly. Your fingers curled into the cushion as you grit your teeth together and Joel’s tongue swiped up your slit.
Damn, he felt good.
You hadn’t even needed the foreplay, and here he was, licking through your folds like this was the key to his own happiness. Like nothing would make him more content.
At length, you looked down and watched him do it. You scanned the tanned, weathered plane of Joel’s forehead, every wrinkle and sunspot and sign of aging that you had come to love over the last months, and you whined again
His tongue stroked you methodically and deliberately. He coaxed your clit with just the tip and then sucked the little nub between two soft and plush lips. Everything about the pressure was delectable, from the warmth of his mouth to the way you felt the grays in his stubble tease your skin to how expertly he worked you over. Pleasure mounted, and Joel’s efforts increased, too.
He let you fuck his face. You rode it, basically, but with even more force from how he’d grip the sides of your legs and rut your hips hard over his waiting, open mouth.
Even lying supine under you, Joel was always in control. You loved not having to think a damn thing while he was pleasuring you like this—or in any position, really—and you could just shut off your brain. You’d hold the headrest in one hand and a clump of dark, silver-streaked hair in the other, and simply breathe. Hiccup, moan, curse aloud occasionally, all of it in a good way.
You were a good girl with some raging, yet-unexplained hormones coursing through your body that made you want to scream. So you did. With a thick, damp beard between your thighs and a tongue moving relentlessly through your sensitive heat, big hands leaving imprints on your hips and thighs, and a smirk searing against your center the whole time, you let out a cry that was primal.
Feral.
Your legs trembled against Joel’s face as you came, and your body couldn’t hold you upright for long after it hit. You slumped forward, into the window, and cried again.
Insatiable, too, it seemed.
Body still tight, your hips continued to rut mindlessly as if waiting for something more that you couldn’t decipher.
This time, Joel was moving out from under you. He worked an arm around your front, gently, and then, positioned behind you, slid his fingers inside your pussy.
He pumped his index and middle fingers once, twice, stretching your still-pulsing walls around them before pulling back out. Like he could tell there was something else you needed to release, he pulled you into his lap and had you sit. He repositioned you both to sit facing the front of the car, and your legs draped lazily over his.
He pushed his fingers inside you again.
Still only two, but curving them upward to pet the ridged wall of flesh and get in deeper, he kissed your shoulder. He made a rhythm of it, easily, and worked you back up to a high you didn’t even know that you needed. When you climaxed again, this time over thick, callused fingers, the lightest stream followed it. Joel made you squirt, and he didn’t stop moving his hand until it had all come out.
Then he kissed your shoulder again, lips soft and wet.
“Better?”
“Y-Yeah.”
Boneless as you felt, you still managed to turn around. Your eyes must’ve been glazed, the heady warmth of your first and second orgasms still thrumming through your veins, and you smiled softly at Joel. He smiled back.
Now he’d let you have him.
He was wise like that—old and sage and more experienced in sex than you by decades. You sometimes forgot about that. It was in moments like these that he was able to remind you: fucked out as he had you, needy as you’d been all day, he could show you just what your body could take, and what it might give to him in return.
When he filled you, it felt a little bit like coming home.
Joel must have snagged a Trojan from out of his shorts pocket and put it on while you were coming down from your high, and you didn’t mind at all. Latex-covered or not, every inch of him was precious going in, and you appreciated the consideration for your present state.
Just to be safe.
Unlike the first time you’d done this, up in the front seat of the Bronco, you and Joel were now familiar with each other. His cock stretched your pulsing wet hole, and the only words out of his mouth for the longest time were ‘I love you’ and ‘This feel alright?’ Nothing else was said until Joel felt certain you were comfortable having him there, hands secure around your hips and eyes following your every movement. He watched you hiccup and nod.
“‘M’alright. Start movin’, daddy, please,” you whined.
He knew you, and you knew him, almost too well.
Instead of gratifying you immediately, Joel lifted one broad and callused palm and cradled the back of your head with it. His brown eyes twinkled, and you could see that he was serious about taking care of you. He had to.
“My baby ain’t sore?” he asked, pointedly. “Ain’t hurt?”
“No, sir.”
You saw a flicker of heat leap to his gaze on hearing that. He let you snake your arms around his neck and wriggle your hips a little, taking in his heft and his girth as best you could. Your walls clenched involuntarily, and fuck if it didn’t feel a bit like suffocating. He was always so big.
Joel stretched you, dove to the sweetest depths of your body, and made you full. He only started moving when he saw that you were ready; then it was all soft, gentle thrusts and tender kisses. Digging deep to find that special spot inside you and hitting it repeatedly with the head of his cock. Hypersensitized as you were, it felt like every throbbing inch was in all the way to your lungs, and you couldn’t have been happier. Your head lolled forward into the crook of Joel’s neck then, and you soaked him in
“That’s a good girl,” Joel hummed. Now rubbing your back while he pistoned his cock in and out of you rhythmically. “That’s my girl. Always so sweet f’me.”
You were leaking around him, too.
Slick smeared your groin and Joel’s and made for the most obscene sorts of noises as you fucked. It practically flattened the wiry grays at the base of the old man’s abdomen, making his whole happy trail and thatch of hair beneath it a dampened mess. On top of everything, you and him were sweating. Your mouths were wet with a mix of spit and that same, tangy arousal that Joel had tongued out of your cunt, and you hummed at the taste.
Then he made things even wetter when he licked his thumb. Joel held it up, as if asking you to inspect it.
“Suck.”
The command was simple; you followed it.
While he continued to fuck up into you from below, hips grinding at a steady, gentle cadence, he pressed his thumb into your mouth. You took it in to the knuckle.
From all the months you two had been having sex, you already knew what this was for. You bobbed your head, gaze plastered to his, and you whimpered a little. You licked the warm, ridged skin and curled your tongue.
Joel groaned, and then the thumb was out. He had you leaning back, hands bracing yourself on his meaty thighs, while he lowered his touch to rub your clit.
In contrast to his languid thrusts, the little circles he made on your throbbing bundle of nerves were both fast and tight. Pressing, just like you liked them. Seeing how your head fell back on a long, protracted moan, Joel could no doubt tell that you were almost at your peak.
“C’mon, pretty girl, one more for daddy. Wanna feel it.”
Your legs trembled. Your walls tightened around him.
You were so fucking close to that devastating precipice that all you could do was whimper and whine and rut your hips against the stab of Joel’s impossibly thick cock, wanting release more than the air you breathed.
Then Joel leaned forward.
Tilting your face back up to him, pressing your nose to his nose and fucking so deep in your guts that he was almost touching your cervix, he nodded once. Knowing.
“How’s that feel, mama?”
And his cock sank even deeper.
The response in you was immediate and instinctive.
Overwhelmed as you’d been all this time, agonizing through every waking hour over how a pregnancy would completely upend your life, you felt your walls cling to Joel’s cock and pulse around him. It must have been something primal and senseless inside you, because as soon as he’d said those words, you were reaching climax.
The feeling was deep. Sweet. Dizzying to your every sense as Joel Miller met your gaze in earnest and split you down his big, throbbing cock. His thrusts sped up, and he didn’t hesitate to say it again as you came apart.
“That feel good, mama? This pussy feel nice an’ full?”
“Joel.”
His name crawled through your teeth, choked, and your cunt spasmed again. Your body milked him desperately.
“I bet she does. Loves gettin’ stretched by this cock.”
“Daddy.”
Your gaze was almost pained with how good it all felt. Pulling Joel closer to you, you panted into his mouth.
He grinned.
“Gonna make her real full someday—” he started.
“Today,” you interrupted. Chest heaving. “Now.”
“Wh—”
“Maybe you already made me a mama, Joel.”
The words tumbled out before you could stop them. Joel’s cock throbbed inside you, and his jaw slackened.
Then you felt him twitch again. His grip tightened.
He flipped you onto your back along the seat.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you breathed.
Another jerk. Another shuddering groan.
Without further warning, Joel’s hips stilled in place, and his eyes closed. Your legs wrapped around his lower half and tilted up to give him access, exactly like he deserved. Warmth spread in the next second, filling the latex barrier between your bodies, and you sighed.
You wished it were in you, sticky and wet.
“I—I took a test.”
Joel’s eyes snapped open.
His body lifted from yours immediately, up on his elbows, and his gaze searched your face for a better explanation.
“Four, actually,” you went on, starting to sit up with him.
Joel’s whole expression turned to stone before your eyes. Completely transformed from the strain and the bliss of his last release, the man now looked as if you’d just grown a second head. He was stunned into silence.
Then he was pulling out. Discarding the used rubber. Running fingers through his hair and moving carefully.
“Are…are you…?” he stammered. “Baby, are we…?”
You were about to answer him. You were smoothing down the front of your dress and then trying to tame your hair, but both efforts were futile. Your hands shook.
“Well, I—”
THUMP.
Thump, thump, thump.
“No sex allowed in my driveway!”
Tommy Miller beat on the window directly behind you, and you jumped. Thankfully, Joel had already zipped up.
Still, the older brother groaned.
“Would you give us a minute, dickhead?” he growled.
“No,” Tommy snapped back, tone defiant. Slamming his palm on the pane once more. “I can’t even see inside here ‘cause y’all’ve been steamin’ it up! It’s sickening.”
Gingerly, you turned and rolled the window down—cranking the thing, since Joel’s vehicle was so old.
When you met Tommy’s face, you half-expected a frown. Instead, he had on a triumphant look, like, ‘Ha. Got y’all.’
You could feel Joel’s middle finger itching to flick him off.
Beside Tommy, to your surprise—and embarrassment—you saw Maria. A hint of amusement raised her brows.
“We got a rack of ribs and a couple burgers smothered with pickles, just like you asked for,” she told you sweetly
Your cheeks heated remembering that special request.
Before you could speak, Maria went on, grinning: “Are you sure you’re not pregnant? My sister had the same cravings with her last two. Put pickles on everything.”
Joel might’ve choked on his spit. You heard him cough, right as your own throat tightened to the point of closing.
Tommy took that as his cue to interject.
“Holy shit, y’all are fuckin’ pregnant.”
As he laughed, Joel snapped:
“Don’t even start, Tomm—”
“I’m gonna be an uncle!”
While Tommy turned to shoot a too-smug, beaming look over at Maria, you were already climbing back into the front seat. Joel followed, and his expression was grim.
His brother stuck his head in through the back window.
“Tommy if it’s a boy, Tammy if it’s a girl—how ‘bout it?”
You leaned and reached for your purse. Rifling through it, you could feel Joel’s eyes on you. They were questioning.
More than a little bit scared.
His brother chattered on, oblivious.
“Won’t be long before you gotta buy diapers for the baby and him, I reckon.” Tommy gestured to Joel with a wink.
You said nothing. Your hands were too busy collecting four plastics sticks out of a Ziploc baggie in your tote.
Clearly, the man outside hadn’t had his fill of poking fun at his big brother yet, and was still waiting on a reaction, because he leaned even further into the Bronco, leering.
“What? No comeback?” he goaded you both teasingly.
While you didn’t retrieve your latest find from out of your bag, worried Tommy might see it, you did turn and smile.
This time, you made sure he heard you, loud and clear:
“Tommy, if I wanted my comeback, I would’ve wiped it off your brother’s chin. Now go get me a burger, please.”
Strangely, you’d never felt more certain—or starved for the biggest helping of barbecue, burgers, and pickles—in your life. It almost seemed like the nail in the coffin, this craving, and then Tommy and Maria saying it outright.
You had to be pregnant, surely.
You had to meet Joel’s gaze, hand still inside your purse. His brother laughed like the good sport he was, Maria chuckled and shook her head, and then the two of them were making their way back to the party in the backyard, where you and Joel would no doubt find yourselves later.
After you figured this shit out.
After you shared with Joel what you had already done.
“Darlin’,” Joel started, voice wavering the slightest bit. Then, lowering even more to say it: “Are you pregnant?”
“I don’t know.”
Slowly, you lifted the little plastic bag out of your purse, making sure to keep your grip covering most of it. You didn’t show it to Joel immediately, but his gaze was near.
Brown eyes widened. The lines around his mouth grew more pronounced as he gnawed the inside of his cheek.
“Is that…?”
“I took four tests right before we left. I know you’re supposed to check immediately, and the results might not be accurate anymore, but I…I wanted to wait first,” you said, hold tightening even more. “Didn’t wanna find out until you were there with me. Then I got…distracted, seeing you in your shorts earlier, and…anyway, I bought some others, so we can go inside and take the test ag—”
“Let’s check ‘em anyway. If that—if that’s OK with you.”
Joel sounded so hopeful, blinking a little more quickly.
He wanted to know now, despite being scared as you.
You opened the bag and nodded back at him.
“I didn’t want it to ruin the afternoon…”
You’d just taken the tests out, still holding them low so you couldn’t see them yet, when Joel’s eyes jumped to yours. His hands shortly followed, and before long, he was cupping your cheeks. Holding your gaze intently.
“Y’think findin’ out news like that is gonna ruin my day?” His tone was steeped in disbelief, and he was already shaking his head. “Don’t ever think that, baby. Please.”
And he looked so sure of it. Every worn line in his face, every disheveled salt-and-pepper lock of hair, every soft rise and fall of his chest under that bright, white, sweat-dampened polo—the man seemed secure as anything.
Your bottom lip trembled, and you winced to keep the tears at bay. You really tried, but a few slid out anyway.
“I’m scared,” you whispered.
“I know.” Joel swiped the moisture with his thumbs, and he drew even closer to kiss your forehead, pressing gently. “It’s OK. This is still your choice, remember?”
You set the tests on the dashboard. You didn’t look over. When Joel lifted his palms to start kissing the tears that had streaked down your face, you only broke down more.
Fucking hormones.
“Either way it goes, I’m gonna be here. No matter what,” Joel assured you. In between soft pecks, he was smiling.
Despite your tears, you tried smiling back.
Choking out a laugh when his stubble tickled your face.
“Baby or no baby?” you sniffled up at him.
“No matter what,” Joel repeated.
“You mean it?”
“Sweet pea, someday soon I’m gonna make you my w—”
Suddenly, another knock interrupted Joel’s speech. It was gentler than the last, though evidently hard enough.
You turned, and it felt like your face went up in flames.
Joel and you weren’t doing anything, and still, a look from that man made it feel like you’d just been caught red-handed, and nothing would likely ever change that.
Your dad had made it that way.
He was standing outside the Bronco on Joel’s side, resting a hand on the roof and leaning into the window.
And though you couldn’t quite read his look through the glare of the midafternoon sun, it was clear he looked like shit. His face was drawn, expression limp, and the eyes that stared into the car were as hollow and desolate as you’d ever seen them. It was like looking down into a pit.
Your stomach turned inside you.
At just the sight of him, you felt nauseous again.
It’d been almost a month since you’d last spoken to your father face-to-face. On that occasion, he’d called you a ‘stupid fucking slut’ and tried carrying on like nothing.
Evidently, the same memory was running through Joel’s head, as he pushed out of the car in the next second. He didn’t hesitate to shove your dad away with the door and meet him head-on, just to force the man backward again
With an expression that was flinty and stern, finger pointed directly at your father’s chest, he spoke low.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Listen, I know—”
“Go home.”
Joel’s words brooked no argument. They didn’t show him to be openly hostile or irate, just steady in his appraisal. Firm in the belief your dad needed to fuck off.
Mark peered around his shoulder anyway.
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. For everything.”
Inwardly, you cringed. On the outside, you had to keep up a front like you weren’t about to break down again.
First the pregnancy shit, now back to this.
Would it ever end with him and Joel?
“Dad. Please go,” you choked out.
He only drew closer. That prompted Joel to take a step that way as well, blocking your father from gaining too much on the Bronco. Of course, it wasn’t a perfect wall.
Your dad managed to snake toward the open doorway.
As soon as he did, Joel made sure to spare him no effort: he took hold of the man’s collar, arm hard across his chest, and thrust him up against the side of the car. The motion rattled the whole frame of the old Bronco, and out of habit, you leapt toward it. You stopped halfway across the center console, gaze darting to Joel’s, and your lips parted. You were already shaking your head.
Watching yet another violent scene unfold wasn’t high on your list of priorities. Fortunately, your dad didn’t budge an inch to resist and instead only turned his head.
“Sweetheart,” he tried again, voice a touch more hoarse this time around. Pleading. “I didn’t mean nothin’ I said.”
Joel lowered his arm, but he didn’t release the collar. With a firm grip, he kept your dad pinned to the spot.
“Which part? Those ugly fuckin’ names that you called her, or sayin’ she’d be better off without me?” he pressed
Your father coughed. The force must’ve been a lot.
“I mean, all of it. Really. I regret everything I sai—”
“And you think I’m doing this to piss you off. Like Joel is some sort of ploy to make your life miserable,” you cut in.
“I know he ain’t. Not from the way you two have been…” Your father trailed off, as if the words were too weighty on his tongue. He tore his gaze from you and Joel and opted to stare off someplace else inside the Bronco then. “From how you look at him, and he looks at you, it just…”
Silence. More inarticulable blinks and a heavy swallow.
“You’ll always be my little girl, and it’s just hard seein’…”
At the same time, his gaze landed on one particular spot and froze in place. His body stiffened, and with it, the grip on his collar constricted, too. Joel clearly didn’t notice the path of your dad’s vision, and he frowned.
“Mark—” he started, low.
“What—What the fuck is that?”
Your gaze and Joel’s snapped in time to follow his look.
As soon as you did, your heart plummeted to your feet. Joel was still holding onto your father’s shirt like he could’ve swung at him at any moment, but then it was as if you could feel his whole demeanor shift. You weren’t watching his face, but you could see those eyes widen.
Joel stared, dumbstruck.
Your father raised his voice.
With the attention of everyone now glued to the four tests sitting out on the dash, it rang loud as anything:
Summary — During a quiet night together, Bucky gets called away on a sudden mission. Finding it hard to sleep without each other, though, Bucky calls and asks to sleep on call with you. Easing both of your minds.
Author’s Note: Now this could just be me, but I genuinely love to sleep on call, so when I got this idea, I immediately thought of Bucky, so I hope you guys enjoy this one. Love ya'll lots. ♡.°˖✧
The night was ordinary in the best way. You were tangled on the couch with Bucky, your legs draped across his lap while he absentmindedly traced circles on your calf with his thumb.
A half-watched movie flickered on the TV, though neither of you were paying much attention. You were too busy laughing at the commentary he kept muttering under his breath.
“Pretty sure I could take that guy,” he said as the action hero on-screen delivered some over-the-top stunt.
You grinned, nudging his arm. “Sure you could. You’d trip over your own boots first.”
“Doll,” he gasped in mock offense, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. He shifted, metal fingers catching your hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’m graceful when I need to be.”
“Mm-hm,” you teased, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his jaw.
He smelled like the soap you loved, warm and clean, and your chest felt full with the simple, quiet intimacy of it all.
That’s when his phone buzzed.
The sound sliced through the cozy atmosphere instantly. You both stilled.
Missions rarely came at convenient hours, and the weight that settled over Bucky’s expression as he reached for the device confirmed what you already suspected.
He glanced at the screen, then at you, apology already written across his face. “It’s Steve.”
Your stomach sank. “Go on. Answer.”
He hesitated for half a second, as if reluctant to let the moment break, then swiped the call open.
You listened to the low rumble of Steve’s voice on the other end, couldn’t make out the words, only the clipped, efficient tone.
Bucky’s replies were quiet and short “yeses” and a soft “understood.”
When he hung up, he didn’t need to say it. You already knew.
“Mission?” you asked softly.
“Yeah.” His flesh hand rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s supposed to be a quick one, but I gotta leave tonight.”
You tried to smile, even though disappointment tugged at your chest. “Guess movie night’s postponed.”
Bucky’s lips pressed into a thin line. He reached for you, pulling you into his lap like he couldn’t stand even a few feet of distance.
His forehead dropped against yours, the stubble on his jaw scratching your skin.
“I hate leavin’ you like this,” he muttered. “Feels wrong.”
Your hand cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the faint crease between his brows. “You’re coming back. That’s what matters.”
He kissed you then, slow and lingering, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, the feel of you breathing against him.
And when he finally pulled away, he stayed close enough that his words ghosted across your lips.
“Promise me you’ll sleep. Don’t stay up worryin’ about me.”
You gave a soft laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ll sleep if you sleep.”
He huffed a quiet sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Deal.”
But you both knew it wasn’t that simple.
-----
The silence pressed in as soon as the door shut behind him. You stood there for a moment, staring at the space he’d just occupied, the faint echo of his presence lingering like the smell of his cologne in the air.
The apartment had never felt empty before Bucky moved in, but now it seemed too big, too hollow without him.
The couch looked wrong without his long frame sprawled across it; the bed seemed to resist you, the sheets cool and unwelcoming without the weight of him sinking the mattress.
You tried to settle in. Took a hot shower and slid into one of his henleys that still carried the faint, comforting scent of him.
You curled up in bed with a book, but the words blurred after a page.
The clock ticked too loud. The shadows stretched too long. Every creak in the apartment reminded you he wasn’t there to roll over and mumble, “It’s nothing, doll. Go back to sleep.”
You knew it had to be worse for him. Bucky never liked sleeping alone. He wouldn’t admit it often, but when he did, it was with a rare vulnerability—how your presence anchored him, pulled him out of the nightmares before they could drag him too far.
You grounded him in ways even he didn’t fully understand.
So, while you lay awake staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was doing the same in some safe house bed, staring at the cracks in the plaster and wishing you were there.
Almost as if your thoughts pulled him across the miles, your phone buzzed against the nightstand.
Incoming Call: Bucky 💙
You scrambled for it, heart leaping, and answered on the first ring.
“Hey,” you whispered, breathless like you’d just run a mile.
His voice came through low and rough, like he hadn’t spoken in hours. “Doll… you still awake?”
A smile tugged at your lips, relief washing over you just at the sound of him. “Could ask you the same thing, Buck. Shouldn’t you be getting some rest?”
There was a pause, the faint rustle of him shifting on the other end. Then, quietly, almost sheepishly, “Can’t sleep without you.”
The words made your chest ache and flutter all at once.
You shifted under the covers, tucking the phone closer like proximity could make up for distance. “You’re sweet, you know that?”
“Sweet?” Bucky huffed softly, and you could almost picture the little tilt of his mouth when he got self-conscious. “Doll, that’s not the word most people use for me.”
“Well, most people don’t know you the way I do.” You grinned, letting your voice soften. “Big bad Winter Soldier, completely undone if he doesn’t have someone to hog the covers from.”
“Hey, I don’t hog the covers,” he protested immediately.
“You do. I wake up freezing half the time.”
“Only ‘cause you curl up against me and steal all my heat.” His voice dipped, warm and playful. “Can’t blame me for wanting to keep you close.”
You felt your cheeks warm, biting back a smile. “Smooth, Barnes. Real smooth.”
“Am I wrong?” he murmured.
“No,” you admitted softly.
There was a beat of quiet. You could hear him exhale, slow and deep, like just hearing your voice made the tension leave his shoulders.
“Wish you were here,” he said at last, voice low, vulnerable. “Bed’s too damn big without you. Feels… wrong.”
Your heart ached. “I know, Buck. I miss you too.”
He went quiet again, then cleared his throat like he was trying to sound casual.
“Think… maybe you could stay on the line? Just… talk to me ‘til I fall asleep? Maybe even fall asleep with me?”
The thought of it melted you. “You want me to sleep on call with you?”
“Yeah.” His tone was almost boyish, hopeful in a way that made you want to kiss him through the phone. “Won’t be the same, but… it’ll be something.”
You smiled, settling deeper into the pillows. “Of course, Buck. You never even have to ask.”
“You’re an angel,” he murmured. “Don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
“You saved the world a couple times; maybe that helped.”
He gave a low chuckle, and you could hear the way his smile softened. “Nah. If the world gave me you as a reward, then I definitely got more than my share.”
“Careful, Barnes,” you teased. “At this rate, I might think you’re trying to charm me into sneaking onto that mission just to keep you company.”
“Not the worst idea I’ve had,” he muttered, and you laughed, the sound easing both your hearts.
You turned onto your side, letting the sound of his voice fill the dark. “So, what’s the plan? You gonna bore me with mission details until I pass out?”
Bucky snorted quietly. “You’d be asleep in five minutes if I did. No, I was thinkin’… Maybe you could just talk. Tell me about your day. Pretend I’m right there on the couch listenin’.”
So you did. You told him about the little things, the neighbor’s dog getting loose again, the new recipe you tried (and burned), and the book you’d started but couldn’t finish.
Mundane details, but the way Bucky hummed in response and the occasional soft chuckle he gave told you he was soaking in every word.
Eventually, his side of the line grew quieter. His breathing slowed and deepened.
“You still with me, Buck?” you whispered.
“Mhm.” His voice was thick with sleep, words dragging. “Just… feels like you’re here. Keep talkin’, doll. Love hearin’ you.”
Your throat tightened. You wanted to tell him a thousand things: that you loved him, that you’d be there the second he got back, and that he deserved all the peace in the world. But you settled for the gentlest truth.
“I love you, Bucky.”
There was a rustle, like he shifted under thin sheets, and then a low murmur, barely audible. “Love you more. Always.”
You smiled against your pillow, eyes stinging with warmth. “Close your eyes, Buck. I’ll be here in the morning.”
A quiet hum was the only reply, followed by the steady rhythm of his breathing as he finally drifted off.
You let your own eyes close, phone still pressed to your ear, the sound of him grounding you just as much as you did for him.
Distance might have pulled you apart tonight, but sleep carried you both into the same dream, side by side.
And when morning came, you woke up to the same call screen still glowing faintly...
knowledge is knowing is that frankenstein is the doctor, wisdom is knowing that frankenstein in the monster! well, actually, frankenstein is just a nasty little college dropout that faints fifty times a day! i swear, he's SUUUUCH a weak little bitch boy, aren't disabled people so dumb? and you Knooooow he was just a cute, cute, CUTE dainty little nerd that got it up the ass from henry clerval, but god he is not cute enough to redeem him of being a fucking DEADBEAT! people with post partum depression should just get over it LITERALLY had no reason to abandon Adam (because, you know, that's his CANNON name! only haters call him the Creature), only did it cuz of his weird eyes :/ I would have taken care of Adam, he was just a widdle defenseless baby awwwee!! plus, he's actually HOT! peter steele with weird eyes, ya know??? AND Adam didn't know killing people was wrong he was mentally a baby he's innocent :(((( he didn't KNOOOW ok he did nothing wrong ever?? he just wanted love, a wife who was still unborn that he spoke of like she was fucking property not even thinking about her consent and wanted to trap inside a frankly incestuous marrriage (that parallels that of victor and elizabeth) via requesting her to be as ugly as him with a massive power imbalance that would have likely led him to grooming her !! VICTOR was in the wrong, he could have just not given her ovaries which is definitely not similar to a certain eugenicist practise in the 19th-20th c. :/// honestly, victor DESERVED everything bad that happened to him, he lived suuuuuuuuchhhhhhhh a good life and had awesome and amazing parents SO WHY DIDN'T HE TREAT ADAM RIGHT????? his childhood as PERFECT so he should have given the same to poor baby Adam... i mean, i guess the incest is kind of weeeeeeeiiiiiirrddd but that was normal back then so i'm not going to interrogate the incest any further :) victor was SISTER-FUCKER, he had a SISTER COMPLEX, my god, i feel sooooo bad for elizabeth!! but, yanno, she was suuch an underdeveloped character tbh, never could bring myself to like her; you know how classic lit women are!! nevermind the fact the author was the daughter of one of the most prominent proto-feminists ever but clerval..... OOOOH CLERVAL!!! I LOVE CLERVAL SOOOOO MUCH HE NEVER DIED TRUST!!!1 BEST CHARACTER EVER!!! such a golden retriever awwwhh!! clervalstein is so black cat/golden retriever, thought victor doesnt DESERVE clerval. i feel so bad for clerval, being FORCED into taking care of victor at ingolstadt :/// disabled people are victor is SO selfish... omg, ESPECIALLY at justine's trial!!!! uuuuughhhh, he should have just CONFESSED, because OBVIOUSLY the judges are going to believe victor created an 8ft homunculus serial killer AND be able to catch him!!! and victor won't be considered insane at all, nuh uh, and justine would still be aliveeee cuz of how fair and awesome the justice system is, ESPECIALLY for lower class women in the 1700s! speaking of that, william was SUCH a fucking brat, wasnt he?? he was MEAN to Adam, that stupid fucking TODDLER omgggg!!! basically, though... victor was OBVIOUSLY the villain here; this is a story about deadbeat dads, how do sooooo many people miss that?!?! isn't mary shelley such a GOTH BADDIE for dedicating the book to her own FATHER?? honestly i just wish i was her!!!! literally the OG girlboss, like she wrote frankenstein to get away from lord byron!!! she was around such evil oppressive men all the time!! did you know she lost her virginity on her mother's grave? did you know she lost her virginity on her mother's grave? did you know she lost her virginity on her mother's grave? did you know shE I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT READ I CANT REA
Warnings: minimal smut at the beginning, but nothing special; fluff; ordinary life and parenting; Rosie, Tommy, Shane; some angst; Joel is hurt
A/N:
your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes
short stories from life. [masterlist]
You took a deep breath. A trickle of sweat ran down your temple, and Joel's hot breath warmed the skin of your arm. He lifted his head and looked at you. His dark eyes were full of love and pleasure. Fulfillment slowly flowed through your bodies.
"That was…"
"Yeah," you smiled.
He leaned in, kissing you lightly. Mornings full of closeness. He loved it. Lazy, full of warmth, touch, whispered words, and your quiet laughter. Joel forgot for a moment what lay beyond the walls of your home, beyond the walls of Jackson. There was only you, the most precious thing he had.
"Maybe…" he began as the tip of his nose brushed your jaw, but he didn't get to finish when a happy coo came from the baby monitor on the nightstand. "Damn!"
"Hey," you said, placing your hand on his cheek, making Joel look at you again. "We did it today."
He smiled again, then propped himself up on his arms and looked at your naked body beneath his. "I'll go over to hers, you can take a shower."
"Are you sure?" Your fingers ran over his broad chest. If it weren't for the baby babbling in the background, you were sure, seeing Joel's look, that you wouldn't have gotten out of bed until the next day.
"Yes, go before I change my mind."
You couldn't refuse such an offer, and it took you several minutes to go downstairs. Morning noises drifted from the kitchen, where Joel was setting up the coffee machine and preparing breakfast, and cheerful chatter drifted from the living room. Rosie was already sitting alone, tugging at the ears of the stuffed rabbit Ann and Shane had given her. Not wanting to disturb her, you quietly entered the kitchen.
His gray sweatpants fit him perfectly. His dark T-shirt hugged his broad shoulders as Joel sliced bread, humming softly to himself. He smiled as he felt your arms wrap around his waist, your cheek resting against his back.
“Are you glued to me?” he commented.
“You like this,” you murmured.
“I won’t deny it.”
You finally pulled away from him, and Joel heard the scrape of a chair being pushed back.
“Do you think tomorrow’s patrol is safe?”
Joel turned and set a mug of coffee on the table next to you. “We need to check the area. Maybe we’ll find something we need.”
“I’ll go with you,” you suggested, but he just smiled and shook his head.
He reached out and tenderly stroked your chin. “No way, honey. Don’t worry, it’ll be an easy patrol.”
He knew you'd refrained from expressing your concerns so as not to worry him further. One of the last patrols had reached buildings no one had been to before. There was a chance they could acquire new supplies, maybe even medicine or antibiotics. Although Jackson was doing great, anything that could make life easier for his residents was always helpful. You both thought about the infected who might also be there, but neither of you said anything.
Joel went back to making breakfast, and you took a sip of coffee.
"Today I wanted to..." you began, but something suddenly interrupted you.
"Da, da," a clear voice came from the living room.
Joel turned, and you looked at each other, wide-eyed. In an instant, you jumped up and walked into the living room, Joel right behind you.
"Da, da!"
Rosie was sitting in her playpen, holding her rabbit's ear tightly. You walked over to her, feeling your heart pounding in your chest.
"Baby?" You said quietly, “What did you say, honey?”
Rosie’s dark eyes focused on you, and her face lit up.
“Da-da!” she repeated. “Da-da!”
Something caught in your throat. A second later, you took the little girl in your arms and kissed her cheek. “Where is he, Rosie? Where’s Daddy?”
The little girl’s sparkling eyes looked over your shoulder, and her lips stretched into a smile again. “Da-da!”
When you turned around, you saw Joel’s eyes glistening with tears as he pursed his lips. A word he hadn’t heard in years. A word that made his heart melt.
Rosie had given it to him again. She had given him a name.
He didn’t need to say anything. You walked up to him with Rosie, and he patted her head and kissed her.
“Damn, I didn’t think I’d feel this again,” he muttered with difficulty.
“Take your time,” you whispered, handing him your daughter. “I’ll finish breakfast for us.”
Joel nodded, unable to say anything more. Rosie put the bunny ear in her mouth and looked at him intently.
A strange sound, somewhere above your heads, woke you at dawn. You rolled over to hear better when a sleepy voice suddenly spoke up behind your shoulder.
"It's a branch," Joel murmured, wrapping his arms around your waist. "It's blowing hard, and it's brushing against the roof. I'll deal with it when I get back from patrol."
You listened to the howling wind for a moment. An unpleasant feeling crept under your skin. Joel must have felt it too, because he was already awake, but neither of you said a word. Eventually, you had to get up. While he was getting ready for patrol, you managed to feed Rosie.
"Do you have to go with them?" you asked as he zipped up his jacket.
Joel looked at you warmly, smiling gently. "I know you don't want me to leave, but everything will be alright."
"I could go with you."
He looked at you with concern and love, but shook his head. He couldn't risk it, even though he knew that with you close, he would be truly safe. Finally, he kissed Rosie on the head, brushed his lips against yours, and the door closed behind him.
A strange feeling had stayed with you all day. Rosie must have sensed it, because she was grumpy and uncomfortable; even her nap was unusually short. Your gaze wandered to the clock on the wall. The patrol should be back by now, and you felt like you couldn't sit still.
Finally, you dressed Rosie, threw on your jacket, and quickly went to Ann. Your friend wordlessly took your little one. The sky was overcast, and the wind was blowing hard. As you approached the gate, Tommy spotted you. You knew from his expression that he was thinking the same thing.
"They should have been here two hours ago," he murmured, handing you the binoculars so you could look at the horizon. “The weather is getting worse.”
Dark clouds in the sky heralded a storm. Seeing nothing or no one, you handed him the binoculars.
“Where’s Rosie?” Tommy asked, trying to distract you.
“With Ann,” you replied. You shifted your weight. “Tommy…” you began, but he quickly cut you off.
“No, no way,” he said.
“You know I’ll find him.”
“I know, but Joel will kill me if he finds out I let you leave Jackson.” You could see in his eyes that he was worried about his brother, but his loyalty to him was too strong. “We’ll organize a group.”
You heard quick footsteps on the stairs, and when you turned, you saw Shane. He quickly walked up to you.
“They haven’t come back yet?” You shook your head. “Shit. Let’s organize a group to look for them.”
“I want to go with you,” you said quickly, but Shane just exchanged a look with Tommy. “I think you should stay.”
“That’s nonsense!”
Tommy looked at you sympathetically. “I know you’re worried. I am too. But Joel knows what he’s doing.”
“So why isn’t he here?”
He shrugged. “Let’s wait a little longer. Maybe they’ll show up soon.” Neither you nor Shane left the fence, staring at the horizon and waiting for any movement. Tommy decided to see who might be out looking for the delayed patrol. The wind was picking up, and small drops of rain began to fall on your face.
You could do it. You were sure of it. If you were allowed, if you were given a horse and a gun, you would find Joel and bring him home. You would find him even at the end of the world.
A hand rested on your shoulder, and Shane pulled you closer. "He'll come back. He has everything here."
You nodded. "Come with me, Shane. We'll find him together."
Walsh looked at you intently. "You know I would, but Tommy's right. Rosie is with Ann, but you're her mother. Stay."
"Shane..." you groaned, but he shook his head.
"If Tommy sends a group, I'll go with them. You stay, honey."
You wanted to say something, but the silence was broken by the sound of a bell from a nearby gate. You quickly approached the stairs, almost colliding with Tommy. "They came from the other side! One horse is riderless."
Your heart sank.
“I don’t know… I don’t know…” Tommy said, as if reading your mind. He grabbed your arm and pulled you toward the gate.
The seconds dragged on. A dozen people had already gathered there when you, Tommy, and Shane arrived. You watched more patrol members enter, until finally…
“Joel…” you whispered, spotting a familiar figure.
You ran to him as he dismounted. The relief in his eyes at seeing you was palpable. Not a word was spoken; you immediately fell into his arms, hugging him tightly. He was alive.
“I told you I’d be back,” he whispered in your ear.
“Fuck, don’t do this to me again,” you muttered, pulling away. “What happened?”
Joel glanced over your shoulder, seeing Tommy approaching. “Infected. There were many of them. Maybe thirty.”
“Jesus,” Tommy muttered. “Who?”
Joel cleared his throat. “Lucas. He didn’t stand a chance.”
Your fingers brushed his hand, and only then did you feel it. A bandage. Joel lifted his hand, revealing a wrapped hand and a bandage soaked in blood.
“I fell through a broken window,” he explained, and seeing your expression, he added, “I’m fine. I’ll go to the clinic and get it checked out.”
He was alive.
It was late when Rosie fell asleep in her bed. As soon as you and Joel picked her up from Ann, she practically refused to leave his arms. Finally, wrapped in a blanket and cradling the bunny, she fell asleep, safe in her bed. Joel quietly entered your bedroom. You were already in your pajamas, ready to fall asleep and forget about that terrible day.
"Listen…" Joel began, sitting down next to you. "I have to tell you something."
"Is something wrong?" you worried. A thought immediately flashed through your mind: something happened on patrol, and he was afraid to tell you. Something dangerous for him.
"No, that's not it." Joel shook his head. He scratched his cheek with his freshly bandaged hand, searching for the right words. Whatever he said, he knew you'd understand. "When I was there, I thought about all of this. About you, about Rosie, about Ellie, about us. About what we have." Your warm hand found his, squeezing it lightly, giving him courage. "Before I met you, I never thought I'd feel this again. You gave me the world. You gave me Rosie. And what we've been through together... Listen." Joel took your hands in his and looked at you. "I know it doesn't mean much these days. But it will be important to me, it will mean a lot to me. We don't have to make it official. But I want you to have this."
He turned and pulled something out of the nightstand. Something glinted, and in Joel's fingers you saw a simple gold band. A sudden shiver ran down your spine, your voice caught in your throat.
"You deserve something much nicer, baby," he said with a smile. "But..."
"It's beautiful," you whispered. He knew you weren't lying.
Joel slowly slid the gold band onto the finger of your left hand. It fit perfectly. "Will you marry me? I know it's crazy, I know the world is messed up, but you and I… You're everything to me."
Tears welled up in your eyes, and your lips trembled. You could only nod. You cupped Joel's face in your hands, pulling him closer and kissing him hard. His strong arms pulled you tight.
"Does that mean yes?" he asked with a smile.
"Yes. Yes," you confirmed, then kissed him again. "I will always choose you. Until the very end."
"I love you, baby, you have no idea what you're giving me."
Maybe you knew, or maybe Joel was right. But one thing was certain – no matter what happened, you and Joel were in this together, protecting your kids.
summary: All Joel Miller wanted was a cake from you, the town baker. All you wanted in return were a few items and to have a drink with him. Now, you’re naked in your bedroom, sitting on his face, getting eaten out like you’re the first real meal he’s had in years.
“Then ask me for what you really want.”
“You wanna come in and fuck me?”
“Only if you’ll let me take you out on a date tomorrow. I don’t do that casual, fuck buddy shit. You’re either mine, or nothin’ at all.”
pairing: Joel Miller/f!reader
rating: E (18+!!! No y/n, porn with some plot, explicit smut, Possessive Joel Miller, big-juicy-legal age gap, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, oral sex (f & m receiving), face sitting, woman on top, rough sex (arms pinned behind back, face shoved against bed), begging, dirty talk (so much), praise (a ton), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, breast worship, aftercare, reader is a lil bratty, feelings, pregnancy mention, Good Parent Joel Miller, sneaking around)
word count: 13.3k+
a/n: Hi! I missed Joel a lot, and as soon as he traded Legos for a cake, my ass was typing out this fic idea. I hope you enjoy my horny fever dream! Note: Halican Drops is a fake band. Sarah wears their band t-shirt in the first episode. I headcanon that they sound like Joan Jett & the Blackhearts. Title from "long story short" by Taylor Swift. Shoutout to @devineconjuring for betaing!
Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!
Masterlist
It’s a Tuesday in Spring, the sun due to set in the coming hour. The temperatures outside have begun to warm up, melting some of the snow high in the mountains. You’d already completed your shifts for the day in the community kitchen, assisting with making breakfast and preparing for lunch and dinner, which a majority of Jackson ate in the mess hall—you didn’t, instead opting to enjoy your food in the comfort of your apartment. With your evening meal finished and your dishes washed, you’re sitting on the couch in your living room listening to the soft tune of Nirvana playing on your record player—a new addition to your collection, their MTV Unplugged in New York album from ‘94—while darning the holes in all of your socks. There are two piles on the coffee table in front of you, one for the hole-y and the other for the now holeless.
A knock on your front door has you pausing, your eyebrows furrowing. You’re not expecting anyone tonight, as indicated by the oversized David Bowie concert t-shirt, lack of bra, and black leggings you’re wearing. “Coming!” you announce, leaning forward to set the sock and yarn on the tabletop before getting up and walking the short distance to the door. Turning the doorknob, you crack it open enough to see who’s there. To your surprise, it’s that handsome older gentleman who arrived in town a couple of months ago, whom you haven’t had the opportunity to introduce yourself to, but have definitely ogled. How could you not with how his flannels always hugged his broad shoulders and how good his jeans made his ass look. You take in what he’s wearing today—a red flannel shirt with dark denim on his bottom half. Your eyes meet his. “Can I help you?” you ask.
He gives you a sheepish smile that’s honestly adorable on such a rugged face. “I’m sorry for botherin’ you, ma’am. My name is Joel. Joel Miller, Tommy’s brother? I’ve been in Jackson a little while now, and I was told you’re the person to talk to if I’m in need of a cake.”
“Oh!” You open your door wider. “Yes, that’s me!” Quickly, you give him your name and offer your hand for him to shake, noticing immediately how much bigger his is when it practically engulfs your smaller one. It has your mind wandering, wondering what it’d feel like on other parts of your body. That thought heats your skin, and you feel a little disappointed when he lets go. “What kind of cake are you needing?”
“A birthday cake.”
“For your wife, or girlfriend?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “For my dau—kid,” he catches himself.
You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms over your chest, and you see his split-second glance at your breasts. You smile. “For your kid, who’s not your daughter.”
He sighs, his hands going to his hips. “It’s… complicated.”
“You adopt her?”
“Yeah.”
It was pretty common for people to take in orphaned children, especially here in town. As sad as it was, there have been instances of kids losing their parents or guardians on their way to Jackson who still managed to make it to the town’s walls, or who were found by patrols and brought in. Luckily, there was an abundance of couples and families willing to foster or adopt the children.
“How old is she turning?”
“Fifteen.”
“Got yourself a teen. How long has she been in your care?”
“Seven, eight months.”
“Ah, I understand the not-daughter thing now.” His kid is older, and their relationship is still relatively new. They’ve probably bonded but aren’t comfortable using father-daughter labels yet. “Just you and her?”
“Yeah.”
He’s single. That’s good to know.
“It’s sweet that you want her to have a cake for her birthday.”
He smiles fondly. “It’s her first.”
Handsome, polite, and loves his adopted child as if she were his own? He’s perfect, and it’s surprising no one has taken him off the market yet. Maybe you should shoot your shot. There aren’t a lot of guys like him in Jackson, and it wouldn’t hurt to try.
“That’s even sweeter,” you reply. “What’s her name?”
“Ellie.”
“A great name—simple and lovely. The last cake I made was for this woman’s husband, named Reginald. Do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to spell out, ‘Happy Birthday, Reginald,’ on a cake the size of a small dinner plate?”
He looks amused. “Pretty hard?”
“Pretty fucking hard, Joel. I made it work, though, squishing the letters together. Do you have a preference if it’s chocolate or vanilla?”
“Uh, chocolate, I guess?”
“Okay, and when do you need it done by?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
“Short notice and chocolate—that’s gonna cost you extra.”
“That won’t be a problem. I used to be a smuggler. I can find somethin’ you’d want.” That’s how you’re paid, by bartering, goods, or favors.
“A smuggler, huh? If you don’t mind me asking, where are you from? Aside from Texas, I know Tommy’s a Texan.”
“Boston. The QZ out there.”
“Doing your smuggling, I assume?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not a chatty guy, are you?”
He huffs out a breath, looking down at his boots. “No, ma’am. I don’t have much to chat about.” His eyes land on yours again.
“That’s not true. You came all the way here from fucking Boston. You could tell me about your travels, Ellie, or hell, we could reminisce about the days before the world ended.”
He smiles, his weight shifting to one side. “Were you even alive back then?”
“I was.”
“You had to be young. A kid.”
“Yeah. Doesn’t mean I don’t remember the comic strips in the Sunday newspaper and how good fresh McDonald’s fries were.”
His eyebrows rise almost to his hairline. “Wow, I haven’t thought about McDonald’s in years.”
“What I’d give for some McNuggets and an apple pie.”
“Did you get some of the apple pie at dinner tonight?”
You smile. “I made the apple pie at dinner tonight.”
He matches your expression. “Did you? That tells me the cake is gonna be really fuckin’ good, then.”
The compliment makes you preen. “Thank you. My mom taught me how to bake before, you know.” The outbreak. “We had this old family recipe for peach pie that always won first place at the county fair.”
“If it was anythin’ like the pie tonight, I can see why.”
“Stop that,” you tease, waving away his words. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
His eyes dart away, clearing his throat. It must have been a while since he was last flirted with. He focuses on you again, changing the subject. “So, what kind of stuff do you want?”
“Ummm, let’s see. It’s her first cake, you’re a sweetheart, and I have all of the ingredients. How about records, movies, and booze?” Easy stuff for him to get. It’s basically the equivalent of a half-off discount. “Oh, and socks!” Yours have seen better days.
“Any records or movies? You’re not lookin’ for anythin’ specific?”
“Nope.” Any duplicates you receive, you’ll trade.
“What about alcohol?”
“I’m not picky. Whatever you have will do.” All that matters is that it’s safe to consume. Liquor is a hot commodity and a valuable bargaining tool.
“Okay.” He nods. “That’s not too bad. I appreciate you for bein’ so kind to me. I’ll have it all to you tomorrow.”
“Great! But there’s something else I want, too.”
His eyes narrow slightly, and he frowns. He thinks you’re trying to pull one over on him. “What else?”
“I’d like to have a drink with you.”
When every day could possibly be your last, there’s no point in playing coy. You’re going to go after what you want, unashamed.
Surprise shows on his face, clearly taken aback. “You want to have a drink with me…?” he says the words slowly, like he almost doesn’t believe them.
“Yes, I want to have a drink with you, Joel.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Why would a woman want to have a drink with you?”
He frowns. “It can’t be for the reason I’m thinkin’.”
“If you thought it’s to get to know you better because I’m interested in you, that is correct.”
That just makes him look confused. “Me? You know I’m old, right? Shit, I’m probably older than your parents.”
Your eyebrow lifts. “And? You’re an adult. I’m an adult. What does your age have to do with anything?”
His arms cross over his chest. “A lot, sweetheart. I don’t think you know what you’re askin’ for. I’m not a young buck anymore. I don’t have the energy of a boy your age. I’m old and broken. My fuckin’ ear doesn’t even work.” He points at the right one.
“So, you’ve got some wear and tear. I don’t care. I still want to have a drink with you. But hey, if you’re uncomfortable with that, then don’t worry about it. I’ll, of course, still make Ellie her cake for the stuff we agreed on.”
“It’s not that I’m uncomfortable. I’m flattered, really. I’m just havin’ a hard time understandin’ why you’re interested in someone as old as me. There’s gotta be guys closer to your age around here that’d love to have a drink with you. What I mean is you’re beautiful, and I know you can do a lot better than me.”
You smile. “You think I’m beautiful?”
“Yes.” He nods. “But that’s beside the point.”
“Have you thought that maybe I like that you’re so much older than me?”
He stands up straighter, his interest piqued. “You got a thing for older men?”
“Now you’re getting it. I do have standards, so it depends on the man in question. In your case, you check all my boxes.”
His expression shows his curiosity. “What are you lookin’ for?”
“Someone caring, pleasant to talk to, not creepy, easy on the eyes, can hold their own, and fifties preferred; I’m willing to dip into the late forties if I have to.”
“Why is fifties preferred?”
“You really wanna know?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Okay. Men your age are great in bed, it’s as simple as that.”
“What makes them great?”
“You wanna know for later?”
You’re rewarded with a flirty little smirk. “Maybe.”
His answer thrills you. “Maybe, huh? I’ve found them to be very generous, and they seem to care that I’m having a good time, too, which is fantastic. They’re also the only ones who’ve ever gone down on me. The guys my age are always in a rush and generally care more about themselves than me. It sucks. So, men in their fifties are my preference.”
The explanation has his dark eyes getting even darker. Now that he’s aware of the extent of your interest in him, there’s a palpable shift between you, and it becomes clear that the attraction is mutual.
“And you’re not seein’ anyone currently…?”
“No. I’m single and very available, especially to you. Now do you wanna come in for a drink?” you ask, the door squealing as you push it open even more.
There’s no hiding that he’s contemplating your offer; it’s there on his face, probably warring with himself over the morality of the situation, and you get it. Given the significant age difference, there are many things he could be worrying about, which he needs to weigh the pros and cons of. At least it’s reassuring that he seems to have a conscience. You’re just hoping he chooses to give in to his desires.
It’s seconds later that he’s made his decision.
“No use in fightin’ it,” he says under his breath.
Joel sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy when he takes a step toward you, his hand going up onto the doorframe above your head. He leans in close, your faces only an inch apart, and you gulp at the proximity. “Only a drink?” he rasps. “Is that really all you want, sweetheart?” His eyes keep jumping from your eyeline to your mouth like it’s taking a lot for him not to kiss you.
“No,” you breathe.
“No, it’s not. Tell the truth. What do you want?”
“You.”
Excitement burns low in your belly. You can’t believe this is actually happening. You figured he might be okay with having a drink with you, but this? This is definitely better.
“Then ask me for what you really want.”
“You wanna come in and fuck me?”
“Only if you’ll let me take you out on a date tomorrow. I don’t do that casual, fuck buddy shit. You’re either mine, or nothin’ at all.”
A shiver moves down your spine, your heart pounding so hard you think it might beat right out of your chest. From that declaration, and his confidence, you know he’s got a big dick. Better yet, you’re almost positive he knows how to use it, too.
“Yes, I’ll go out with you, but I’m not yours until you show me why I should be.”
He smirks. “Is that right?”
“Yep,” you answer. Your palm presses to the front of his jeans, over his hardening cock, which you’re happy to find is rather sizeable.
It delights you how his eyes close, and he groans, “Fuck.” When they open again, there’s only the tiniest sliver of brown circling his blown pupils. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”
“Not up for the challenge?”
Joel growls, his lips suddenly on yours, kissing you hard. A surprised sound leaves your throat, but you’re quick to kiss him back, matching his fervor as you grab fistfuls of his shirt, tugging him into your house. His large hand is on your ass, the other shoving your front door closed before its cupping your cheek. Neither of you wants the kiss to end, your mouths staying fused as you walk backward until you bump into the arm of your couch. This is when you spin him, getting him around to the front of the sofa. You break apart as you push him, Joel falling back onto the cushions with a heavy, breathless thump.
Dust floats in a patch of evening light behind him as you stand there, your pulse hammering in your rib cage, your lips tingling. This man with lines etched into his face, carving out the years of grit, survival, and untold grief—no one is lucky enough to make it as far as he has without losses—he’s looking up at you like you’re the first beautiful thing he’s seen in a long, long time.
It’s electric and heavy all at once, like standing on the edge of something dangerous and good. What are you to do but jump headfirst into the abyss that has the potential to ruin you for anyone else?
“You’re gorgeous,” he says, ending the silence. “C’mere, baby.” He holds out his arms to you, and you’re like a moth to a flame—drawn to him, crawling into his lap without another word. Straddling his thighs, you take his stubbled cheeks into your palms and kiss him once more. He moans into your mouth, his big hands grabbing onto your ass, encouraging you to grind against the straining length in his jeans, the friction to your clit stoking the arousal in your center.
It shouldn’t be a surprise that he’s not in a hurry to get you naked. He’s more interested in kissing you, delving his tongue between your lips to tangle with your own. It makes you assume he hasn’t been with a woman in quite a while, and he’s taking his time, luxuriating in your affections.
It goes on and on, until you hit a point where you need to come up for air, your mouth coming off of his to draw in a deep breath. He pants, kissing your chin and the underside of your jaw.
His hands go still. “Can I take your shirt off?” he asks, pulling back to look at your face. His lips are reddened and shiny from spit, his cheeks tinted in a pink flush.
You smile, your fingertips sliding through the hair above his ears. “Only if you take off yours, too.”
“Okay.”
He doesn’t waste time. Joel grips the hem of your t-shirt, tugging it up and off your raised arms, letting it fall onto the floor. Your fingers start unbuttoning his flannel, while his attention is on your bared breasts that he caresses, his thumbs sweeping across the soft skin, your nipples tightening.
The last button is undone. “Off,” you order, pushing open his shirt. He sighs at being interrupted, but he does as you say, sitting up in his seat, jostling you as he shrugs off his flannel, the garment meeting the same fate as your t-shirt.
There’s no time for you to admire the newly revealed skin; he’s zeroed in on your tits again, his hands squeezing them gently, weighing them in his palms. It’s hard not to laugh when he shoves his prickly face into the pillowy mounds and happily sighs. You’re not sure if he’s enjoying your softness again or if he’s a boob guy. Maybe it’s both. You are, however, pretty sure he’s in heaven, and good for him. He can have this moment. Your arms are around his neck, with your fingers pressed into the brown waves on his head.
He kisses along the side of your breast, and you’re gasping at him sucking your pebbled nipple into the warmth of his mouth. It sends a shock of pleasure straight to your clit, making you squirm in his lap. “Yes,” you moan as he swirls his tongue around the hard bud. He moves to give your other breast the same treatment, a shiver rolling through you when cold air hits the saliva left behind on your skin.
Wetness pools between your thighs, your cunt aching, pulsing with need. Joel pulls off your stiff nipple with an audible pop, lifting his head to meet your eyes, his gaze heavy, pupils blown. His voice dips into something rough and hungry. “If I’m not mistaken, you like your pussy eaten?”
“I love it.”
“Thank Christ, ‘cause I fuckin’ love eatin’ it, and it’s been too damn long since I’ve gotten a taste.”
His eagerness has heat sizzling in your veins. “Well, how about we change that?” You get up to stand in front of him. “Lose the boots.”
He smiles. “Yes, ma’am.” He grunts as he leans forward, quickly untying and taking off the worn leather boots that he puts neatly paired on the floor next to him. His socks look a lot better than yours—one of the perks of being a smuggler and knowing where to find things.
You stick out your hand to him. “Let’s go, handsome. We’re taking this to the bedroom.”
“I like the sound of that.” He accepts your palm, and you pull as he rises up onto his feet with a pained groan. “Will be better for my back.”
With Joel hot on your heels, you lead him out of the living room and through the kitchen to the hallway, down to the end where your bedroom is. Crawling onto your queen-size bed, he follows and has you squeaking in surprise when he roughly tugs your leggings off your lower half, causing you to fall onto your stomach. He easily manhandles you onto your back, giving you a glimpse of his strength. You find yourself lying there with your head cushioned on a pillow, Joel kneeling between your legs.
It catches you off guard how he looks down at you, as if he’s seeing something sacred. There’s awe there that he barely hides. Reverence. It takes your breath away that, once again, it’s written on his face that he thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a very, very long time.
His hands smooth up your thighs. “Today is my lucky day,” he murmurs, voice thick with want. “Just look at you.” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down and off, tossing them to the floor. “Fuckin’ perfection laid out for me. Look at that pretty little pussy.” With two fingers, he spreads open your slick folds, his hot gaze locked on your cunt. “You’re gonna taste so fuckin’ good.” His tongue wets his lips like he’s imagining it. “I wanna fuckin’ drown in it.”
A sharp jolt of excitement shoots through your core, clenching hard with anticipation. You’re expecting him to dive in, tongue first. What you are not anticipating is Joel leaning up, wrapping an arm around your waist, and rolling you on top of him to have you straddle his stomach.
Your eyebrows pull together, blinking down at him with your hands on his chest. “I thought you were eating me out…?”
He smiles. “I am. Maybe not the way you’re expectin’, though. You ever ride someone’s face?”
Your stomach flips. “No?”
“Well, looks like today is your lucky day, too.” His biceps flex as he guides your hips up toward his head. “Get up here, baby.”
You grab the wooden headboard to steady yourself, your heart racing, nerves twisting in your gut. You want it—you want it so fucking bad, but your brain won’t stop worrying about the logistics. Or the potential body count of one extremely hot older man.
He gets you to settle over his face, your thighs bracketing his ears. “How do I do this without, you know, killing you?” you ask.
His voice is muffled beneath you. “Just sit on my face. All of your weight. I wanna feel it.”
He wants you to smother him with your pussy?
“Joel, babe, I like you, and I want to see where this goes, but that can’t happen if I suffocate you.”
“Suffocatin’ between your thighs would be the best way to leave this world.”
Considering the alternatives of getting bitten by infected or murdered by fellow humans, he isn’t wrong that dying while doing something you love is the best way to go out.
“That doesn’t reassure me.”
“It’d take more than your pussy to kill me. I can move you off if I have to, or I’ll tap your thigh twice.” He demonstrates. “So, quit your worryin’ and sit.”
“Bossy.”
He smacks your ass, the sharp sting making your cunt clench. He loses patience, gripping your thighs, yanking you down against his face. That worry you had about accidentally murdering Joel? It flies out the window, your brain short-circuiting at the heat of his mouth and the wet messy sound of his tongue plunging into your pussy. It’s instant, the pleasure cutting through you sharp as a knife, your head falling back, your knees buckling.
“Oh, fuck,” you moan, already starting to tremble.
It’s filthy and almost too much, but not enough all at once. His stubble scrapes your inner thighs, adding a bite to every glide of his wicked tongue, his groans vibrating against your sensitive skin. You’re floating, your heartbeat thumping in your ears. He licks up every drop you’re dripping like a man possessed, his nose bumping your swollen clit.
He’s going to make you come—arousal burns hot at the base of your spine, the knot in your belly winding tighter and tighter. You’re so lost in how fucking good it feels you don’t even realize you’re grinding down until Joel’s fingers grab your ass and rock you against his mouth, helping you move.
“That’s it,” he groans into your cunt. “Use me. Fuck my face, baby.”
And you do, your hips moving greedily now, chasing every lick of his tongue, unashamed. Your whole body burns, your pussy soaked, every nerve in your body lit up like the Fourth of July. Sweat drips down your spine and between your breasts.
You thought Joel was in heaven earlier with his face buried in your tits, but from the way he’s eating you out like it’s his last meal on earth and how he can’t seem to stop groaning against your cunt, this is his real heaven. He drags the flat of his tongue through your folds to wrap his lips around your throbbing clit, and when he sucks, he has to hold you still as you writhe, chanting his name over and over again, spiraling out of your mind in pleasure.
God, he really is going to ruin you for anyone else, isn’t he? It’s not like this is the first time you’ve been eaten out, either. But no one’s devoured you like this. He’s truly hungry for it—relentless. Slurping at your pussy like it’s his favorite meal.
“Don’t stop,” you whimper. “Don’t fucking stop. Your mouth—fuck—I love your mouth. It’s so good.” You don’t even know if he can hear you with your thighs clamped over his only good ear.
Maybe it was a mistake challenging him to show you why you should be his. He’s pulling out all the stops to convince you. You’re already unraveling, and this man has the audacity to snake his hand up to your breast and tweak your nipple. It forces a choked sound from your throat, and your vision blurs for a second.
He works you up, higher and higher, until you’re trembling over him, your thighs quaking, belly tight, heart hammering like it's trying to break free. You’re drenched, dripping onto his face, as he feasts on you like he’s starving.
“Fuck, Joel—” you gasp, but can’t even finish the thought.
You reach for his hand on your thigh, desperate for something to hold onto. He squeezes it, grounding you.
Joel moans into your cunt as if it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, dragging his tongue in slow, deliberate strokes that push you right to the edge. Then he sucks your clit deep into his mouth, and the world drops out from under you.
You scream. There’s no other word for it. You cry out like you’re shattering, hips jerking, cunt clenching so hard around nothing it aches. Your orgasm rips through you, hot and brutal, pleasure crashing over you in waves that leave you gasping and twitching.
Joel doesn’t stop; he doubles down.
He groans like he’s getting off on it, rutting his tongue against your pulsing clit and shoving it inside you to lick up your release. His stubble scratches your swollen lips, his fingers digging into your ass to keep you right where he wants you.
“That’s it,” he growls into your pussy between licks. “Give it to me. Fuckin’ soak my face, baby. I want it all.”
Sounds are spilling from you of their own accord—moans, cries, possible declarations of love for this guy you’ve known for less than two hours. You don’t know what you’re saying, you just know he’s wrecking you, and you never want it to end.
“Joel, Joel—oh fuck—I can’t—” He has you coming again. It builds until it spills over, dizzying and all-consuming. Your body goes taut for a heartbeat, and then you’re melting, euphoria searing through your veins, your thighs shaking uncontrollably around his head. This one isn’t as explosive as the last, but it’s deep, stealing your breath and making you feel like your soul just drifts out of you.
“Good girl,” his voice half-muffled by your cunt.
His tongue continues lapping lazily at your oversensitive clit until you’re flinching, overstimulated. Finally, he eases up, making a satisfied hum.
“You did so fuckin’ good for me,” he murmurs.
You’re numb with pleasure—boneless, floating. Joel’s strong hands slide up to your waist, carefully lifting you off his face. He settles you onto his chest for barely a moment before your legs give out, collapsing onto your back beside him in a spent, panting heap. Your arms and legs feel heavy, your body buzzing like a live wire.
Well, it still rings true that guys his age know what they’re doing in the bedroom. You have a theory on why that is, and it has to do with them being in their thirties before everything went to hell. They remember what it’s like to fuck in a time void of the uncertainty and fear of today. They remember what it’s like to be carefree and able to take their time in bed, unlike these days, where it’s hard to find somewhere safe enough to feel that relaxed.
Luckily, Jackson is one of those places. So here, in the safety of the town, they get to relive those years, and you’re more than happy to go down memory lane with them.
And somehow, with hardly any effort, Joel wants you to be his.
It’s embarrassing how giddy that makes you.
He can’t know he’s already sold you on a relationship with him. You want him to work for it, so you don’t come off as too easy.
The old springs in the mattress squeak as Joel shifts onto his side. His rough, calloused fingers stroke along your cheek. “You okay, sweetheart?” he softly asks. “Need a second?”
You nod slowly. “My arms are noodles, and my legs aren’t any better. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t walk if I tried.
“Yeah?” You can hear the smile in his voice. “It’s a good thing you don’t have anywhere to be.” There’s a pause. Without looking at him, you know he’s frowning now. “You don’t have plans, right? Tonight?”
Your eyes blink open, your head turning his way, smiling. The bottom half of his face is shiny with your juices, and he looks adorably worried with a crinkle between his eyebrows that you reach up to smooth with your thumb. “No plans. I was going to fix all the holes in my socks. Maybe patch up some other clothes. I’d much rather spend my evening with you, though.”
He smiles, grabbing your hand, kissing your knuckles. “Good. I’ve got nothin’ goin’ on, either. I just need to be home by midnight.”
“Because you, what? Turn back into a pumpkin after midnight?”
He gives you a flat look. “No, I don’t turn into a damn pumpkin. I’ve got a kid. I need to be home for her.”
“You have no idea how much it turns me on that you’re a good dad.”
Joel huffs in amusement, his eyes leaving yours. “I don’t know about bein’ a good dad, but she doesn’t seem to hate me, so I must be doin’ somethin’ right.”
“I mean, you’re getting her a birthday cake—her first birthday cake, might I add—and you were willing to pay whatever price it’d cost. Sounds very ‘good dad’ to me. That actually reminds me. Don’t worry about the shit we agreed on. We’re good. I’ll make the cake tomorrow. You could even come over and help me, if you wanted to.” That’d be such a cute date.
His gaze comes back to yours, his lips downturned. “I don’t want you doin’ it for free. I know that ingredients aren’t easy to come by, and you’re takin’ time out of your busy day.”
“Who said anything about free? Just so we’re clear, I normally do not make cakes in exchange for sexual favors, but this will be the only exception because you were that good—don’t let it go to your head.”
It’s too late, the smugness is already showing on his face, his dark eyes sparkling with a crooked grin. “I was that good, huh?” His head dips to place a soft kiss on your naked shoulder. “You gonna be mine now?”
“I don’t know. I think I need some more convincing.”
“More convincin’?” He lets go of your hand to rest his palm, warm and firm, on your thigh. “What will it take?”
“You know what I want.”
“Be a good girl and ask me for it.”
You suck in a breath, your cunt throbbing in beat with your heart. Oh, you like that.
Quickly, you compose yourself. “Ask for it? Or do you want me to beg for it?” Your tone shifts to something sultry. “Please, Joel. I need your cock. I’m aching for it. Fuck me. Fill me up. Ruin me—whatever you want. Just please, will you fuck me now?”
His fingers tighten on your leg, his voice deepening. “How do you want it?”
You smile. “How do you want me?”
“Flip over.”
“Take off your pants.” You glance down at the denim to see the impressive bulge at the front. “I’m not going to be the only one who’s naked.” Your gaze returns to his. “Go on. Get up and strip.”
He’s frowning. “And you were callin’ me bossy…” he mumbles.
“You got a problem with that, big guy?”
“No, ma’am.”
He moves to get off the bed and walks around to the end of it. You sit up on your elbows to watch with interest as he undoes his belt and unbuttons his jeans. He doesn’t drag it out, shoving both his pants and boxer briefs down his legs and peeling off his socks, before standing to his full height for you to take him in, his hands on his hips.
The first thing that catches your attention is his dick bobbing between his legs. He’s mouth-wateringly thick, with a decent length that, at the thought of how it’d feel inside you, has you rubbing your thighs together to quell the sudden ache. The tip is flushed an angry red, with beads of precum smeared to make it shine in the light of your bedside lamp.
“Keep starin’ at it like that, and you’re gonna start droolin’.”
Your eyes rise to his amused ones. “Who says I’m not already?”
He’s smirking. “That mouth’s gonna get you in trouble.”
You smile. “Is that a threat, handsome?”
“It’s a fact.”
“I love this foreplay. You’re cute.”
His eyebrow lifts. “I’m cute?”
“Yes, you’re cute, and so fucking hot.” Your attention returns to his body. Naked, the broadness of his shoulders and the tininess of his waist are more pronounced. “You’re in amazing shape.”
“You think so?”
“I’d fuck you, even with the wear and tear.” You wink at him.
Speaking of wear and tear, his body is littered with scars, some old, having silvered long ago, and others newer. There’s one low on his abdomen that catches your eye, and you need to get a closer look at it, scrambling onto your hands and knees, crawling over on shaky limbs to kneel in front of him. It’s relatively big, jagged—a quick patch job by someone inexperienced or in a hurry—and red, which means he’s only had it a handful of months. The injury must’ve happened on his trek to Jackson from Boston.
What’s fascinating about it is that a wound of its caliber should’ve killed him while traveling across the country. If it weren’t the blood loss that got him, the risk for infection in those conditions would’ve been insane. Your hand moves of its own volition, pressing your fingertips to the warm, raised skin—you gasp when he abruptly snatches your palm, your chin lifting to meet his eyes.
“Sorry,” you apologize immediately.
“Shit.” He lets go, looking startled by what he’d done out of instinct. “No, I’m sorry.” His eyes dart away, sighing. “I haven’t been touched like this in a long fuckin’ time.”
“Let’s change that.”
He meets your gaze as you grab his waist for support and lean in to kiss the scar softly. He swears under his breath, his thighs tensing. “Jesus,” he rasps. You keep your eyes on his, kissing down through his happy trail to your destination between his legs. “You’re gonna fuckin’ ruin me.”
He must’ve showered earlier after working his assigned job for the day. The scent of crushed thyme clings to his skin, sharp and earthy with just a hint of mint that’s grounding and fresh.
When your fingers wrap around his cock, Joel’s head falls back as he groans loudly. He’s hot in your palm, his shaft hard as steel and velvety smooth as you slowly pump him.
“God, you have a pretty dick,” you tell him.
He stares down at you again, and you love how he looks at you, as if you’re a reward and not just a good time, how he looks at you like you mean something. “Yeah?” he says the word in question. His big hand caresses your face, stroking his thumb over the apple of your cheek. “You want it to ruin that perfect little pussy?”
“Yes, after this—” Dipping your head, you take his cock into your mouth, engulfing as much as you can until he’s hitting the back of your throat. There’s only a second for you to enjoy the heaviness of him on your tongue before he’s pulling you off of him.
“No,” he hisses. “None of that, sweetheart.” He grips the base of his shaft, giving it a squeeze to calm himself.
Frowning, you look up at him. “Why not?”
“Because if you keep goin’, I’m gonna blow before I even get inside you. I told you, it’s been a long fuckin’ time since I’ve been with someone.”
His reason makes you smile. “And you want to fuck me instead of coming down my throat.”
“And I want to fuck you instead of comin’ down your throat.”
Why is that romantic to you? Maybe because there aren’t a lot of guys who’d turn down a blow job so you can get off together.
“Hands and knees?” you ask, “Or on my stomach?”
A grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “That’s my girl. Hands and knees, baby.”
You don’t have to be told twice—turning in place, you shuffle up the mattress, settling on your hands and knees in the center of the bed. It’s instinctive how you arch your back, your ass lifted, and thighs parted. It’s a pose that feels both vulnerable and powerful, knowing exactly what kind of view you’re giving him.
You glance back over your shoulder. “You coming, big guy?” It makes you grin, finding him distracted by the display you’re putting on. You wiggle your ass to get his attention. “You gonna get up here?”
That snaps him from his reverie. His tone lowers, rough with desire, “Yes.” The mattress dips behind you as he climbs on, getting close enough that you can feel the heat of his body. Your head falls forward as his large, calloused palm slides up your spine, heavy and possessive, to squeeze the back of your neck. “Look at you,” he says, sounding awed. “My good girl with her ass up and her needy little pussy drippin’ for me. I’ve never felt so fuckin’ lucky.” His hands move to smooth over the curves of your backside before he grabs handfuls of the meaty globes hard enough that it borders on painful. “You’re perfect—you’re so fuckin’ perfect. But you know what else you are?”
You hear him spit onto his fingers, slicking up his cock before he slides it through your wet folds to get it even wetter. Then he’s pressing the fat tip against your aching entrance, teasing it, your breath catching in your throat.
“What?” you whisper.
“Mine.”
He drives into you, sheathing himself in one hard thrust that knocks the air from your lungs, your body jerking forward from the impact.
A guttural groan rumbles from Joel’s chest, his hands gripping your hips even tighter, holding you in place. He’s stretching you to your limit, filling you so completely that it’s hard to think, your fingers curling into the blankets.
You’ve never been more thankful for foreplay, that he took the time to get you ready to take him. He feels massive inside you, and so fucking good, pressing against all of the right spots. At the thought of how it’s going to feel when he’s pounding into you, your cunt clenches around him.
“Don’t,” he says through gritted teeth. “Don’t move.”
It’s clear he wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been with anyone in quite some time. With his breaths turning ragged and his hips twitching from holding himself back, the man is fighting for his life not to come. Enough time passes that you’ve grown used to his dick, or as used to it as you can get with how big it is. What matters is that it’s not as overwhelming as it initially seemed.
You look back at Joel, catching him with his eyes squeezed shut, jaw tight, and sweat glistening on his brow.
“Need a minute?” you ask.
He cracks his eyes open. “You’re so fuckin’ tight and warm.”
“You’re just big.”
“Am I?” He smirks.
You roll your eyes. “I’ve stroked your ego enough today. And hey, if you finish early, no shame. My pussy has that effect on some men.”
From your previous dalliances with older men, if they hadn’t fucked in a while, the first round usually went fast, something they expected so they’d get you off beforehand. After that, they could go for as long as you wanted.
His eyes narrow. “Are you callin’ me old?”
You grin. “All I’m saying is you might not have the stamina you once had, and that’s totally cool.”
He moves faster than you expect, gasping when he shoves your shoulders down, forcing your chest to the mattress, with your spine arched and ass up. In the blink of an eye, he’s got your arms pinned behind your back, his large hand easily wrapped around both of your wrists, holding them there in one rough fist.
“I told you that mouth of yours was gonna get you in trouble,” he mutters, angling his hips.
He pulls out of you halfway and slams back in, the force stuttering your breath.
One thing you’ve learned about Joel is you shouldn’t challenge him unless you want to be fucked within an inch of your life, as was happening right now. There’s no teasing, no slow buildup—he sets up a punishing pace from the start, the new angle absolutely devastating with his cock hitting something so divine inside you you’re seeing stars.
“Joel, fuck—” you cry out. “Oh, fuck.”
It feels like he’s taking you apart piece by piece, coming undone by how he’s filling and fucking you, how he owns you. He wasn’t wrong when he said you were his. He could have you any way he wants, and right now, he’s proving why he gets that honor.
“You’re gonna feel me tomorrow,” he grits out between thrusts. “Every time you move, you’ll remember who this pussy belongs to.”
His grip tightens on your wrists, using your arms as leverage, dragging you back onto his cock with every thrust. Each stroke is deeper than the last, your cunt greedy for every inch of him. You can’t think, you can’t breathe, you’re completely at his mercy as another orgasm starts to take shape in your core.
Finding out that not only is he handsome, polite, and a good father but that he also fucks, has made you determined to lock him down and make him yours.
He has you gasping now, your knees shaking hard enough you’re worried they’ll give out. Joel’s rhythm is brutal and unforgiving, his cock hitting so deep you swear you can feel him in your guts. Every push and pull of his hips is working you higher and higher. You’re so fucked out of your mind that all you can focus on are the sensations: his thick cock hammering into you, the burn in your thighs, the strain in your arms, the sweat coating your face and back, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.
The pressure in your belly builds, your body trembling.
He says something above you that you don’t make out, smacking your ass to get your attention. The sting has you sucking in a breath, your pussy clamping down on him.
“Answer me,” he orders. “Is this what you wanted? You wanted to be fucked like this?”
“Y-yes,” you choke out. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
“I’m not stoppin’ until you beg me to, and you say you’re mine.”
Noise echoes off your bedroom walls. The old bedframe creaks under you, the worn bedsprings squealing with each thrust, skin slapping skin, the wet suck of your used cunt, moans, and ragged breaths—a symphony of debauchery.
All you can do is take it, your back bowed, arms pinned, getting shoved forward into the sheets every time he fucks into you. He’s worked you up to the point that the coil in your belly is close to snapping, you just need—
Joel gives you another taste of his strength, pulling you up against his chest with little effort. His pace doesn’t wane, his cock working in and out of you, holding you close with an arm over your chest and another across your stomach.
His lips press to the shell of your ear, feeling his hot, panting breath. “I know you’re close,” he rasps. “Can feel you squeezin’ me. Say it. Tell me you’re mine and I’ll let you come.”
You grab onto his arm that’s locked against your breasts, nodding your head frantically. “I’m yours, Joel,” you gasp. “I’m fucking yours. I’ll always be yours. Please, let me come. Please.”
His hand on your stomach goes to the apex of your thighs, pinching your clit. You mewl, jerking in his hold.
“This pussy is mine, too, isn’t it?” he asks.
“Yes, it’s yours. Your pussy, your girl, I’m all yours, only yours. Please, Joel. Please, let me come.”
“Good girl.” He kisses behind your ear. “Come for me. Let me have it.”
A cry rips from your throat as he circles your clit, his other hand on your breast rolling your nipple between his fingers, his cock still pounding into you. It’s everything you need, setting you off and over the edge. The coil snaps, pleasure crashing through your body, sobbing his name over and over again, your nails digging into the skin of his forearm to tether you to earth. Your cunt spasms around him, clenching down on him hard enough it slows him to a stop.
He groans in your ear. “That’s it.” His grip tightens around you. “That’s my fuckin’ girl. Come for me, baby.”
You collapse against him, boneless. It’s Joel’s arm wrapped around your middle that holds you steady through the aftershocks when all you want to do is fall forward onto the mattress and rest your eyes. Your breaths are coming out ragged, your heart hammering so hard it feels like you’ve outrun a horde of infected.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, then another to the side of your neck. His free hand rubbing comforting circles on your hip.
You don’t speak. You’re not even sure you could if you wanted to.
You’re still clutching his arm, and he doesn’t pull out; he stays nestled inside you, keeping you full after ruining you in the best way. Having him so close and surrounding you is the only thing that grounds you, the room quieting as you catch your breath.
He waits a beat for you to come down before he asks, “Still with me, sweetheart?”
You reach up behind you to thread your fingers into his sweat-damp hair, letting out a shaky exhale. “Yes.”
He nuzzles the crook of your neck. “I didn’t go too hard?”
The softness is wholly unexpected. He’s holding you like you’re something precious, pressing reverent kisses to your skin and quietly checking in. It makes you like him even more and evokes a certain feeling that tightens your chest with emotion. Is it tenderness? Or is it that he’s treating you like more than a warm body to fuck? Maybe it’s both. Whatever it is, the ache you feel behind your ribs is almost as overwhelming as the orgasms he’s coaxed from you.
“No. I can take it,” you answer.
He hums in agreement and kisses a spot below your ear. “You took it really fuckin’ well.”
You smile. “You dished it out really fuckin’ well.”
“You got anythin’ to say about my stamina?”
The question makes you snort. “I apologize for doubting your stamina. To be honest, I’m a little shocked that you haven’t come yet.”
“Almost did, when you came. Took a whole helluva lot not to.”
“Well, color me impressed, old man.”
He pinches your hip, and you giggle. “Call me that again, and I’ll make sure you can’t walk for a week.”
“Is that a promise?”
“That fuckin’ mouth of yours.”
“You love it.”
He sighs. “Do you wanna stop or keep goin’?”
His arm is wrapped around your middle. He’s still hot and hard inside you, keeping you deliciously stretched. Obviously, you want to keep going, but there’s something you want to do for him.
“Oh, I’m gonna get you off.”
You untangle his arms from your body and crawl forward, his cock slipping out of you with an obscene wet sound that has you sucking in a breath and Joel groaning. You get up onto your knees and shuffle in place to look at him.
“Sit down,” you order, and point at the spot beside you on the bed. He raises an eyebrow, and you roll your eyes. “Do you want to come with my tits in your face or not?”
That gets his cute little ass moving up the bed. He pauses when he’s next to you, his hands framing your face as he gives you a kiss that leaves you a little dizzy when he breaks away. He snags your four pillows, using them to cushion his back against the headboard, his legs sprawled out, arms folded behind his head, watching you with hungry eyes.
He looks at home in your bed as if he’s been here hundreds of times and not only once.
And god, is he a sight to behold. A rosy pink flush rising from his chest to his cheeks, his hair tousled, skin gleaming from perspiration, and between his legs, his thick cock slick with your come and still rock hard.
You straddle his hips. “Boob guy?”
The second they’re within reach, he’s cupping them in his large palms.
He huffs, amused, crookedly smiling. “What makes you think that?”
“Hmmm, let’s see. You checked them out at the door, buried your face in them on the couch, and you couldn’t keep your hands off them while you were literally being smothered by my pussy, and fucking me six ways to Sunday.”
Joel’s chuckle turns into a choked ‘fuck’ when you guide his cock back inside you, slowly sinking down his shaft inch by inch. He shuts his eyes for a moment, his jaw flexing. You loop your arms around his neck, bottoming out, and fuck, he feels even deeper like this.
“You got me,” his voice sounds strained. “Fuckin’ love them.” His head dips to flick your nipple with his tongue, then kisses the curve, giving the other the same treatment. He sits back to meet your gaze. “Fuckin’ love how pretty you look sittin’ on my dick, too. You gonna ride me, baby?”
Leaning forward, you kiss the line of his stubbled jaw to whisper in his left ear. “I’m gonna ride you into the sunset, handsome—and you get free rein of my tits.”
He grabs your chin, moving your face in front of his to crush his lips against yours, kissing you needily. His tongue plunders your mouth as you start moving on his lap, slow circles at first, savoring how his cock drags along your walls. Joel lets out the tiniest whimper, his palms skimming down to grip your ass. He kisses the underside of your jaw and down your neck, sucking hard on your pulse point—you gasp, your fingers pushing into the mess of waves at the back of his head.
“You’re too fuckin’ good to me,” he says with his lips on your throat.
“You deserve it,” you breathe.
He isn’t going to last very long with how he’s throbbing inside you, so thick and desperate. You’re pretty sure that if you bounce on his dick with your breasts in his face and talk dirty to him, you can get him off in under two minutes. Hell, maybe you could do it in one. You decide to make it a challenge for yourself.
Planting your knees into the mattress, you grip his shoulders for leverage and start moving with purpose. You rise until only the tip of him remains, then slam back down, in quick succession, again and again and again. It’s hard and fast, clenching around him on the upstroke to make it even better.
He groans under you, fingers clawing into your ass like he’s hanging on for dear life. You pry them off as you continue working yourself up and down, putting his big hands on your tits.
“Fuck, baby,” his words come out ragged, his eyes glued to your chest.
“You like that?” you pant. “Your cock buried so fucking deep inside me while you play with my tits?”
“Yes.”
He teases your stiff nipples with calloused thumbs, and he can’t help himself, leaning in to seal his mouth over one pebbled peak. He greedily sucks, the pleasure sparking through you, stuttering your rhythm for a moment. You keep going and are ready for it when he moves to your other breast, his tongue swirling around the hard bud.
You sound breathless. “You’re close, aren’t you?”
He doesn’t want to let your nipple go, so he hums his affirmative that vibrates against your skin.
It’s slippery between your legs, his dick sliding easily in and out of your pussy. You speed up, becoming just as ruthless as he was, using him like he used you, fucking him at the same punishing pace. Your thighs collide with his in a sharp, wet smack that echoes off the walls, the bed creaking loudly. Your nipple pops out of his mouth, and he grabs your ass again for something to hold onto. “Gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he groans. He looks up at you, his eyes wild and glazed over. There’s no mistaking he’s absolutely wrecked and barely holding it together.
It makes you smile seeing him so undone. “Can’t take it, baby?”
“I can—fuck,” he gasps, his eyes squeezing closed for a split second. He swallows hard. “Fuckin’ ruin me.”
“With pleasure.” You ignore how your thighs burn and the bedframe squeaks. He’s your focus, he’s all that matters. You watch his face as you ride him, how it contorts when you bear down on him. You memorize every detail, every sound, every little thing that makes him tick and fall apart. His attention is back on your heaving breasts. “I want you to come inside me,” you tell him through panted breaths. “I want you to fill me up, make me drip. I wanna feel every last drop inside me. Can you do that for me, handsome? Can I have your come? Please, Joel?”
His glassy eyes snap to yours, and that’s all it takes.
It’s game over.
He surprises you when he sits up just enough to grab you with one arm around your back, the other cradling your head, dragging you down into a kiss as he comes. It’s desperate and messy, his lips crashing into yours, a groan rumbling from his chest, swallowing the whimper you make as you feel his cock thicken and jerk, the pulsing heat flooding your depths. Each spurt makes your cunt clamp down around him on reflex. He holds you there, locked in the kiss as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go, his whole body beneath you trembling. You roll your hips, slower than before, grinding, drawing out every last wave for him to give you everything he’s got.
Then—
CRACK.
The ancient bedframe finally gives out.
With a deafening groan of protest and a sharp snap, the entire mattress drops six inches on one side, sending you both lurching sideways with surprised gasps. You’re straddling him, leaning a little to the left, Joel breathless and stunned under you. You look at the current state of your bed, then at him, somehow still balls-deep inside you, his hair a mess, his pretty face dazed, and cheeks flushed.
“You broke my fucking bed.”
His expression switches from shocked to offended, his eyebrows cinching together. “Excuse me, I broke your bed? Baby, you were ridin’ me like a fuckin’ mechanical bull.”
“After you fucked me into the mattress. Either way, it’s your fault. No one has ever broken my bed before.”
“No one has ever fucked you like me before.” He looks smug about it, too.
“Touché.” Your attention turns to the bed again, frowning. “Fuck, I’m gonna have to sleep with my mattress on the floor. With making the cake and working, I won’t be able to fix this for a few days.”
“I’ll fix it tomorrow.”
You look at him. “You don’t have to. It’s fine. I can probably get one of the handymen to do it when I’m free.” There are a handful of knowledgeable men who help fix things around town—Tommy is one of them.
“I said, I’ll fix it tomorrow. You don’t need a handyman when I used to be a fuckin’ contractor.”
That has you perking up. “A contractor?”
“Yeah.” He takes a moment to get comfortable, keeping you atop him while he scoots down the lopsided bed and arranges your pillows to prop up his head and shoulders. “C’mere,” he says, pulling you down to lie half on top of him, his softened cock slipping out of you. Your ear is pressed over his heart, hearing the steady beat, his arm around you with his hand on your hip.
“It’s sexy that you used to be a contractor,” you say. Your palm is resting on his stomach, and he covers it with his free hand. “I’m just going to make the assumption that was back when you were in Texas, and since it gets pretty hot there, did you work with your shirt off often…?”
He’s amused. “Yes. Especially in the summer.” He’s drawing imaginary shapes on your hip.
“What I’d pay to see that.”
“Well, you’re makin’ the cake for free—”
“Not free,” you interrupt, lifting your head to look at him, resting your chin on his pec. “I’m making the cake in exchange for you eating my pussy like a champ.”
He huffs, meeting your gaze. “Now you are, but before, the shit we agreed on for you to make the cake was nothin’. It would’ve taken me no time at all to get, so you were makin’ it for free.”
“More like half-off to non-smugglers.”
“Then you need to re-evaluate what your skills are worth ‘cause you’re sellin’ yourself short.”
“You are very sweet, but I promise the deal I made you was only for you. A chocolate cake with basically a day’s notice? Come on, I’d want some good shit for that. Coffee, painkillers, antibiotics, ammunition, a firearm—what I asked you to get wouldn’t even pay for the chocolate, let alone a whole cake.”
He’s frowning, his finger pausing on your skin. “Then why would you agree to so little from me?”
You smile. “A weakness for single older dads.”
“You got a lot of those around here?”
“Nope,” you pop the ‘p.’ “You’re a rare breed, and the reason why, if I’m yours, then you are mine. I do not share.”
“I don’t either.”
“Perfect.”
“Glad we got that out of the way. Can we go back to talkin’ about me bein’ a contractor?”
“A sexy, shirtless contractor?”
“Yes. What I was goin’ to say before you interrupted me is that you were so kind about the cake, that if you wanted, I can fix your bed without a shirt on.”
“Can that be standard when you fix anything around my apartment?”
He smiles. “If that’s what you want.”
“Oh, I want it. Also, may I make the request that the bed be extra-reinforced? We will be testing it out when you’re done.”
“Is that right?”
“Yep.”
“You’re gonna fuckin’ wear me out with how much you want my cock.”
“Your mouth, too. I’d also like to see what your fingers are like.”
“Jesus Christ.” His fingertip starts making shapes on your hip again. “I wanna know more about you than just what you like in bed. How long have you lived in Jackson?”
“Seven years.”
“You got any family?”
“Biological? No. Lost my parents and little sisters when I was about twelve. Typical tragic backstory where I was the lone survivor. You know the bartender, Seth?”
“Yeah.”
“He and his wife found me and raised me with their kids. I was an adult by the time they decided to come out this way, and they told me I was old enough to make my own choice on whether I’d follow them or not. Obviously, I did. They may not be my blood relatives, but they’re still my aunt and uncle, which took me some years to label them as such. It’s hard when you remember your family, and they could never replace my parents. Was Ellie close with her mom and dad?”
He frowns. “She didn’t have parents, or at least ones she knew. She was raised by FEDRA in Boston. I don’t think that girl knows what it’s like to be loved by a parent, or anyone, for that matter.”
“From what you’ve told me, I think you’re doing a great job of showing her what it’s like to have a loving father, or a loving parent in general. The cake was a great idea. It’s so sweet and thoughtful. Do you have a present for her?”
“Before I come over here tomorrow night to take care of your bed and have that drink with you, I’ll be spendin’ my day fixin’ up a guitar for her.” He’s fondly smiling. “I finished gettin’ all the parts I needed today—even traded your uncle for a piece of bone I’ll use for the saddle—”
“I know nothing about guitars. What’s the saddle?”
“But you know what one looks like, right? An acoustic guitar?”
You picture one in your head. “Yes.”
“Okay, so you know the part near the bottom of the body where the strings are anchored? Where they’re pinned in?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the bridge. The saddle sits on the bridge. It’s usually made of bone or plastic and holds the strings up at the right height and helps them stay in tune when you play.”
“I think I know what you’re talking about.”
“Good. So, got the bone, new strings, and I’ll clean and shine the rest of the metal parts. She has a thing for moths, and I’m gonna try my damndest to carve one into the fretboard—that’s the guitar neck with all the metal frets and dots to guide your fingers when you’re playin’? I’m gonna put it right at the top below the headstock, where the turning pegs are.”
“I can’t believe you don’t think you’re a good dad. The lengths you go to for this child. She’s really lucky to have you.”
“Maybe.”
“She is. Do you play?”
“Since I was about half her age.”
“You’ll have to play me something sometime.”
“I will, but don’t ask me to sing. I’m fuckin’ awful at it.”
“I have a hard time believing that. Is that your only hobby?”
“No. I also do woodworkin’.”
“Like wooden figurines?”
“Yeah.”
“You gonna make me one?”
“What’s your favorite animal?”
“Ummm—” You have to think about it for a second. “Maybe otters? I think it’s cute when they hold hands while sleeping.”
“I’ll make you a pair of otters then.”
You smile. “Just like that, you’re gonna woodwork me a couple of tchotchkes?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Gives me somethin’ to do when I’m home from work, and Ellie’s out bein’ a kid.”
“If you ever want some company, I’d be happy to hang out with you while you do your thing. I’ll also watch movies with you, go horseback riding, and you could even help me make cakes.” You suddenly feel unsure of yourself. “Unless you’re not interested in any of that and you’re just looking for an exclusive sex partner.”
“I told you I don’t do fuck buddies or casual shit.”
“So, you want to date me?”
“If you’ll have me.” He lifts your hand from his belly to kiss your knuckles. “I’d understand if you didn’t want people knowin’. though.”
Your eyebrows furrow. “Why wouldn’t I want people to know I’m dating you?”
“Because I’m old.”
“Once again, I do not give a fuck that you are—how old are you?”
He takes a deep breath and says on the exhale, “Fifty-six.”
“Once again, I do not give a fuck that you are fifty-six. You’re hot and sweet, and I’d want everyone to know you’re mine.”
He smiles. “Yeah?”
“Yes. There’s just one little thing we need to figure out.”
“What’s that?”
“How long do you wait until you tell Ellie?”
“After her birthday. Maybe in a week or two to see how things go between us.”
“Solid plan.” You lean up and peck him on the lips.
“What about you? You got any hobbies?”
“Mostly baking. I also collect records and love watching movies.”
“When I go out again, I’ll find you more records and movies.”
“That’s sweet of you, but you don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. I do have a question.”
“I’ll hopefully have an answer.”
“I know you like sex—”
“Love,” you correct. “Love sex very much.”
“Yes, I know you love sex very much, and you said you weren’t seein’ anyone. Do I need to worry about any former, uh, paramours?”
“Wanting to fight you for my bed?”
“Yes…”
“No. The few guys in town are all married now, and there are a couple of traders who stop by every once in a while who’ll be disappointed, but they won’t step on your toes.”
“I know it’s none of my business, but why didn’t any of the men here wanna marry you…?”
“Oh. I guess we should probably discuss this now, rather than having me blindside you down the road. I’d like to have a family one day, and they were all done with babies and raising kids. They married women closer to their own age who felt the same way. So, if that’s a dealbreaker, you need to let me know now.”
He’s quiet as he thinks about what you’ve said. Nerves swirl in your belly. You’re hoping and praying this isn’t the end.
“I had a daughter,” he finally tells you. “Sarah. She was my pride and joy, my everythin’. She died in my arms twenty years ago on the night of the outbreak. It broke me. I was a shell of a man from that point on, and then Ellie came into my life. I was hired to transport her across the country, but things, uh, didn’t work out when I got her to her destination. So I brought her here to Jackson, where we’d be close to Tommy, and she’d get to have a somewhat normal life as a kid.
“For twenty years, I swore to myself I’d never bring another child into this godawful world.” At his admission, your heart plummets. “Was really fuckin’ careful when I’d fuck to limit the risk as much as possible, too, which meant I never finished inside my partner. I never had the desire to, or would ever humor the idea.”
Now, you’re confused. “If you’re so anti-creampies, why is your come dripping out of me as we speak?”
He smiles and caresses your cheek with a gun-calloused palm. “Because in all of my fifty-six years on this planet, the happiest I’ve ever been is when I’m a dad. I fuckin’ love bein’ a father, and I know I’m too old to even be thinkin’ about babies, but if it happened? I wouldn’t be upset about it. I’d welcome it.”
He’s perfect, and you’ve never wanted a man more.
“I know we’ve only known each other for less than a day, but marry me.” Joel chuckles. “I’m serious. Make me your wife. I will fuck your brains out, have as many babies as you want, bake you delicious things, and treat Ellie like she’s my own kid. You’re everything and more that I want in a partner, and I think we’d be good together.”
His thumb strokes over the apple of your cheek. “I’m flattered by your offer, sweetheart. I truly am, and have half a mind to accept it, but marriage isn’t somethin’ you rush into. I know most everyone does these days with how uncertain everythin’ is, but I’d like to take my time to court you properly before we decide to get married.”
You sigh. “If you insist.” You glance up at the clock on your bedside table; the red numbers show it’s after ten p.m. Your gaze returns to his. “We’ve got less than two hours before you need to head home, Cinderella. Would you be up for another, softer, maybe sensual round—I’m thinking missionary—then we can shower, you can help me get my mattress onto the floor, and take off? Or do you want to shower, help me get my mattress onto the floor, and hang out in the living room, watching a movie or something until you need to leave?”
“Another round, we shower, we leave your bed alone, and you come home with me instead of sleepin’ on the floor.”
“To your house, where Ellie is…?”
“I’ll sneak you in. She spends most of her time in her room anyway. She won’t know you’re there.”
“If you want to hold off on her knowing about me, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
You don’t know how he does it. One minute, you’re lying half on top of him, and the next, he’s got you beneath him on your back, his hips cradled by your thighs. He kisses your clavicle, saying into your skin, “It’ll be fine.” His lips trail up your throat, making you shiver when he sucks on your pulse point, his cock hardening against your core. “Come home with me.” Joel continues his journey, laving kisses along the underside of your jaw to nip at your chin. He hovers his face over yours, searching your eyes. “Will you?”
“Only if you’re sure.”
“Quit your worryin’. I told you, it’ll be fine. She’ll have no idea.”
“Okay, then. I’ll go with you.”
He smiles. “Good girl.”
Joel wasn’t kidding about sneaking you into his house. That’s how you find yourself freshly fucked, showered, and clothed, creeping up a dark staircase behind him and into a hallway, where he signals for you to stay because Ellie’s door is open. He walks over to her doorway, leaning in it like he’s done it a hundred times before, the light shining on his face showing that fond smile he always has when he talks about her.
“Hey, kiddo.”
“Hey, Joel.”
“You have a good day?”
“Scooping horse shit?” You have to hold in your laugh. “Not really, but afterward, Jesse and I went to Dina’s to watch a movie.”
Jesse and Dina are good kids.
“What movie?”
“Star Wars. The first two, but I wasn't really paying attention. We were too busy joking around and trying to throw popcorn into each other’s mouths.”
“What’d you do after that?”
“We went and had dinner. Did you get some of the apple pie? It was really fucking good. I think the peach cobbler is still my favorite, though.”
You also made the peach cobbler. Ellie has good taste. It’s your favorite, too.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Well, hopefully it’ll come ‘round again soon.”
Once traders come through with more peaches, you’ll be able to. It’s adorable watching him interact with her and seeing how much he clearly loves her.
“I sure hope so. How was your day?”
“Good. They had me out patrollin’, and I went through some houses to see if I could find anythin’ good. Did you get the tapes I left on your desk?”
“I did! I listened to the Backstreet Guys, or whatever the fuck they’re called—people used to like that shit?”
Is she talking about the Backstreet Boys?
Joel chuckles. “Sarah loved them.”
“She usually has great taste in music,” Ellie replies, “but I’m not sure about this one.”
“Well, I’ll tell you right now, NSYNC is similar—” She is talking about the Backstreet Boys, and how very ‘good dad’ of Joel to be familiar with the music his child loves. “—but I think you’ll enjoy the Halican Drops albums. That was Sarah’s favorite band. I’ve been lookin’ forever to find you their music, and I hit the jackpot today when I came across a kid’s room that hadn’t been picked clean.”
“Oh, sweet. I’ll listen to them before bed. Thanks, Joel.”
“You’re welcome, kiddo. Don’t stay up too late. You gotta be up early to scoop more horse shit.”
She groans. “God, I fucking hope not. Can you ask Tommy to assign me to anything else? Like anything else.”
His voice softens. “Yeah, I’ll do that in the mornin’. Night, Ellie.”
“Night, Joel.”
He pulls her door closed and waits ten seconds, then motions for you to come to him. He grabs your hand when you’re within reach and leads you further down the hall to his room at the end, where he opens the door and flips on the light. He ushers you in, closing the door and locking it behind you.
The first thing you notice is that it smells like him—crushed thyme, gun oil, and something uniquely Joel, mixed with the scent of freshly cut wood. Then you take in the area, the paintings that depict cowboys, his woodworking workstation, what you assume is Ellie’s future guitar leaning against it, another one hanging on his wall, and further in the room, a third you think is the one he actually plays. The piece of bone he got from your uncle is sitting atop the worktable, along with little metal parts and his tools.
“I like your room,” you tell him. “It’s cozy.” He’s got a comfy-looking accent chair you could imagine him reading in and a desk by the door with a drawing of a moth on top of it—what he plans to carve into Ellie’s guitar.
He spins you to face him. “Thanks.” He grabs the hem of your shirt and pulls it up off your arms, followed by your sports bra. “You’re my first guest.”
He grunts, crouching down in front of you. Joel gets his fingers under the waistband of your leggings and underwear, tugging them down. You hold onto his shoulders for balance as you step out of them, and he removes your socks, leaving you completely nude.
“Is that why you were adamant about me coming over tonight? So you could finally christen your bed?”
He stands back up, one of his knees popping. “No.” Joel kisses you, and you hold his scruffy cheeks as he works open the buttons of his flannel. He shrugs it off and unbuckles his belt, his lips leaving yours to get his jeans undone and shoved down, followed by his boxer briefs.
“When I said ‘christen your bed,’ I meant have sex in it for the first time. Why are we naked if we’re not gonna fuck?”
All of his clothes are on the floor, including his socks, and instead of answering your question, he straightens and captures your lips once more, his hands gripping your waist. He kisses you as he walks you backward toward his neatly made bed, and when you’re beside it, he breaks away to pull back the blankets.
“Get in.” It’s not a suggestion, and you do as he says, getting under the sheets and turning on your side, propping your head up with your arm to watch what he’s doing.
“The lack of clothes and kissing is giving me mixed signals.”
“What do you mean?” he asks on his way to turn off the overhead light.
“When I’m naked with someone and we’re making out, that’s the lead-up to fucking.”
The room goes dark, save for the moonlight slipping through the closed blinds, offering some illumination as he returns, going around the bed and crawling in on the other side. You turn over to look at him as he gets to the middle of the bed. “C’mere.” He reaches toward you, and you scoot like he asks until he’s able to pull you up against the solid warmth of his front. He curls around you, one arm draped over your waist, the other under your head, his large palm resting gently on your spine. “Have you ever slept with someone?” he asks.
You blink up at him in the dark, quietly replying, “We literally just fucked twice.”
“No.” He brushes his thumb lightly over your back. “Not sex. I mean, have you ever just fallen asleep with someone?”
The question has your breath catching a little, but not from arousal. No, this is something completely different. It’s warmer. Sweeter, and it makes your chest ache for some reason.
Your mouth opens to reply, but no words come out immediately.
It has you thinking back, really thinking back. Sure, you had nights where men stayed over. Nights when you were tangled in sweaty sheets with someone who’d be gone by morning. But this? Naked and held? No rush. No expectations. Just simple, quiet skin-on-skin closeness?
“No,” you finally admit. “Never.”
Joel hums a contented sound in his throat. He kisses the top of your head, his facial hair lightly scratching your forehead. “I hope you like it, sweetheart,” he murmurs.
You lie there, stunned. You assumed he asked you here for the same reason men before him invited you into their beds—to fuck, and maybe some post-sex cuddling before your clothes are back on and the mood fades.
But Joel doesn’t just want you. He wants you with him, here like this, in a way that feels much more intimate than sex. He doesn’t just wreck you with his body; it’s the way he chooses you when he doesn’t have to, how he holds you like you matter, like you’re his. With him, you’re not being used, you’re being kept.
That dawning realization sinks in, curling around something tender behind your ribs.
Your voice is small when you whisper, “You didn’t want me here for sex, did you?”
“No,” he answers. “I wanted you here ‘cause I’ll sleep better with you next to me.”
Your throat tightens, staring into the dark, feeling a little overwhelmed because you don’t know what to do with all of this affection settling over you.
“Oh.”
Joel chuckles, pulling you in tighter, tucking your head under his chin. “Yeah. Oh.” The room goes quiet, then he adds, “Also, don’t want you breakin’ my bed.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he laughs into your hair. “You ride like a fuckin’ hellcat. That old frame of yours didn’t stand a chance.”
His statement has your mouth dropping open, a mix of offense and flattery.
“That’s rude and slanderous because we both agreed you broke the bed.”
“We agreed on no such thing. Tomorrow, I will even show you proof that you rode me into the sunset and your bed straight into the ground by where it snapped.” He kisses the top of your head again. “Gotta reinforce both our beds before I let you do that again. I think your couch could take the abuse, though, so that’s an option.”
He has you biting back a smile. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You wanna marry me.”
“I’m not so sure I do now.”
“You do.”
“Maybe.”
“Six months.”
“Six months, what?”
“If we’re still together in six months, I’ll marry you.”
Your heart rate increases. “Really?”
“Yes. Now, get some sleep.”
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Hey, i love your work and hope i can ask this but can you do a one shot of Modern Bucky being a dick to us but somehow we got back in time and we meet 40´s Bucky and he is everything flirty, cocky and he say that we are totally his type and like we stay there a week but it’s also a week in modern time and like Bucky is having all the flashback little by little as the week goes bye…and when we come back Bucky is like “i want a taste again NO i NEED a taste again please Doll i beg to have you again" if it can be smutty in both times ? I know it’s a lot but i can’t find anything like that 😭
I LOVE THIS IDEA?????? I’ll make it into a full fic. For now…. Enjoy the start!
-
You weren’t exactly sure what you’d done to piss off James Buchanan Barnes.
Scratch that—you were sure. You’d done absolutely nothing.
From the moment you were assigned to the New Avengers team six months ago, Bucky had been cold to you. Not cold like the others had warned—he didn’t brood in corners or snap like a feral animal. No, Bucky Barnes was cold in the way someone gets when they’ve already made up their mind about you. Dismissive. Clipped. Quick with an eye roll or a grunt, but never more.
He talked to everyone else on the team just fine. Friendly enough with John and Bob. Dryly funny with Yelena. Even gave Ava a half-smile now and then. But you? You were the ghost in the room.
The thorn in his side.
The fly in his drink.
You’d tried to brush it off at first. Not everyone clicked immediately, right? But now, half a year into shared missions, debriefs, and long nights of tactical planning, the pattern was impossible to ignore. Every time you so much as opened your mouth, Bucky’s jaw clenched like he’d rather chew broken glass than hear your voice.
And honestly?
It was starting to piss you off.
You were a good soldier. Smart. Quick. Sharp. You never gave him attitude, never pushed his buttons—not even when he deserved it. But his contempt had a weight now, digging into your shoulders like an extra pack you hadn’t trained for.
Which is how you ended up in the quinjet, hunched over a StarkPad, chewing the inside of your cheek, while Bucky sat across from you radiating icy silence.
The mission had been simple. Quick recon of a possible Hydra remnant site tucked in the mountains of Romania. In and out. Nothing serious. You were riding shotgun with Bucky because he was the only other one free. Lucky you.
He hadn’t spoken a word to you the entire flight.
And you’d finally had enough.
“Hey, Barnes,” you said without looking up. “Question for you.”
His sigh was audible. Heavy. Like you were personally dragging him through hell.
“Do you hate me,” you asked, voice light, “or is this just your sparkling personality?”
You finally looked up to meet his eyes—and regretted it instantly.
Steel blue. Cold as a bayonet. He didn’t even blink.
“If I hated you,” he said slowly, “you’d know it.”
Oof. Okay.
“So it is your personality,” you muttered.
That earned you a scoff. He turned back to the mission readout like you weren’t worth the energy.
Something inside you cracked. A hairline fracture along a fault that had been building for months.
You tried again.
“I just don’t get it. You talk to everyone else. Laugh with them, even. But me?” You tilted your head. “I’m invisible unless I mess up. Which I haven’t, by the way. So what gives?”
Bucky didn’t answer right away. For a second, you thought he might actually ignore you again. But then he stood up with that heavy, silent grace, every inch of him thick with annoyance, and came to stand in front of you.
You didn’t flinch. But your spine locked straight.
He was tall. Broad. His vibranium arm glinted under the lights, catching in the shadows of his dark tactical jacket. His mouth twisted as he looked down at you—like just seeing you irritated him.
“You really wanna know?”
Your stomach tightened. But you nodded.
He exhaled slowly through his nose. Shook his head once like he couldn’t believe he was having this conversation.
“You’re not my type.”
Silence.
That was it?
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You asked,” he said with a shrug. “That’s your answer.”
You stood up, toe-to-toe now. “So your issue with me is that I’m not—what? Fuckable enough to be worth talking to?”
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t twist it.”
“I’m not twisting anything, Barnes. You said it like it explained why you treat me like a damn ghost.”
He took a step closer, and for the first time, the tension in the air shifted. It wasn’t just cold—it was charged. Static and heat, friction and frost.
“You want the truth?” he asked, voice low.
You swallowed, nodded again.
He leaned in slightly. “You’re loud. You talk too much. You care about people even when it’s not practical. You make jokes at the worst times. You have a tendency to take unnecessary risks just to make a point. And yeah,” he added, voice sharp, “you’re not my type.”
You tried to cover the hurt that sliced through you. Tried to hold your chin up, tried not to show it.
“Got it,” you said. “I’ll stop bothering you.”
You turned back to the StarkPad, heart stinging in your chest—but the rattle of turbulence snapped your attention forward.
“Brace,” Bucky barked, voice all soldier again. “Something’s—”
The quinjet shook violently. Alarms screamed. You felt the stomach-dropping lurch of altitude loss—but no fire, no explosion.
Just light.
Blinding, golden light ripped through the cabin like a living storm. You barely had time to gasp before everything went white.
-
When the world stopped spinning, your knees hit cobblestone.
You gasped, sucking air into your lungs, fingers scraping against pavement.
The sound of a horn blared nearby.
You blinked hard—once, twice, trying to make sense of the image forming around you.
Streetlamps. Yellow taxis—not modern ones. Men in hats. Women in long skirts. Big band music drifting from an open window. A newsboy shouting something about a war.
And across the street, leaning against a lamppost with wide, stunned eyes…
…was Bucky Barnes.
But not the one you knew.
This Bucky looked younger. Cleaner. Shirt unbuttoned just enough to show a white undershirt beneath his leather jacket. Hair slicked, lips curled in a slow, curious smile as his eyes swept over you like you were the only thing worth looking at in the entire goddamn city.
Then he pushed off the lamppost, swagger in his step, and crossed the street with a grin so charming it nearly knocked the breath out of you.
“Well,” he said, voice smooth as bourbon, “ain’t you somethin’ out of a dream.”
summary: you're feeling icky today but Joel has patrol. unfortunately, it's more serious than either of you thought.
word count: 3.1k
warnings: illness, fainting
a/n: hi everyone! it's been a hot minute since I posted anything so here is a little thing I worked on between work. let me know what you all think! enjoy!
“Joel, please don’t go out today.” You ask, sniffling to yourself.
You know that you’ve been feeling a bit under the weather recently, chest feeling heavy and thick with something that you cannot quite put your finger on. The world seems dizzying almost, weighed down by something you can’t quite place your finger on. The thought of being alone right now makes you anxious, especially when you don’t know exactly what is wrong.
”You know that I have to. Town’s getting bigger by the month and we need people out on patrol.”
”Just this once? I’m just… feeling down in the dumps right now.”
Joel turned to look at you sitting in the bed. He noticed that you looked a bit pale recently and could hear the slight sniffles you were releasing, but he talked it up to you having a small cold. He would be back in about 12 hours so he wasn’t too worried.
”I have’ta go, honey. I won’t be gone long. Plus, Ellie will be here to keep you company. I’ll ask her to stick around for a while.”
”Please, Joel? I really don’t… I just think something is wrong with me.”
”I probably just have a bug, I know something has been going around lately in town. Just try and sleep it off, maybe Maria has something for you to take. I’m sorry but I gotta go.”
Joel places a quick kiss to your forehead, eyebrows furrowing when he realizes that you are a bit warm. He decides to shrug it off as the small illness some people in town are fighting right now, straightening back up.
“I’ll be back later tonight. Just… rest, alright?”
You’re too fatigued to continue arguing with him. You nod your head, resigning from the conversation. He dips his head at you one time, grabbing his bag and heading out the door.
”Love ya, hon!” He yells from downstairs.
You’re too tired to yell anything back, laying back in your spot and throwing the blanket off of your body. You feel like you’ve already sweat through the sheets and your stomach rolls and turns. Bless him for putting the garbage can in here, you think to yourself as you lean over the side of the bed, feeling like the breakfast you forced down this morning was coming back up for an encore. To your dismay, nothing comes up and your stomach continues to feel the same way it did a few moments ago. Throwing yourself on your back in your spot again with an arm tossed over your eyes, you drift off to sleep praying to whoever is out there that Joel’s patrol shift flies by.
____________________________________
You think you’re dreaming still, but you can hear a voice calling out your name. Blinking a bit, your vision clears and you see Ellie sitting on Joel’s side of the bed, a concerned look on her face.
”Damn, and I thought that Joel slept like the dead.” She said, quietly.
”Sorry, El,” you croaked out to her, sitting up. “Just not feeling too hot today.”
“That’s what Joel told me. Asked me to come and watch you for a bit.”
Once you were completely sat up, Ellie reached her out to your forehead, placing the back of her hand against it.
”He said you were warm but I didn’t think you were this warm.”
”I’m alright. Joel thinks I have that stupid bug going around right now.” You say, looking down at your hands in your lap. You hear Ellie say your name and you look back up at her.
”I don’t know about that, I’ve seen the people who have the bug and they aren’t close to as bad as you look.”
”Gee, thanks El.” You roll your eyes, turning to move out of the bed.
You stand even though it makes you feel slightly dizzy. Stretching out your body, you turn back to Ellie who is tracking your every movement.
”I hope you didn’t have to cancel any plans just to come and babysit me today.”
“Nah,” Ellie stands from her spot. “Was just gonna go and see the movie they were playing today. Guess it's a new one that someone found while on patrol or something.”
Now you felt bad that Ellie had to change her plans just to come and take care of you. Shaking your head, you move for the dresser.
”No way, Jose. I’m taking you to watch that movie.” The sentence barely finishes coming out of your mouth before a cough attack happens.
“I don’t think that is a good idea, dude, you look like walking death.”
You turn towards her, a look of determination on your face. “Absolutely not, we are going to see that movie if it kills me.”
Ellie rolls her eyes but gives in. She knows that if you are able to fight Joel hard enough for him to give in, then she has no shot against you. She nods, throwing her hands up.
”Alright, alright. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
________________________________
The winter air outside feels like Heaven against your skin, which you know is still sweaty regardless of how cold it is outside. Ellie and yourself are walking side by side as you approach the town center where the movie will be playing tonight. She looks at you warily, worried about your well-being.
”You sure about this? We can always just stay at your place, play a game or make fun of Joel or something.”
You laugh slightly but that turns into a full blown coughing attack. “Yeah, I’m sure. I feel fine, actually.”
That was a big ol’ lie.
Ellie nods as you both enter the hall. She searches for someone, you aren’t sure who, but her eyes brighten a bit once she sees them.
“I’ll be right over there if you need me!” She points as she runs off in the opposite direction. You nod to no one, moving to the back of the room to stay out of the way of everybody.
The movie, apparently something called ‘Angels in the Outfield’, plays for a little while before you see someone walking over to you in your peripheral vision. Turning your head, you see Tommy heading your direction. You smile at him slightly, but his mouth is downturned as he approaches you.
”Whatr’ya doing here, huh?” He says, his arms crossed over her chest. “Joel said you weren’t feelin’ too hot.”
”I’m fine,” You say back, though you can tell he knows that you’re lying. “Just a little bug. He had poor Ellie cancel her plans just to watch me while he was gone but I couldn’t let her do that so I brought her here to see the movie.”
”You sure about that? You look like death.” He moves a hand towards your forehead but you move before he can touch your skin.
”Why does everyone keep saying that? I’m alright! Peachy actually. It’s just a little warm in here is all.” You respond, rolling your aching shoulders back.
Tommy gives you an odd look. You scrunch your eyebrows at him. “What?” You question.
”Warm? In here?”
“Yeah,” a look on your face like he said something ridiculous. “I’m sweatin’ like a whore in church.”
He says your name, resting a hand on your shoulder. You raise an eyebrow at him.
”The heatin’ in here broke 4 days ago. It’s, like, 65 degrees in here.”
Your stomach flips again like it did earlier today. How could that be? You’ve been sweating for a while now, you figured maybe the people in here were still cold from the outside air since they all had their coats and jackets on still. You’re confused suddenly, almost a panicked feeling running through your body. You look at Tommy, placing a hand on the arm that is still attached to your shoulder.
“Tommy, I don’t feel so good.” You tell him, the room spinning slightly.
He looks extremely worried now, placing his arm around your shoulder. He begins to lead you towards someone else in the hall.
”We should get you to the infirmary. Let’s go get Maria, huh?”
His voice sounds a bit far away and your vision tunnels before it blacks out. You don’t feel your knees give out as your body collapses to the floor, your head barely missing the ground as Tommy goes down with you. Tommy yells out for help from anyone, also yelling for both Maria and Ellie as he keeps your head up, lightly tapping your cheeks to see if you’ll come to. A few moments pass before both Maria and Ellie are around your body, some other citizens now on the ground trying to help in any way they can.
_____________________________________
By the time you come to, you’re laying on a tiny cot in a small room that smells like antiseptic. You take a deep breath, moving to rub your eyes. You hear your name and move your head to see both Maria and Ellie, Ellie now standing over you, your hand in hers and Maria still in her seat.
“I’m so sorry, I should have made us stay at your house! That was such a bad idea, oh Christ, Joel is gonna be SO mad at me-“ Ellie practically rants. You shush her, moving to sit up in the bed.
”Ellie, it’s alright. It was my idea anyways, so I’m the one that he’ll be upset with, not you.” You squeeze her hand. She smiles slightly at you. “What happened, anyway? I was talking to Tommy and now I’m waking up here.”
”You fainted. Tommy said he was bringing you here and then all of a sudden, you were on the ground. Doctor said you have some sort of lung thing that starts with a P but it doesn’t sound like it.”
”Pneumonia?” Both you and Maria say at the same time, though yours sounded more like a question and her more like an answer. You look over at her.
”It’s pneumonia. Doctor said they have some antibiotics you can take for a little while. You scared the shit out of us, you know?” Maria said.
”I’m sorry. I thought I just had that bug going around.” You groaned at your aching body. “Where’s Tommy?”
Ellie and Maria looked at each other.
“He’s riding out to get Joel. We tried to tell him that his shift would be over in a few hours but he said Joel would have a conniption fit if he found out after he got back. He left about half an hour ago so it may be a little bit until they get back.” Maria told you, standing and grabbing a bottle of water off the floor to give to you. You took it gladly, drinking almost half of it in one go. ”Doctor said you’re good to go once you feel like it. You wanna stay for a bit or head back to your place?”
You shook your head. “I wanna go home. Be in my own bed. Plus I’m sure that will be the first place Joel will go so…”
Ellie and Maria both nod and help you up from the bed. They help to keep you steady as you all walk back to the house. Once you arrive, you sit on the couch in the living room, Ellie on the other side of you. She refused to let go of your hand the whole way home and still won’t now. Maria stands by the front window, searching for both Tommy and Joel. All three of you have casual conversation, save for your couple of coughing fits. About an hour later, as Maria is finishing up a story, she stops mid-sentence. You and Ellie both look at her weirdly before she starts again.
”Joel runs pretty fast for an old man.”
Your stomach flips one more time as you anticipate Joel’s arrival any minute. You can feel your heart rate spike, heat in your veins. Ellie’s thumb brushed back and forth on your hand for a second, catching your eye. She opened her mouth to say something, but the front door slammed open. All three of you looked towards it at once, Joel barreling in with Tommy not far behind him. Joel’s eyes fell in you, looking distressed and uneasy.
“Baby…” A breath fell from his lips.
You stood from your spot on the couch to approach him, but he was much faster. He swiftly made his way over to you, engulfing you in what you think may be the tightest hug in all of human history. Squished to his chest, cheek pressed up against his shoulder. His arms were wrapped around you as taut as they could. You could feel the quick rise and fall of his chest, his rapid heartbeat.
“Let's leave them be.” You could hear Tommy say from the doorway. You could hear both Ellie and Maria move throughout the room to the exit, the door closing behind them.
You both stood there for a minute, Joel holding you to him and you enjoying the comfort of his arms. You missed him, even for the less than twelve hours that he was gone. You missed him every second he wasn’t by your side, which unfortunately was more often than you would both like due to his patrol and you helping out with the cattle some days. Regardless, you both made what you could out of the time you both got together. It was incredible to see Joel’s growth since you both settled down in Jackson, how he began to open himself up more. He seemed less stressed all the time, his shoulders not carrying the weight that they used to. But you know that now that all three of you are settled, he feels like he needs to pull his weight in making sure the town stays safe. But you know him well, and you know that he probably feels beyond guilty right now knowing what happened to you after he left for patrol even though you practically begged for him to stay with you.
“Joel-” You whispered into his shoulder.
“Don’t. Just… let me hold you a second longer.” He responded, voice tight in his chest.
You obliged him, just standing in his grip. After a few more moments, his hold on you loosened and he pulled back a bit. His hands gripped your upper arms, holding you out in front of him. His eyes scanned over your body, searching for something you weren’t sure of.
“I’m alright.” You mutter to him.
His eyes snap back up to yours, searching them like he’s looking for something specific.
“What the fuck happened?” He asks, running one of his hands down to yours, bringing it to his lips and pressing short kisses to your knuckles.
“I can’t believe you told Ellie to cancel her plans just to watch me.” You changed the subject, slightly upset with him.
“That isn’t what I asked, honey.” He responded, his lips still brushing against the skin on your hands.
“I don’t care, why would y-”
You were cut off by his gruff voice saying your name in a tone, that tone where you know he isn’t playing. You sigh, moving away from him to sit down again. You take a breath to start explaining to him, but get cut off by a rough coughing fit. Joel immediately sat down next to you, a hand patting your back. After a quick moment, the coughing stops.
“I took Ellie to see the movie because I felt bad that her plans got cancelled because of me. Tommy saw me, which I don’t appreciate you just yapping to people that I’m not feeling well by the way, and pretty much wrung my ass because I was out. I told him that I was hot in the hall and he said something about the heating breaking and apparently it was super cold in there so he wanted to take me to the infirmary but I got dizzy and confused and all of a sudden, I was waking up at the infirmary. Doctor said something about me having pneumonia.”
Joel remained silent for a moment before you finally looked up at him. You almost couldn’t believe it, but his lower lash line was stinging with tears.
“...I left you alone while you had pneumonia?”
“Joel, I’m fine really. It isn’t that big of a deal really-”
“Yes, it is!” He exclaimed. “You practically begged me to stay home with you this morning and I just left!” He stood from his spot, a hand on his forehead.
“Doesn’t matter if you stayed home or not. If my body was going to give up on itself, it would have done it regardless of you being here or not.” You stand shakily. Joel immediately had his hands on you, making sure you were steady.
“But I still coulda been there. Christ, honey, do you know how far my heart dropped into my ass when I saw Tommy riding towards me like that? He wouldn’ta come all the way out there for any reason except you so I knew something happened to ya. Scared me shitless, know that?”
“I’m sorry.” You apologize. “I really thought I was alright. Just… I don’t know, this morning I thought I just had anxiety about you leaving but I guess my head just knew something was wrong.”
“You ain’t got a reason to apologize. I’m the one that should be sorry for not listening to ya this morning. You never ask me to stay home like that so I shoulda knew there was something wrong.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in towards him. He dropped a kiss to your forehead, causing you to smile.
“Can’t we both just be sorry and call it a day? I missed you and my body feels like jello.”
You can hear him huff out a laugh, placing a second kiss to your forehead.
“Course we can. Not letting you go for a while. I already told Tommy he’ll have to find someone to take my next few patrol shifts because I am not lettin’ you out of my sight until I feel like you’re 100% recovered.” He moves your body back from him by your shoulders, his thumbs tracing small circles there as well.
“Think we have ingredients for you to make me soup?” You ask him, trying to clear your throat.
“Even if we don’t, I’ll raid this whole town to find some. Do anything for you.” He replies.
And you just smile at him, because you know he’s not joking.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv/a. Age gap. Daddy kink. Sneaky sex. Breeding kink. Anal. Use of various sex toys. Joel Miller eats it from the back like a gentleman should. Slight pain kink, but it’s consensual. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk!
Word count: 15.0k
Joel Miller had the willpower of a sack of flour.
If you beckoned, he came. If you called, he answered.
No matter the hour of day, any time or place, that man would be there, no hesitation and no questions asked.
Hell, he might’ve had a couple qualms about fucking at a gas station off I-10 in the middle of the day, but his devotion to you quickly overpowered any better sense. He just unzipped his jeans in the front seat of his Bronco, let you climb across the center console and into his lap, and, parked directly next to a gas pump somewhere just shy of Webster, Texas, he let you ride him for six minutes.
That was all either one of you needed to get off. With his keys out of the ignition and the thin, frigid air of a winter’s day soaking straight through to your bones and his, you needed to move quick to keep warm. You buried your face into his neck and whimpered repeatedly, ‘Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,’ and Joel had no choice but to oblige, really. He stroked the back of your head with one of his big, warm palms and told you he was right here, ‘m always here, sweet pea. That helped you climax fast.
It also didn’t hurt that you’d nudged the hand cupping your ass to start touching somewhere lower, inside there
Joel’s fingers brushed through the wet, sticky glaze from where your bodies connected and started rubbing someplace new—at your request, of course—and his heart damn near burst out of his chest when you let out a wanton moan at the touch. His cock twitched, and your walls clenched around him when his index first petted that tight ring of muscles. You squirmed in his lap.
“Fuck me there, Joel. Push it in,” you whimpered.
At least half of that sentiment must have been the pre-climax talking, Joel reckoned, but he couldn’t deny that he felt equally enthralled by that spot. It was more just curiosity and mindless need, wondering what you’d feel like wrapped around him in that new place. His fingertip breached the tiny ring, and the two of you groaned into each other. It was mind-numbing. He might’ve plunged his digit in and out all of five times before you were both pushed over the edge. You came with a shuddering cry, and Joel filled the condom inside you in thick, hot spurts.
Joel’s vision blurred for a second with how hard he came
He was still blinking, still breathing like his ribcage might cave at any moment, and you were lifting off him gently.
A little squelch and a sigh from your lips were all that he heard over the rush in his skull. Absently, Joel plucked the rubber off and looked around for a tissue to put it in.
He’d just secured it, and was zipping up his pants to step out of the car and toss it in the trash, when he saw you turned, peering out the back window. He chucked the condom and returned to find you in the same position.
“We should try anal next,” you said simply.
Clinically.
Joel almost dropped his keys turning the Bronco back on
“Try w—” He choked on the last word and stumbled for the third and fourth, sputtering. “What do you mean?”
Finally, you shifted back to face the front, to face him, and a smile was playing at your lips. Your nose wrinkled.
“You don’t know what that means, Joel? Pretty sure the mechanics are about the same as any other type of fucking, just like…in my butt,” you said teasingly.
Like hell it was.
You were no more than forty-five minutes away from your destination in Galveston. Your dad was already at his timeshare down there and would be expecting you soon. Both of you had been a little off-kilter ever since the man had called out of the blue that morning and offered you, Tommy, and Maria the weekend getaway at his place, but still. This? Where the hell had you gotten an idea like that in your head, when the focus was supposed to be on laying low the next couple days? Keeping sex to its usual bounds, not doing anything risky near your dad.
You and him had a pretty bad track record in that.
All the same, trying anal at your dad’s beach house sounded more than just crazy. It was plainly absurd.
Joel was planning to tell his best friend that he was in love with you not too far in the future. How was that conversation likely to fare if the man happened to catch him with his dick in his daughter’s backdoor beforehand?
“I ain’t fuckin’ your ass,” he mumbled grumpily instead.
He turned on the car and cranked the tunes to drown out any protest from you—and to quiet his own wild musings
What if he could, just once?
Would you even like it?
Damn, it might not—
“You need COOOOOOOOLIN’, baby I’m not FOOOLIN’.”
Thank you, Robert Plant.
The song started playing, and he felt especially grateful.
Actually, Joel might need the entirety of Led Zeppelin’s discography to clear his head of the nonsense currently coursing through it. He gripped the wheel tighter in his fists and started out of the gas station parking lot then.
You drummed a mindless beat with your fingertips on your thigh. Your legs were crossed, and you occasionally flit looks over your shoulder. At what, Joel had no idea.
“Take a left on General Acacius Way,” you said casually.
“What?” Joel turned to you.
Your finger was already pointing in the direction you wanted him to take the car. Your shoulders were relaxed, and that mischievous glint in your eye was unmistakable.
“Left on that road, then there should be another parking lot just behind the auto shop. It’s right beside the…yeah.”
Yeah.
Joel turned the wheel to pull onto the nearest street, and suddenly, he saw it. Right across the intersection, no more than a stone’s throw away from where he sat, there was a storefront that nearly made his eyes pop out.
He never considered himself a prude before.
In fact, he’d always thought he was pretty adventurous when it came to sex and being open-minded about stuff.
But this was fucking nuts.
There, on the corner of General Acacius Way and Clint Avenue, he saw a store with flashing pink-and-white lights and an even bigger, gaudier neon sign hanging above them, blinding half the street and making sure that it was seen on even the brightest, sunniest of days:
‘Mandalorian Sex Emporium: This is the Way…to Pleasure’
You had to be fucking joking.
You weren’t joking.
You’d gotten the idea driving to Galveston—or, rather, seated on your boyfriend’s lap and having him finger you in a place he’d never done it before—and then ran with it.
Sprinted, more like.
Your life and Joel’s were rife with stressors and uncertainty and fucked up paternal concerns galore. You’d been thinking nonstop about your dad’s latest conversation with Joel and about the possibility of him finding out about your secret relationship, and it had nearly sent you spiraling. You needed a distraction.
Was it the wisest idea to have that distraction be Joel’s dick in your ass? Probably not. But there were certainly worse ways to be spending your time, and sitting around wondering why the hell your dad had never bothered to tell you that he might not be your biological father, or that Tommy fucking Miller might have been, was useless. You wouldn’t know a thing until you talked to him yourself—and that conversation would have to take place later. This weekend, probably. Presently, you were perusing an aisle full of water-based lubricants, smiling.
Joel wasn’t quite scowling, but he certainly had that look
Like a father himself, far from approving of this scheme.
“Y’think flavored is the way to go?” you asked casually.
You held bottles of Beskar Berry Blast and Coruscant Cotton Candy in either hand and held them up for the purpose of getting your old man’s opinion on them, but his eyes glazed over both. His gaze penetrated yours, and then it flitted down to what he held in his own hand.
His phone.
Also, he had on his reading glasses.
They sat perched atop the tip of his nose, and from that look alone, you knew whatever came next would be good
Joel cleared his throat.
“Sugary lubricants are much more likely to cause a bacterial imbalance—infection, even—and with the heightened risk of microtears in the anal cavity—”
“Jo-el.”
You groaned.
Joel didn’t blink.
“What? If you’re grown-up enough to want anal sex, you need to be able to say the words. I mean it, sweetheart…”
And with that, he straightened. His back audibly cracked. Though he didn’t wince, you could tell that he’d felt it, as his brows were furrowed returning his focus to his phone
He was even more serious than normal, you could tell. Swiftly, you sidled up next to him. You looked down.
In the search bar on Joel’s phone, you read:
How to do anal first time painless & safe
Peering up, you saw his lips were in a line. He was scrolling through results like this was of the utmost importance, and your heart clenched, realizing just how much he cared for your well-being. On top of that, you sensed there was more to his nerves than just the sex.
“We don’t…have to do it, Joel,” you told him softly. “Seriously, it’s OK if you’re uncomfortable. Or worried.”
That last word carried the weight of the sentence, and at length, Joel met your look. His shoulders sagged a little.
He pocketed his cell. Put his glasses in his breast pocket.
“No. I’m alright. Really. Just thinkin’ of stuff,” he replied.
“Like Dad?”
“Like him shovin’ a shotgun up my ass.”
And both of you smiled some, but it was tense. Strained.
That momentary relief of humor between you two was, by force of circumstance, dampened by some weightier considerations. Like maybe this detour was a bad way to distract, and you shouldn’t be seeking that out right now
Maybe sneaking around your dad was risky enough.
Hell, maybe even the truth about you two had to wait.
It was a thought born of fear, but an honest feeling all the same—and, seeming to sense this, Joel’s expression softened. Suddenly, his hand was reaching for yours.
“I’m not havin’ second thoughts about tellin’ him, if that’s what you’re wonderin’,” he resumed, eyes on you.
“We just need to…go slow,” you finished. Questioning.
The fingers threaded through yours squeezed them.
“If that’s what you need, then I’ll do it, sweetheart.”
Slow.
Steady.
Setting an even pace for everything to come.
You couldn’t help but see some parallels, to, well…this.
You set the flavored lubes aside. You took Joel’s advice—got some simple, no-frills stuff. It wasn’t about being in a rush, or needing this new, fun thing to be a diversion from the reality you were currently facing. You did it because you wanted to. Because Joel was open to it, too, and though he was being extra cautious, you knew it all stemmed from the love that he had for you. It always did.
You picked out toys. You had to bite back a smile seeing your old man take in the sight of some thick, ten-inch plastic shafts and whistle quietly to himself. He picked out vibrating panties he thought might be fun, and you got two different sets of plugs and beads. By the end of your little excursion, both of you were calmer and content. You strolled out of that Mand’alor sex shop feeling more at ease than you’d been for a good bit.
In the Bronco, back on the road and hitting the homestretch of your trip down to the beach, you did feel like a weight had been lifted. If not completely dissolved, your anxiety, at least, had seemed to take the backseat.
With Joel up front and occasionally squeezing your thigh, telling you just how excited he was to spend the weekend together, you wanted to forget your worries.
You wanted it to be you, Joel, and no one else for a while.
Tommy picked the worst goddamn times to show face.
It was either that he had the worst timing known to man, or he secretly relished catching his brother in the most compromising positions—like the one he was in now.
You and Joel had gotten to the house around noon, not long after you were expected to arrive. Your father was already gone when you got there, having shot a text to say he was looking at bike rentals and that he’d made reservations for lunch at a restaurant down the road—head on over in twenty minutes, and I’ll meet y’all there.
Naturally, with the code to unlock the front door and almost a half hour to spare, a quickie had been a must.
You’d gotten busy in the first guest bathroom you could find and washed off the sex toys you’d just bought, too.
It was incredible how fucking arousing the sight of a little silver plug with a jewel at its base could be to see inside you. After a few slow pumps of his fingers while he fucked you up against the sink in doggy, along with a dollop or two of lube, he’d worked it in you. He thumbed at the spot where your hole was stopped up and smiled.
Then his brother had barged into the house downstairs.
“Who’s ready for some fuckin’ gruuuuuub?!” he’d yelled.
That had been over an hour ago. Now you, him, Tommy, Maria, and your dad were all finishing up said grub at a little cafe on the beach. You were dining outdoors, and the sun was shining bright, but not oppressively. A gentle breeze blew. The food was so good Joel could’ve sworn that his eyes had rolled back in ecstasy twice.
You, too, were squirming—but for very different reasons.
Before you’d left, you put on the vibrating panties. Joel had the remote that controlled them, and he’d been turning it on and off, up and down, all at his leisure.
He wasn’t going crazy, though.
The two of you had agreed you needed to be careful this weekend and couldn’t take too many risks near his friend
But, then again, you were you, and Joel was Joel.
Of course, you’d be fucking around a little bit.
Your dad was calling for the check presently.
You’d just reached for your glass of sweet tea, now nearly empty, but the second the rim touched your lips, your grip slipped. For a beat, Joel thought you might drop it.
Shit.
Dial that down to a…four, maybe?
The settings went all the way to ten. Apparently shocking you out of nowhere with a six was enough to make your eyes bug out and a cough to push itself out of your chest
“You alright, kiddo?” Tommy asked beside you.
You coughed again and forced a smile.
You quickly nodded back at him.
“Fine. Just—fine.” And at the last, your gaze shot to Joel.
You fucker.
He deserved that.
Under the table, holding the remote to your panties, he notched the toy back down to two, just to be nice. You visibly relaxed and pried your eyes off of his, but not before narrowing them briefly. I’m watching you, Miller.
Joel hoped you’d do a lot more to him than that by the time he was done. Just when your dad reached for the bill being handed over by the waitress, he intercepted it.
He slid his card out and stuffed it inside the little folder.
“Meal’s on me,” Joel announced without ceremony.
His friend gave him an appreciative, if not slightly objecting look. He looked like he was about to protest the offer, when Joel tucked his wallet—along with your underwear’s remote—into his pocket. He handed the check back to the waitress and told her not to accept a penny from his friend. Your dad barked a laugh at that.
“Joel, you know I’m fine to—”
“Fucking shit.”
The words leapt through your gritted teeth before you could even think to stop them from coming, it looked like
Joel’s eyes were on you the same second you said them, and as soon as he did, he saw you grip the edge of the table. You blinked hard and coughed a third time. Loud.
He hadn’t even…
“Language, young lady,” your dad snapped. “What is it?”
He gave the same look Joel had seen his own father give him and Tommy countless times growing up—the kind that said we’re out in public, don’t be showin’ your ass.
It wasn’t really your fault, though, if Joel had to guess.
Shortly, he was feeling around for your remote.
Next to you, Maria had a hand on your back.
“You need some water? Here.”
And she offered you hers.
You shook your head vehemently, and shifted in your seat again. Cursed again, though bit your tongue with it.
“Motherfuckin’ piece’a—ah, ah.”
You clamped down at the last.
Was that a moan at the end?
Joel fished around his pocket even quicker. At the same time, your dad ditched his fork from trying to shovel in the last couple bites of his mahi-mahi and glared at you.
“Is there something you’d like to share, sweetheart?”
No the absolute fuck there isn’t.
Where is it, where is it, where is it?
Joel had just been holding it a second ago. His pants pockets weren’t that deep. If he could just grab it and—
“No!” you cried. Actually, it was more like a plea. Your expression pinched, and your fingernails dug into the table, and right as Joel got his hand on the little pink remote, you almost jumped sideways out of your chair.
Fortunately, the waitress arrived with the check again. She handed it to him, thanked them for stopping by, and while your father was momentarily distracted, Joel found the remote. He clicked the button and realized that it had been cranked to ten as his ass was crushing it under him.
Whether you were about to climax on the spot or bawl your fucking eyes out was anyone’s guess at that point.
Joel shut your undies off.
You let out a heaving sigh.
Your father eyed you incredulously. Frowning.
“Any other stunts you’d like to pull before we go biking?” he said, though it was clear he wasn’t expecting a reply.
You gave him one anyway.
Answering your dad but looking directly at Joel, you said:
“I don’t think I wanna come, actually. I’m too tired now.”
***
It was a wonder you hadn’t murdered him on the spot.
If looks could kill, yours just might have done him in.
Lunch had ended without event—well, as much as could be said for your father occasionally stealing looks your way and seeming to wonder whether you might not have gotten drunk during the meal—but still, you made it out. Of course, your dad had roped you, Joel, Tommy, and Maria into riding bikes that afternoon, despite your protests, and despite the fact that the man was still recovering from an injured femur. Your dad had agreed to ride an e-bike to minimize strain, and he’d seemed as cheerful as anything to get going. Joel felt your sidelong dirty looks the whole walk to the rental bike place, and though they weren’t the dirty looks he liked, he still managed to maintain a happy demeanor himself.
He’d even gone so far as to squeeze your elbow playfully and say, ‘Bet I’ll beat you in a race down the beach, kid.’
He did make sure it sounded as platonic and innuendo-less as possible, though. If there was any time to ensure you kept things G-rated and non-suspicious, now was it.
Evidently, you weren’t having it.
Still shaking from your almost-orgasm at lunch, and likely dreading having to sit on a bike an excruciating hour or three, it seemed you wanted nothing more than to make Joel’s life misery now—in a sweet, discreet way.
He should’ve known it when you first peeled off your shirt getting onto your bike, leaving you in nothing but a lime green string bikini top and your shorts. Technically, it had been Tommy who started the trend by claiming it was ‘hot as shit’ and proceeding to rip off his own tee, but Joel sensed from the look you gave him as soon as you shed yours too that you meant to torture him. If he’d had his fun with a vibrating pair of panties, you could do the same showing off your rack while you rode this bike.
And you did. You’d pulled up right beside him no more than ten seconds after your dad had started off down the path to lead the way, and you’d arched your back, pretending to stretch in your seat before setting off yourself. You’d made sure Joel saw your tits in all their full, heaving, teasing beauty, and then you’d leaned in.
“What do I get if I beat you down there, daddy?”
You’d said it quietly; Joel didn’t hesitate.
“Whatever the fuck you want, baby.”
He might’ve been in for an afternoon of torment, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t tempt you right back—he would get a moment alone with you one way or another today.
Still, as expected, the bike ride went on forever.
Joel’s balls ached, and it wasn’t just from the triangular-shaped, hard-as-shit seat underneath him. You rode beside him, in front of him, weaving back and forth with ease and showing him everything he couldn’t touch with his best friend no more than fifteen feet away from him. It was agony. And it didn’t improve when your group hopped off their bikes an hour later to stop for ice cream. If anything, the torture just took on a bittersweet tinge.
You were talking to your dad again. On the bike ride, along the boardwalk, at the ice cream shop—for what had seemed like the first time in ages, you were really speaking to your old man and seeming to enjoy yourself. Joel knew there was a lot more to be ironed out between you two, and that would come eventually, but for now, you got to relax. On top of this absurd, mind-numbing attraction he had for you, he also felt oddly content to watch you bond with your father like this, in front of him.
Joel hoped he wouldn’t be the reason it all went to shit.
You were licking cookies and cream ice cream off the side of your cone, then your wrist, where the milky substance had trickled down a little bit. Joel was fighting like hell not to make that sexual in his mind, but it was difficult when you’d sucked him off dozens and dozens of times before. Your dad laughed at something you said; he practically wheezed, and then he’d pinched your nose affectionately. You wrinkled it in response, still grinning.
Joel loved you.
He was seconds away from sporting a raging erection under his shorts, and he loved you more than anything.
He really didn’t want your relationship with him to be the reason why you lost your own with your father, and for a moment, Joel wondered if it might not be a good idea for the two of you to wait. Until you were a little older, out of college, maybe making some money of your own and able to decide for yourself if he was what you really—
“Sweetheart!”
That was your dad.
But it wasn’t for you.
It wasn’t spoken to you, but rather behind you, where the ice cream shop’s front door had jingled with a new arrival
It all happened faster than Joel could process it—your smile had been so big beaming back at your father, reminiscing on some old memories together, and then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Lost. Dropped off of your face completely the second you turned around.
His friend rose to his feet and went for a warm greeting; at the same time, Tommy’s eyebrows shot to his hairline.
Beside him, Maria’s did the same.
So he’d told her about Helen, then.
Your dad had just pulled the woman in for a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. Helen had smiled appreciatively at first, then a little sheepishly as her gaze darted over the four other people sitting at the table.
Your look was as deadened as Joel had ever seen it—leagues worse than when you’d been mad about the vibrating panty situation. Your whole demeanor had taken a nosedive, and your back straightened reflexively.
You lowered your ice cream cone and eyed them both.
“Maria, I don’t think you and Helen have been introdu—” your dad started to say, but even he, in all of his affable humor couldn’t ignore the way your chair scraped back.
You stood and tossed your cone in the trash.
Then, without saying another word, you left.
It wasn’t particularly dramatic, loud, or angry. In fact, your movements were as mechanical and unaffected as if you’d just felt a cool draft and wanted to take a step outside. It didn’t look like you were annoyed at anything.
You got the fuck out of there, though.
You discarded your frozen treat like it was nothing, and, without thinking, Joel did the same starting after you.
Dimly, he was aware of the bell over the door jingling a third time with his exit. He felt the sun on his face and a breeze through his hair as he followed in your wake. It seemed you’d considered your bike outside for all of one second before quickly diverting your path; you decided you’d walk. You did walk for several yards in front of him.
Joel called your name.
You were off at a fast clip, so he had to jog to catch up.
When he did—and that didn’t take long—he reached out.
You jerked your arm away: “I’m not doing this shit, Joel.”
“I know.”
Another step closer.
Another pass for your elbow.
You didn’t fight it at first, as you’d gotten better about trusting him in moments like these. You’d improved your general reaction to bad situations and had managed to leave the shop without causing a scene. Still, old habits died hard, and in a second, you were pulling away and starting off even faster—further from him, to the beach.
Speed-walking at this point, like you needed to blow off some steam and couldn’t do that anywhere but near a body of water. Joel watched you scrub at one of your eyes and could sense something brewing inside you.
“He knew,” you spat, words harsh several strides ahead. “Motherfucker knew what he was going to do, so he took me to my favorite ice cream place from when I was a kid, talks to me like we’re—we’re good again, then fuckin’—”
You reached the boardwalk leading to the beach. You curtailed your speech just long enough to take a quick, ragged breath, and then you climbed the wooden steps.
“He’s a fucking asshole,” you muttered.
Joel could only see your profile, but at least you’d slowed down. You were maybe four feet ahead, and you had your mouth in a tight line, like words were getting difficult to say. He knew that look. He knew tears weren’t far away.
“And we’re—FUCK!”
At the last, you’d nearly made it all the way to the sand but had gotten your shoe stuck on a crooked part of a plank walking up, and you stumbled. You fell down, hands instinctively flying out to catch yourself.
Joel’s did the same.
As soon as you went down, it seemed, he was right there with you on the ground. If he’d acted a second faster, he might’ve been able to prevent you from hitting the sand at all. Unfortunately, you’d been a little too far ahead of him to make a catch possible. He dropped to his knees beside you, and his hands were reaching again. Grasping.
Holding, and not being nudged off this time. You cursed.
“Fucking sh—” you started, going in for your knee.
“Baby, hey—hey.”
Fear must’ve flashed in his eyes, because the second you met it, you were blinking hard—expression softening the slightest bit in spite of the pain probably shooting up your leg just then. You pulled your knee to your chest, but you let Joel hold it, too. You let out a labored breath.
“You OK? Lemme—” Joel brushed some sand off your leg. “—lemme see it, sweetheart. Just let me see, OK?”
His words were as soft and placating as he could manage it; it was silly, really, since a couple seconds’ inspection of your knee revealed you’d suffered no more than a minuscule scrape from your fall. Still, he leaned in.
And as soon as he reached down for your ankle, checking to make sure you hadn’t twisted it or anything in the process, he heard another sigh. It was softer.
A little more strangled, too, by the sound of it.
“We’re doing the same thing, aren’t we?”
Your voice was small. On hearing it, Joel’s hands stilled in place, and his gaze flitted up to yours. His brow furrowed
“What?”
“Lying,” you said, somehow even quieter. Frowning, but not on account of any pain. “Hiding. Just…just like him.”
Now it was Joel’s turn to soften his expression looking at you—he couldn’t help it. Your face was mottled with a mix of warring thoughts, from anger to fear to shame, and it made his chest hurt. He hated seeing you hurt.
“No. We ain’t like him.” He shook his head.
Your dad destroyed his marriage and upended your life for a love he should’ve fought to keep or left in the past.
You didn’t know that. Joel had only learned the truth the night before, and the story was fraught with so many other deeply personal things, he didn’t think it was his place to share it with you himself. You’d have to hear it from your father when you talked to him, and he knew that that would be soon. You’d already learned part of it.
“We ain’t them, sweetheart. Nothin’ even close to that.” And as he said it, his hand lifted to your cheek. He cupped the side of your face and thumbed at it gently.
You sniffled. You looked like you might jump into his arms and demand a hug, which Joel was more than happy to give, but then you stopped. You had to, shortly.
More footsteps down the way. They thundered fast and loud down the creaky, sunwashed stretch of boardwalk and came clambering to where you and Joel crouched.
Joel’s hand jerked back.
He didn’t want it like that, but he had no choice. Your father’s voice was booming overhead, concern laced in every word as he approached at a lightning-quick pace.
“Honey! Hon—fuck—are you alright?”
Then he was at your side. Reaching for you in that same, urgent way Joel had, only Joel was helping you up. The two of you shared a final look before you turned to him.
You were already waving your father off, “I’m fine, Dad.”
“Did you trip? What happened? Is your ankle alright?”
At least a half-dozen emotions were all flickering over his face at once, like the man couldn’t pick which feeling to stick to, but each one was born of fear, Joel could see.
As a matter of fact, Joel never saw his friend’s features betray such bone-chilling concern than when he happened to be worrying over you. It showed again.
Your father was fretting and fawning for no reason at all—no matter how insistent you were that you just tripped, that’s it, now lay off, Dad, please. It was clear that your admonitions fell on deaf ears, one right after the next. You were persistent, but you got that from him, and he wouldn’t let it go until he’d held you steady in his hands and checked your legs and feet and told you, sweetie, you could’ve hurt yourself. What were you thinkin’?
Running off like that was what he meant, surely.
Joel had to force his gaze away when he saw how earnest your father was on those last couple words. He was stooped a little, bent to match your height, and his eyes were glistening with a paternal apprehension like he’d never seen. It almost seemed too much. Overdone.
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
And he wasn’t talking about you taking a spill on the boardwalk anymore, suddenly. His expression softened.
True to your stubborn self—true to being his daughter—you just shook your head and sniffled once. Then you tried to nudge him away again, your movements wooden
“I don’t ca—”
“Can we talk?”
Another sniff. Another step away.
“I don’t wanna talk.” You sounded resolute.
Your dad was even more adamant: “Well, I wanna talk.”
And that made both you and Joel stiffen involuntarily. It wasn’t necessarily the words that he spoke but the way in which they were said; your father’s voice nearly broke.
“We need to talk, pumpkin.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.
Something tugged at Joel’s chest that felt like a blade. Your father straightened and cast a look around, eyes scanning the sunny, colorful scenery like he was thinking, and then he quickly reverted his focus to you.
Joel wasn’t sure if his friend’s gaze had missed him on purpose, or if there were something more beneath it.
He was paranoid.
Insane.
“Five minutes. Then I’m going home,” you said coldly.
Whether you meant the house on the beach or the one back in Austin was anyone’s guess. Frankly, Joel was only aware of his surroundings in the vaguest, dullest sense, and the rest of his body was buzzing. He couldn’t stop blinking, fearing what was coming next for you both
A breath got lodged in his throat and he almost choked when your father turned his way, at length. He coughed.
“Miller, you—”
Fuck, this was it. The end.
Your father paused to cough, too, though this time, it looked natural. He appeared to be clearing his throat.
“—mind giving us a minute? Shouldn’t be too long.”
Oh.
Oh.
“Sure thing, man.”
Shouldn’t be too long.
This was the last thought ringing through his skull as he turned to leave. He couldn’t bear to meet your look for longer than a second, for fear that your father might change his mind and suddenly out you both for fucking each other’s brains out these last three months. That would be horrific, and Joel wasn’t about to test his luck.
From what he could glean from your expression in the glimpse he got, you were feeling about the same as him.
Your voice was small—and growing more faint as he started to walk off from the way you two first came.
Down the boardwalk, haunting him all the way back:
“So what do we need to talk about, Dad?”
Your head hurt.
The talk ended up taking more than five minutes.
At the start of that conversation, you swore you’d tell your dad to fuck off and then head back to Austin before he could even utter the name ‘Helen,’ but here you were.
Staring blankly at a wall recalling every last minute detail of the exchange, hours later, and wondering what the fuck any of it meant. Freshly showered and splayed out over the front of a big, familiar frame and inhaling his scent. Laying with your head on his chest and your cheek growing hotter the longer it stayed in place.
You blinked and wanted to forget everything.
A hand stroked up and down your back, moving slowly.
“Your dad loves you, sweet pea. More’n anything.”
Joel murmured that into your hair, then kissed the crown of your head. Instead of giving you a good, warm feeling or making goosebumps break out across your skin, the gesture hardly registered. You could only stare harder at the wall beside the bed and recognize how numb you felt
“Even though I basically ruined his life,” you replied dully.
“Hey.”
Your head was nudged to turn up to Joel’s. Reluctantly, your chin came to rest on his chest, and at the same time, you felt two broad palms cup the sides of your face.
Joel’s eyes pierced you with a marked, solemn sincerity.
“Don’t say that,” he rasped.
“It’s true. I wrecked everything.”
“You didn’t wreck a single damn—”
“He doesn’t even know if I’m his daughter, Joel!”
Those words were spoken with an even harsher edge. Louder, like they needed to get out. You shifted a little.
“How the fuck am I not supposed to feel guilty when my being born was the only reason he chose to stay with my mom at all, and then it turns out, he might not even b—”
It was too ugly to say aloud. It was too foul, too shameful, too fucking gut-wrenching to think that your very existence was the reason for another’s unhappiness—and that that whole premise might’ve been built on a lie. Stupidly, you scrubbed at your cheek and pushed to sit, like the act and the new posturing might make the chances of you breaking down crying any less likely.
Joel sat up with you.
His arms wrapped around you, and you didn’t have the strength to push him off or tell him you were fine, really.
Shoulders sagging, you simply leaned in and buried your face in the crook of his neck. You let him hold you close.
“‘S’alright, sweet girl,” Joel cooed. Stroking your hair like he’d last done running his hand up and down your back. “He’s still your dad. You’ll always be his, no matter what.”
At that, the first crack in your exterior gave way.
You didn’t mean for it to happen, but a sob racked through you, and your body melted into Joel’s bigger one. Your numbness fled, and it left you feeling raw.
Needy.
Clinging to the old, heather gray shirt your boyfriend had on and hoping that your tears wouldn’t soak the material.
Carefully, Joel slid up the bed with you tucked snugly in his arms, and he leaned back into the headboard. He let you cry, probably because it felt appropriate, and also because he loved you more than words could express.
For some reason, that made you want to cry even harder.
Joel continued to stroke your hair and murmur sweet nothings in your ear, and the pit of unease in your stomach grew more and more painful as he did.
You fisted his shirt fully in one hand and wept. After some seconds or minutes passed, you could hardly decipher what had brought you to tears in the first place, but you knew what kept you there—what made you want to curl up in a ball and sob your eyes dry on the spot.
There were words sticking to your throat, begging to claw out, so in the next second, you ended up blurting:
“I don’t—I don’t wanna be like him, Joel.”
The sound was a little muffled against Joel’s neck, but it must’ve reached his ears all the same, because suddenly he was shifting the slightest bit and drawing back gently.
“Wh—”
“I don’t wanna lie like him. Keep…fucking things up.”
“Sweet pea, I promise you’re not—”
“I don’t wanna lose you.” And your voice was alarmingly steady, despite the tears you’d shed and the uncertainty you felt; you didn’t know how things would go with your dad, and neither did Joel. “I— I just love you so much.”
Hell, you might’ve heard his heart splinter at that.
You might’ve seen his throat work and his eyes glisten and the same feeling you’d expressed in words flood his features in a look—that he didn’t want to keep hiding this—but you also wouldn’t see it for long. Joel kissed you.
His lips crushed yours at first, the force of it so strong that it almost knocked you off balance. Sharp, gray stubble, parted lips, probing tongue, searching hands, and a rich, woodsy smell all overwhelmed you at once.
It wasn’t a question of if you kissed back but whether you could keep up, and you could feel it in every breath.
“I love you, baby,” Joel groaned against your lips, as if pained. “More than you know—I love you. I love you.”
This quiet refrain continued well into the kiss, as he laid you down and crawled over your frame. You melted beneath him. Your legs fastened themselves tightly about his hips, and you brought Joel in—welcoming him.
It wasn’t an altogether uncommon thing to be meeting each other with such urgency and need—in fact, these days, it seemed to be your favorite way to approach sex—but here, in your family beach house, on the brink of sharing something new and terrifying and unable to be walked back with your dad, you grew doubly restless. Your fingers threaded messily through his hair, and you tugged those soft, salt-and-pepper locks like your life depended on it. You opened your mouth wider and whimpered into the kiss; Joel ground himself into you.
“T—Tommy. And Maria?” you managed breathlessly, in between kisses and feeling Joel’s tongue explore every crevice of your mouth. Trying not to lose all your sense. You wanted to make sure the house was totally empty.
“Dinner. Probably—” And Joel had to stop himself just long enough to fight a chuckle, though a smirk remained. “Probably makin’ babies afterward, if I’d had to guess.”
“Yeah? That serious?”
“He plans on marryin’ her.”
“Never pegged him as the marrying kind.”
“Well, when you find the woman you want forever.”
As Joel said it, his gaze flitted from your lips to your eyes. You weren’t in a state to even attempt to decipher that look, so you didn’t. You leaned in and kissed him instead.
He tasted like wanting and something more. He moved his mouth over yours like his oxygen supply had come from your lips and tongue, and the rest of him was captive to your every other touch. You moved, and he followed. When you drew back to try and catch your breath, Joel swallowed and watched you just as closely.
“Dad should be out a few more hours,” you added, soft.
Joel didn’t speak, though his gaze trailed your body as you started peeling off clothes, beginning with your top.
He undressed quicker despite not being able to take his eyes off your body the whole time, and you felt need burrow even deeper inside you. The room got warmer.
The two of you were stripped down in a matter of seconds, and still, the temperatures seemed only to have increased and left you basking in a scorching heat. There was familiarity and ease, having done this so many times before, but nothing could ever really prepare you for when Joel spread your legs and slotted himself between them. There was his bare skin on yours, absurd amounts of warmth, and your head resting gently on a pillow, peering up at the man with wide and excited eyes.
Joel’s hand reached between your thighs, and your expression only brightened with the movement of it.
You canted your hips upward at just the right moment.
Joel sucked in a breath. Blinked hard, as if remembering.
“Honey…” His voice tapered off with just one, lone word.
You were glad he hadn’t completely forgotten, and you didn’t miss the way his length twitched against your hip. He liked what he felt, evidently. His fingertips had grazed the little jewel notched into your back entrance, and he was reminded, in no uncertain terms, that you wanted it.
You wanted him there.
Needed him, you hoped he knew.
Joel already had the pad of his thumb pressed up against it, and he was starting to stroke it. Considering.
“Want me to…keep this in while I fuck her?” He lifted his knuckles to brush the seam of your cunt—the ‘her’ in question, obviously—and when he did that, a shudder coursed through you. Your walls clenched around nothing, and more warmth trickled out of you.
All but blinded with desire, you still managed to get out:
“No. Want you to fuck me in there, Joel. Please.”
It was a borderline obscene request, but you didn’t care. He knew this was what you’d been wanting him to do, and so long as he was on board, you hoped it would happen. You ached to feel his cock someplace new. Claim you in a way he hadn’t gotten to do before.
When it seemed a warning might not be far from Joel’s tongue, you rejoined with equal warmth, even needier.
Lifting your hips again and digging your heels into the soft, white comforter beneath, saying, ‘Daddy, please.’
Joel was as good as sold hearing that, if you’d had to guess, but you went even further to seal the deal for yourself. Reaching down and touching the plug, pulling on it, gently, all while your gaze remained plastered on his. A soft whimper slipped past your lips when you did.
“Help me get it out, Joel. Wanna feel you—”
“Shit,” Joel panted. Shortly gritting his teeth.
At a glance, it seemed the man was primed to drop face-level with where you were currently playing with yourself. Maybe lick a stripe up your wet, aching slit and then tease the toy out with his fingers just like you wanted.
To your shock and dismay, Joel stood up from the bed.
Your body lurched with confusion at first; another whine might’ve escaped. Your mind was a wild and wanton place in that moment, filled to the brim with ideas of your father’s best friend having you any way he wanted. The thought that he might be planning to tease you now, or leave you hanging in this terrible, tireless deprivation altogether, was almost more than you could bear. You pushed to sit, eyes widening and lips about to protest.
Joel nudged you back down.
He turned and opened the top drawer of the nightstand.
Then, before another moment could clue you into what was going on or what Joel might be trying to do with the item he’d pulled out, you felt it: a hum between your legs.
A mechanical buzz and a palm pressing to your hip.
Joel ducked his head just in time to catch your lips in a kiss, soaking up the startled sound that had been quick to claw out. You couldn’t help it, of course—whenever Joel took a vibrator to your clit, you were putty under him
Joel also knew you loved the feeling, so he kept it there.
He kept his mouth pressed to yours through the initial shock of it, swallowing a moan or two, but then, almost as quick as he’d stunned you with the buzzing vibration, he pulled back. He waited until your eyes re-focused and your lips were trembling lightly, dying to whimper or groan or tell him, as best you could, that you needed him to push inside you, now, now, now, before he spoke.
“She’s already drippin’ for me, baby,” Joel said, near- mournful. Rolling the vibrator between forefinger and thumb and causing a shockwave of pleasure to course through you. Teasing up and down the slick, puffy seam. “So wet and needy, wantin’ to get stuffed full’a me. Be a real shame if I neglected my sweet girl now, wouldn’t it?”
It was true, your cunt needed him just as badly, and your walls were fluttering and aching with every twist of the vibrator’s tip on your sensitive little bundle of nerves.
Still, when Joel flipped you, sliding a pillow under your hips, you felt that urge for something more. Your back arched mindlessly, and you clutched the sheets tighter.
“Just—just give her a kiss,” you stuttered into the bed.
“Just a kiss?” Joel repeated, hands gripping your hips and lifting you toward him. If you’d had to guess, his face was hovering somewhere close, wearing a conceited grin
Then you knew that it was; his lips connected with your throbbing, glistening folds from behind, and his hold tightened. Sharp stubble—all mostly silver—tickled your thighs, and after that, a soft wet pop graced your ears.
Then a chuckle.
“How ‘bout a couple more?” he drawled out, teasing.
“Just fuck me, please.” You wriggled helplessly.
And you thought, as needy and visibly aroused as you were, Joel might oblige. He could extract that little jewel without issue, slick himself up with lube and plunge in. Simple as that. You arched your back again, higher now, and you begged him with every movement, every breath you were drawing in and exhaling, that you wanted this.
Joel kissed you again.
He pressed his lips to that shiny, wet place and sank in. Spread your cheeks with his hands, parted your folds with his tongue, and mapped the whole, weeping expanse of your cunt with that one, curious muscle.
Joel had gone down on you plenty of times before and every instance, without fail, had left you a writhing, whimpering mess—sometimes in a puddle of your making—but this was different. The feeling was new.
This sweet, gentle man was eating you from the back, and every muscle in your body was starting to contract.
Chin pressed firmly to the pillow and eyes staring, unblinking, at the headboard, you stuttered again:
“P—Please fuck me, Joel. Fuck me anywhere.”
“Anywhere?”
“Yes.”
“In the ass?”
At the same time, Joel pressed the still-buzzing vibrator to your clit again and started licking into your entrance.
“Yes!” you cried, fingers twisting the covers and squeezing. “Please—please fuck my ass, daddy.”
You sincerely hoped Tommy and Maria wouldn’t be home at all tonight. If your dad came home, well…you might cry
You were about to sob, feeling Joel’s tongue push an inch inside your needy cunt and start stroking gently.
“I—” Joel had to pull back after just a few licks to reply. “Can’t fuck you there til you’re good an’ ready, baby. Gonna hurt you if I don’t. ‘S’alot to fit. Needs prep.”
Fuck prep.
“I don’t care if it hurts,” you huffed defiantly.
Just as you started to curve your spine higher, a wordless invitation for him to go ahead and try it, please, a palm came to rest on the small of your back, gently.
“Sweet pea, I don’t wanna hurt you.”
Those words from Joel sounded serious. You turned your head to the side, eyes catching the soft brown irises awaiting you from behind, and you understood it.
You understood him, now leaning back on his heels.
This was a brand new frontier for you both. Not only being here, doing this, but preparing for something else. For a moment, you were transported back to your old troubles from before, and neither of you needed to articulate in words just what that was going to be, as it hung in the air between you with every breath, presently.
It felt like losing your virginity. Taking a new step. Although you knew that nothing would fundamentally change in what you and Joel had, it was still frightening. You turned around to find Joel still on his knees, thinking
Worrying what your father might say to him, probably.
“Come here,” you said, legs spreading wider.
You had ample support in the wall of pillows and cushions behind you, so when Joel crawled eagerly, and draped his body completely over you, you could hold him without struggling too much. You pulled him even closer.
And, with his head on your chest and your fingers combing affectionately through the black and gray strands, you did what felt most normal in the moment.
You told him you loved him, just like he’d told you before.
Joel’s body responded in kind, the way it always did.
It wasn’t lost on you that neither you nor Joel had ever been in a relationship serious enough to use those words, so whenever you said them now, they felt weightier. Particularly after spending so long trying to suppress those feelings, it seemed like you couldn’t get enough. Joel couldn’t control how much it affected him.
For one thing, he was hard as steel against your leg.
For another, his grip tightened protectively over your hip.
Instead of saying ‘I love you’ back immediately, he sat up and tilted his head to meet your gaze. Propped himself up on an elbow and adjusted his body between your legs.
Joel was warm. Broad. Muscular and thick through every inch of his frame, and his length was pulsing gently against your lower belly. His tip was probably leaking.
“Say that again.” It was an order, but nothing harsh.
You knew he was desperate to hear you, not merely asking you to obey, and, shortly, his hand lowered to his cock. He fisted it in a suffocating grip and squeezed it.
“Go on, sweet pea.”
“I love you, Joel.”
Then a tug on your shiny blue jewel. With his free hand, Joel gave it a pull, and he watched you squirm a little.
Still fisting his cock and starting to stroke, he said:
“Again.”
A beat. Another soft tug.
“Push when I pull on it, OK, baby?”
You nodded, not wanting to waste a second.
“OK. Joel…I-I love you so mu—oh.”
You were breathing in through your nose, bearing down like Joel had told you, and then, all at once, you felt a pop
“Don’t move, sweetheart. It’s OK.”
‘S’alright, darlin’, it’s just gonna feel a little different now, rang clear as anything through your ears, and you had to suck in a breath. Damn clueless and stupid as you felt, you hadn’t realized it would be so…weird coming out
Maybe it was best if you took this slow, like Joel said.
Before any real sting could settle in, though, something sticky and cool was being smeared between your legs.
You looked down and saw Joel using his thumb to stroke the raw, slightly stretched spot and soothe the muscle. His touch was tender and easy. Your heels dug a little deeper in the bed, there on either side of Joel’s body, and for a moment, you felt strangely, sorely exposed.
You were, after all, but that was what you wanted, right?
Another sharp breath rattled your chest—Joel’s thumb had notched inside, no deeper than a quarter-inch—and your feet slid reflexively again. Your legs tried to clamp.
Joel kept you open to him, thumb working in circles. Then, likely sensing your discomfort, he scooted closer.
His gaze flickered to find yours, and his look was soft.
“One word and we stop,” he said. “You got it?”
That voice was a little stern, trying to evoke some sense of austerity, but it was an altogether kind tone anyway—you knew Joel just wanted you to be completely safe.
You nodded.
Joel smiled.
“Now tell me again,” he murmured, eyes shining.
You’d nearly forgotten what the two of you had been doing just a few moments ago, but then it hit you. At the same time, while you opened your mouth to speak, one thick, lubricated finger replaced the thumb pressing in.
Joel’s index teased a little, then sank in an inch.
He withdrew, before plunging it back in gently.
Your muscles instinctively contracted around him, and while you did, as if from another reflex, you rushed out:
“I love you, Joel.”
And you did.
The man was eyeing you hungrily, but still with a reverence and a respect all the same. It pained him not to speak those three words back, but he was refraining from saying it so he could focus on working you open. He knew that as long as the anticipation was building, while you were aching to have more of him and growing more needy each second, he’d have an easier time at it.
Instead of talking immediately, he slid a pillow under your hips like he did before and drew close enough to where he could lay down beside you. He got more lube. He plumbed his finger in delicately, watching your face for any sign of discomfort or pain, and when you gradually relaxed into it, he grabbed the bottle of lubricant again.
Wet and slippery as everything was, you still couldn’t help but wince when Joel added a finger—his were thick.
No sooner had your features screwed up than Joel was kissing the top of your head, halting the motion of his digits momentarily, and then grabbing more lube. Again.
“This OK?” he murmured, coating his two fingers.
“I—I think. It’s just…tight,” you answered quietly.
Joel kissed you again, this time on your temple, and his index and middle fingers moved as slow as anything to work your entrance a little more. He was drenching it.
Lathering it with as much slick, artificial help as he could
“I know it’s hard, but try to relax. It’ll feel better that way.”
Joel had a perfect voice for coaching. He wasn’t pushy or gruff, agitated or in a hurry to get you someplace you weren’t quite ready to go. He let your body guide his touch, and he didn’t push for a third finger until you’d visibly gotten your bearings. When you were leaning in.
It started to feel good.
The push, the strain, the stretch. Joel’s never-ending words of encouragement as you fit him inside this narrow and unfamiliar channel. He kissed you more. Groaned into your skin. Said you were doing so fuckin’ good for him, and he couldn’t wait to make you feel better with his cock. You believed him. You wanted it.
And when, after several minutes, a third finger did make its way inside you and you really felt a stretch, you nearly bit clean through your bottom lip trying to stifle the moan that pushed out of your throat. Your head fell to Joel’s shoulder, and your breaths picked up a little more.
You weren’t even really aware when you said it, but then it came out of you all at once, face buried in Joel’s neck:
“Y-Y-You love me, too, right?”
It sounded uncharacteristically meek and almost pitiful to your ears—of course you knew he loved you, why ask?
But before you could chastise yourself, or even think twice about having said it, a warmth enveloped you.
Joel enveloped you, his free arm snaking down your side.
The big, muscular, protective and tender-hearted man with your pleasure in his hands nudged your cheek softly.
He wanted you to look up at him.
And when you did, your worries trickled away.
Or, at the very least, they took a backseat for the time being; Joel was meeting your gaze with the single most kind and loving look he might’ve ever imparted. Mixed in that expression was a tincture of guilt, you could see, like he was sorry not to have made this clearer to you sooner.
He blinked once, then resumed:
“As long as I live, sweet pea.”
And if that wasn’t enough, or else because he wanted to communicate it on your terms, with your needs in mind:
“As long as you’ll have me, and then some. I’m all yours.”
If three of Joel Miller’s fingers weren’t currently buried to the hilt inside you and stretching you wide open for him, you might’ve jumped the man. Hugged him. Squeezed him to your body as tight as you possibly could and assured him that you were his as much as he was yours and you’d never get tired of this, ever, you would have done that. Your eyes likely said as much, growing glossy.
Feeling a lump in your throat, you had only to turn into Joel’s body and try to get the words out, soft and hoarse.
“I love you, Joel. So much.”
Moving closer, though your bodies were practically flush with each other—but Joel didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, a grin just graced his features as he peered down at you. He pushed his nose to yours, and you grinned back.
“I love you more,” he said, not peeling his eyes away.
Before you could even try to reply, ‘Well, I love you most’ like some silly, lovesick puppy, Joel had you beat. He slipped his fingers out carefully from you and shifted in bed, to then overtake your frame and hover above it.
He dropped a kiss on your head, still smiling like an idiot.
“And I’ll love you most, ‘til my lungs give out, alright?”
“You better not be lyin’ to me.” You said it teasingly.
And Joel was just about to answer for himself when the sound of the front door swinging open downstairs interrupted you both. Noisy footsteps followed after, and in a second, you recognized the clamor as belonging to Joel’s brother and his girlfriend. Both were laughing.
The weight of Joel’s body pressed even heavier to yours.
He wasn’t stiff, for once, likely because you didn’t have to hide from those two anymore. And he’d locked the door.
“I ain’t lyin’, baby, swear on my life…” he went on softly.
Now his lips were at your ear, grazing your cheek, lowering toward the hinge of your jaw at a maddening pace. He didn’t seem to pay it any mind when Tommy and Maria went bounding up the stairs and retired directly into the bedroom next to his; he was busy.
You’d almost forgotten you were about to fuck.
With any luck, the couple next door wouldn’t be doing anything like it—or at least keeping their activities quiet.
“Get ready to hear some bullshit,” Joel supplied shortly. His face was buried in your neck, as if annoyed, but you could feel his smirk. “Probably makin’ babies right n—”
“So are we,” you hissed indignantly.
“Last I checked that can’t happen in your ass, sweeth—”
“Joel Miller.”
Technically, he was right.
“Less talking, more fucking, OK?” you added swiftly.
“Yes ma’am.”
Then he did.
It took more than a couple seconds for the levity and amusement of the moment to die down between you, but eventually, you both settled down. You got calmer.
You were reminded that the insides of your thighs and cheeks were completely smeared with lubrication, your walls were fairly well-stretched, and you were ready for it.
You were ready for Joel, and Joel was ready for you—or as close as he could possibly get while checking in to make sure that you really wanted to do this. He angled his cock and brushed the tip through your slick-drenched folds. Above you, his stomach muscles clenched, and you couldn’t help but admire the way his thick, soft middle looked in the glow of the lamplight. How the smooth and veiny member jutting out from a shock of dark curls looked absolutely delectable. Your bodies were almost connected, but not quite. He was hovering.
Gently, your legs beckoned Joel in. They spread wider.
Not even really knowing what you were doing or how you planned to fit all of this man from root to tip inside you, your gaze focused on the place Joel was lowering to.
The head of his cock nudged that tiny ring of muscles, and you sucked in a startled breath. You hadn’t meant to.
Next door, you could hear the Star Wars theme song—Tommy and Maria must’ve been watching the new Mandalorian movie, curled up snug in bed together.
Seeing your face, Joel hesitated. “Baby, we don’t hav—”
“I want to,” you said, breathlessly. Then you looked up. “Want you to have every part of me, even if…if it hurts.”
Joel didn’t seem too crazy about that last part, and he blinked back slowly. He braced a hand beside you on the pillow and used the other to grasp the base of his cock.
He leaned down to kiss your forehead again.
“I ain’t gonna hurt you,” he said softly.
You knew it wouldn’t be the easiest to keep that promise—at a minimum, discomfort seemed almost a given—but of course, Joel managed it remarkably. It was like he understood your body better than you ever had yourself.
The first push of his hips got him no more than half an inch, but the feeling was fine. He’d applied more lube, moved as slow as he possibly could, and grabbed your toy, which had been tossed to the side on the bed. He turned it back on, and, while notching in the head of his bare, slippery cock, he pressed it to your clit. You jolted more than a little at the buzzing—and you focused on it.
You weren’t even thinking of the stretch, as the sensation blended with the pleasurable vibrations between your legs, and you visibly relaxed. Your muscles softened.
Thanks to that, Joel was able to glide in another half inch, and his tip fit snugly inside you. It didn’t hurt.
In fact, it actually felt pretty…nice.
Tight.
Strange.
But also very, very right. Like you’d unlocked some secret bliss, and Joel was guiding you through it.
The buzzing struck you in just the right spot, and that only amplified the feeling as Joel pushed even further.
“See?” he murmured, voice the slightest bit strained. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya, sweet pea. Lean into that feeling.”
Another minuscule slide, another tight smile from Joel.
He was really trying not to go too fast, or cause pain.
“Just…relax f’me. Let me in,” he coaxed you gently.
You tried. And it almost felt like you were losing your virginity all over again, so odd and unfamiliar and new was this pushing, pulling, contracting, and tightening, the last of which couldn’t seem to have been helped.
You were giving him something in a way, though an uncharted physical boundary wasn’t all that it was.
Joel met your gaze, and he clearly felt it, too.
“I love you,” he said, nose brushing yours.
I love you, I love you, I love you, he seemed to say with every strange, painstaking inch. You accepted him, and you drew in a labored breath, lips parting to say it back.
“I lo—oh fuck.” Your words tapered off in a moan.
Joel was down to the hilt, completely sheathed.
Your muscles clenched one more time, and—
“Damn. Oh, shit. Fuck. Fuck, I-I love you.”
Your arms snaked around Joel’s neck, and you held on tight. You gripped him even tighter below, and your eyes trailed down, momentarily, to see how he’d made this fit.
Joel chuckled.
“Like how we look?”
“I love it,” you panted back. “I love having you here.”
And really, you’d never seen a sight more mind-numbing—whenever Joel was inside, balls deep and filling you up to the brim, you got lightheaded just watching him—and knowing how close you were, physically and emotionally, made it even better. Joel looked down with you and stroked the back of your neck. He helped tilt your head.
“Where?” he said. Teasing. “Where’s daddy, baby?”
And shit was he smug. Handsome as anything.
You knew just as well as him what kind of effect your words would have when next you told him, tone soft:
“In my ass. Feels—feels so good, daddy.”
Acknowledging the fact alone was enough to make your breath hitch, and Joel’s cock to twitch inside you as he let out a groan. He drew back, just an inch, and both of you grunted with the friction. You clung tighter to Joel.
“Fuck me now,” you begged him. “Please, daddy.”
Maybe you weren’t ready. Maybe you were still getting accustomed to the stretch and the sting and the weight of Joel Miller’s broad, warm body pressing into you then, but at that moment, you didn’t care for perfect timing. You didn’t need it to be ‘right’—you just wanted Joel a panting, groaning mess above you while he worked himself in and out of you, repeatedly. You wanted more.
“Gonna cum if I move too fast,” Joel confessed, sheepish
“That’s alright. I’m close, too.” And it was the truth.
“Yeah? Y’like gettin’ this ass fucked that much?”
Of course you did. Clearly, you liked it a lot.
You nodded your head, and you held onto Joel’s gaze. He didn’t waste another second drawing out, almost to the tip, then plunging back in. And again, again, and again.
You couldn’t lie—it burned a little. It felt like Joel’s girth was searing a hole inside you, stretching you tight and leaving you sore, over and over and over with his thrusts.
Still, you liked it.
You loved the pain in a way that wasn’t really hurtful—you just enjoyed how Joel’s cock was invading you, breaking you in and making you his like nobody had.
And Joel liked it, too. His movements seemed to have taken on a more possessive edge as he fucked you into the mattress, bed shaking with every punch of his hips.
“This all mine?” he mumbled against your lips, panting.
Another stroke. Another crash of wood to the wall.
“All yours,” you repeated back. Voice cracking.
Your legs were wound tight around Joel’s lower half, and true to how you two normally had sex, the eye contact was constant. Your faces were inches apart, and Joel’s expression was strained. He swallowed, watching you.
“Ain’t—ain’t nobody else for me but you, baby,” he said, while his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and a fine dusting of gray stubble shifted with it. Muscles tensed.
You knew he wanted to say more. Then a door opened.
Thank fuck it wasn’t yours.
Still, you jumped.
You and Joel froze in place as the sound of footsteps echoed in the room directly beside yours—not Tommy and Maria’s, but your father’s bedroom on the other side. Time seemed to speed up and slow at once, and then the door that had opened in the other room slammed closed.
Through the wall, you could hear your dad groan.
Joel’s eyes met yours, and he blinked once.
‘Well…fuck’ that look seemed to say.
You hadn’t been expecting your father back for another hour at least. This, paired with the fact that the man was probably buzzed from whatever outing he’d taken with Helen and keen to stay up, made you nervous. Of course, you and Joel had been banging in secret for ages, but…
“Keep goin’.” It tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop it. Your heels dug deeper where they were planted, and the once-sharp stinging between your legs had ebbed to something more like a dull, tender throb.
Joel’s eyes shone above you.
Then, like he always loved saying: “Yes ma’am.”
He fucked you softer this time—most likely to keep the headboard from screaming—but with as much purpose. His thrusts succeeded at a steady rhythm, and his chest pressed closer to yours; his body weight draped over you
Your ankles locked behind his back, and you drew him even nearer, not wanting to miss one moment of this.
At the same time, a bed frame squeaked with someone’s weight dropping onto it. Again, it wasn’t your bed at all.
It was your dad’s.
He was in the room next door, and of course, his king-sized bed was pressed directly against the wall where Joel’s was positioned on the other side. Your father budged an inch, and you could hear it clear as day.
The walls were paper thin. What if that meant—
“Gotta be quiet,” Joel said through his teeth.
You were both so close to the edge that you were a mess of trembling limbs on the bed; Joel was panting, sweating, telling you over and over again how good you felt, how perfect you fit him, how nice it was going to be to feel you squeezing around him soon, and would you be able to control those pretty moans when you came?
“Gonna scream and let him hear? Have dear old dad come bargin’ in, see what I’m doin’ to his precious girl?”
Oh, fuck.
It was one of the worst things to imagine, you both knew. The thought of your dad catching you in the act, after everything you and Joel had done to keep this under wraps, well…it was nothing short of nightmare fuel.
As a matter of fact, it was horrifying.
It also pushed you both to the brink of climax, trying harder than anything to keep your sounds confined to strangled breaths, your movements to the quickest, quietest bursts, and your words no louder than whispers.
“What? Like finishing in my ass?” you taunted him, low.
Joel groaned. He probably shouldn’t have.
“Gonna let me, sweet pea?”
“Yes, daddy.”
Those two little words were all it took, for either of you.
It seemed like the sound of it was all you needed to hit your peak, and before you knew it, a coil was coming undone; a dam was breaking, and suddenly, shortly, a series of pulses and a rush of hot blood in your head was all you could feel. And then a wetness, spreading deep.
Shooting into the furthest recesses of your body while you fell apart beneath him, Joel’s heat was scorching and soft. It flooded your insides in thick, white ropes.
You wanted to scream with how good it felt. Joel’s expression above you was suffused with just as much pleasure—and pain, trying to contain it—and at the same time tiny dots started to flood your vision, the man’s words were a quiet, constant refrain for almost all of it.
“I love you, darlin’. Always, always gonna—”
“—love you,” you finished for him. “I love you, Joel.”
You might’ve said it fifteen times that night, and it still didn’t feel like it was enough. Your bodies were damp with sweat pressed together, and Joel’s eyes were flitting between yours, searching. In between breaths and lightly peppered kisses, you could tell that he was thinking hard.
You could hear your father cough in the next room over.
There was no better time to say it. As sore and satisfied as you were, as soft as Joel’s lips were grazing yours to soothe them, and as terrified as you both were for what was to come soon enough, the words just tumbled out.
“I’m ready to tell him, Joel,” you whispered.
A beat passed, and Joel blinked.
Then, slowly, a smile crept in.
“Y’mean it, sweetheart?”
“I mean it. Tomorrow.”
Mark never claimed to be a good father.
In fact, from the first moment he held you in his arms, on the day that you were born, he was almost certain he’d be the shittiest dad there ever was—holding a baby so perfect and sweet, how could he possibly deserve you?
He didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t, and still, he’d decided just as fast that that didn’t matter, because he would be trying his damn hardest to act like the kind of father you needed to have. You were his entire world, and he’d told you as much all throughout your childhood and beyond.
He should’ve seen Joel coming a mile away.
He hadn’t wanted to believe it the first time.
It might’ve been in a glance he’d caught this fall when Joel thought he wasn’t looking—watching you, and smiling so big that his cheeks probably hurt him a little after—and then the sound of his laughter around you.
It had been easy to chalk it up to superficial attraction, seeing as you were a beautiful young woman. Mark told himself that those kinds of feelings always faded in time.
Then they didn’t.
Mark could say your name aloud once, and you’d think someone had just told Joel he’d won the lottery; that was how his eyes would always light up. Of course, the man would quickly try and snuff it out the second his expression was set ablaze, but Mark caught it.
It might last an instant or five, but he always caught it.
Joel hadn’t batted an eye at the bachelorettes practically throwing themselves at him at the bar the other night. Hadn’t cast a look their way or even attempted to entertain their antics, all while nursing a drink and looking mad as shit. Mark had teased him. Told him he oughta get laid, chase a little tail—put himself out there.
Probably without meaning to, his best friend had given him a look like he was out of his fucking mind to say it.
It was in that moment that Mark realized he had a much bigger problem on his hands than the one he’d expected.
Joel didn’t just have a crush.
He was almost certainly infatuated.
What was worse, it wasn’t just attraction that had him.
What caused Joel’s face to flush each time your name was mentioned, his expression to flare with indignation at the mere idea of being with someone else, and his eyes to nearly pop out of his skull when Mark told him that Tommy might be his daughter’s biological father—complete bullshit, by the way—was what assured him beyond a shadow of a doubt that Joel Miller was guilty.
Mark had invited him down to the beach to confront him.
Then you’d taken a spill yesterday, and plans changed.
What was originally meant to be a showdown with Joel ended up being a heart-to-heart with you, telling the whole ugly truth about his relationship with your mother, Helen, and the very slight possibility that he wasn’t your father. Before that, though, Joel had rushed to your aid.
Out on the boardwalk, in the middle of a bright and sunny day, as if Mark needed another flashing neon sign telling him, ‘Your best friend is head over heels for your daughter,’ he found the two of you together: Joel crouched beside you, his eyes scanning you in a panic.
That look wasn’t far off from the one Mark had been wearing himself. It made him wonder even worse things.
Was he—
No, he couldn’t.
He didn’t even know you like that.
It couldn’t be that his daughter had reciprocated anyway.
You were a good girl, and there wasn’t a chance in a million years you had the faintest inkling about any of this nonsense—of that much, your father was certain.
Now, strolling down to the same beach in the same clothes he’d had on yesterday because he hadn’t been able to sleep, Mark was deep in thought. It was 7 A.M.
The sun had just begun its ascent in a sky painted tangerine and pink, and the breeze on his skin was soft.
Calming.
Mark knew he’d have to have one of the most soul-draining conversations that day, telling his best friend that his daughter was completely, unequivocally off-limits, and that he never stood a chance with her, ever, and still, he tried to stay optimistic. Tried telling himself that nothing too bad could happen in a place this pretty.
Idly, he scanned the horizon. His eyes roamed everyplace they could, watching the waves make their way to the shore and lap at the sand every other second, gently.
Nothing too bad.
Nothing too terrible.
Nothing a simple, straightforward conversation couldn’t be able to fix, and then things would go back to normal.
Mark’s gaze drifted to the shore. A couple stood at the water’s edge, huddled together, and presently, he took a sip from his travel mug. The coffee’s heat soothed him.
One day, his daughter would find someone her own age.
Someday, Mark hoped, Joel would find his person, too.
His attention shifted from directly in front of him to the tumbler in his hand, and only vaguely was he aware of some far-distant splashing. He read what his mug said.
Emblazoned on the side, in letters a bright yellow shade:
WORLD’S
BEST
DADDY
You’d gotten him that in first or second grade for Father’s Day, if he was remembering correctly. Mark smiled at the memory, recalling how pleased you’d looked handing it over to him. Two gaping holes between your front teeth, grinning like he was the single most important person in the world and your hero, for life.
He’d keep trying to be that guy for you.
No matter what happened, he always would.
Just as old memories began to fade, his gaze lifted.
Still smiling, still reminiscing and trying his best not to worry too much about what was in store for him that day, Mark fixed his focus on the beach out front, and to the happy, laughing couple now chasing each other down it.
The girl stumbled; the guy snapped her up in his arms.
“Daddy, stop!” the former shrieked, giggling.
Then Mark’s face drained of all its blood.
“Daddy, pleeeeease!” you begged for mercy.
There wasn’t a chance you were getting out of this.
You’d defaulted to using your most cloying, affectionate voice with Joel in the hopes of making it out of his grip and not ending up in the ocean, but that seemed unlikely
Impossible, really, as Joel squeezed you tighter to his chest and started stalking toward the water’s edge where waves were hitting the sand and your worst fears were being realized. You squirmed harder in his arms and kicked your feet like you were being dragged to the chair.
“You asked for this, sweet pea,” Joel chuckled softly.
In point of fact, you had. You’d asked him to take you swimming at 7 A.M., just after the sun had started to rise, but on the journey over, you’d changed your mind.
It was chilly as shit, and the water looked uninviting.
You’d thought a quick dip—possibly naked—could’ve been a fun little sidebar in an otherwise nerve-wracking day for you and Joel, but now you just wanted to be back in bed. Under the covers, kissing each other, grinning like two lovesick fools as you planned for the future, maybe…
“Let me go!” you wheezed. “I’ll—I’ll do anything.”
Joel had just made it into the water up to his knees. He was cradling you in his arms, smiling as he peered down.
“Anything?” he repeated.
“Anything!”
In a moment when some dirtier thoughts might’ve been starting to take shape in Joel’s mind, you decided to capitalize on the opportunity: you jumped up. Out.
While Joel was momentarily distracted, you got away from his hold and went stumbling toward the water. Narrowly, you kept your body upright and grinned.
Then, like a crazy person, you dropped to your knees.
It was meant to be a joke, obviously—waves rushing almost to your hips at this depth and a surge of murky, ice-cold ocean water all but chilling you down to the bone—and Joel laughed. He tried not to trip when you yanked him by the swim trunks and tugged his groin closer to your face, and then you were going to stand.
You were freezing your ass off, but you couldn’t resist giving Joel one, teasing wink as you looked up at him.
“I’ll suck your dick right here, real quick, if you—”
“MILLER!”
One word pierced the cool, windy climate like a blade.
What was once quiet and easy all at once became a cacophony in a single sound—your head jerked to it.
Your hands and feet flailed to get you standing back up.
Joel almost fell backward trying to make some space from where you’d just been kneeling in front of him, pretending to blow him at the worst possible moment.
You hadn’t seen it at the time, but now you did.
Your dad was standing on the shoreline, aghast.
No more than ten feet away on the hard-packed sand and staring on in horror, he remained there, motionless. While you regained your bearings and Joel shifted on his feet, probably trying to hide the boner poking up through his swim trunks, it seemed as if your father would never speak. He was so still, eyes wide and jaw hanging slack.
Then the scene changed faster than you could blink.
Your father was a blur of blue and gray, still wearing the jeans and t-shirt he had on the day before, and Joel was stationary. Shirtless. Entirely unprepared for when the former sped forward and, like something out of a nightmare, went for his neck with one, hard hit.
A stainless steel tumbler in the other hand made for an easy weapon; you recognized the shape of it immediately
Just as that travel mug struck the side of Joel’s skull and gave an audible crack, you saw the words fly by in a haze
WORLD’S
BEST
DADDY
DADDY
DADDY
“DADDY!” you screeched as the old, weathered steel came down on Joel’s head a fourth time, unforgiving.
Joel was cowered in the water on his hands and knees, having been knocked off balance with the third full hit, but he wasn’t moving away. Wasn’t fighting his assailant.
As a wave rolled over his frame and soaked his back and shoulders, you saw him lift a hand, and it was trembling.
Not venturing to fend off the blows to his face but rather making a plea of a kind, Joel tilted his head to his friend.
The shock that had had you paralyzed up until that point snapped then. Before you knew what you were doing, you were trudging over in the water, motions graceless.
Your father raised the mug again, and your vision blurred.
You didn’t sound like yourself, screaming: “Stop! Stop!”
The words hardly felt like yours at all, or seemed to have been heard. Your dad did drop the tumbler, but only to yank Joel up by the back of his head and stand over him, threading fingers through wet locks of salt-and-pepper and pulling hard. You saw Joel wince, and at the same time, you realized you were seeing his face on full display
Still crouched down in that frigid ocean, face no higher than a half-foot over the water’s surface, Joel was forced to turn his head to your dad, and the whole left side of it was streaked with blood. Saltwater splashed over his face and seemingly blinded him. The mug must’ve struck Joel right near the temple and torn the skin, because the whole length of his cheek was bleeding.
His head was hardly up for a moment before it was shoved back down, under the water, with brutal force.
This time, you grabbed your dad. Sank nails into his arm.
“Daddy, please. Please don’t hurt him, pl—” you started.
“My fucking daughter?!” your father roared over you.
Joel’s head might’ve been under for a second before it was jerked back up, and you saw him spitting up water.
Your dad was asking a question. It came again.
“My fucking daughter, you fucking—”
And the last part cut out, swiftly.
Joel’s head went under again, and simultaneously, you shoved as hard as you could to get your father off of him.
For a second, you did.
Joel’s head was released, and he resurfaced.
Your father took a hard breath and gritted his teeth.
And, just when you thought he might be reconsidering, or else slowing his attack, he went right back. He lunged for Joel and forced him under the water again, and every nerve-ending in your body seized with fear. Instincts kicked in, and you were about to reach over toward your father in a more demanding push. Maybe yank his shirt, shove him hard, tell him this isn’t Joel’s fault, let him—
“Go,” your dad snarled, pulling Joel back again. “Tell me.”
You expected another hit; maybe a kick to the head.
Instead, your father stunned you then, shouting:
“Are—are you fuckin’ in love with her, Joel?!”
It should’ve been low. Harsh. Threatening. And it was all those things, but underneath it, for the first time, you heard hurt commingled with it. Your dad’s grip tightened in the hair at the nape of Joel’s neck, and he bent down closer. He brought his face within a foot of his friend’s.
Joel, for the first time since he’d been hit, didn’t hesitate.
“I love her.”
As fast as he’d asked, your father kneed him in the face.
Joel’s head jerked back with the force, and at the same time, blood spurted from both nostrils. He blinked hard.
You wanted to strike the man standing over him even harder, and presently, you tried. You stepped up to your dad, about to take hold of his arm and yank it back, when suddenly, sharply, he turned to you. His eyes were ablaze
“And you?” he hissed.
He grabbed Joel again.
You didn’t have to think.
“I love him, daddy, I love him.”
Your father shoved Joel under a fourth time, as if punishing him for your response. Your stomach lurched.
And, in much the same way sheer impulse had guided your last answer, your body moved without considering itself. Your limbs moved of their own volition, and not thinking, it moved closer—this time, not to your father.
You dropped beside Joel.
He resurfaced a second later, sputtering for air.
His face was mottled with blood. Even with a near constant surge of water and being submerged every other instant, the bleeding was profuse. He kept blinking.
And, thanks to all the hits he’d taken, he hardly seemed to see the world in front of him at all. He coughed again.
More blood.
More blinking.
Scarcely conscious at all, he inched closer to you.
Over the lapping of waves, your pulse thudding in your ears, and sobs racking through your chest, you couldn’t hear much at all. Still, you saw his lips move limply then.
“‘M’sorry—”
The sound stopped and started with a strangled breath. One from him to exhale at first, and another to suck in some air while he was able. In the next second, before either one of you could think, his head was forced under.
It was held underwater, hard, by your father.
Tears nearly had you blinded, but you saw it.
Time might’ve slowed a little more, and your sense of seconds and minutes could’ve skewed, but it was still clear as anything to you that your dad was keeping Joel there, unable to breathe, and he refused to move an inch
You blinked, and the body in front of you had gone limp.
There are some things Joel misses after the end of times, he didn’t think something as sweet as strawberries would be one
- [thank you so much for 2,000 followers, insane, he’s something sweet while you wait. There’s making out and fruit involved but nothing to explicit. Smutty]
When discussing what you missed most in the end of times you thought of anything practical. Easy supply of period products, bread, hot showers.
You hadn't thought about fruit until you were faced with it.
You and Ellie decided to let Joel take his time in the shower and raiding the house that had once belonged to his 'friends' - Bill and Frank.
You'd only come on this job for the kid, apparently an immune with the ability of a cure. You didn't care for Joel, never had but you cared for getting to an end.
That was how you and her ended up lingering over a garden patch labelled with different vegetables and fruits. One stood out to you the most.
"Holy shit."
"Shit- what?" Ellie whipped around in every direction, looking for trouble. But you had already thrown your pack aside and practically dug into the ground to get to the sweet nectar.
As soon as you found one, whole, round red with flickering seeds, you held it up to the sun. It was whole. It was healthy. It was like nothing else in the world.
And it tasted better than you'd remembered. You moan around the juice on your lips and the taste that fell on your tongue.
At that moment the taste of forbidden fruit was the best thing in the world.
Ellie looked at you and at the ground before following suit, plucking one she assumed was alright. "What? It's a fruit."
"It's so much more than a fucking fruit," you licked your lips, looking around the yard. There were loads, enough to get buckets full. Bill and Frank must have been great people.
You were already checking around bushes and your pack.
"Should we take some back for Joel?" asked Ellie. For a kid faced with a lot of grim, she sure had manners.
You grumbled and said nothing. Instead, you pulled out scissors and begun.
By the time you and Ellie got back to the house, Joel had showered, even put on a nice checked shirt. He'd even combed back his hair.
When the door slammed he stood up, speaking in that familiar gruff voice. "Where have you been?"
Ellie grinned. "Well don't you look pretty!"
Joel shook his head. "Shut up," he looked back to you. You were older than Ellie, but still much younger than him. Still, easier to make sense of. "Where have you been?"
Ellie rolled her eyes as she couldn't miss how his voice softened for you.
You adjusted your pack, glaring at him.
He took a quick survey of you- a new habit of his. Your pants were mud stained at the knees, mud under your nails and... something sweeter about you.
Joel looked at your lips and he swore they'd never looked so inviting before. Never had they had such a sweetness to their look, or so glossed over. Or so red. "Why are your lips like that?"
Your fingers brushed your lips. "Like what?"
Kissable. Glossy. Delectable. He suddenly wished he hadn't said anything as you wiped away the beauty.
Only days later did Joel realise the new sweetness to your lips- when you and him were sitting across from each other, each making home on a tree while Ellie slept.
He'd invited you to sleep but you were to on edge. And that put him on edge. When you were on edge you became un-predictable and Joel didn't like unpredictable. He lived in fear when he couldn't work out your next move.
Like that night, when you laid out a cloth of the little red fruits out to him.
For a moment, Joel stared confused.
You shrug, taking your own pack of strawberries out. "They were gonna go bad."
Joel had a share of five.
"Strawberries?" he prodded them. He knew they still existed, he was the one who traded the pack of seeds to Frank. He just hadn't thought this would be what had him going crazy over you.
"What did you want? Banana's?" you sassed.
He rolled his eyes, fully prepared to tell you how disgusting your attitude was when he looked up.
Your lips were wrapped around the fruit, dragging on the seeds until your teeth sunk in just above the green leaf. There was a gentle slurp and then the strawberry was gone, leaving you to flick the greenery off.
Joel didn't care for eating his own. He cared for you eating the rest of them.
You went again for a second one. This one must have been juicier as the slurp was louder.
Holy fuc- what was Joel supposed to do? Shackled up with someone who didn't care about him and who he thought he cared even less for.
But there you were, taking every delicious drop of the fruit on your tongue. And it was getting him feral. His mouth was watering as he watched, his fingers trembling, his jeans tightening between his legs.
If you noticed, you didn't say anything, biting into the third.
It was smaller but a dribble of juice marked the corner of your lips.
Joel didn't know what he was doing. He almost couldn't believe he was carrying himself across the space and to you. No, not carrying.
Joel fucking crawled over to you.
Finally, you looked up at him, watching as he got closer with ease. Knees of the fifty-something year old avoiding the pile of strawberries you offered.
He slouched next to you as you waited for him to do something like tell you it was for warmth or to give Ellie more room. But he offered you nothing.
Nothing except his finger touching the corner of your lips were it was blotched with the fruit and dabbing it on his tongue. It tasted so much more sweeter coming from you.
"What are you-" words escaped in a lost breath.
"T'sweet," he mumbled.
Joel didn't want it to end. He thought really at that moment he'd abandon this whole thing and just settle on getting you a field of strawberries. Anything to see your lips smeared in the sweetness.
He reached over, taking one of the one's your offered him. He finally took a bite and started to understand why you'd got so worked up. It was a different and welcome taste.
You gulped watching him. The juice getting caught in his stubble around him. You wanted to reach up and brush it away like he had so casually, but you were rendered frozen.
Joel took away the strawberry, tip bitten off and looked at you.
It happened slowly, slow enough for you to tell him to stop. Or to grab his wrist or to sink your teeth into the fruit. You did none of those things.
You let Joel use the strawberry like it was god damn lipstick. He gently dragged it over your top lip- you accommodated by gasping and leaving your lips parted. There was a faint trace of the strawberry there.
Joel looked at your lip as he took it lower and dragged it along the bottom. Back and forth, repeating it like a silent prayer. He actually seemed to concentrate at the task at hand while he did, studying the stutter in your breath and the tilt of your chin.
You wanted it. And maybe you didn’t know, but Joel did.
He worked in your bottom lip before prodding with the fruit. "Open."
Any other time you’d have told him to ‘fuck off’ but now you obliged, empty in thoughts except for his.
Joel watched as your lips wrapped around the fruit and took what was left. He threw away the green.
You took it slowly, un-sure on where to go or what to do other than just eat.
Your jaw worked as you tasted the sweetness and Joel's hand crawled up the side of your face, creeping to hold your cheek while his thumb sat itself under your jaw to feel it move.
He watched you with nothing like how he had before. There was no distaste, no anger or annoyance. There was only wonder and something darker you didn't want to name. If you named it, it would become un-avoidable.
Joel's finger danced over your lips as you swallowed the last of the fruit, lips parting for a breath. With him this close to you, it was like you couldn't breathe.
Suddenly Joel's finger felt the warmth of your mouth and it wasn't enough. Wasn't nearly enough.
He surged forward and kissed you.
It wasn't gentle like you'd imagined. Stupidly you'd thought- in the small moments you did think about it- that Joel was a slow lover, that he took his time in learning and tasting.
It was anything but.
It was like he was trying to eat you.
His mouth was wide as it captured yours, his hand on you cheek holding you close to him as his tongue slithered in and searched your mouth. Just funning along yours sloppily wasn't enough, he needed to get the feel of your mouth.
And the taste of those strawberries.
But to you, nothing tasted better than the feeling of Joel Miller giving in. Of feeling him desperate for you like you'd been for him. The taste of your favourite fruit was becoming a distant memory as you dug your fingers into Joel's coat and tugged yourself closer to him until you were practically in his lap.
His lips sunk into your lips.
"Joel," you mewled.
"Shh," he shushed you, hand reaching out blindly aside him. He didn't want to look away from you for a second, scared that if he took his eye of you you'd rush off, you'd ruin his treat.
Joel grasped a strawberry and shoved it between the two of you. He pulled away only enough to shove the strawberry in your mouth.
Your moan was muffled as you took the fruit and had no choice but to chew it down as quick as you could before Joel's lips were on yours again.
His tongue ran over your bottom lip and he panted against you. "I... this is... so sweet."
Never had you known Joel to be lost for words.
You didn't mind.
He'd pulled away enough to catch his breath but you leaned in, lips brushing his. You took it slower, still getting the strawberry down. Your hands held onto his thighs, squeezing and moving up his jeans at a pace of torture.
There was a squelch noise that had you pulling away and licking your lips.
Joel had smushed the last strawberry between his fingers, creating a mess of red.
You looked down at the waste, chocking and about to chastise him when Joel adjusted and smeared it over your lips- down your jaw- down your neck. "J-Joel," you utter, tilting your head back as he created the path. "S'cold."
"I'll warm you, baby, jus' wait," he mumbled, too entranced in his work to focus on anything else.
Your hands wander up his arms and to his hair. "You-you like strawberries?"
Joel grumbled as he finished his work- making a mess of you. "I like you," he said, voice low and rough as if he'd slept hours. "Like you and Strawberries."
With that, he showed you his fingers that were smeared in bits of strawberry. He didn't have to say anything, you wanted it.
As Joel went to the base of your neck, where he'd pulled your jacket down to put the sweetness there, he went tongue first before sucking at the spot.
Your tongue darted out to his fingers, licking the stuff off like you would his cock. Fuck. The thought of strawberry and his cock sent your core on fire as you felt yourself slicken.
You clenched your thighs together as Joel forced his fingers into your mouth that closed around him.
His large and calloused hand dug into your thigh. "I know, baby, I know."
His lips missed away the mess he'd created as you continued to clean off his fingers. His tongue trailed up your neck and under your jaw where he spent a minute or two sucking off the juice.
Joel took away his fingers so he could tilt your neck to the side to get to every space.
"Joel, I need... I need you," you whispered. Damn you if anyone heard, if Ellie who slept only spaces away was awake.
"I know hun," he spoke into your neck, nipping the sore skin. "But I'm a bit busy right now."
You grumbled and whined, hips rocking against his leg.
"Oh, that's what you want?" he teased. Joel's hold on your thigh increased and he moved you to straddle his thigh. "Is that it? All you want?"
You shook your head as his lips kissed your cheek. "Want more."
"More?" he whispered. His lips brushed yours. "Greedy girl."
His tongue danced over your lips, licking off everything he put there.
Abruptly, you moved away from him, hands on his shoulders to steady yourself.
It took Joel a moment to come out of the stupor you'd put him in. Eventually, he blinked and looked around. "What?" had you heard something? Raiders, infected?
No. He felt something cold drag over his jaw line.
The last strawberry and you were offering it to him. You'd ran it along his jaw where his stubble sat and under his nose so he could inhale the sweetness that was slowly becoming yours.
Finally the tip ran along his lips and Joel grabbed your wrist in a grip to hurt.
His eyes, dark, darker still in the light of the moon, kept a hold of your gaze as he took the strawberry whole in his mouth. His teeth grazed the tips of your fingers as he took it.
Joel couldn't deny, it was heaven and knowing he'd taste it on you was heaven even more. Holding you was paradise and kissing you was where he wanted to die.
You watched as he made slow work on sending it off.
As soon as he had, Joel latched onto you.
His hands had grabbed onto your forearms and dragged you into his lap. Then his arm was wrapping around your waist and he was moving so you were lying on the sleeping bag and he could feel into your mouth deeply. His tongue could find itself a home in your mouth and it did.
It was all tongue and teeth, lips and biting. It was wet and it was new. It was sharing while with holding all emotion inside.
The only thing you shared was the sweetness of the strawberries.
"Taste," Joel trembled as he tore himself away from your lips, some of the juice from the fruit falling from the corner of your lips. He collected it with his thumb and sucked it off. "Taste so good, darlin'."
His hips rut into you as he ground upon your clothed sore. Your legs were tense as he moved and as you tried to stay silent.
Joel almost didn't care there was a kid in their presence. "Wanna, urm, when this is over get you all the strawberries you want, yeah?"
"O-Ok," you nod, shaking.
Joel looked down at you, kissing you quick. "Get you a whole damn strawberry field and fuck you in it too."
Your leg fit around his hips, tugging him closer. "Joel-"
A quick rustle and sound of disgust had Joel scrambling up and kneeling in the mud in front of you.
"Fucking hell!" Ellie made a commotion as she sat up. "Gross! What the fuck?!"
"Ellie!" he warned.
You rolled to look at the girl that was getting up, still warm and hidden in her sleeping bag.
Victor Frankenstein syndrome aka you spent nights over nights crying and bleeding over this work and now that it's finally done you're just like "nvm. it's trash" and go to bed
It is so important to me that the first time Frankenstein refers to the Creature, he calls it 'beautiful', like that is genuinely the first descriptor that is used, because Frankenstein is awed by his own creation until he looks it in the eye. Like doesn't that drive you insane? Do you not regularly have to sit down and think about that?
Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader (time travel au)
Series Summary: Your brother and his best friend manage to create a time machine in which they travel back to Ancient Rome and bring back General Marcus Acacius to modern day NYC, where he meets you, a career woman working at a glamorous fashion magazine who never has time for romance. Or have you just never found the right man?
Series Warnings: language, physical violence, smut (18+ MDNI), alcohol and food consumption, fluff, romcom vibes, some angst, pining (individual warnings stated for each chapter)
[to everyone who has ever said to me, watch the last of us, I hope you’re happy, I’ll never know peace again. This isn’t proof read.]
tw: death, blood, guns, curse words, allusions to suicide
The last of us II spoilers
(GIF not mine)
Abbey knew that for the murderer of her father to feel just an ounce of what she felt, it wouldn't be enough to hurt him, not even to kill him.
No, she'd have to take away something he cared about. Something more. He needed to live with the pain he'd created.
She lingered at her father's grave, where the other Fireflies that were murdered that day were buried. Her friends- the others who thirsted for vengeance- lingered. They didn't want it like her. Didn't need it like her.
Abbey glanced over her shoulder at them. "I want him to hurt like me. I want him... I want him alive."
But the reports had said there were two that day in the hospital. Two murderers. She wanted you.
▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ ▬▬ι═════════
"You know I should come with you," said Joel as you sorted your horse, checking everything was strapped. "Don't like you being alone out there."
"Hey!" protested Dina who was already a-top her horse, offended.
Joel waved her off. Sure there was Dina but she'd become as much one of yours as Ellie was. You loved Dina, adored her. And god Joel could see how much she was like you. Witty, strong, never afraid. It terrified him, especially when you patrolled not at his side.
You smiled at him, pulling on your gloves. "You and Ellie should patrol, c'mon it's the first time she's been talkin' to us without storming away at the end."
Your's, Joel's and Ellie's situation was something completely unique that the town of Jackson had been privy to since you'd arrived. She'd moved out the house into the garage and you'd lost count of how often you'd caught Joel staring at the place from the window. Or the nights you'd linger on the porch, nursing a cup of coffee just to check on her.
Finally, progress was being made. You were pushing them into it.
"We could all go," suggested Joel, hands on his hips.
"Family patrol?" you chuckled, eyeing him through the rising sun.
He wasn't amused.
Sighing, you patted her yours and handed the reins to Dina to hold. You could tell Joel was trying to keep his scowl in place as he looked down at you, the lines of his eyes and forehead creasing, the greys in his hair blending with the snow. You wouldn't have it any other way.
Slowly your arms sneak around his waist, his hands still on his hips as he remained stern.
"Baby," he whispered.
"This is just patrol, i've done in hundreds of times before," you remind him.
"Once without me at you side, darlin'," he reminded you.
"And everything was fine," you arms wrap further around him as Joel tutted, finally resting his arm around your shoulder. Your smile faltered a bit. "Just try with Ellie, ok? I know what we did was justified to us but to her.... she's always wanted more than she is. Just try to meet her where she is."
Joel watched you, chest rising and falling with his steady breaths. His gaze softened as he took in your words.
"For me? For us." You fluttered your lashes at him and gave him a smile.
He'd have given you the damn world for the taking if you'd just asked him. "Damn woman," he muttered, kissing at top your head. It was a yes. You knew it. "Should've kept you in bed."
"You should've persuaded me."
Joel rose a brow. "I can persuade you now?" his hand sneaked down to your bum, tapping it in promise.
"Gross!" Dina yelled.
"Down, old boy," you chastise, slipping through his arms.
Joel was old. Older than you by some decades, but he was enough of a man to pull you back in and kiss you fiercely. He knew you'd come back to him, you always did. Even when he was a stubborn man and didn't want to feel how he felt, you pushed and pushed until you were standing where you are today.
When you part there's no teasing from Dina. You lick your lips to keep the taste of him as you travel. "Go get our girl," you tell him.
Joel runs his hands over your shoulders. He could hardly feel you through all the layers. Which was good. You were warm, you were safe. "You're my girl. My girls."
He walked you to your horse and you swung on. He took the reins from Dina and placed them in your gloved hands. "Be safe, babygirl."
You nodded, kicking your horse to go as he passed a nod to Dina.
Joel walked behind the two of you, watching you head out the gates and into the snow covered lands. His heart was steady, his hand didn't tremble. Because soon you'd be back in his arms and he'd take you to bed and hols you that extra ten minutes he wanted in bed that morning.
As the gates closed he walked with them, keeping an eye on you.
Your retreating figure was becoming a blur without his glasses, yet he could just make out your hands coming up to your chest and cupping the sign of a heart. For him.
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You practically carried Dina through the doors of the lodge that Abbey had told you was safe. "Easy, easy, you're ok, I got you," you mumbled as you held her, arms working against hers to warm her. You'd thrown off your scarf, your parker and put it on her.
You were doing everything to keep her safe. To keep her warm that caution was out the window. Almost.
You had Joel's voice in the back of your head, telling you how dangerous this was, relying on strangers. Strangers with guns no less.
But you'd saved the girl from a horde, had taken her in. She owed you. In a fucked up world, you liked to think debts still stood some ground.
You should've thought to turn back when the snow got worse, or when radio signal got patchy. When you saw flumes of black smoke coming from the town you should've pushed your horse through but Dina was blue with cold and the girl had promised you had blankets and guns.
Looking back it was too easy, you should've caught it.
You put Dina at the fire as Abbey's friends saw to her. You looked out the windows, saw only snow with the dull glow of a fire. Your town, your home.
Joel wouldn't have taken a chance with the storm. He would've returned with Ellie. You almost hoped he was huddled somewhere like you and Dina.
"Jackson, come in!" you called into the radio, begging for reach even though you'd had none before. "Tommy you there? Anybody over radio!"
"Her name is Dina," said Abbey to her friend, "and she is Y/N."
The shift happened while your back was to the room. Foolish.
"Y-Y/N," Dina's weak voice came through to your senses.
A gun to her head. An arm around her throat.
You hand flew to your gun that you'd stupidly put at your belt but another held a gun to you. So you showed your weakness, hands up.
"We're not gonna hurt her," said Abbey.
"Then put the gun down," you said while another of Abbey's disarmed Dina and yourself. You hardly felt her hands on you, taking the guns as your eyes stayed on Dina as she was put to sleep. "Whatever you want, take it, just leave her alone."
Abbey scoffed as you peeled away her jacket. "Who do you think we are?"
You judged them: A small group, well stocked, well adjusted. "Fireflies?" you'd had nightmares about things like this, the people you'd killed haunting you.
Joel had always saved you from them.
You hoped he didn't come to this one.
"Haven't you heard, there are no more fireflies. They're all gone."
You rose a brow as your gaze flicked to Dina. She was breathing. She was asleep. It'd be a challenge to get her out of here- because you would get out of here- but at least she wouldn't bare witness to what would go down. It would go down. Five armed vs you. It seemed impossible but you had to get Dina out. So anything was possible.
"I'm gonna give you one chance to tell the truth," said Abbey. She was un-armed, arms over her chest. "If you do, i'll let her live."
You note shock from a couple of her friends, not as well-oiled a machine as it seemed.
"Wait Abbey-"
"Shut up!"
"What do you wanna know?" you asked, surprisingly calm in the face of your own danger.
Abbey levelled her gaze on you "Where was the last place you saw the Fireflies?"
That's what it was all about. Those damn bugs. They'd ruin everything. You could almost guess what was happening, the plan of vengeance laid put before you. You knew how powerful it was and for a second a flicker of doubt crossed your mind.
You looked back to Dina. "Salt lake."
Abbey hummed, nodding and walking the room. "And are you Joel Miller's woman?"
Perhaps you shouldn't have goaded the ones with the guns, but Ellie had to get her attitude from somewhere.
"Why, jealous?"
Abbey picked up her shotgun and shot a bullet through your hip before you could flinch.
You went down cursing, sweat rolling down your brow as you gasped at the burst of pain. Again, not your first bullet but the pain always remained a new.
You rolled onto your back, pushing yourself up.
Dina hadn't stirred.
But Abbey walked to you. You didn't flinch as she got to a crouch in front of you. "You're tough. Guess you probably have to be killing all those people. Do you know how many you and your man killed that day?"
You knew. You remembered each bullet.
"Joel got fifteen soldiers, right?" said Abbey. "And you got two... and one doctor."
You were panting, feeling the blood ooze through your shirt. On the one day you'd chosen to wear white.
"You remember that one?" asked Abbey. "An un-armed doctor you shot in the head."
Yeah you knew that one. It was the last one before Marlene.
"Yeah, that was my dad. You probably already figured. The nurses say you barely even looked at him when you pulled the trigger and that you walked right past his body and out the door."
You knew at that moment, you weren't leaving. You cast one last look at the smoking Jackson and quickly made peace with the fact it would be over, soon hopefully. When you looked back at Abbey, tears of frustration pooled in her eyes. "Yeah."
She nodded. "I looked at him. I saw him. I was nineteen."
Ellie was nineteen. You'd only had a few months to see that. Your ears rung with the fact you wouldn't see twenty, or twenty-one. Wouldn't see how Dina and Ellie grew up together, or Tommy's boy who you'd held since he was a baby.
You wouldn't see Tommy.
You would never see Joel again. The only peace that came with that fact was that he wouldn't fine you up here, no radio, no tracks in the snow. You'd be lost to him forever. But Dina, Dina would be lost to. She'd wake and do the only sensible thing: leave you and save herself. Maybe she'd break the news gently or maybe she'd cry, you'd like to think you meant something to her.
You wished she'd lie and tell them you were lost in the storm, or that you'd gotten bitten by an infected and shot yourself to stop the change. You just hoped Joel would forgive himself.
Oh, Joel.
".....there are some things that just everyone agrees are fucking wrong."
You didn't know what Abbey had said before that but you nodded. It was wrong what you did, how easy and brutal killing that day was. Yet you didn't believe in much goodness nower days.
Then Abbey spotted the golf clubs.
Then her mind was set as she went to pick one out.
"You know it's funny, I have waited so-"
"I'm in pain enough as it is Abbey, can we begin already?!" you called. You were lucky enough to miss one of her speeches, you didn't want to suffer another.
Abbey picked one and wielded it like a sword as she loomed over you, your breaths coming harder as your brain screamed for you to do something. "You... you don't get to rush this."
The first blows came in blood-curdling screaming.
▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ ▬▬ι═══════════
Joel didn't know what to expect when him and Ellie came across a lodge. He honestly didn't know. He was a man torn by the smoke of Jackson, by the fire that had begun with the infected and the news that he'd caught in crackles over the fraying radio signal.
'No... Di... N... Y/N.'
They'd scoured the snow covered lands as the storm let up, further showing Jackson's destruction. But when he caught sight of yours and Dina's horse left out he had to go further.
He and Ellie walked in. There was quiet. There was nothing. Small puddles on the floor, maybe you'd passed through and were resting.
Then, Joel and Ellie caught the noise of thuds from above. Of grunting. Nothing else but thudding and yells of anguish. Not pain. Of anguish.
He motioned for Ellie to stay behind as he led the way, gun raised, following the noises.
The room was ahead and maybe he should've thought more about what he could've found. But it wouldn't be you hurt. You never laid down and let yourself take it, so that was the last thing he expected to see.
He hadn't even took note of the room as he nudged the door open. Hadn't looked at the others in the room. He hadn't even thought that him and Ellie could've taken them if they'd gone in already shooting. Because he hadn't thought to see you bloody on the floor.
A girl was knelt next to you, raining fist after fist upon a face that he was already marred with your blood.
"Joel!" Ellie yelled as she made shot out, hoping for something, anything.
A body barrelled into her at the same time as one did to Joel.
A shot rang through the room as bullet lodged itself into his knee and sent him down with a thud.
"Motherfuckers!" Ellie yelled before she was wacked in the head, crumbling to the floor and out cold.
Joel was punched in the face and his sight blurred. When it came back, you were still there, drenched in your own blood. Two of the bodies held him down, held him down so that his face was pushed onto the hard wood floor and forced to stare at you.
Abbey actually smiled.
"Y/N!" he called out.
Your finger twitched. The eyelid that wasn't black and swollen fluttered. You were still there, swinging by a pulling thread.
Joel's voice caught in his throat. "That's it baby, look at me, just look at me, focus on me!"
Your eye closed again.
"Don't you dare! Y/N, look at me!" he yelled, spit flying. He pushed his body, focused the white agony of his knee into fury but there were two bodies on top of him and another kicked him in the chin.
"No!" yelled Abbey, the first time she'd spoken since she'd started her assault. "I want him to watch."
Joel spat blood on the ground. Now, it was marked with the both of you. He turned his head back to you. Not to accommodate Abbey but to see you and only you.
"Listen to me, baby, you're gonna be fine," his voice cracked. He wasn't an optimist like you but by god was he planning all the ways you would die of old age at his side in his bed. He damn right prayed that this wasn't happening again, as he was helpless. "Please, don't do this!"
Abbey punched you in the face once more. You body jerked.
"Stop please!" he cried. "Y/N, come on baby girl, get up! Just get up, honey!"
Nothing.
"Fucking get up!"
Abbey took joy in the fact you weren't.
"C'mon, baby, open those damn eyes and focus on me! Get up! Fuck!" he was using ever trick he could think of, thrashing around against the bodies holding him down.
Abbey huffed, assessing how much more she wanted this.
"No, no, no," he could see the life draining from you as you lost hope. "Baby... ba-baby, don't do this to me. You can't. Please," Joel cried. "Get up!" he then roared.
You tried. He saw it. He wasn't mad with grief. He saw it. He saw your fingers twitch and your eyelid flutter open, your eye, red from a popped blood vessel, looked at him.
You tried. Let it be known that for him, you tried.
Joel's lips tilted into something like a smile of relief. "That's good, baby, you're doing so well. Just get up, c'mon just get up, get up."
Your face was covered by heavy boots and a hand reaching for the broken golf club.
That bitch had broken it with how hard she'd beaten you.
"No," he sobbed. Joel started screaming, started losing his mind. "No, no, no, please. Kill me- just- just kill me! Please, not my baby! Not my baby. Me!"
And he yelled and screamed and sobbed and cried as the sharp end of the golf club was thrust once into your neck.
His throat ripped and his knee was suddenly nothing. The bodies of you and his daughter blended into one as he thrusted around, banging his head onto the floor. Whether it was to kill himself or just to erase the way your body twitched once more as they blade met its target.
He just wanted it all done with.
When he looked back up he looked at Abbey and not you. In fact, he took note of every person in that room, every feature of their face, satisfied by what they'd done or shocked at the ruthlessness.
Joel didn't have to say anything because his promise weighed heavy on them all.
Abbey had just started the cruellest cycle of revenge.
He made those promises to himself even as boots were kicked into his gut, stealing his breath and breaking his ribs. Even when they all ran off and he was free to move he was counting their steps and thinking of all the places they would never be able to hide because he would find them.
Pain was a dear friend of his and he'd call in a few debts to be owed.
When Joel was free he crawled back home. Back to you. The thing that kept him stable, that gave him love after Sarah's death.
"Baby?" his finger tips brushed yours.
You didn't move. Your gaze looked past him.
Joel wrapped his fingers around the club and- with a trembling breath- pulled it out. He yelled out in pain with the movement, killing him.
"Baby?"
There was nothing. Just nothing.
"C'mon baby," he ignored every pain of his just to hold you in his arms again, cradling you close. "I know, baby, I know, I know, I know. I know it hurts- you're ok, you're ok."
Joel spoke as if you were still hanging on, as if you weren't already gone. Maybe he was just going through the motions of it all, of losing the happiness of his life all over again. Or maybe he was trying to convince himself it would all be ok.
"C'mon let me get you up, baby, I've got to get you up," he moved so you were in his lap, your body pressing into his bashed knee. He'd never walk again but that was fine. He didn't want to walk away from you. "I know baby, I know, shh, I've got you, I've got you."
His head buried into your matted and bloody hair. In spite of all the blood you still smelt like him. You didn't smell like yourself, you liked to smell like him. He wished you had a scent that wasn't tainted.
Joel's sobs rocked both your bodies as he pulled you into him, trying to bury your body inside of him. "Get up. Baby, get up. Oh baby, please get up."
And the ground was too cold to dig. They wouldn't bury you till summer.
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