~April 24 she/her~ Minors DNI. This is a multi-fandom blog (Marvel, DC, Sherlock, Doctor Who, etc). Check out my wattpad and AO3 (link below) One-shot Requests CLOSED
Summer Retreat (Professor!Cumberbatch x fem!reader)
Another Professor!Cumberbatch fic for you, my lovelies. Bringing back mean Cumberbatch with my beloved @little-diable. Once again please go to her profile and say thank you because she is the one that makes me come back to him. As always please reblog and comment and let me know how you are all doing because it is been far too long and I miss you all so much ❤️
Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, mostly just them pining for each other.
Pairings: Professor!Cumberbatch x fem!reader (8k words)
“AND… DONE!” You shouted as you clicked the submit button, no more uni, no more assignments, and above it all, no more Cumberbatch.
“Don’t be dramatic,” your best friend rolled her eyes, incredibly exhausted of the greek drama that had been your relationship with your thesis supervisor for the last year.
“Do. not. take. this. away. from. me. You didn’t have to spend the entire summer stuck in a library because your dickhead supervisor was just unhappy with every single one of your drafts. You were at the beach while I was stuck reading page after page of redlining. I am free. I will never need to read the name Cumberbatch anywhere.”
“I am proud of you,” she tried to be supportive, although she could barely take you seriously. It was true, Cumberbatch had been an absolute asshole about the whole process but you had not made the whole ordeal any easier, seeking the most complicated topic possible. You yourself had picked Cumberbatch because of his ruthlessness. A challenge, you had called it. So in reality you had absolutely no right to complain. “When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow morning, flight leaves at 3 pm.”
“I can’t believe that out of every possible place in the world, you chose to go stay on a random cottage in the mountains,” she huffed her answer.
“I want to relax, to be away from everyone, from the city, from people, from even the scarcest possibility I will run into him.”
“fair enough.”
…
POV Benedict
The streets were rushing past me, my eyes had a hard time focusing on the sights that were blurred by the rain rolling down the windows of the taxi. I felt my jaw muscles tense at every red light, tightening my grip on my phone as I tried to hold back the angry words wanting to leave me.
I was rushing late, the one virtue I have always taken pride in was my punctuality, forcing students to step out of the lecture halls whenever they turned up just a minute too late. And now I was about to miss my flight, the one getaway I’ve been looking forward to for the past weeks, perhaps even months.
“How much longer will it take us?” My voice dripped with annoyance, eyes finding the ones of the taxi driver through his rearview mirror. The man’s eyes flickered back to the street, murmuring “Five more minutes”, voice laced with a tone that matched mine.
The seconds fading by felt like days I had been forced to endure, staring into the faces of bored students, those that tried to listen but miserably failed to understand simple concepts, those that didn’t even try to pay attention, already accepting that they’d fail my class. And then there was (yn), the one student that had always challenged me, though not with her smart answers or her clever homework, but the determination to watch me struggle.
“We’re here, sir.” With my eyes snapping back towards the driver I forced myself out of my thoughts, pushing a few bank notes into his outstretched hand before I rushed through the airport. I barely focused on the security check, barely focused on the people that called out to me as I pushed past them.
With my eyes set on the terminal counter I rushed past a queue of people wanting to board the same flight I had booked. The woman working at the counter watched me approach with her eyebrows furrowed and her painted lips pulled into a fake smile, waiting for me to start speaking.
“I’ve been stuck in traffic, I’m so sorry! I’m booked for business class.” She watched me for a few seconds, gaze wandering up and down my frame before she slowly parted her lips, about to reply.
“We are all business class here, so have the decency to wait till it’s your turn.” An all too familiar voice rang in my ears, forcing me to slowly turn around. A groan threatened to claw through me as my eyes met the now growing big ones of (yn). “Professor Cumberbatch?”
Well, fuck me.
…
I looked away, ignoring her, trying my best to not let the embarrassment of the interaction tint my cheeks as I stepped to the back of the queue.
I held my head low as I hope she would ignore me too but instead I felt her gaze linger on me.
Brilliant. Exactly what I needed. A student to be on the same flight as me. I felt a migraine start in the center of my forehead. It is okay. It is just the flight I reminded myself. In just four hours I shall be free from anybody or anything related to the university.
I finally arrived at the front of the queue and presented my ticket. The woman at the counter gave me a courteous smile as I walked through, down the hall and into the plane. I scanned the seats for my number and watched as no other than my most consequential sat in the empty seat by its side.
Her eyes were fixated on me, a mix of disbelief and something else in her gaze. She watched me put my bag on the top compartment as I tried my best to keep my eyes away from her. She seemed completely determined to meet my gaze.
I took the seat by her side and exhaled, at least glad to not have missed my flight.
“Vacation?” She interrupted my peace again. Why was she trying to talk to me?
“Yes.” I kept my eyes ahead, her gaze burning against my skin.
“Not a fan of the sea?”
I did not reply, instead putting my earphones on and closing my eyes. This was about to be a long flight.
She seemed to take the hint, making no further attempts to talk to me.
Food was served two hours later. The hostess approached us with a smile, asking us what we would like to eat.
“I will take the soup, the steak and a glass of Sauvignon Noir.” I told the stewardess and avoided turning to look at (yn).
The woman looked at my student, waiting for her response. “Hi Jennie, yes. I will take the same for food, a glass of whiskey for me. Bring Benedict one too.”
I couldn’t help myself, glancing at her, a shocked look on my face as I searched her eyes. She however kept her eyes on the stewardess. I had never heard her say my name. It felt like an insult, a dig at my rudeness.
“Perfect, I will be right back.”
She put her earphones on, not even glancing my way and did not try to talk to me again for the rest of the flight.
…
YOUR POV
Your steps were quick, eyes focused ahead, hoping that you could pick up your luggage before the crowd of people slowly following you would catch up. You didn’t dare look back, didn’t dare look at the hot awful professor who had been sitting next to you, clearly struggling with your closeness.
A proud sense of victory had flushed through your veins as he had stared at you, wide eyes watching you interact with the stewardess, a sense of kindness a man of his kind was no longer familiar with. An awfully rude, stuck up, but fucking handsome man like him.
You could see the luggage bands from afar, sighing in relief as you came to a halt. With your eyes flickering down to your phone you didn’t pick up on the way Cumberbatch studied you, slowly coming to a halt right next to you. No words left either one of you, eyes snapping towards the now approaching luggage.
Your mouth was burning, lips struggling to stay pressed together, but you tried to hold back. As much as you wanted to speak to him, for the fun of annoying him, you couldn’t endure another rude word leaving his mouth, you’d snap, you’d tell him how awful he could be. Nothing you wanted to deal with as your tiredness slowly caught up with you.
One suitcase after another rolled past the two of you, eyes impatiently trying to locate your own luggage, though without any luck. Slowly the crowd around you grew less and less, thinning out as you still waited for theirs.
“Do you think they lost our luggage?” You kept your voice soft, without any strength guiding the words rolling off your tongue. It took the professor a few moments to reply, eyes finding yours as a sigh left him.
“Seems like it, wait here, I’ll try to find somebody.” You got no time to reply, watching the man with his spotless suit disappear within the crowd of other people. But no matter how many people would surround him, your eyes would always find him, the odd one out that never seemed to fit in. His posture was too straight. His curls were too curly. His eyes were too piercing. No matter what it was, he always seemed to add an extra touch that left your insides churning and your blood rushing.
It was pathetic, really, a crush so painful yet so thrilling. There was nothing you could hold onto, no interaction that gave you even the smallest bit of hope that he liked you too, professor Cumberbatch detested you, he avoided you like you were a deadly virus made to kill him, but you couldn’t let go of the thoughts racing through your mind. He was everywhere you went, following you like a shadow, at least the thought of him did.
“Seems like our suitcases didn’t make it here. Where are you going from here? They need an address.” The professor’s voice ripped you out of your daydreams, hazy eyes finding his cold, almost distanced ones.
“At the mountain retreat, it’s about an hour from here, I think.” His eyes grew wider, pupils dilated as if you were threatening him, forcing him to make a decision of life or death. Silent curses left him, words you couldn’t pick up on as you stared at him with confusion laced in you gaze.
“Seems like we had the same plans for our vacation getaway.” Slowly it dawned on you, eyes growing just as wide as you realised that he was staying at the same retreat.
—-
You barely had to do any talking for the next two hours. The professor taking it upon himself to advocate for both of your bags to be delivered as soon as humanly possible to your resort. He had used the same tone he used to speak to you and your classmates, belittling everyone who would not agree or obey his orders instantly.
The airline people could not do much else than agree with him, apologise profusely, and promise him every refund and offer that they could think of.
“You also will be compensated for any clothes you need to purchase until your bags get delivered tomorrow.”
The words finally forced you to clock back into the conversation as your professor turned back to you, giving you your boarding pass and a handful of other papers including vouchers and already filled out forms.
“How were you planning on getting there?” He spoke your way, his blue eyes piercing through you.
“Taxi.”
“You can come with me. I have a driver picking me up.”
“I need to get some clothes for tonight. It-“
“I need to do the same. You have already infiltrated my vacation. I can bear a couple more hours.”
…
“Should we just meet here again in, I don’t know, twenty minutes?” Your voice rang in his ears as you walked through the mall, exhaustion dripped from your words, filling your every vein. The day had been long, adventurous, and somewhat fucked up, thoughts racing, heart pounding, palms sweaty, all thanks to him.
“No, we’ll stick together, I don’t want to waste any more time waiting for you.” His harsh words left you groaning, choking on a quiet “You stereotypical asshole” he either didn’t hear or simply chose to ignore.
The professor walked ahead of you, forcing you to follow him through the store, picking up shirts, dress shirts, another pair of trousers, and some underwear. On another day you’d have studied him intently, would have picked up on every move of his, on every expression tugging on his features, but right now all you wanted to do was hide away, searching the comfort of your bed, of the quietness you had hoped the retreat could offer her.
“It’s astonishing how lost you always are, but it’s good to know that you’re not just like this in my classes.” Once again did his words ripped you out of yours thoughts, blinking a few times to let go of your hazy state. Angry words threatened to leave you, wanting to argue with the stuck up man, but you kept quiet, turning away from him as you browsed through the women’s section.
You felt his eyes on you, watching how you halfheartedly thumped through different sections, picking up comfortable shirts you could wear, trousers, and a new sweater. The second you stepped foot into the underwear section you had expected him to halt, not daring to follow you around like a shadow, but he kept following you, seemingly not picking up on the heat flushing through your system.
You stood by the counter, trying to decide which outfit to take and which to leave as the total would be above the airliners allowance, cursing the Professor for choosing such an expensive store to buy from. The professor however didn’t give you any chance to pick, snatching the clothes from your hands as he turned towards the cashier. You stared at him for a few seconds before your mind caught up with what he was about to do.
“I can pay for the clothes.” But all the professor did was shake his head, silencing you with the way he swiped his credit card, paying for both of your clothes. Your mouth felt dry, hating that your heart began to swell in your chest, once again growing rather fond of the man who acted like he hated you like Menelaus had hated Paris, starting a deadly war that would forever change the course of history.
You could only guess that your stay at the retreat would change your relationship, for better or worse, only time would be able to tell. And with a small “Thank you” leaving you, you followed him out of the store, back to his driver.
…
The car ride to the retreat was deathly silent. You kept your eyes on the street and tried to ignore how nice he looked sitting by your side, just the middle seat dividing you.
He did the same, working on his phone, mumbling under his breath words of disapproval every now and then. You were about to arrive at your stay when he chuckled, calling your attention to him. He turned his screen to you, showing you a pdf document.
“Seems like your dissertation is next.” He chuckled again, but you could barely restrain yourself from talking back, utterly disgusted that he was reading any dissertation as if it was the newspaper, on his way to his luxury vacation. “Expectations are high.”
You didn’t answer, thankful that the car came to a halt. “We are here,” the driver spoke.
—-
The two of you separated as soon as you were out of the car, heading to the reception at your own pace. He arrived first giving you his back as he talked to the woman on the other side of the counter.
She nodded and looked at him as if he was the only thing in the room, as everybody did. He was escorted to his room as soon as he was done talking. He didn’t even look your way or acknowledge the time you had just spent together, simply walking away.
—-
You could barely sleep that night. The thought that that asshole was reading the hardest piece of research you had ever worked on while getting a massage made your blood boil. You turned and tossed in the panties he had bought you, that he had held in his hands together with the rest of the clothes you were wearing.
It made your skin burn, the thought of his touch even just indirectly on you waking a fire inside you. Your mind moved to the way he had commanded everybody at the store, so sure of himself, so decisive. He knew exactly what button-up to get, what cotton shirt, and the pyjama shorts he had gotten. You swallowed loudly, pressing the pillow against your face, trying your best to remove him from your thoughts.
—-
For the next two days you had assumed your professor had rebooked the next flight home and left. You had not seen him anywhere, not even when your luggage had been delivered by the airline.
You had initially tried to convince yourself that it was a good thing. Good riddance. And yet, you found yourself looking for him everywhere, picking your best outfits in case you ran into him at dinner, in the garden for breakfast, in the spa, anywhere.
You couldn’t help but constantly wonder what he was doing. Whether he was done reading your dissertation… whether he had enjoyed it. That night you decided to sign up for a hike the day after. That would free your mind from him, it would finally allow you to enjoy the vacation you had paid so much for.
---
With tiredness dripping from your every movement, you found yourself walking towards the meeting spot of the hike, not awake enough just yet. A yawn clawed through you as you joined the small group, a sound that got stuck in your throat as soon as your gaze fell onto an all too familiar face.
This must be some sick joke of fate, you were sure of it.
“Seems like we’re complete. Good morning guys, my name is Daniel, just call me Dan if you want.” Your eyes snapped towards Cumberbatch, unable to bite down your grin as the corners of his mouth were pulled down, he hated nothing more than nicknames, short forms of names that made no sense to the man who found pride in his every title. “We’ve got quite some hours ahead of us, I’d advise you to find yourself a hiking buddy for the upcoming hours, just in case you need some help. Any questions before we start?”
You barely paid Dan’s voice any attention, unable to draw your gaze away from the professor. Where had he been hiding? Had he purposely avoided crossing paths with you? Were you that awful to be around? His hot and cold demeanour towards you always left you with a painful headache, unable to tell what he wanted from you; a childish game he seemed to find enough joy in to keep on dragging it out.
Even though your body screamed for you to move towards him, to force him to be your hiking buddy, as Dan had called it, you didn’t dare move. You watched the others pair up, instantly lured into conversations, small talk you have always struggled with.
“How about you walk a bit with me, huh?” Dan’s voice ripped you out of your thoughts, eyes flickering from his friendly ones towards the piercing, cold ones of Cumberbatch. The man was already staring at you, lips pulled into a thin line. And with a smile glued to your lips, you murmured a tired though friendly “Sure!”
…
You had walked with Dan for about an hour, pulled into exchanges you couldn’t even remember by now. Somewhere along the way your professor had managed to join the conversation, voice dripping with something you couldn’t pinpoint. Perhaps he was simply as tired as you were, perhaps he was annoyed by the cold that nibbled on his limbs, but perhaps, just perhaps, it had something to do with the way Dan kept looking at you.
The guy was handsome, you couldn’t deny it, but yet you found no interest in him, thoughts guided by the way your heart raced whenever Cumberbatch spoke up, focusing on the richness of his voice, on the way he managed to express himself oh so cleverly. Fuck, you felt like a schoolgirl, crushing on a man who’d never pay you enough attention to realise how smart, how cunning, how beautiful you truly were. Longings like clouds moving on the dark sky above, carrying rain that would clash to the earth miles and miles away from where they were supposed to rain down. A hopeless ache. A hopeless longing. A hopeless reality.
“So, what did you do in the last days?” Your voice rang in your ears, speaking the words before your mind could register what you were doing. The professor’s eyes met yours, clearing his throat as he pondered over the question.
“I had to join some last minute meetings, seems like I can’t get away from work, no matter how hard I try.” You couldn’t stop your chuckles from bubbling out of you, a sound that forced his eyebrows to furrow, wondering where your amusement came from.
“As if you’d ever willingly take a break from work. We both know you don’t take any rest.” No matter how hard he tried to stop his lips from forming a small grin, he couldn’t stop his body from reacting to the teasing. You took it as a win, wondering if you had ever seen him smile - or at least give the smallest illusion of a smile - before.
“Careful, (y/n), you don’t want to mess with me before you get your grade, now do you?” No reply left you, thoughts interrupted by Dan’s voice. The words he spoke echoed through the forest, eyes taking in the beautiful nature you were surrounded by. The trees around you stood tall, shielding your group from the sun threatening to break through the leaves, the scent of the forest, of the muddy soil you kept trodding through crawled up your nostrils, instantly relaxing your muscles.
“Be careful on the next few miles, yesterday’s rain made the ground quite muddy, as you can tell. Don’t hesitate to ask your buddies for some help.” Once again the group started walking, once again you walked next to the professor without speaking a single word. The situation had something awkward though amusing to it, trying to find a conversation topic to break the silence.
But before you could even try to speak up once again, you found yourself slipping, hands grasping the nearest thing you could hold onto before your face would meet the muddy ground. The professor’s hands had shot out to steady you, placed comfortably against your waist. Your eyes met his, pupils dilated as the man stared down on you.
Your heart was racing, pounding in your chest as your eyes started flickering from his eyes to his thin lips. Fuck, you had lost count on the amount of times you thought about kissing him, wondering if and how he’d touch you. You could only guess that he’d instantly dominate the situation, he wouldn’t give you any room to guide, that much you were sure of.
The professor seemed to struggle just as much as you did, hands still glued to your frame, eyes finding your lips. It felt as if you were moving closer, just slowly, carefully, testing the uneasy, unfamiliar waters the two of you kept rowing through like small boats caught in a thunderstorm. The first bolt of lightning struck your boat, setting the wood ablaze, instantly sinking to the cold ground.
Without another warning he pulled back from you, hands finding their way to his sides as if he suddenly got disgusted by his own actions. His eyes found yours once again, just for a short moment, before he started walking. It seemed as if he tried to get as much distance between the two of you as possible, instantly succeeding with his fast steps.
You could just stare at him, giving yourself a few more seconds before you also started walking, trying to swallow down your embarrassment.
—
The feeling of embarassment persisted after the hike. You were thankful when you returned to the resort and went your separate ways. You took a quick shower, trying to remove whatever was left of his touch from your body and then went straight to the sauna, in need of the heat and sweat.
It was perfect, so incredibly perfect. Your thoughts were hazy from the heat and you felt yourself sweat everything out, your stress, your desire for him, absolutely everything and then, just then, the door of the sauna opened. He stood on the other side of the door, a towel around his waist and a frozen look on his face. He was thinking, making a decision. You expected him to close the door again, walk away, the same way he had avoided you for the past three days. Instead, he stepped in, did not utter a word and sat as far away from you as possible.
Neither of you spoke for the next five minutes, which felt like five hours to both of you and then you couldn’t help yourself, the thoughts of your dissertation haunting you all week.
“How is grading my dissertation going?”
He laughed bitterly, glancing your way, his eyes lingering on you a little longer than normal. “Boring read, I have gone through it so many times in the past 3 months that I don’t even know if you deserve a grade. I pretty much designed the whole thing. You barely wrote it.”
Your jaw tensed as he looked away, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wooden board, letting you admire how his adam’s apple bobbed. You wanted to kill him. Asshole. Douchebag. Pi- and yet your eyes were stuck on him, lingering and lowering, following the small droplets of sweat down his firm chest, his stomach, h-
“I am kidding of course. I need to give you a grade. I could not bare having to work on it with you for another year.” He opened his eyes, you whipped your gaze up to him immediately, sadly too late. He had already noticed the way you had been looking at him. Something crossed his gaze but he looked away, almost as if he wanted to get rid of the thought.
“A good grade.” You suddenly spoke and he seemed to be taken aback by your directness.
“We shall see,” he kept his nonchalant tone but you held his gaze, defiant.
“I deserve a good grade. I worked harder than anybody else in the course. Any of your other students.” You spoke leaning forward. Although the two of you were sitting on opposite sides of the sauna, the distance felt suddenly smaller.
He couldn’t help himself, as you leaned forward his gaze flickered to your glistening chest. His throat bobbing before he looked away.
You felt that familiar pull on your centre, feeling your gaze grow slightly hazy as you realised he may be struggling with your proximity as much as you did.
You opened your lips to say something but he stood quickly, breaking eye contact and walking out without saying anything else.
……
With one last glance thrown at your reflection, you stepped out of the elevator. Your shoes met the ground with every cautious step you took, trying to ignore the racing thoughts that wouldn’t ever allow you to rest. Wherever you went, the thought of him seemed to follow you around, whenever you closed your eyes, his piercing ones seemed to stare down on you, forcing you to dream of him.
The past moments you shared with your professor kept racing through your thoughts, making you wonder if he was also thinking of you. Your eyes browsed your surroundings, walking towards the area where dinner was being held, outside in the middle of the mountains, railings decorated with fairy lights, casting a beautiful shadow onto the tables for two.
And there he stood, appearing like Caspar Friedrich’s painting “Wanderer above the Sea of Fog”. With his back turned your way he seemed to admire the area as well, finally allowing himself to breathe calmly. Wordlessly you came to a halt next to him, patiently waiting to be seated, not daring to strike up yet another conversation that would leave you embarrassed and humiliated.
“Table for two?” The waiter’s eyes flickered between your and Cumberbatch’s bright ones, starting to walk towards a table near the railing, not waiting for your reply. The professor’s eyes met yours before he followed the man with a sigh clawing through him, forcing you to mimic his movements, sinking into the comfortable chair in front of him. “I’ll be back in a few to take your orders.”
No words were shared between the two of you as you browsed the menu, wondering what to order, while your thoughts couldn’t concentrate on the printed words, eyes struggling to stay focused. Your body screamed at you to look at him, feeling his eyes burn your skin, like they’d always do whenever your paths crossed, outside of uni or in the middle of his classes.
“So,” he cleared his throat. “Did you enjoy your day?” Your eyes grew bigger, wondering if he was truly trying to start a conversation with you. An unfamiliar warmth flooded through you, eyes forced away from his in an almost pathetic attempt to select fitting words, sentences that wouldn’t give off another bad impression.
“I did, I went on another hike, it’s such a beautiful area, I want to experience as much of it as possible. What about you? Did you manage to take a break from working?” Before he could reply the waiter found its way back to you, carefully listening to your orders, writing down the drinks and dishes your hearts were aching for.
“I tried to take it slow, and finally managed to finish a book I’ve been reading for the past weeks.” You found yourself hanging onto his every word as if he was sharing ancient secrets with you, letting you in on theories not even the smartest scientists were fortunate enough to pick up on. And with another wave of heat flushing through you, you finally were able to relax, letting go of the tension he always forced through your veins.
……
“Oh god, don’t remind me, please, that was horrible.” He tilted his head back as another laugh clawed through him, eyes momentarily fluttering close. Your eyes focused on his hand, watching him reach for his almost empty glass of wine. His adam’s apple bobbed as he drowned the last sip, you’ve lost count on the glasses the both of you have drowned by now, enjoying the carefree atmosphere that was almost unfamiliar to the both of you.
“You were so angry with him, I almost felt pity for you.” His eyes met yours, no longer as sharp and bright as they were hours ago, a hazy coat had laid itself to rest on his pupils, guided by the alcohol thumping through his veins. You were just as tipsy, but you couldn’t spare the way your body reacted to the glasses of wine you had fostered any attention, too happy about finally being able to share a proper conversation with the professor.
“I always wonder what goes on in your head when you’re in my classes.” You couldn’t hold the intense eye contact he tried to lure you into, focusing on the empty glass of yours, fingertips stroking along the wet rim. “You always seem so distracted, yet you always get the highest grade on your assignments. What is your trick?”
You watched a smirk tug on his lips, hand no longer placed in his lap, but on the table, dangerously close to yours. With your breath hitched on your chest you allowed yourself to stare at his slender fingers for a few seconds, wondering how it must feel to be touched by him.
“Maybe I’m just bored by your teaching?” Your chuckles forced another laugh out of the tall, handsome professor, slowly shaking his head. You mimicked his smile, unable to rip yourself out of the grasp he now held on your body and soul, forever trapped by him.
“We both know that that is not true, I feel your eyes on me, if I wouldn’t know it any better I’d say you’re distracted by me.” An untameable heat thumped through your veins, a heat so biting you feared your body would go up in flames any moment now. Your thighs clenched together, guided by the forbidden imaginations now filing your thoughts, improper, dangerous thoughts.
“I’m sorry, I have to interrupt.” The sweet voice of an elderly lady interrupted your conversation, eyes snapping towards her. A smile began to widen on her painted lips as she studied the both of you. “I have to ask, how long have you been together? It’s beautiful to watch the two of you, it’s been years since I’ve got to admire such chemistry between a couple.”
“Oh,” your smile fell, clearing your throat as your eyes found his now hardening ones. “We’re no couple.”
“Oh, I am so sorry! You look so in love, I was clearly fooled by it. Have a good evening you two.” An uncomfortable silence followed, eyes unable to find their way back together, stuck on the words that still rang in your ears. Benedict rose to his feet without another warning, throwing down his napkin, opening his wallet, dropping a couple of hundred bills with the cold demeanour you knew just like the back of your hand.
“If you’ll excuse me, I am tired, it’s best I head to bed.” He didn’t look at you, his expression almost bored as he turned to walk away from you.
You were left speechless, your jaw ajar as you watched him leave. Be it the wine or the whiplash from his behaviour you walked right behind him, almost running to catch up.
“Bened-“ you started to speak but were immediately shushed by him stopping in his tracks and turning. You crashed against his body. He pulled you away from him, with a disgusted expression.
“Nobody has given you permission to call me that,” he spoke in a freezing tone, looking down at you with complete indifference.
“But-“ you tried to refute him, pointing out the fact that you had been calling him that for most of the dinner but he interrupted you again.
“You need to learn to keep your distance. Crashing my vacation was one thing but this game you are playing, it needs to stop.”
You felt your stomach turn, suddenly nauseous by his nasty words. “I am not playing any game. I have nothing to gain from this.”
“Oh don’t you? I am sure it is a coincidence that you are doing- doing whatever you are doing to your thesis supervisor. I am sure it is a coincidence that just days ago you turned in the most important piece of coursework you have ever written and I am the one that has to grade it.”
You felt his words physically hit you, stepping back as you looked at him in complete disbelief. “How dare you.”
“No. How dare you?” He stepped forward, “use whatever weakness I have for your nonsensical character for your own advantage. I thought you were better than that. Is your work so poor that you need to resort to this?”
You didn’t answer him. You were not about to give him the privilege to see you cry. You turned around and started walking, kept on walking until you were in your room, bag opened, clothes packed, ready to go back home the next day and never see the Professor again.
——
POV BENEDICT
Two days back into the semester and I still could not stop thinking about the vacation, about how awful I had been to her. I hadn’t meant to accuse her… it had just left my lips. Better that accusation than what I actually wanted to say, to do.
I thought about apologising, about reaching out but I realised it didn’t matter. She was gone. She had received her grade, by far the highest grade that I’ve ever given a dissertation. There was nothing my apology would bring.
The more I thought about what I had done the more disgusted I was at myself. Her research was immaculate, a true show of passion. She did not need to flirt or be polite to me to ensure a good grade, her work spoke for itself. And yet, I had accused her of such lowly behaviour.
It did not matter. I had to move on. To stop letting her invade my thoughts. She was gone. She would n— and yet there she stood. I froze in my path, watching as she shook the hand of the dean and walked into his office, just two doors down from mine.
I must have imagined it. No. Yet, her laugh echoed before the door closed and her so familiar overflowing bag followed her as she walked in the room.
No. I shook myself awake, ignoring the stares of some students as they walked past me, rushing to get to class. I entered my office and sat down, opening Google. Hallucinations and their causes.
—-
I walked to my class that afternoon, quickly making my way through the different hallways. It was still 30 minutes till the start of my lecture, so I got to pick up on the sounds of the different talks being given in my department and suddenly, I was stopped in my tracks. My head whipping to a side, looking into the small window of the classroom and seeing her.
Her in a beautiful white button-up, some suit trousers and a pair of heels, commanding the whole room. Everyone’s eyes were on her and why wouldn’t they be when she looked like that?
“So yes, that is all the insight I can give you into my career path. I know you are just starting but I hope this has been helpful and it can expand upon your options. Thank you for listening so attentively, if you have any questions I will take them now.”
I felt my stomach turn at the sound of her voice, unable to step away as I watched students, mostly male, lift their hands eagerly to ask her questions. I continued watching her, enthralled, until a student seemed to point at the door, at me. I backed away immediately and started walking away, when I heard the click of her heels behind me.
“Professor,” she spoke in an airy tone. I exhaled before turning around, preparing to have this conversation. My eyes instantly found hers, drawn to the like a moth to a flame, fuck, I felt one flashback after another race through my mind, this is why I needed to distance myself, this is why I can’t stand being around her, not used to the power she holds over me.
“(Y/n), you’re teaching now? Here?” I watched the corners of her mouth lifting her lips into a smile, a smile that left my insides churning.
“I do, didn’t you read the welcome email the department sent out yesterday morning?” Her eyes momentarily flickered back to her classroom, knowing that she’d have to return any moment now. I felt my throat growing tighter, unable to speak another word, at least for the next few seconds where I allowed myself to study her.
“I didn’t, but you know how it is, we always get too many emails at the start of the semester. Feel free to come by my office in the next few days, I’ll let you get back to your students now.” Without waiting for her reply, I turned away from her, forcing myself to search the distance, needing to back away before I’d no longer be able to guide my body.
……
YOUR POV
“Professor?” Your voice echoed through the office, eyes focused on his frame. He seemed to be deep in thought, eyes focused on the stack of papers covering his desk. His piercing eyes shot towards your frame, straightening his posture.
“(Y/n), please, come, sit.” It felt unfamiliar to catch the sweet tone of his voice, not used to hearing him speak this softly. Carefully you closed the door, walking towards the chair placed in front of his desk. He watched your every move, and you couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his head as he held eye contact.
“I,” he cleared his throat, placing his pen down before he slowly sunk back in his chair. “I think I have to apologise. I am sorry for the way I spoke to you, that wasn’t fair of me.” Your heart raced, just like your thoughts did. Did he actually just apologise? Did the man who never dared to even start a proper conversation with another colleague let alone another student actually apologise to you?
“Can I ask why you did it though? I’d lie if I said your words didn’t hurt me. They were cruel, even for you, professor.” He kept watching you, tongue kissing his teeth, seemingly pondering over his next words. You felt the tension rising, it felt like you were close, close to forcing a confession out of him you’ve dreamt of hearing him speak for months on end, yet deep down you knew that you were too delusional for your own good, at least when it came to him.
“Please, Benedict’s just fine. You see, (y/n), you were by far the brightest student I ever crossed paths with, you could have easily taken over my course. I didn’t trust myself around you, no professor should cherish this kind of interest in their student. And to put it quite frankly, I still don’t trust myself around you.” Your mouth felt dry, throat in knots. Was that it? Did he finally give into what you desperately had hoped to hear him speak? Heat flushed through your system, a heat so biting you were forced to avert your gaze, focusing on your trembling fingers. “I am sorry, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, especially not since we’re seemingly colleagues now.”
“I don’t feel uncomfortable. It’s just a lot to process, I guess. You’ve always treated me like you hate me more than anything else. You were always so rude to me. And I felt so stupid for crushing on you.” Now it was his turn to stumble over his words, eyes zoning in on your features once again. It took him a few moments to rise to his feet, rounding the table, slowly, all too slowly for your linking. No longer could you pay your thoughts any of your attention, solemnly focusing on the way he kept moving, on the darkening gaze stuck to your features.
“I should tell you to leave before either one of us does something we can’t walk away from.” Whispers, nothing but silent whispers you didn’t reply to. You rose to your feet with trembling legs, standing close to him, oh so close. His eyes focused on your lips, a clear sign that gave you the push you needed, hand finding his.
“Don’t, don’t push me away again.” No further word was spoken, allowing a crackling silence to wrap its arms around the two of you. His big hand found your face, carefully cupping your cheek, pulling you even closer. With your breath hitched in your chest you tried to stand still, giving him enough time to ponder over his next move. But before you could give into your thoughts, wondering why he was still hesitating, Benedict had finally closed the gap between you.
The kiss was slow, though fuelled with a biting heat that made their hairs rise at the nape of your neck, forcing your hands to find his shirt, clinging to him. Slowly he turned the two of you around, pushing you onto his desk, wrapping your legs around his middle. All the emotions flushing through your veins kept forcing the two of you to keep on going, to deepen the kiss with your tongues meeting and your teeth almost clashing together.
Quiet moans ripped through you, forcing a few chuckles out of the smirking man, allowing him to part from you for a few seconds. You didn’t need to speak any words to communicate, lips finding back together after a few moments, hearts begging one another to keep going, to finally give into the deep longing you’ve been addicted to for months.
“You can always tell me to stop, don’t hesitate.” His soft words left your heart swelling, forcing you to nod your head before your lips searched his once again. Your hands started working on his trousers, undoing the belt of his you’ve found yourself staring at at any given chance. The cold metal felt heavy in your hands, momentarily distracting you from his wandering lips, kissing their way down your throat. “I should take my time with you, but I can’t take another single minute away from you.”
“Don’t stop, please, I need you to fuck me, been waiting for it for so long.” His chuckles vibrated on your skin, forcing goosebumps to rise. Benedict’s skilled fingers helped you out of your blouse, pushing the fabric of your skirt up to your waist, desperate to get rid of the layers of clothing keeping you separated.
“Tell me, love, tell me how much you need me.” With your trembling hands pushing the zip of his trousers down, pulling his hardening cock free, you gave room for another gasp to leave you, finally able to feel him pressed against your skin. Your eyes flickered up to meet his before you pushed him away, giving yourself enough space to drop to your knees.
“So much, been dreaming of being touched by you for months, I touched myself to the thought of you fucking me too many times.” A deep groan left the professor, hand finding your head as you parted your lips, taking his twitching cock into your mouth. You struggled to take much of him, deeply exhaling through your nose, moving slow as your mouth tried to adjust to his size.
His hand grasped your hair tightly, clinging to you as if you were about to slip right through his fingers. It was a sight so unreal you were no longer sure if you weren’t just stuck in another daydream. The sounds rippling through him were sinful, sounds so dreamy you hoped that this wasn’t the last time you’d get to hear them.
You parted from him, taking a few deep breaths as your tongue flickered over his tip, letting the taste of him stick to your tongue. Every now and then your eyes met his, picking up on the pleasure swimming in his pupils, picking up on the fire simmering deep inside of him.
Impatiently he tugged on your hair, jerking his hips to force his cock back into your mouth. You gagged around him, eyes rolling into your head to try and keep calm. Benedict started fucking your mouth, abusing the warmth engulfing him with curses rolling off his tongue.
“Fucking hell, such a pretty sight, you on your knees for me, for me only.” You hummed around him, unable to stop your heart from skipping a few beats. He gave it a few more seconds before he pushed you away, pulling you up with trembling limbs. Once again your lips met his, sharing a sloppy kiss he used to let his hands wander, pushing your damp panties to the side, fingers exploring your dripping cunt. Your heart kept accelerating its beat, body melting in his tight grasp. “Turn around for me, love, hands on the desk.”
Almost gently you were pushed down onto the desk, front meeting the expensive wood. You heard him fumble with his clothes, seemingly ripping open a condom he rolled down on his cock before he aligned himself with your heat, slowly pushing into you from behind. The both of you gasped in unison, momentarily freezing to adjust to the sensation.
Benedict didn’t give you another warning as he started fucking you from behind, fingertips digging into the flesh of your waist, marking you as his. Your moans kept roaring through you, reverberating through the office like a new song he was listening to for the first time, finding enjoyment in the way his heart swelled in pride.
“You have to be quiet if you don’t want any other professors to hear how good I’m fucking you.” The way he almost growled his words had your walls clenching around his cock, teeth buried in your lower lip to try and stay quiet. Tears of desperation welled up in your eyes, hands tightening their grip on the edge of his desk, needing to hold onto something before you’d give in too soon.
His cock kept disappearing deeper inside of you with every ferocious thrust, skin meeting yours over and over again. Your jaw muscles kept twitching, teeth forced together as he wrapped one arm around your middle, thumb circling your clit. Your body kept twitching, about to give in, hanging onto the last strands of strength before he pushed you over the edge.
You came with a sob clawing through you, letting the intense sensation flush through your system. Benedict kept fucking you through your high, chasing his own release, set on leaving you sore for the upcoming days. With your heart still racing and your blood singing in your ears you listened to the groan leaving him as he came.
“You don’t know how much strength it took me to not touch you on the vacation.” His words drowned out your gasps, slowly pulling out of you to throw away the used condom, slowly redressing himself. You mimicked his movements, trembling hands working on your clothes before you combed them through your hair.
“If you’re back to being an asshole tomorrow I’ll throw a fit in the middle of the hallway, I promise you that much, professor.”
He pulled you back to him, a smirk stamped on his lips, pressing a confident kiss on yours. “Don’t worry, I am planning on,” his lips moved to your neck, making you gasp slightly, “being incredibly good to you.”
—-
You were not sure what you spent more time doing that semester, bending over his desk or lecturing. Regardless, you had never been more eager to go to university.
....
Liv's Note
Hope everyone enjoyed our latest collaboration! I have missed you all so much, especially as the one-year anniversary of the last chapter of AHL is approaching. I can't believe it has been so long. I promise I will come back with something soon, although you may be a little tired of the professor!fics haha so let me know if you'd like something different. Sending you all my love and can't wait to read your comments! As always reblog to support my writing :)
Warnings/tags: MDNI. Jackson era. Established relationship. Foul language. Sexual content. Dirty talk. Pet names. Soft, domestic Joel. Cockwarming. Mutual masturbation. No mention of age, race, or body type.
Word count: 1.9k
a/n: listen, i’m not saying this is in the soft&sweet universe, but i’m also not not saying it.
my kofi linked here! if you’re interested in supporting my work further. :)
He was always so warm.
At first, you couldn’t stand it. When you started spending nights over in his home, contentedly falling asleep in his arms, only to wake up hours later sweating through your pajamas — you couldn’t believe the grizzly bear of a man you had. You would shove him to the other side of the mattress, to which he would usually respond with an unconscious grunt or heavy sigh, and claim the space needed to cool yourself down.
Then, came the dead of winter. Your feet were always too cold and his sturdy legs were always so warm. You’d shove your toes underneath his thigh on the couch while you sat together.
“Get those damn icicles outta here,” he would yap at you, and you would roll your eyes and laugh, knowing he wouldn’t move your legs. He loved it when you gravitated towards him, he was just too stubborn to admit it.
But the best time to feel Joel Miller’s warmth was when you convinced him to take a bath.
Sat between his legs with your back pressed up against his firm chest, he wrapped his arms around your middle, and you laid your head into the curve between his neck and shoulder. Your eyes were closed, a calm silence fallen over the room. Foamy water reached just below your breasts, and you were soothed by the pattern of his hands that rubbed gently over them every few moments. He caressed your stomach, your thighs, loving the silken feel of your skin in the water. He had his nose pressed to the back of your head, breathing in the sweet scent of your damp hair. His thighs cradled either side of you, legs bent, not quite perfectly fitting inside the tub.
Joel didn’t mind. He would would sit there till his skin pruned and his blood boiled from the outrageous temperature you insisted on keeping the water if it meant he got to have you this close.
Normally, you would be satisfied to just exist like this. But today, the incessant tingle between your legs was craving something else warm. And hard. And thick. And already pressed against your lower back behind you.
In your relaxed state, you not so nonchalantly shuffled your bottom in his lap, inhaling a heavy breath at the feel of his cock nestling up against your lower lips. Joel stirred only the slightest, and not even a moment later, you felt the familiar tickle of his thick beard below your ear.
“Need somethin’ from me, darlin’?” he murmured, lips grazing the sensitive skin of your neck.
A soft grin dangled on your lips, eyes still shut. “Mm, no. Just getting comfortable,” you feigned innocence, another swivel of your hips catching the tip of his cock between your folds, eliciting a grunt from deep within Joel’s chest.
This time, when his hands grazed over your breasts, he cupped them tenderly in his palms, padding his thumbs over your already taut nipples. You couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped you, something so undeniably intoxicating about the delicate, yet filthy way Joel Miller touched you. You arched up slightly into his hold, and a low chuckle rumbled through his chest.
“Thought’ya wanted a relaxin’ and undisturbed evening?” he taunted, mimicking the exact words you had given him before you two settled down for the night.
You opened your eyes only to roll them, tilting your head back to catch his profile. His cheeks were flushed from the heat of the water, eyes on you and a snark little grin hanging on his lips.
“I do. Who says I’m not relaxed?” You couldn’t think of a more soothing scenario than the one you were in right now.
He hummed, thumbs taking another pass over your nipples, this time giving them delicate pinch. You sucked in through your teeth, fingers digging into his thighs below the water.
“Just seem a lil antsy s’all.” He knew what he was doing. He knew you knew what he was doing, but Joel didn’t care. He was the kind of man who loved to work you up until you simply could not take it anymore. He liked to feel wanted.
And fuck, did you want him.
Now, his hips were meeting you in return with small, upwards rocks, making it significantly harder to hold your ground. “Just–just trying to get comfy,” you deemed, though your voice failed you in the way it faltered, too enamored by feel of his sturdy cock rubbing over your folds. The water made the motion much easier, smoother, every maneuver of him below you providing the delicious friction.
His lips were pressed against your ear. “Here,” he whispered, the sudden drop in his tone sending a tingle between your thighs. “Let me help you.”
Then, his large hands were disappearing under the water, palms coming to cradle your ass, spreading your cheeks apart as he lifted you the slightest bit. The tip of him slipped between your folds, and you dug your nails deeper into his thighs. And as he descended you back against his chest, he slowly nestled himself up inside of you, reaching the kind of depth only Joel could find.
The familiar stretch made you sigh contentedly, a sense of relief in your breath. “Joel,” you hummed softly, hands finding his that held your hips steady below the water, lacing your fingers atop of his.
“That better, darlin’?” he asked, lifting a hand to swipe your hair over to one shoulder, exposing the hollow of your neck to his feathery kisses.
You gave him a slow nod and soft mmhm before allowing yourself to melt back into his embrace. You weren’t sure how long you sat like this, plugged up with his cock and dazed off the delicacy of his hands. But soon enough, it became difficult to stay still. The unmoving thickness not enough to quench the painful ache between your legs. You think Joel must’ve been growing eager too, for anytime you shifted or arched any which direction, he would grunt low, feeling the mass of him swell and throb within your walls.
The harder he grew, the deeper he reached, and eventually, you felt the tip of him find a spot inside of you that left you gasping for air, the now lukewarm water sloshing around you as you bucked your hips forward.
"Joel." When you said his name again, it came as a frantic whine off your lips. If you weren't submerged below the water, you were certain you would be dripping down his cock, suddenly oversensitive to the steely feeling of him inside of you. Your untouched clit throbbed for attention; the abundance, the closeness, the sheer being of him within and around you too much to bare.
"I've got ya," he murmured, and you noted the way his own voice strained with desire. His hands caressed over your sides until he found the crux of your knees. "Open 'em up, baby."
Then, he was urging your legs over each respective side of the tub, never abandoning himself from inside of you, but merely slipping further into the water to accommodate your adjustment.
"But Joel, the water–" you gasped, but it was too late. He had already lifted them over the edges, and you were more than willing to comply to his ministrations, sending gulps of sudsy bath water onto the tiles.
Spread open for him, cock still nestled perfectly inside of you, Joel stifled out a low chuckle before his hands were back on you. One gingerly coming back to fiddle with you pebbled nipples while the other descended between your open legs, finding your point of contact. You mewled in delight the moment his fingers found your clit, calloused pads stroking carefully over the sensitive bud. Just the slightest bit, feather light and leaving you to anticipate more. You were already clenching around him, fluttering walls inviting him to overtake every inch of your cunt.
"Don't give a damn about the water, I'll mop it up later," he gritted, giving your left nipple a particularly terse pinch, sending your back arching and his cock pulsing to the hilt, more water spilling over the sides of the tub.
"Fuck," he breathed, and you were moaning at the familiar swell of him inside of you. Neither of you would last long, not after sitting like that, engulfed in the entirety of each other. "You're so fuckin' pretty," he praised, and then, his lips were back on your neck, this time sucking faint marks along your jugular. His fingers began to work in tight circles over your clit, a steady pace of even pressure that he knew would leave your toes curling.
He didn't indulge himself; he remained perfectly still inside of you, only the twitch or rock of your own hips providing any sort of internal friction. But the utter fullness of him coupled with his fingers stroking you, like a maestro on his fine instrument, plucked away at your sanity until you felt yourself wholly driven by lust.
The build up was intense, like always. Your eyes rolled back while he worked his digits over your clit, beginning to contract around him, coaxing him towards his own release. He emitted a low vibration in his chest then, a sound so primal in your heightened state that your toes really did curl off the edge of the tub.
“Oh, fuck. Fuck,” you sung in a high whine, slicing your teeth into your bottom lip as you clenched feverishly around him. “Joel, I’m—I’m cumming, I’m cumming,” you chanted like a prayer, knowing how much he loved to hear it and fuck, you loved to say it. Loved to tell him how good he made you feel. Your orgasm tipped over you in a warm ripple, coating your entire body in tingles. His free arm wrapped dutifully around your torso, keeping you steady as your hips trembled and jerked around his cock, little pulses vibrating through your clit that was still being bathed in his careful attention.
You thought you could’ve come again from his sounds alone, heavy grunts and stifled groans that reverberated through his chest as his own hips began to sputter below you. He kept you sufficiently plugged with the whole of him while he twitched inside of you, sinking his teeth into your shoulder to mask the heavenly little moan that slipped passed his lips when he spilled inside of you. Finishing himself off just by the feel of your cunt around him alone, tight and welcoming, the perfect fit.
Your body was on fire, no longer the doing of the water, but by the pleasant aftermath of Joel’s attention. Your once pristine bubble bath now a pool of your own sweat and cum. You would sit in it for hours to pass if he so pleased, nonetheless. Content to remain dirty if it meant having his hands on you.
You leaned your head back against his chest as you both began the search for your breath, letting your eyes flutter shut as his hands cascaded back over your stomach, your ribs, your breasts, soothing over every inch of skin he could get them on. He softened inside of you, and yet, the prolonged connection already had you aching for more. You sighed pleasantly, an equally depraved and gleeful smile lingering on your lips.
“We should take baths more often,” you hummed, that blissful stupor between sleep and awake that arose after Joel took care of your pleasure wrapping you up like a warm, heavy blanket.
Joel chuckled shakily behind you. “I think I could be convinced,” he said, and you joined in on his laughter when his fingers found you below the water again, playfully tickling at your sides.
You weren’t sure either of you ever really got clean that night.
can u write a joel tlou smut where he gets hurt some how and reader has to help hi out? pls and thank you I loved ur dr strange fic sm btw
Beggars Can’t Be Choosers
PRE-ELLIE!JOEL MILLER X AFAB!READER
Summary: You work w/ Joel Miller and go on supply runs together. You two get into some trouble and he gets hurt. You take care of him albeit he's a tough old man who doesn't want any help. He gives in after refraining for tooooo long.
Word Count: Around 4,250
WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY!! pretty vanilla Smut (sorry :'( ), pet names (sweetcheeks and sweets), p in v with clit stimulation (no fingers in v). Non-smut-related warnings: violence, injuries, guns, fighting, swearing. PLS LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANY!! Not really proofread eek
God, you couldn't take your eyes off of him. He was handsome... Too handsome and it drove you insane. The way he spoke, the way he stood-- everything about him was just so sexy. His musky, hardworking scent drove you insane. Every time you caught a whiff of him, you immediately started thinking dirty thoughts. Oh god, and his physique was perfect. He was built like a man. A man you could hardly resist. It was so hard working the same jobs as him-- you couldn't focus on your work. You were way too distracted.
And he knew. He knew too well that you were smitten. It wasn't hard to notice your stares, your flirtatious smile. It was beyond obvious that you wanted him. It was a mutual feeling, but Joel had his doubts. You were younger, that much was clear. He wasn't sure how old you were, definitely in your twenties. Maybe late twenties but you couldn't have been over thirty yet. Or maybe you were. Fuck, he didn't have a clue, and he thought it would be too weird to ask. Your mannerisms and behavior made him think that you were young. It wasn't that you were immature, no, but you did lack a filter. You said too many things and argued with too many people. You always stood your ground, something that Joel could appreciate.
Not only were you too young for him, but he couldn't fathom being with someone again. It's hard for him to be intimate, especially since he lost everyone that he loved. He couldn't allow himself to find interest in another-- he doesn't want to be hurt again. He doesn't want to lose those close to him. He keeps his guard up, entertaining your little side comments about his looks or what-have-you. The way you compliment him always makes his heart skip a beat. It's stupid, really. He shouldn't be so affected by your teases and inappropriate comments. You were just too young for him and things could never work out.
"Truck's leaving, you coming?" You question, snapping Joel out of his internal monologue. Of course, he was coming with, you didn't even have to ask, but he wasn't moving. He was standing still, almost zoning out. You weren't sure what he was thinking about, but his stoic look nearly made you weak in the knees. He is too attractive, and you were down bad. You had been working with him for years now. You managed to gain his trust, however, it was no easy task. Once he realized you meant no harm, he would take you on supply runs. It was dangerous, sure, but you saw how he could hold off tons of infected. Even at his age, he could still hold his ground. You felt safe around him-- you trusted him. He's one of the only people that you truly do trust. He's a good man.
The plan after work today was to go on another supply run once the sun sets. He hates letting you come with him. You have to practically beg him every time. He tries to refuse, grumbling about how you could get hurt. You always wave him off though, insisting that you needed to come with to get feminine products.
"Y'know, I could grab 'em for you. That way you wouldn't have to come with," he tries telling you.
"Joel, I want to get them for myself. I tell you this every time. I'd feel weird if you came back with a box of half-used tampons," you lie. Of course you don't care whether or not he grabs the products for you. You just can't stand the idea of being trapped in the same old routine. You need to get out, see things, and experience them like you used to. And maybe, just maybe, this was your only chance at alone time with Joel. You liked going with him-- you two always got personal and talked about deep things. You really enjoyed the time you got to spend with him outside of work.
"Whatever makes you comfortable," he mumbles with a grunt, but it didn't sound like a frustrated grunt. He sounded content, maybe even pleased.
~~~
"You ready?" He knocks on your door, hurrying you along. You throw your empty bag around your shoulders and slide your pistol into its holster. A knife rests on your hip as you zip up your coat. You open your door to see Joel resting against the wall. "Took ya long enough. Let's go."
You follow him out of the QZ, sneaking through buildings and behind objects, hoping not to get spotted. You always ask him questions about the things you see. He's been on earth long enough to know a thing or two. He's the first person you ask whenever you have a question. He's not only intelligent, but he's honest. He'll tell you the hard, cold truth, whether or not you actually want to hear it. Once you make it out of the zone, you carefully make your way to the buildings you have yet to snoop through.
"We checked this one last time, right? Let's keep going to the right, I'm sure these buildings have stuff," you whisper as you carefully step around the rubbish and anything that could make sound.
"Follow close," he tells you so you oblige. You're walking too close to him, almost stepping on his heels. You're both so quiet, you nearly hear him breathing. As you make your way outside of the QZ, you head in the opposite direction than you did last time you went out. It's uncharted territory for you. Joel seems to know where he's going, but you have yet to travel this far out. The moon and Joel's flashlight are the only source of light you have to see. It's dark and spooky-- the quiet sounds of infected hiding in places you can't see makes your heart pick up in pace. Joel slows down his walking and turns around to face you. He puts a finger against his mouth, signaling that you both have to be very quiet. After walking for about fifteen minutes, you both find a building that looks untouched. It resembles something of an old semi-truck stop. The diesel pumps still stand but they look very ragged and nearly destroyed. He glances back, making sure you're still keeping up. As quietly as possible, he pulls the door back, his face cringing when the door creeks. He walks in first, making sure the area is safe. Joel never allows you to go in first.
"Coast's clear," he mutters, splitting from you and searching for his own necessities. You trail off, walking down the aisles, shoving whatever is left into your bag. You find a few snacks here and there, shoving them into your bag, disregarding the expiration dates. They may be labeled as expired, but that doesn't necessarily mean they've gone bad. Besides, even if you don't eat them, you can trade them for something else. There has to be someone desperate for a small bag of Lays. Once you clear out the snack aisle, you head over to the necessities, hoping to find something good. Not only do you find a full box of tampons and a pack of baby wipes, but you find the holy grail.
A box of condoms (albeit expired as well).
Your eyes widen in surprise, never expecting to find a full box of protection. Sure, they're expired, but any protection is better than none. And if you don't end up using them ever, people are willing to trade almost anything for a protected fuck. You glance back to make sure Joel isn't looking, and you quickly shove those into the bottom of your bag.
"Over 'ere," he speaks up from the shadows, nearly startling you. You sling your bag over one shoulder and follow where his voice came from. You come around the corner to see Joel standing victoriously while holding two bottles of shampoo in the air. "Found the good stuff," he mumbles as he tosses one your way.
"Finally, something that isn't a cheap two-in-one."
"Beggers can't be choosers, sweetheart. Just be happy-" he gets cut off by the sound of clickers. Your eyes widen as you freeze in place. You can hear it coming into the room from behind you. You hold your breath, staring at Joel, not sure what to do. He swallows, his Adam's-apple bobbing. His brows furrow, showing that he's thinking.
"Run", he mouths while pulling out his gun. Without another thought, you take off sprinting past Joel, not stopping until you're far behind him. You quickly pull your pistol out, fumbling to turn off the safety. Joel pulls the trigger, unloading into the clicker. It slows down but doesn't stop. The clicker knocks Joel back into the wall, determined to get to you. The heavy metal shelving tips off the wall and lands on Joel. Your eyes widen as you let out a gasp. Your hands tremble as you shoot it blindly without a flashlight. It lurches itself at you, and you stumble back, trying to keep your distance.
"Joel?" You shout, trying to find any sign that he's okay. You hear a faint groan but you're unable to see him. It's dark and his flashlight is no longer working. The clicker snaps its head in your direction, hearing you call for Joel. You shoot at it again, to no avail, and it lurches at you. You grasp the knife that's holstered on the side of your hip, and hold it firmly in front of you, bracing for impact. It throws itself on top of you, knocking you to the ground. You struggle for a second, trying to kick it off of you. "Get. The. Fuck. Offofme," you shout as you repeatedly stab it in the side of the head. It lets out a croak and falls limp to the side. You kick its body away while crawling up from the ground. "Joel?" You call once more, feeling around for his flashlight. Your hands are sticky with muck and blood as you blindly crawl on the ground, looking for the flashlight.
"The shelf," is all you hear as you make your way towards his voice. You find the flashlight on the ground after accidentally kicking it, and you pick it up, shake it, and the light flickers back on. You point it towards the wall, finding the shelf with Joel buried underneath it.
"Oh, fuck. No, no, no," you frantically spew out as you grab a part of the shelf and try to pull it off of him. Using all of your strength, it hardly budges. "What do I do?" You ask aloud, begging for the solution to your problem. Your heart races and worry fills your mind. What if he can't get out? You can't possibly leave without him. Anxiety swarms you and tears begin to fill your lashline. Yanking at the shelf does nothing. "I can't- I can't get it. I need your help. Fuck, Joel, I can't do this without you. Please," you cry out, hands shaking in fear. He's stuck and injured, unable to move.
"Pull," he chokes out, gasping for breath after. You grab the shelving once more and pull. He groans in pain as he helps push it off of himself. Once it's up, you knock it out of the way, immediately dropping down to his level, checking to see if he's okay. His eyes are closed and he holds his abdomen.
"Let me see," you whisper, moving his hands away from his body. You slowly lift his shirt, pulling it up to his chest. His abdomen is already black and purple, and it looks like the shelf or even the hit from the clicker must have bruised his ribs. For all you know, they could be broken. "Shit. Okay, can you move at all?"
"Hardly," he hisses as he sits up. You grab under his arm, allowing him to put most of his weight onto you as you slowly make your way back to the QZ.
~~~
"Joel, I'm not going to stand here and watch you strain yourself because of your pride. Seriously, it's not that big of a deal, you're just being difficult. Please, just let me help you. It'll make me feel better, alright?" You say as you hold a bottle of shampoo in one hand and a bar of soap in the other. Joel stands in the shower, the curtain being the only thing separating you two.
He's been resting for a few days now-- ice packs and pain medication seem to be helping him the most. He's able to slowly walk without too much pain, but it hurts to stretch or lift his hands in the air. He struggles to wash his hair or scrub his back when he takes a shower. You have offered countless times to help him-- you hate watching him struggle. He's too prideful to ask for assistance, but you don't want to push it too far and piss him off.
But you're still going to ask. Partly because he truly does need the help, and the other part is that you would not mind seeing him so exposed. So vulnerable. Fuck, just the thought of him standing in the shower makes your pulse quicken. You stand in the doorway of the bathroom, watching his silhouette through the shower curtain.
"It's fine. I'll just rinse my hair," he replies making you scoff. He's acting like you didn't drag him back to the QZ, put him in his bed, and strip him of his shirt to wrap his torso. Hell, you had to walk him to the bathroom so he could take a piss. Annoyance overtakes you while you respond to him.
"You know what? Fine. You can do it your way and live with greasy hair and an unwashed back. But do not expect me to help you out anymore. You make it so difficult to let anyone help you and I am sick-" You spew out angrily until he whips the shower curtain open. Your words immediately get lost, and you stop speaking before you can even finish your sentence. He stands there exposed, just how you pictured him in your mind. His shoulders are broad, his hair is soaked, and his torso is still bruised. You manage to stop yourself from looking down any further. Your eyes widen slightly as you do not look away from his face.
"Will you shut up if I let you?" He raises a brow. You swallow before nodding, a small smile creeping onto your face as you show him the shampoo bottle. Without letting your eyes travel, you step onto the edge of the tub so now you're able to reach his head better. You both face each other, and he sets both of his hands on either side of you to keep you steady on the edge of the tub. Just his gentle, hovering touch alone makes your pace quicken. He's very close to you, and you can't help the tingles that come from where his hands are resting. Squeezing a glob of shampoo into your hand, you work it into his hair, lathering it. You make sure you take your time, not wanting this to be over too fast. You really work the shampoo into his hair, nearly massaging his scalp. He throws his head back in relaxation and it makes you smile victoriously. "Mm, feels good," he groans.
Your breath catches in your throat as you push his hair under the shower head, rinsing the shampoo out. "Yeah? I'm glad." You condition his hair next. Your sleeves are soaked, and water droplets have landed all over your shirt and chest.
"Why're you helpin' me?" Joel mumbles causing you to giggle.
"Maybe because I feel obligated to..." You mumble the lie. "Or maybe it's simply because I want to. You've done a lot for me, you know? And I feel like it's my turn to do something back," you mumble, placing your hands on his shoulders to turn him around. He stifles back a groan of pain and you mumble a 'sorry'. He faces the shower wall, and you grab the soap and lather your hands before slowly rubbing your hands on his back. You massage it into his shoulders and down his back, just reaching his hips. You're careful not to be too rough to hurt him at all. You know he's a tough man, but you still try your best to be sweet and gentle.
"You don't needa help me though. I don't want to burden you-- make ya feel like you need to help an old man out," he says, still facing away. You crack a smile at his comment and gently drag your fingers up and down his back, obviously feeling him up with no shame. It's not very often-- or ever-- that you get to be this close to him.
"I know you don't need my help, Joel. I know you do everything on your own, all by yourself. Thing is, I want to help you, and I especially want to help you wash yourself," you giggle. You mentally scold yourself for the comment though, shocked by the newfound confidence.
"That so?" He questions as he slowly turns around to face you. You can't help but feel his erection pressing against your leg yet you still manage not to look down. Your breath hitches in your throat and you're almost at a loss for words. His hands find themself back on your hips, digging into your skin. He's soaking wet, the shower still raining down on him.
"Yeah, very much so," you smile and without hesitation, he drags you into the shower with him. You yelp in surprise, the water soaking your clothes and hair. "Joel!" You shout in surprise, your hair now wet and falling down your face. He holds you close, closing the gap between you two. Joel leans down and places his lips on yours while moving the hair out of your face with his free hand. He tastes like sweet whiskey and salt. Your hand on his neck pulls him close and deepens the kiss, giving him permission. It's desperate like you've both been waiting for ages. Heat fills you and you clench your thighs together in response. You slip your tongue between his teeth and his erection rubs against you once more, causing you to moan into his mouth. "Fuck, Joel. I need you. Now."
"Turn the water off," is all he says. You know it would be too painful for him to bend down and do, so you turn the knob and step out of the shower. He follows suit as you grab his hand and drag him toward his bed. You gently push him onto it, knowing being on top will be the better option. Before you climb into the bed making it soaked, Joel watches you strip your clothes off with a smirk on his face. "Lookin' good, sweetcheeks," he quips, unmoving from his spot. Once your clothes are off, you grab a condom from your pocket before you slowly climb on top of him like a huntress coming after her prey. It's almost painfully slow in the sexiest way. Joel just watches you, reaching forward to touch you. His rough fingertips trail up your arm as you move to straddle him now. With nothing on, you hover just high enough above him that his dick doesn't reach you.
"Wanna know what I grabbed on that trip?" You question as he has yet to know about the condoms you found. His eyebrow quirks in interest as you wave your closed hand around his face. His thumbs rub circles on the sides of your thighs.
"What'd ya get?" He urges on, his hands on both sides of you, ready to pull you onto his length any minute now. You open your hand to reveal a condom. His smirk grows wider and he opens his mouth to speak. "I feel like a kid on Halloween," he teases as he grabs it from your hand and opens it. Without waiting, he grips his member and pulls the condom down over it. You watch his member flex at his touch and heat pools in your lower stomach.
"Trick or treat," you mumble, playing into his comment, as you reach your hand down to replace his. Your hand grips the base of his cock and you slowly lower yourself down, allowing it to rub against your clit.
"Treat," he says aloud as he thrusts a smudge, rubbing his member on your sensitive spot. A moan slips from your lips and your hands find either side of his head as you lean down to kiss him. "You want this?" He asks, double-checking and you only nod with a smile. "Words, sweetcheeks."
"I want you to fuck me, Joel," you say into the kiss and he lets out a groan. He grabs the base of his dick and lines it up with your entrance. You sink down, just letting his tip barely enter you. The feeling of just his tip sends shivers down your back. He stops kissing you, but instead moves his mouth to one of your tits, sucking and kissing at your nipple. With both of his hands on your hips, he slowly pulls you down onto him further. His dick slips in with ease, creating wet sounds with your juices. "F-fuck, Joel. Oh god," you moan out with your wet hair dangling above his face. You start moving your knees, bouncing up and down on his length. You watch his face, making sure he doesn't show any signs of pain.
"You're doing so good, princess," his mouth lets go of your tit to say. Your bounces falter for a second as you relish in the sounds of his praises. "Don't stop riding me," Joel gently demands as he moves a hand to the heat between your legs. His fingers find your clit with easy and he begins playing with you-- rubbing you.
"You feel so, so good," you babble as you ride him, his large member sliding in and out of you. His hands hold your ass, lifting you up and down on his length. "Just how I imagined it would be, fuck."
"You been thinkin' about me?" He smirks, still fucking into you with his fingers on your sensitive spot. You lean down and plant a hungry kiss on his lips before leaving a trail of pecks down his cheek and jaw.
"Nearly every night," you pant, your knees starting to get sore. You place your hands on either side of his shoulders to help you ride him.
"If I would've known, I'da had you like this weeks ago," Joel responds before slowly pushing you off of him. As his dick slides out of you, you let out a groan of disappointment. "Just for a second, sweets. Gotta give your knees a break." Joel motions for you to turn over and lay on your back. He pulls you to the edge of the bed and puts himself between your legs. He lets out a painful groan at the action of pulling you.
"We don't have to if it hurts too-" But he cuts you off by lining his member with your entrance and thrusting forward. "Oh, fuck. You're so good," you mewl as he leans forward, towering over you. He places a hand beside you to stable himself, but uses his free hand to rub your clit again.
"Think I'm gonna quit fucking you because I hurt?" He sarcastically questions as he picks up pace. "You're so wet for me, sweets. Wish I coulda been in you the moment I met you. I notice the way you look at me. I've been dyin' to get my hands on you," he curses himself as he fucks into you hard, hitting your cervix.
"Yes, yes-- fuck, yes. Joel," you moan, your eyes rolling back. He strategically rubs your clit, knowing every sweet spot. You feel your coil tighten and the pressure begins to build. "I'm so close," you tell him, gripping his forearm tightly, your nails digging into him.
"Come for me, baby," is all he says and your coil snaps. Orgasmic waves flow through you as you come. His pace slows and becomes sloppy, fucking you through your orgasm. He stutters a bit before throwing his head back. He shakes a bit before letting out a loud moan, coming in you. He has yet to lift his fingers off your clit, still working you through your orgasm. The sensitivity makes you twitch and shake. Once he finishes, he slowly pulls out of you and pulls you up so you're sitting with him still between your knees. He gives you a quick, sweet kiss before speaking up. "We might needa shower again," he says aloud and you wrap your arms around his torso.
"Might be a good idea," you mumble into his skin, leaving loving kisses on his chest.
"You go first, I'll make us some dinner," he tells you as he backs away and lets out a quiet but painful groan while pulling a pair of pajama pants on. You give a little, sad frown at his pain.
"I'm sorry for hurting you."
"Oh, I'm not," he flashes a small smile as leaves the room for you to have some privacy. "Save me some hot water!" He calls out from the kitchen and you chuckle to yourself, knowing that all of the hot water is already gone from his previous shower.
~~~
YALL I haven't written a oneshot in FOREVER so don't come for me. I usually only write full fics so I'm still getting used to fitting emotional connection into such a small amount of words. I'm a lil rusty, okay? Please let me know what you think!!
Basic rules for analysing fiction, an incomprehensive list jotted down in a hurry:
The protagonist isn’t always right
The protagonist isn’t always good
The protagonist isn’t always written to be relatable or likeable
The narrator isn’t always right
The narrator isn’t always good
The narrator isn’t always telling the truth
The narrator isn’t always the author
The protagonist’s moral compass, the narrator’s moral compass and the author’s moral compass are three entirely different things that only occasionally overlap
Pay attention to what characters do and not just what they say
Pay special attention when what the characters do is at odds with what they say
A lot of the time the curtains are blue for a reason. If they aren’t, you should read better books
summary: joel is out like a light, but you can only think of one thing that will help you fall asleep.
warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] established relationship, f!masturbation, masturbating next to sleeping partner, unprotected piv, cockwarming, mild dirty talk, soft joel.
word count: 2.7k
a/n: this one is for the folks with sleep problems lmao. hope you guys enjoy—any feedback is appreciated!
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Your bedroom was pitch-black, the curtains drawn to protect against any slivers of light shining in and disturbing either of you in the morning. Rain pattered softly against the roof, comforting you as you lay awake in the darkness.
Joel was dead asleep beside you.
His bare chest rose and fell with rhythmic deep breaths, soft lips parted to allow quiet snores to escape. After an hour or so your eyes had adjusted to the dark, and you were able to make out the fuzzy outline of his face and body, the way his forehead had smoothed out in his sleep, and how his hair pressed against his forehead from being shoved into the pillow.
It was something you’d never understood—the way most men could simply close their eyes and drift into sleep within minutes. Every man you’d ever dated, slept with, or even slept in the same room as; they were all the same. A few minutes of silence before their breathing evened out into soft snores, body relaxing into the mattress as they disappeared into dreamland. It wasn’t fair.
You’d struggled with sleep since you were a teenager. No matter how busy your days were, or how much physical labour you undertook, your mind whirred at night, endlessly awake until you’d exhausted all avenues of thought, and you’d wake the next morning with no recollection of ever falling asleep.
And when you’d first met Joel, you’d discovered it was much the same for him. Fierce nightmares plagued him at night, terrified him out of falling asleep until he physically couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, only to fitfully rouse him at multiple points throughout the evening. But as your relationship grew over the years, the pair of you settled. You got comfortable, and suddenly all it took was wrapping your arms around one another and you could both pass out with a snap of your fingers.
But on days like this—ones where you’d wiled the hours away reading and doing laundry and eating your meals alone and being terribly fucking bored—you felt old habits rear their ugly head, as you laid down for bed and found yourself wide awake. And yet you couldn’t be mad at him, didn’t even contemplate frustration or jealousy, because his day had been vastly different to yours.
When you’d woken up that morning to find his side of the bed empty, the cold sheets signalled that he’d risen far earlier than you. A note left on the kitchen counter told you that he’d been called out to fill a patrol spot for someone who was under the weather, and that he wouldn’t be home until late. It wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary for him to do favours like that for people, and so you’d gone about your day as usual, performing mundane tasks and chores, milling about with no real goals set for yourself.
And when he did get home, well after sunset, he looked worse for wear. Sodden clothes stuck to his skin as he kicked off waterlogged boots, mumbling under his breath about needing to trade for some thicker socks. It had been raining for hours. What started with soft spitting in the early afternoon had quickly turned into a thunderstorm, and Joel and Tommy had been caught in the thick of it all evening. Fat droplets of cold water oozed out of his hair and rolled down his face, slipping under the collar of his shirt to send shivers down his spine.
He looked positively miserable as he shed the soaked layers by the door, impervious to the sympathetic look you were offering from the couch. Only when he was down to his underwear and t-shirt did he spare a glance in your direction, gaze softening.
“Long day?” you asked softly.
“Long day,” he confirmed, not making a move to come any closer, lest he get any of the rainwater on you.
“Tell me about it,” you prompted, padding across the room to him.
“I’d rather hear about yours,” he retorted earnestly, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your cheek.
And so you led him up the stairs and into the bathroom, detailing how you’d managed to get their washing done before the rain properly set in. And as he stepped under the warm spray of the shower, you told him about Ellie stopping by for a movie in the afternoon.
He hummed to signal that he was listening, but you could see how the day hung heavy on his shoulders. His head slumped forward under the stream, thick steam filling the air as he lazily rubbed a bar of soap along his skin with one hand and brushed his teeth with the other.
“Sounds like a nice day,” Joel smiled as he shut off the water, stepping out into a towel you had ready for him. You nodded, feeling somewhat guilty that he’d listened all about it, knowing his had been the complete opposite.
But he didn’t seem bothered, herding you towards the bedroom where he pulled you underneath the covers, pressing a few soft kisses to your cheeks before he relaxed back into his pillow. Cue: a few brief minutes of silence, breaths growing heavier, and then snoring. And god he deserved it. You watched him for a while, smiling softly at the sight of the man you loved so dearly, your life partner through thick and thin, getting the rest he so needed.
It was lovely… for the first thirty minutes. And then an hour passed. And then it got closer to two hours, and you could hear the leaky shower faucet dripping from down the hall, and the trees rustling against the side of the house, and you were so fucking awake.
The thought flashed through your mind, as it always did when you couldn’t sleep.
Maybe if you just….
Having an orgasm was the only thing you could think of that might tire you out enough to have you falling asleep in seconds. The way the muscles in your arm would get sore, and your entire body would go from tense to lax within minutes. It was enough to have warmth flood your bones and dopamine zap through your brain – and would definitely put you to sleep in a heartbeat. You felt guilty, though, as you contemplated it. Masturbating in front of Joel was common, and was something he often encouraged during sex, dragging your hand between your thighs and encouraging you to touch yourself while he got undressed. But doing it while he was asleep beside you was territory you’d never dipped your toe into before.
Is this perverse? Am I being creepy? What if he wakes up and is horrified?
Well, you told yourself. You just have to make sure that he doesn’t wake up.
Slowly, so as not to disturb the blankets too much, you slid your palm across your stomach until your fingers cupped your sex over your underwear. You stroked your fingers across the material, teasing yourself a little, trying to inspire some kind of horniness. And after a few minutes of gentle touching you could feel a warmth brewing in your stomach, a desire.
Carefully, you tugged your underwear down your legs before swiping your tongue across your middle and ring finger, lubricating them before you pressed them between your folds. You swiped at your entrance, collecting the small amount of slick that had formed there and spreading it across your core. A soft puff of air left your mouth as your fingertips connected with your clit for the first time, thighs tensing as you circled over it with fierce precision. This wasn’t about fun and games or prolonging the experience – this was about finishing as fast and as quietly as possible, and then going the fuck to sleep.
You took care not to move your arm too quickly, tensing your bicep to keep it still while your fingers circled and stroked and flicked against your clit, trying to find the perfect rhythm. A slow tightening began to build in your lower stomach as you discovered the right spot, the right speed, and you quickly pushed a finger inside yourself, collecting more of your slick before returning to your now aching bundle of nerves, the added lubrication making it easier to move.
A harsh exhale to your right made you pause for a moment, limbs stiffening as you waited to see if Joel had woken up. But a moment later his breathing steadied, and you relaxed, fingers continuing their quick movements.
Your forearm burned, muscles tensing with the struggle of keeping still but also providing enough friction to bring you to the edge. And as you felt your high approaching, you struggled to keep your breathing quiet, as heavy, laboured exhales forced themselves past your chapped lips. With your blood rushing in your ears and your middle finger drawing figure eights against your sensitive clit, you could feel it. You were so close, so fucking close, just five more secon—
“What are you doin’?”
The words were accompanied by a warm hand landing on top of your own, long fingers hovering over yours to see if he was correct; if you were touching yourself. A short gasp of surprise left you and your fingers froze, orgasm slinking away, disappearing from reach. Fuck.
“Shit, sorry,” you mumbled breathlessly, a little embarrassed to have been caught. “I can’t sleep and it’s been hours, and m’just trying to make myself sleepy, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologise.” Joel’s voice was rough and gravelly from sleep, and you bit back a whimper at the sound of it, fingers twitching against your pulsing centre. He moved on the bed, shifting closer so you could feel the warmth of his chest against your side. “Should’ve woken me up baby, would’ve helped tire you out.”
As he spoke, his hand tightened over yours, pushing your fingers to continue moving. Shyly, you began to circle your clit again, attempting to make out his expression through the darkness. For a moment, you swore you could see him grinning.
“You had a bad day,” you whispered raggedly. “Need the rest, I—fuck—didn’t mean to w-wake you.”
While you chattered away, a thick finger dipped into your folds, stroking against the pool of wetness that rested at your entrance. Your fingers sped up, the warmth of his body helping you chase the high you’d come so agonisingly close to. He exhaled heavily, forehead dropping against your shoulder.
“Christ,” he sounded pained. “You’re fucking—soaked. Were you thinkin’ ‘bout me?”
“Wasn’t thinking about anything,” you murmured honestly. “Just—ungh—just wanted to come, knew it’d help me fall asleep.”
“Poor baby,” he tutted, nosing at the side of your neck. “Need somethin’ to come on, hmm? Is that it?”
“Yes,” you mewled, hips shifting desperately upward into your hand now that you weren’t afraid of your movements waking him up. He dragged his hand away from you, using it to remove his underwear and then you could feel him against your hip, solid and hot and throbbing. He must have been listening for a moment, hearing you work yourself up. Your mouth went dry, stomach tensing at the feeling of him.
“Yes what, honey?”
“Need something to come on,” you repeated his words, grateful that he couldn’t see the sheer desperation on your face in the darkness.
A strong hand gripped your hip, gently pushing your body until you were laying on your left side and facing the wall. And then he was there, hot chest pressing against your back, lips dragging along the shell of your ear as he manoeuvred your legs into the best position for him to drag the aching tip of his cock through your drenched folds.
He exhaled heavily at the feeling, taking a moment to lube himself up with your slick before notching his head at your entrance. Your fingers were still against your clit, eyes closed as you waited for him to press in.
One arm slithered underneath your head, wrapping around your shoulders to hold you firmly against his chest and allow you to rest the side of your head on his bicep. His other hand held you still, fingertips pushing into your flesh as he flexed his hips, dragging his cock halfway into you. You gasped, pushing your ass back into him, mumbling some nonsense under your breath like ineedyou and pleasejoel and fuck.
He tried to control his breathing, but hot heavy puffs of air tickled the back of your neck as his pelvis came flush to the soft round of your ass, and then he was bottoming out, the full length of him slipping easily inside of you. A low moan dragged its way up your throat and you clutched deliriously at the arm around your torso, griding yourself back against him. But he didn’t budge an inch.
“Go on, baby,” Joel rasped against your ear. “Make yourself come.”
A soft cry of frustration left you, but your hand dropped between your thighs within a second. Your walls fluttered around him, squeezing his length as you began to rub your clit in soft, slow motions at first. He murmured quiet encouragements in your ear with that deep, coarse drawl that drove you crazy, his thumb rubbing against your waist as you rutted against him. He was heavy inside you, bringing a delicious burn to your cunt that you always loved, a beautiful medley of pleasure and pain that had you careening towards the orgasm that had dangled so painfully out of reach for however long.
Joel’s teeth nipped at the sensitive skin below your ear, no doubt leaving a mark as he licked and sucked over the sore spot he’d caused. You gasped at the sensation, tilting your chin up to give him better access to your neck. He squeezed your hip appreciatively, leaning closer to sponge messy kisses along your racing pulse point. Your fingers moved fast against yourself now, circling and rubbing messily, and unintentional moans were spilling from your lips as you felt the coil in your stomach start to draw tighter and tighter.
“Joel,” you choked, hips bucking relentlessly as you searched for more friction, but he still didn’t give you anything.
“C’mon,” he urged. “I know it feels so good, honey, keep goin’. You’re so close, I can—shit—I can feel it, c’mon now give it t’me.”
It didn’t take much more than that for you to start twitching, body convulsing against him as your orgasm tore through you. Your arm burned as you continued to rub your clit, fucking yourself through it as your walls clamped down around him.
He groaned softly in your ear, grip on your waist tightening just a fraction as he pressed forward, giving you a hint of a thrust to prolong your high. You cried out, mouth hanging open in elation as waves of pleasure rolled through you. It was euphoric, and exactly what you needed. Your hand stilled after a minute, and then you were simply rocking against him, riding out the aftershocks.
After a while, the ringing in your ears died down and pinpricks of feeling returned to your fingers as you released the death grip you had on his arm around you.
You slumped against him, the only tension remaining in your body being in your neck as you tried to keep your head up. Your eyelids had grown heavy, and you could feel your body relaxing into the post-orgasm haze that you’d been seeking so desperately.
“Good girl,” he murmured, lathing soft kisses against the edge of your jaw. “Feelin’ tired now?”
You hummed sleepily in response, walls fluttering around him. He let out a low groan but didn’t move.
“Sleep, darlin’,” he said quietly, arms tightening to keep your back flush to his chest.
You could feel how hard he still was, cock pulsing inside you every few moments. But his body was heavy, arms like lead draped over you, and his head had already dropped down to rest against the pillow again. He was exhausted.
“Can we stay like this?” you asked drowsily, shifting your hips to show what you meant.
Joel squeezed your hip in confirmation, and you murmured gratefully. His warmth shrouded your body, filling you up and enveloping you, keeping you safe as your muscles slackened entirely, chin dropping to your chest.
A soft, stilted thank you was the last thing you could muster before sleep clouded your brain and pulled you under. Finally.
can u write a joel tlou smut where he gets hurt some how and reader has to help hi out? pls and thank you I loved ur dr strange fic sm btw
Beggars Can’t Be Choosers
PRE-ELLIE!JOEL MILLER X AFAB!READER
Summary: You work w/ Joel Miller and go on supply runs together. You two get into some trouble and he gets hurt. You take care of him albeit he's a tough old man who doesn't want any help. He gives in after refraining for tooooo long.
Word Count: Around 4,250
WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY!! pretty vanilla Smut (sorry :'( ), pet names (sweetcheeks and sweets), p in v with clit stimulation (no fingers in v). Non-smut-related warnings: violence, injuries, guns, fighting, swearing. PLS LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANY!! Not really proofread eek
God, you couldn't take your eyes off of him. He was handsome... Too handsome and it drove you insane. The way he spoke, the way he stood-- everything about him was just so sexy. His musky, hardworking scent drove you insane. Every time you caught a whiff of him, you immediately started thinking dirty thoughts. Oh god, and his physique was perfect. He was built like a man. A man you could hardly resist. It was so hard working the same jobs as him-- you couldn't focus on your work. You were way too distracted.
And he knew. He knew too well that you were smitten. It wasn't hard to notice your stares, your flirtatious smile. It was beyond obvious that you wanted him. It was a mutual feeling, but Joel had his doubts. You were younger, that much was clear. He wasn't sure how old you were, definitely in your twenties. Maybe late twenties but you couldn't have been over thirty yet. Or maybe you were. Fuck, he didn't have a clue, and he thought it would be too weird to ask. Your mannerisms and behavior made him think that you were young. It wasn't that you were immature, no, but you did lack a filter. You said too many things and argued with too many people. You always stood your ground, something that Joel could appreciate.
Not only were you too young for him, but he couldn't fathom being with someone again. It's hard for him to be intimate, especially since he lost everyone that he loved. He couldn't allow himself to find interest in another-- he doesn't want to be hurt again. He doesn't want to lose those close to him. He keeps his guard up, entertaining your little side comments about his looks or what-have-you. The way you compliment him always makes his heart skip a beat. It's stupid, really. He shouldn't be so affected by your teases and inappropriate comments. You were just too young for him and things could never work out.
"Truck's leaving, you coming?" You question, snapping Joel out of his internal monologue. Of course, he was coming with, you didn't even have to ask, but he wasn't moving. He was standing still, almost zoning out. You weren't sure what he was thinking about, but his stoic look nearly made you weak in the knees. He is too attractive, and you were down bad. You had been working with him for years now. You managed to gain his trust, however, it was no easy task. Once he realized you meant no harm, he would take you on supply runs. It was dangerous, sure, but you saw how he could hold off tons of infected. Even at his age, he could still hold his ground. You felt safe around him-- you trusted him. He's one of the only people that you truly do trust. He's a good man.
The plan after work today was to go on another supply run once the sun sets. He hates letting you come with him. You have to practically beg him every time. He tries to refuse, grumbling about how you could get hurt. You always wave him off though, insisting that you needed to come with to get feminine products.
"Y'know, I could grab 'em for you. That way you wouldn't have to come with," he tries telling you.
"Joel, I want to get them for myself. I tell you this every time. I'd feel weird if you came back with a box of half-used tampons," you lie. Of course you don't care whether or not he grabs the products for you. You just can't stand the idea of being trapped in the same old routine. You need to get out, see things, and experience them like you used to. And maybe, just maybe, this was your only chance at alone time with Joel. You liked going with him-- you two always got personal and talked about deep things. You really enjoyed the time you got to spend with him outside of work.
"Whatever makes you comfortable," he mumbles with a grunt, but it didn't sound like a frustrated grunt. He sounded content, maybe even pleased.
~~~
"You ready?" He knocks on your door, hurrying you along. You throw your empty bag around your shoulders and slide your pistol into its holster. A knife rests on your hip as you zip up your coat. You open your door to see Joel resting against the wall. "Took ya long enough. Let's go."
You follow him out of the QZ, sneaking through buildings and behind objects, hoping not to get spotted. You always ask him questions about the things you see. He's been on earth long enough to know a thing or two. He's the first person you ask whenever you have a question. He's not only intelligent, but he's honest. He'll tell you the hard, cold truth, whether or not you actually want to hear it. Once you make it out of the zone, you carefully make your way to the buildings you have yet to snoop through.
"We checked this one last time, right? Let's keep going to the right, I'm sure these buildings have stuff," you whisper as you carefully step around the rubbish and anything that could make sound.
"Follow close," he tells you so you oblige. You're walking too close to him, almost stepping on his heels. You're both so quiet, you nearly hear him breathing. As you make your way outside of the QZ, you head in the opposite direction than you did last time you went out. It's uncharted territory for you. Joel seems to know where he's going, but you have yet to travel this far out. The moon and Joel's flashlight are the only source of light you have to see. It's dark and spooky-- the quiet sounds of infected hiding in places you can't see makes your heart pick up in pace. Joel slows down his walking and turns around to face you. He puts a finger against his mouth, signaling that you both have to be very quiet. After walking for about fifteen minutes, you both find a building that looks untouched. It resembles something of an old semi-truck stop. The diesel pumps still stand but they look very ragged and nearly destroyed. He glances back, making sure you're still keeping up. As quietly as possible, he pulls the door back, his face cringing when the door creeks. He walks in first, making sure the area is safe. Joel never allows you to go in first.
"Coast's clear," he mutters, splitting from you and searching for his own necessities. You trail off, walking down the aisles, shoving whatever is left into your bag. You find a few snacks here and there, shoving them into your bag, disregarding the expiration dates. They may be labeled as expired, but that doesn't necessarily mean they've gone bad. Besides, even if you don't eat them, you can trade them for something else. There has to be someone desperate for a small bag of Lays. Once you clear out the snack aisle, you head over to the necessities, hoping to find something good. Not only do you find a full box of tampons and a pack of baby wipes, but you find the holy grail.
A box of condoms (albeit expired as well).
Your eyes widen in surprise, never expecting to find a full box of protection. Sure, they're expired, but any protection is better than none. And if you don't end up using them ever, people are willing to trade almost anything for a protected fuck. You glance back to make sure Joel isn't looking, and you quickly shove those into the bottom of your bag.
"Over 'ere," he speaks up from the shadows, nearly startling you. You sling your bag over one shoulder and follow where his voice came from. You come around the corner to see Joel standing victoriously while holding two bottles of shampoo in the air. "Found the good stuff," he mumbles as he tosses one your way.
"Finally, something that isn't a cheap two-in-one."
"Beggers can't be choosers, sweetheart. Just be happy-" he gets cut off by the sound of clickers. Your eyes widen as you freeze in place. You can hear it coming into the room from behind you. You hold your breath, staring at Joel, not sure what to do. He swallows, his Adam's-apple bobbing. His brows furrow, showing that he's thinking.
"Run", he mouths while pulling out his gun. Without another thought, you take off sprinting past Joel, not stopping until you're far behind him. You quickly pull your pistol out, fumbling to turn off the safety. Joel pulls the trigger, unloading into the clicker. It slows down but doesn't stop. The clicker knocks Joel back into the wall, determined to get to you. The heavy metal shelving tips off the wall and lands on Joel. Your eyes widen as you let out a gasp. Your hands tremble as you shoot it blindly without a flashlight. It lurches itself at you, and you stumble back, trying to keep your distance.
"Joel?" You shout, trying to find any sign that he's okay. You hear a faint groan but you're unable to see him. It's dark and his flashlight is no longer working. The clicker snaps its head in your direction, hearing you call for Joel. You shoot at it again, to no avail, and it lurches at you. You grasp the knife that's holstered on the side of your hip, and hold it firmly in front of you, bracing for impact. It throws itself on top of you, knocking you to the ground. You struggle for a second, trying to kick it off of you. "Get. The. Fuck. Offofme," you shout as you repeatedly stab it in the side of the head. It lets out a croak and falls limp to the side. You kick its body away while crawling up from the ground. "Joel?" You call once more, feeling around for his flashlight. Your hands are sticky with muck and blood as you blindly crawl on the ground, looking for the flashlight.
"The shelf," is all you hear as you make your way towards his voice. You find the flashlight on the ground after accidentally kicking it, and you pick it up, shake it, and the light flickers back on. You point it towards the wall, finding the shelf with Joel buried underneath it.
"Oh, fuck. No, no, no," you frantically spew out as you grab a part of the shelf and try to pull it off of him. Using all of your strength, it hardly budges. "What do I do?" You ask aloud, begging for the solution to your problem. Your heart races and worry fills your mind. What if he can't get out? You can't possibly leave without him. Anxiety swarms you and tears begin to fill your lashline. Yanking at the shelf does nothing. "I can't- I can't get it. I need your help. Fuck, Joel, I can't do this without you. Please," you cry out, hands shaking in fear. He's stuck and injured, unable to move.
"Pull," he chokes out, gasping for breath after. You grab the shelving once more and pull. He groans in pain as he helps push it off of himself. Once it's up, you knock it out of the way, immediately dropping down to his level, checking to see if he's okay. His eyes are closed and he holds his abdomen.
"Let me see," you whisper, moving his hands away from his body. You slowly lift his shirt, pulling it up to his chest. His abdomen is already black and purple, and it looks like the shelf or even the hit from the clicker must have bruised his ribs. For all you know, they could be broken. "Shit. Okay, can you move at all?"
"Hardly," he hisses as he sits up. You grab under his arm, allowing him to put most of his weight onto you as you slowly make your way back to the QZ.
~~~
"Joel, I'm not going to stand here and watch you strain yourself because of your pride. Seriously, it's not that big of a deal, you're just being difficult. Please, just let me help you. It'll make me feel better, alright?" You say as you hold a bottle of shampoo in one hand and a bar of soap in the other. Joel stands in the shower, the curtain being the only thing separating you two.
He's been resting for a few days now-- ice packs and pain medication seem to be helping him the most. He's able to slowly walk without too much pain, but it hurts to stretch or lift his hands in the air. He struggles to wash his hair or scrub his back when he takes a shower. You have offered countless times to help him-- you hate watching him struggle. He's too prideful to ask for assistance, but you don't want to push it too far and piss him off.
But you're still going to ask. Partly because he truly does need the help, and the other part is that you would not mind seeing him so exposed. So vulnerable. Fuck, just the thought of him standing in the shower makes your pulse quicken. You stand in the doorway of the bathroom, watching his silhouette through the shower curtain.
"It's fine. I'll just rinse my hair," he replies making you scoff. He's acting like you didn't drag him back to the QZ, put him in his bed, and strip him of his shirt to wrap his torso. Hell, you had to walk him to the bathroom so he could take a piss. Annoyance overtakes you while you respond to him.
"You know what? Fine. You can do it your way and live with greasy hair and an unwashed back. But do not expect me to help you out anymore. You make it so difficult to let anyone help you and I am sick-" You spew out angrily until he whips the shower curtain open. Your words immediately get lost, and you stop speaking before you can even finish your sentence. He stands there exposed, just how you pictured him in your mind. His shoulders are broad, his hair is soaked, and his torso is still bruised. You manage to stop yourself from looking down any further. Your eyes widen slightly as you do not look away from his face.
"Will you shut up if I let you?" He raises a brow. You swallow before nodding, a small smile creeping onto your face as you show him the shampoo bottle. Without letting your eyes travel, you step onto the edge of the tub so now you're able to reach his head better. You both face each other, and he sets both of his hands on either side of you to keep you steady on the edge of the tub. Just his gentle, hovering touch alone makes your pace quicken. He's very close to you, and you can't help the tingles that come from where his hands are resting. Squeezing a glob of shampoo into your hand, you work it into his hair, lathering it. You make sure you take your time, not wanting this to be over too fast. You really work the shampoo into his hair, nearly massaging his scalp. He throws his head back in relaxation and it makes you smile victoriously. "Mm, feels good," he groans.
Your breath catches in your throat as you push his hair under the shower head, rinsing the shampoo out. "Yeah? I'm glad." You condition his hair next. Your sleeves are soaked, and water droplets have landed all over your shirt and chest.
"Why're you helpin' me?" Joel mumbles causing you to giggle.
"Maybe because I feel obligated to..." You mumble the lie. "Or maybe it's simply because I want to. You've done a lot for me, you know? And I feel like it's my turn to do something back," you mumble, placing your hands on his shoulders to turn him around. He stifles back a groan of pain and you mumble a 'sorry'. He faces the shower wall, and you grab the soap and lather your hands before slowly rubbing your hands on his back. You massage it into his shoulders and down his back, just reaching his hips. You're careful not to be too rough to hurt him at all. You know he's a tough man, but you still try your best to be sweet and gentle.
"You don't needa help me though. I don't want to burden you-- make ya feel like you need to help an old man out," he says, still facing away. You crack a smile at his comment and gently drag your fingers up and down his back, obviously feeling him up with no shame. It's not very often-- or ever-- that you get to be this close to him.
"I know you don't need my help, Joel. I know you do everything on your own, all by yourself. Thing is, I want to help you, and I especially want to help you wash yourself," you giggle. You mentally scold yourself for the comment though, shocked by the newfound confidence.
"That so?" He questions as he slowly turns around to face you. You can't help but feel his erection pressing against your leg yet you still manage not to look down. Your breath hitches in your throat and you're almost at a loss for words. His hands find themself back on your hips, digging into your skin. He's soaking wet, the shower still raining down on him.
"Yeah, very much so," you smile and without hesitation, he drags you into the shower with him. You yelp in surprise, the water soaking your clothes and hair. "Joel!" You shout in surprise, your hair now wet and falling down your face. He holds you close, closing the gap between you two. Joel leans down and places his lips on yours while moving the hair out of your face with his free hand. He tastes like sweet whiskey and salt. Your hand on his neck pulls him close and deepens the kiss, giving him permission. It's desperate like you've both been waiting for ages. Heat fills you and you clench your thighs together in response. You slip your tongue between his teeth and his erection rubs against you once more, causing you to moan into his mouth. "Fuck, Joel. I need you. Now."
"Turn the water off," is all he says. You know it would be too painful for him to bend down and do, so you turn the knob and step out of the shower. He follows suit as you grab his hand and drag him toward his bed. You gently push him onto it, knowing being on top will be the better option. Before you climb into the bed making it soaked, Joel watches you strip your clothes off with a smirk on his face. "Lookin' good, sweetcheeks," he quips, unmoving from his spot. Once your clothes are off, you grab a condom from your pocket before you slowly climb on top of him like a huntress coming after her prey. It's almost painfully slow in the sexiest way. Joel just watches you, reaching forward to touch you. His rough fingertips trail up your arm as you move to straddle him now. With nothing on, you hover just high enough above him that his dick doesn't reach you.
"Wanna know what I grabbed on that trip?" You question as he has yet to know about the condoms you found. His eyebrow quirks in interest as you wave your closed hand around his face. His thumbs rub circles on the sides of your thighs.
"What'd ya get?" He urges on, his hands on both sides of you, ready to pull you onto his length any minute now. You open your hand to reveal a condom. His smirk grows wider and he opens his mouth to speak. "I feel like a kid on Halloween," he teases as he grabs it from your hand and opens it. Without waiting, he grips his member and pulls the condom down over it. You watch his member flex at his touch and heat pools in your lower stomach.
"Trick or treat," you mumble, playing into his comment, as you reach your hand down to replace his. Your hand grips the base of his cock and you slowly lower yourself down, allowing it to rub against your clit.
"Treat," he says aloud as he thrusts a smudge, rubbing his member on your sensitive spot. A moan slips from your lips and your hands find either side of his head as you lean down to kiss him. "You want this?" He asks, double-checking and you only nod with a smile. "Words, sweetcheeks."
"I want you to fuck me, Joel," you say into the kiss and he lets out a groan. He grabs the base of his dick and lines it up with your entrance. You sink down, just letting his tip barely enter you. The feeling of just his tip sends shivers down your back. He stops kissing you, but instead moves his mouth to one of your tits, sucking and kissing at your nipple. With both of his hands on your hips, he slowly pulls you down onto him further. His dick slips in with ease, creating wet sounds with your juices. "F-fuck, Joel. Oh god," you moan out with your wet hair dangling above his face. You start moving your knees, bouncing up and down on his length. You watch his face, making sure he doesn't show any signs of pain.
"You're doing so good, princess," his mouth lets go of your tit to say. Your bounces falter for a second as you relish in the sounds of his praises. "Don't stop riding me," Joel gently demands as he moves a hand to the heat between your legs. His fingers find your clit with easy and he begins playing with you-- rubbing you.
"You feel so, so good," you babble as you ride him, his large member sliding in and out of you. His hands hold your ass, lifting you up and down on his length. "Just how I imagined it would be, fuck."
"You been thinkin' about me?" He smirks, still fucking into you with his fingers on your sensitive spot. You lean down and plant a hungry kiss on his lips before leaving a trail of pecks down his cheek and jaw.
"Nearly every night," you pant, your knees starting to get sore. You place your hands on either side of his shoulders to help you ride him.
"If I would've known, I'da had you like this weeks ago," Joel responds before slowly pushing you off of him. As his dick slides out of you, you let out a groan of disappointment. "Just for a second, sweets. Gotta give your knees a break." Joel motions for you to turn over and lay on your back. He pulls you to the edge of the bed and puts himself between your legs. He lets out a painful groan at the action of pulling you.
"We don't have to if it hurts too-" But he cuts you off by lining his member with your entrance and thrusting forward. "Oh, fuck. You're so good," you mewl as he leans forward, towering over you. He places a hand beside you to stable himself, but uses his free hand to rub your clit again.
"Think I'm gonna quit fucking you because I hurt?" He sarcastically questions as he picks up pace. "You're so wet for me, sweets. Wish I coulda been in you the moment I met you. I notice the way you look at me. I've been dyin' to get my hands on you," he curses himself as he fucks into you hard, hitting your cervix.
"Yes, yes-- fuck, yes. Joel," you moan, your eyes rolling back. He strategically rubs your clit, knowing every sweet spot. You feel your coil tighten and the pressure begins to build. "I'm so close," you tell him, gripping his forearm tightly, your nails digging into him.
"Come for me, baby," is all he says and your coil snaps. Orgasmic waves flow through you as you come. His pace slows and becomes sloppy, fucking you through your orgasm. He stutters a bit before throwing his head back. He shakes a bit before letting out a loud moan, coming in you. He has yet to lift his fingers off your clit, still working you through your orgasm. The sensitivity makes you twitch and shake. Once he finishes, he slowly pulls out of you and pulls you up so you're sitting with him still between your knees. He gives you a quick, sweet kiss before speaking up. "We might needa shower again," he says aloud and you wrap your arms around his torso.
"Might be a good idea," you mumble into his skin, leaving loving kisses on his chest.
"You go first, I'll make us some dinner," he tells you as he backs away and lets out a quiet but painful groan while pulling a pair of pajama pants on. You give a little, sad frown at his pain.
"I'm sorry for hurting you."
"Oh, I'm not," he flashes a small smile as leaves the room for you to have some privacy. "Save me some hot water!" He calls out from the kitchen and you chuckle to yourself, knowing that all of the hot water is already gone from his previous shower.
~~~
YALL I haven't written a oneshot in FOREVER so don't come for me. I usually only write full fics so I'm still getting used to fitting emotional connection into such a small amount of words. I'm a lil rusty, okay? Please let me know what you think!!
summary: you're home from college for summer '99 to visit your parents, when your eye wanders upon their next-door neighbor, joel miller.
a/n: basically just porn with some plot that started at 2k and ended up becoming 13k. enjoy these 13k of unhinged depravity :)
warnings: (18+) SMUT (extended warning are under the cut), age gap (reader is 22, Joel is 32), swearing, mentions and consumption of alcohol, use of petnames (mostly sweetheart and one darling), probably inaccurate descriptions of the southern US, reader's mom is kind of annoying, reader kind of seduces joel (ish), neighbor!joel (is this a warning?) single dad! joel (what about this one?), reader babysits Sarah a few times
extended warnings: smut, fingering, p in v unprotected sex (pls in the name of the lord practice safe sex people), some (relatively tame) dry humping, couch sex, definitely some praise kink (we're moving on), for sure some soft!dom!joel, but also a pinch of dom!reader (👀), a lil cockwarming, maybe like a bit of a breeding kink if you really, really squint and i think that's it! please let me know if i've missed any. no use of y/n in this fic.
"Is this really how you're going to be spending your entire holiday?"
You bite back a groan as you look at your mom from where you'd been laying down on the lounge chair in the garden, book dropping from in front of your face so you can peer at her from behind your sunglasses.
"What's that supposed to mean?" you ask her, and she shrugs as she continues to water her rhododendrons.
"You've been home a week now," she tells you pointedly, "And you've sat more in that chair than I have all year,"
"I'm on break," you say matter of factly, "That's kind of the point," Your mum lets out a hum as she continues watering her flowers, which you ignore as you bring your book back up in front of your face.
It's hot out in the Texas sun, almost too hot, but having come from the constant cold and rain in Seattle, you find yourself not caring too much as you bask in the sunlight. You're not wearing much, dressed only in a bikini top and pair of old shorts, that are maybe a touch too snug, but survived your parents' move from Galveston. They'd moved to Austin at the end of last summer for your father's new job. You hadn't been to the new house over Christmas, your parents having come up to visit Seattle for the holidays, instead. Austin and Galveston weren't such different cities, it was all still Texas, but the one thing you found yourself desperately missing, especially now in the heat, was the ocean.
Somewhere in one of the neighbouring gardens, the sound of a lawnmower being turned on fills the air. You ignore it, putting down your book for a second instead and watching as your mother shuffles over to the flowers lining the wooden fence which separates your neighbour's garden from yours.
"I'm getting a drink," you declare, swinging your legs over the side of the sun lounger, "Can I get you anything, Mom?"
"I'm alright," your mom says with a wave of your hand, and you nod, before turning on your heel and going inside to get your drink, pushing your sunglasses to the top of your head. The house is delightfully cool as you open the screen door. On your way to the kitchen you pass the living room, finding your dad passed out on the couch, fan on full blast and TV displaying the U.S. Golf Open.
You bite back a chuckle as you step into the kitchen, filling up a glass of water before chugging it down, wiping the rest off your chin, before filling it up again. You spend a couple of minutes leaning against your counter taking small sips, before your ears perk up at the sound of your mom's voice from the garden. It's faint, like she's talking to someone, and you frown slightly as you think about who she could be talking to, considering your dad is in no state to have conversation with anybody, right now.
You shrug it off, taking a few more sips before you go back through the house the way you came, your mother's voice becoming clearer as her laugh floats through the screen door. The sun bears down on your face once more as you step back into the garden, your eyes taking a second to adjust to the bright light as you close the screen door behind you.
"–there you are, peanut! I was just telling Joel about you, come and say hi. . ."
"Goody," you mutter to yourself as the screen door clicks shut.
"–you remember I told you about Joel, don't you, honey? He lives next door with his daughter, Sarah,"
You bite back a sigh, before plastering a smile over your face as you turn to the garden to meet another undoubtedly middle-aged, pot-bellied man.
Either way, you're not expecting the man standing by the wooden fence; he's pretty young, maybe early thirties, with dark, scruffy hair and an equally half-kept scruffy beard and mustache. He's a handsome man, with dark, warm eyes that scan your face and an angular jaw and nose.
"Sure, I remember" you let out, smiling at him sweetly, "Pleased to meet you,"
"Hello," he returns your greeting with a slight nod, and his voice is deep and gravelly, tinged with that telltale Texan accent, "Nice to finally meet you, your mom sure does talk about you a lot,"
You give him a dry, sarcastic smile, raising your brows slightly. "She sure does like to talk,"
Joel lets out a chuckling breath, corners of his mouth twitching in amusement as your Mom rolls her eyes.
"Always so dry, that one," she comments, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes as you sit back down on the sun lounger.
"Your mom said you were home from college for the summer. . . How long you visiting for?" Joel says with a clear of his throat.
You go to open your mouth as Joel waits patiently for your answer, but your mom beats you to it. "Until about mid-August. . . good to have her home, she hadn't been down here at the new house since we moved, you see. . ."
Joel's gaze lingers on you for a second before his eyes turn back to your mother, whose animated conversation you tune out, as you pull your sunglasses back down onto your nose, and pick your book back up, stretching your bare legs over the lounger.
Your mind is anywhere but the book, however, and you make sure to hold it at such an angle that you can still peer over the spine, eyes shamelessly rolling over Joel's form from behind your sunglasses. He's wearing an old, dark green t-shirt that's covered in white paint splatters and looks like it's several sizes too small, but you don't find yourself complaining as your eyes linger over the bulge of his biceps under the shirt, broad chest stretching out the faded logo on the front. Your eyes travel down his torso to the shorts he's wearing, and you're pretty grateful for your sunglasses because you find your gaze lingering down from his belt to his zipper, material bulging slightly outwards–
"–Peanut can do it, can't you darling? She's real good with kids,"
Your mom's voice startles you out of your philandering thoughts, and eyes, and you pretend to look up from your book, heart skipping in your chest for a second as the idea that you'd just been checking out your parents' ridiculously attractive neighbor .
"Huh?" you let out, rather dumbly, lowering the book, and your mom makes an impatient noise.
"Joel's sitter called in sick and we've gotta be at the Council meeting after dinner," she explains, "You can watch Sarah for a couple of hours, can't you?"
"Uh–" you struggle to find your words for a second as Joel looks at you, before he puts up his hand in a reassuring gesture.
"Don't worry," he ensures you, shaking his head, "I ain't going to interrupt your evening plans, they don't need me at the council meeting, anyway–"
"Plans!" your mom says through a surprised chuckle, shaking her head "She doesn't have any, don't you worry,"
"Thanks, mom," you grumble under your breath, and again you watch as the corners of Joel's mouth twitch in held back amusement at your comment, before you clear your throat and nod, offering him a tentative smile, "Sure, I'm happy to help,"
"You sure?" he asks, and you nod, "It's just a couple hours, I'll be back before ten,"
"No worries, I can do that. . . uh–. . . how old is Sarah?" you ask, cringing slightly at the fact that you don't know, but Joel doesn't seem offended.
"She's eight," he informs you, and you nod again, "But don't worry, it won't be much work. . . she usually only stays up a couple of hours after dinner and then crashes,"
"Yeah, no problem," you reassure him, smiling slightly, and Joel gives you a grateful look.
"Perfect! She'll be over after dinner, then," your mom beams, and he nods, clearing his throat.
"Thanks a lot, you're doing me a real favor," he comments, but something in Joel's tone tells you he would've rather stayed home with his daughter than attended a 3-hour long community council meeting chaired mostly by the middle-aged ladies of the neighborhood,
"No worries," you tell him with another sweet smile, and Joel's eyes linger on your face for a second, before he clears his throat, wiping his hands on his shorts and looking back at your mom. "Right. . . gotta get back to this lawn, but I'll see you both later, then,"
"See you later, Joel," your mom beams, and you give one more saccharine 'bye' in his direction before he disappears back into his garden. The minute she hears the lawn mower turn back on, your Mum comes to sit on the edge of your sun lounger.
"He's nice, isn't he?" she says, and you give an affirmative hum as you continue reading, "Handsome, too. . .been living out here 5 years,"
"Interesting," you say, and your voice sounds far from interested, but your mom doesn't pay it any attention as she continues.
"No wife, though. . . Betty said he's just raising Sarah on his own, has been his whole life. . . she thinks the wife ran away, or something, one of these nutjobs that abandons their own child–"
"Mom," you interrupt, putting your book down as you tip your glasses down your nose and give her a look, "You shouldn't be gossiping about this,"
You mom looks guilty for a second, before she purses her lips haughtily, getting back to her feet. "You're right, I suppose. . . well, either way, we gotta do what we can to help him out, don't we? Can't imagine it's easy being a single parent,"
"I'm sure it isn't," you comment, before you close your book with a small smack, deciding that reading in the vicinity of your mother is going to be impossible, "I'm gonna head back in. . . grab a shower, before dinner,"
"Sure, peanut," your mom says with a nod, before she redirects herself back to pruning the rosebush.
You make your way back inside the house, past your dad in the living room and up the carpeted stairs to your bedroom. It's not decorated exactly the way your old one in Galveston used to be, but it still has your old bed and dresser, and your mom has hung a couple of paintings you did when you were in middle school on the walls. You drop your book on the dresser, letting out a sigh as you walk over to the window to open it and let some air in.
Your room is on the left side of the house, closest to the neighbor's garden, and as your fingers grip the edge of the window to pull it up, they stall as your eye falls on Joel as he mows his lawn. Your eyes widen slightly as you see that Joel's isn't wearing the olive-green shirt anymore, having instead discarded it in a heap on one of his faded deck chairs, leaving him in nothing but those shorts. You watch as the sun glistens on his sweat-drenched skin, accentuating every contour of the muscular physique that had been hidden away by his t-shirt earlier.His strong arms flexing as he grips the lawnmower's handle, his movements deliberate and confident. The rhythmic sound of the engine fills the air, blending with the gentle breeze and the sounds of the kids three houses up playing in their pool. He moves with a surprising grace, a sensuality even in such a mundane task as his forehead creases with effort and focus.
You're almost mesmerised as you lean in closer, breath fogging against the glass of your window. He stops for a second, hand coming up to wipe some sweat from his brow, and in that split second he looks up, hand shielding his eyes from the sunlight, almost directly at you. You fumble slightly with the windowsill, eyes quickly moving away as you push the window up and open, pretending not to see him and fussing with your curtains, instead. Your eyes move back down for a split second, heart pounding in your chest at the idea he may have caught you staring at him, but Joel is already focusing on his lawn mower again, continuing on his way across his garden.
"It's open, come on in!" comes a shout from inside the Miller house as you stand in front of their screen door, and you push it open gingerly.
Stepping across the threshold, the first thing that catches your eye is the haphazard mix of shoes strewn under the coat hook, ranging from Size 9 boots crusted with mud to a pair of bright pink trainers with glitter laces. The house isn't much different from yours. The stairs to the second floor are in the same place as your parents to the right of the hallway which you assume continues into the living room and kitchen. The wall is decorated with a mix of children's drawings, a few faded posters and various pictures of Joel and a young girl with curly black hair and a beaming smile.
"Sarah, where's my watch?" Joel's voice echoes from upstairs through the hall, and there's hurried steps on the landing upstairs, "I told you to stop playing with that thing!"
"I didn't take it. . . It's in your dresser drawer," comes another voice, a young girl's, from upstairs. There's the sound of thundering steps as someone hurries down the stairs, and you look up from where you'd been taking off your shoes to be faced with the young girl from the photos. She's older, but the smile is unmistakable as she stops three steps short of the ground, grinning brightly at you.
"Hi!" she lets out, and you give her a cautious smile.
"Hey there," you return, trying to keep your tone from being awkward, "I live next door,"
"Dad told me," she says with a nod, "He's almost ready, he gets really scatterbrained when he's in a hurry is all,"
"It's no problem. . . so do I," you say with a chuckle, and her smile widens as she contemplates you.
"You're really pretty," Sarah blurts suddenly, "Do you have a boyfriend?"
"Sarah," comes Joel's voice from the top of the stairs before you can open your mouth and respond, "That doesn't sound like it's any of your business, now does it?"
Joel cleans up nice. Gone are the faded t-shirt and frayed shorts, and they've been replaced with a pair of dark jeans and a plaid blue short-sleeved button down, albeit still wrinkled in some places. His hair still looks damp, and either Joel forgot to run a comb through it or he just doesn't care enough, because his curls are an unruly mess on his head, but it suits him. He's fastening a watch on his wrist as he comes down, and it takes a decent amount of willpower not to let your eyes run across the length of his muscular arm as it flexes with effort.
"It's alright, Mr. Miller, I don't mind," you say with a slight laugh as Joel hurries down the stairs, Sarah jumping the last few steps ahead of him. At your use of his last name, his head snaps up suddenly, eyes boring into yours.
"Joel," he corrects almost immediately, his voice soft but with a sharp undertone, before he grimaces, "Please. . . Mr. Miller makes me feel. . . old,"
"You are old," Sarah teases, before she turns back to you, "So do you?"
"Have a boyfriend?" you ask her, and she sighs, rolling her eyes.
"Duh,"
"I don't right now, no," you say, chuckling slightly.
"Oh," Sarah sounds put out, her eyebrows knitting into a frown, "Why not?"
Joel lets out a tutting sound as he stops a few steps away from you, slipping his feet into a pair of shoes hastily.
"Sarah, enough," he chides her, giving his daughter a look, "Go and do something else rather than harass your babysitter,"
"I'm eight," she grumbles, "Don't even need a babysitter. . . you're just grouchy because you have to go to the community meeting and hang around all the old biddies,"
"Sa-rah," Joel hisses pointedly at his daughter, giving her a glare, but you laugh, shaking your head.
"I don't blame him, I'm not a huge fan of the old biddies myself," you tell Sarah jokingly, wiggling your eyebrows at her, "Besides, a handsome man like your dad? I'm sure they stick to him like flies in a honey trap,"
Sarah lets out a giggle, her nose scrunching. "Oh, they love him,"
"Okay, alright," Joel says with a roll of his eyes as he grabs his keys off the small table in the entrance hall, "You're both being very funny. . . Sarah, why don't you go do the dishes in the sink you were supposed to do half an hour ago instead of standing here talking smack,"
You chuckle slightly as Sarah giggles again, before she darts off down the hallway to what you assume in the kitchen.
"Right, okay. . . she's had dinner already, there's some ravioli in the fridge if you get hungry, there's beer if you want–" Joel stops midway through his sentence, his brows knitting together as he regards you, "Hold on, can you even have beer?"
"I'm twenty-two, Joel," you say with a half-sarcastic, half-reassuring smile, nodding, "I can have beer,"
Joel's face doesn't change for a split-second as he seems to process this, before mouth opens into a nervous chuckle as he stuffs his keys in his back pocket. "Right, makes sense, sorry. . . uh–. . . that's it, right? My number's on the landline speed dial if anything happens, and I'll be home before 10,"
"Got it," you say with a nod, "Enjoy what I'm sure will be an absolutely riveting meeting about the neighborhood lawn maintenance standards,"
Joel grimaces, before chuckling dryly. "I'm sure I won't,"
You give a giggle as he steps towards the screen door, opening it up.
"See you later," he says, and you nod.
"Bye," you say in a honeyed tone, and you watch him walk down the walkway towards his truck. Your eyes follow him as he gets in the car, feeling something pool in your lower belly just at the sight of him. Then, Sarah's voice pulls you out of your thoughts.
"You coming?"
Turns out, Joel's babysitter ends up being sick for a lot longer than he'd anticipated, which means you end up spending a lot more of your days and evenings in the Miller household than you anticipated doing this summer.
It does nothing but encourage your growing attraction to Joel, like adding kindling to an ever-growing fire with every second you spend in his presence, and after two weeks of babysitting Sarah a few nights and a few afternoons, you feel yourself start to get bolder.
You're braver with your touches, the occasional light brush of your fingers against his arm becoming more deliberate, hands lingering during a conversation or shared moment of laughter. You've noticed that Joel reacts to you, as well, albeit in a much more restrained way, but it does nothing to deter you.If anything, his restraint only encourages you to push further, a little more each time. It's like a challenge, and shit, do you enjoy a challenge.
It's Wednesday evening, and you're in the entrance house of the Miller house again, kicking off your shoes as you hear Joel move around upstairs.
"Hello!" you shout into the house, and almost immediately you hear Sarah's footsteps race through the corridor, before she comes tearing around the corner. When she catches sight of you, more specifically what you're wearing, she lets loose a screech of excitement.
"You look so good!" she lets out in a squeal, her feet stomping on the spot as she looks at you, "He isn’t going to know what to do with himself,”
“Yes, thank you, if you could keep your voice down about it that would be great,” you tell her as you take off your coat, giving her a look, and she giggles.
“He’s too busy running around the house getting ready to eavesdrop,” she says with a roll of her eyes, “When are you going to meet him?”
“Don’t know yet,” you return in a mockery of her dreamy tone, before rolling your eyes, “I’m here watching you first, he’ll come pick me up after,”
Sarah’s eyes shine with excitement. “You mean I get to see him?”
“You better be in bed snoring when that happens missy,” you tell her, your hands coming to your hips as you give her a stern look.
“Who better be in bed when what happens?” comes Joel’s voice as he appears at the top of the stairs, before hurrying down like he always does. This time, however, as he’s fastening his watch strap, his eyes momentarily move expectantly onto Sarah.
“Nothing, Dad,” Sarah lies surprisingly well, “Just that I’d better be in bed by the time you get home,”
“Which won’t be very late, by the way, probably around te–” Joel’s voice stalls in his throat as his gaze falls on you, and his eyebrows fly up his forehead, “What are you all dolled up for?”
He’s not wrong that you’d gotten dolled up for the evening, but it wasn’t for babysitting; you were having drinks with someone you knew through a friend later, after babysitting.
“It’s part of my very elaborate plan to seduce you,” you say simply, shrugging innocently but corners of your mouth pulled into the beginnings of a smile.
There’s a split second of silence where Joel’s eyes widen slightly, before Sarah bursts into laughter, and a full smile starts spreading over your features.
“Well I gotta say you’re failing pretty desperately, then,” Joel counters, and Sarah breaks into another round of laughter as your jaw falls open in shock and almost theoretical offense.
“You jacka–” you stop yourself, suddenly very aware of Sarah’s younger ears as you hold in your swear, pressing your lips together into a grudging smile, and it makes Joel chuckle slightly as he gets to the bottom of the stairs.
“Careful. . . little ears are listening,” he says the last part in an airy voice as he passes you by, and you scoff, shaking your head.
“Sarah, please go away so I can call your dad a name,” you tell her after a second of silence, and Joel lets out a sound of protest as he puts on his shoes, Sarah laughing again before she dutifully turns on her heel and runs back down the hall.
When she’s gone, you turn to Joel, leaning slightly towards him to ensure he hears you.
“Jack–ass,” you enunciate, and he nods with a smirk.
“You started it,”
“Sarah told me you have a date,” you say, smiling, “You sure it’s only going to be 10?”
“Once again, my eight-year-old shares my business with the entire world,”
“I’m not the entire world, I’m me,” you chime in, and Joel snorts.
“It’s not that kind of date,”
“Oh,” you let out, making a small grimace of disappointment, “Boring,”
“Thanks,” Joel says with a dry smile, and you make another face, this one apologetic.
"How do I look?" he asks you, holding his arms out semi-nervously, and you bite back a smile.
"Very pretty," you say half-seriously, and he rolls his eyes at you.
"You're funny," he tells you, pointing a finger at you and shaking his head, "Alright, I think I'm off then,"
With that, Joel goes to turn on his heel, but suddenly he feels your fingers wrap around his wrist, pulling gently.
"Joel, wait," you let out through a breathy laugh, taking a few steps forward so you're standing in front of him suddenly, your fingers releasing his wrist. Joel goes stiff, but you don't notice as you bring your hands up, one falling on his shoulder gently and the other moving towards his face, before he feels your thumb swipe over the edge of his jaw, "You've got shaving cream–. . . there you go,"
Joel's eyes watch your face as you chuckle slightly, before you tut as your eyes fall to his shirt, corners on your mouth twitching upwards into the beginning of a smile.
"–and your collar's crooked," you say, your hands moving to straighten out the lapels of his shirt, letting out a chuckle, your voice a little lower and a little deeper than Joel's ever noticed before, ". . jesus Joel,"
When you're satisfied with the correct shape of his shirt collar, your eyes move from his jaw to find him staring down at you. You're suddenly very aware of Joel; how close he's standing, the way his eyes are trained on yours, lingering, the way he smells. He smells really good, a mix of sandalwood aftershave and ––
You can't help yourself as you sniff the air, before your eyebrows crease slightly, eyes full of sudden question. "Do. . . do you smell like strawberry?"
You watch as Joel's cheeks color a slight pink, lips pursing with an expression as if he's been made, "I ran out of shower gel. . . had to use Sarah's,"
Your lips press together and Joel can tell you're trying desperately not to smile, but he can see the laughter in your eyes as you look up at him, twinkling with amusement.
"Very manly," you manage to bring out, giving him a teasingly reassuring smile, and for the first time that evening Joel's shoulders deflate of tension as he lets out a laughing scoff, shaking his head and looking away, smirk growing on his lips as he hears you start to laugh.
"You are a mean woman, you know that?" he tells you, and for the first time, you hear something in Joel's tone, something. . . friendlier. It’s teasing, almost flirty.
"I was joking," you let out with a chuckle on your own as he turns back to laugh at you, raising a single eyebrow as his eyes meet yours.
"Didn't sound like you were joking, sweetheart," he says, and you feel something in your stomach at the sound of the nickname rolling over his lips.
“I’m sure you’ll survive,” you tell him, sarcastically, and when you find yourself looking into his eyes a split second longer than you should, you swallow, pulling your hands away from his face, and taking a step back.
"Thanks," he says, clearing his throat as he steps towards the screen door.
"Anytime," you say, giving him a smooth, playful smile, covering up the moment of tension that passed between you just now, "You look great, Joel. . . she's a lucky woman,"
He gives a little scoff, raising his brows slightly. "I'll be back by ten,"
“I believe you,” you tell him sarcastically as he steps over the threshold, “Bye, Joel,”
Joel is late.
Only by half an hour. You’d already texted the guy you were meeting to tell him it would be later and that you’d keep him in the loop, but that doesn’t stop you making sure all your things are ready to go already an hour before Joel even gets home. It’s 22:34 when his keys sound in the front door, 20 minutes after he’d sent a one-word text that he was on his way back, and you’re sitting on the couch watching a rerun of the Wire.
You look up as Joel walks in.
“Hi,” you let out in a softer voice as you sit, pulling your denim jacket off the couch armrest, “How was it?”
You don’t miss the way Joel’s eyes run over the exposed skin of your shoulders and chest in your thin-strapped dress for a small moment before he looks back up at you and gives a nod.
“Nice,” he tells you, and you nod with a smile, pulling the jacket on and getting up off the couch, “Did Sara behave?”
“No complaints,” you say with a laugh, “Kid’s an angel,”
Joel smiles slightly as he nods, before he watches you grab your bag, which had been lying by the couch and sling it over your shoulder, “You headed home?”
You stifle a small yawn, before smiling with a shake of your head. “No, I’m headed into downtown. . . meeting someone for drinks,”
“You should’ve told me!” Joel lets out in surprise, eyes widening slightly, and you chuckle softly, waving him off.
“It’s really fine, he can wait a half hour,”
“How are you getting downtown? Do you need a ride?” he offers, but you shake your head, before you pull your phone out of your back pocket to look at the plastic display.
“I’ve got one,” you say, and your voice is almost a little timid, as though being picked up by your date from Joel’s was somehow more embarrassing than at your own house.
“He picking you up?” Joel asks, and you nod.
As if on cue, a set of headlights flash through the living room window as a car pulls up on the side of the curb on the opposite side of the street.
“Do you need me again this week?” you ask, looking back at Joel from where you’d watched the car pull up. Joel shakes his head.
“Don’t think so,” he comments, before his brow creases for a split second, “But try not to get abducted on your date, I’d like to keep the option open,”
“I’ll try not to,” you reply through a knowing chuckle, before walking past him towards the front door, hand on the knob.
“If I suddenly stop answering texts, call the police,” you say half-jokingly, and Joel turns to give you a look and points his finger at you as you open the door.
“That isn’t funny,” he tells you in a half-serious tone, and you snicker once more before you step over the threshold.
“Goodnight, Joel,”
Joel watches you walk down the front path, denim jacket pulled tightly over your shoulders against the evening chill, legs bare under your dress. He watches you get in the car parked on the curb, greeting whoever is driving with the same blinding smile you sometimes give him, and Joel feels something rear up slightly in his chest. It’s like a shock through his body, and he averts his eyes as the car drives off, shuffling back into his living room with a mild frown on his face as he pulls out his mobile. It's a cheap, battered Nokia model that Joel doesn't use enough to replace.
You’ve barely turned the curb when your own phone buzzes, and you pull it out of the pocket of your jacket.
from: joel. 10:39 PM
pls call if getting murdered
You can’t stop the slight chuckle that falls over your lips, and it makes the guy driving you look over, giving a tentative grin. “What’s funny?”
“Sorry,” you say, shaking your head with a smile as you type a reply, “Just something stupid,”
to: joel 10:40 PM
i’ll try my best
You don't see Joel for the rest of the week, which is really only a few days if you think about it.
You hear his truck, the sound of his deep voice floating through the Miller's open back doors and windows as he hollers through the house for Sarah or Tommy, you can even hear them come up their front driveway if you're in the living room, but you don't see him.
You haven't seen Joel, and yet you think you're going a little crazy, because you're still thinking about him.
You don't know what's consuming you, but every time you hear him around the neighborhood, your thoughts redirect to him, to your interactions. . . and then your mind starts to wander. . . you think about how his hands might feel running over your body, gripping the dips of your hips, how it would feel to kiss him, trace your lips over the curves of the muscles in his chest–
"Kiddo, you still with me?"
Your dad's voice interrupts your train of thought, and your mind returns to the present situation, which is you putting the plates your dad is handing you in the dishwasher.
"Hm?" you return, and your Dad chuckles.
"What's got you so deep in thought, hm? You've been absent all day,"
You give a shrug, taking the plate he's handing you and leaning over to slot it into the dishwasher. "It's nothing Dad. . . just thinking about my book,"
"Since when is book code for boys?" your dad chuckles, and your eyes widen as you look at him, thinking you've been made.
But how the hell could he know what you'd been thinking?
"What?" you bring out, and your dad smiles knowingly.
"You've been like this ever since you went out for those drinks," he tells you, raising an eyebrow, "You may be older, but you're still my little girl. . . I can read you like a book,"
You make a note of how happy you are that your dad can't actually read your thoughts like a book, because you're pretty sure if he could he'd be shipping you off to a convent right about now.
You give a small smile. "You got me,"
You figure it's easier to explain you've been thinking about some guy you'd had three drinks with and never plan on calling again instead of confessing to your dad that last night you'd had the possibly dirtiest dream about the very man he likes to invite over for monthly poker nights.
"You seein’ him again tonight?" your dad asks, and you shake your head with a chuckle.
"No," you say pointedly, "Tonight it's just me and some friends,"
"Alright," your dad says with a nonchalant raise of his hands, before your eyes fall on the clock hanging on the wall.
"I should be going soon, actually," you say, and your dad nods, "Laura said she'd be by around eight thirty–"
At that precise moment, you hear a honking noise from the street, and as you peer through the window, you see Laura's fern green Toyota Corolla parked on the curb in front of your house.
"That's my cue," you say with a smile, before grabbing your purse from the dining table and leaning in to kiss your dad on the cheek, "See you later, dad,"
"Have fun honey," your dad says, and as you walk to the door of the kitchen, he adds, "If you need a ride home, call me, alright?"
"I will," you holler over your shoulder, before you step through the corridor and swing the door open.
It's somewhere after 8:30 PM, and the sun has only just started setting in the sky. It's mid-July, so it's still warm out, but you find that the evening heat and humidity is a little less oppressive than during the day. Nevertheless, you're not wearing anything but the silk slip dress you'd had on all day, deciding not to bring a cardigan at the last minute, guessing you’d be fine.
Laura honks again as you step out of the door, and as you make your way towards her car, she leans out the driver's seat and whistles. "Well hello there, hot stuff!"
You let out a laugh, shaking your head and your cheeks burning slightly as you wave her off. You'd met Laura at college in Seattle; you'd been in the same statistics class, and it had been pure chance when you'd become friends after you'd pointed out her Texas Longhorns shirt, which had led to you telling her your parents had just moved to Austin from Galveston, which happened to be where Laura was from.
"Shut up," you tell her jokingly as you pull open the car door, before getting in, "How are you doing?"
Laura is a short girl, with fair, freckle dotted skin and hair the color of rust. Her usual chartreuse green eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, and she gives you a smirk as she tilts her head down, giving you a look over them.
"All good here, doll," she says, before pushing her sunglasses up her forehead into her hair, "How was your day?"
"Good," you say with a nod, before you watch as Laura's eyes shift to something over your shoulder, eyebrows creeping up her forehead.
"Is that your neighbor?" she asks, and you turn in your seat to look at where she's staring, "You never told me he looked like that!"
True enough, Joel is standing in his driveway talking to Tommy, who's leaning out of the window of his truck, cigarette between his lips. He's wearing those same ratty beige shorts you've come to know so well, and a grimy grey t-shirt covered in black grease marks, undoubtedly from working in the garage all day. He still looks good, despite the sweat and the grime, shirt hugging his biceps and chest in just the right way and hair mussed on his head.
"It's criminal," you mutter, and Laura laughs, before you watch as the Miller's front door flies open and Sarah bounds down the path, purple backpack slung over shoulder.
"That his daughter? The one you babysit?" Laura asks, and you hum in agreement, "Jesus. . .who knew they made daddies so yummy, these days,"
"Maybe we shouldn't be staring," you realize suddenly, very aware of the fact that Joel could move his head any minute and spot you ogling him. He's probably already noticed you when Laura had honked at you from the front door.
"Hey, it is my human right to stare at your hot neighbor," Laura defends, before giving you a look, "You tried anything with him yet?"
"Laura!" you let out, trying to act as though you hadn't been flirting with Joel for the better part of two weeks, but she doesn't buy your tone, and lets out a full laugh.
"I knew it!" she says, shaking her head again with a smirk, "I can't blame you, doll. . .anything?"
"No," you say pointedly, "I mean, maybe. . . probably not,"
At that precise moment, you hear a call of your name, and your eyes widen to watch Sarah giving you an enthusiastic wave from where she's half-way into the passenger seat of Tommy's truck. You try not to look too guilty as you wave back at her, eyes shifting to Joel for a second only to find him looking at you with a half-amused smile. Laura gives another short honk and waves herself as your eyes shift quickly back to Sarah, before chuckling to herself, polite smile plastered on her face, "He's looking at you,"
"Drive, please," you mutter back through your smile, and she snorts as you turn back to her.
"You ready to have some fun?" she asks, wiggling her eyebrows, and you giggle, humming.
"As long as it involves a significant amount of drinking, I'm happy," you tell her, and she laughs loudly.
"Trust me," Laura says with a chuckle, before turning back to front and shifting the gear, foot stepping on the gas, "I know just the place,"
To give Laura credit, the bar is fun.
It isn't too busy, nor too empty, and the music is good, at just the right volume to have a conversation without having to yell.
You're about three beers in, one of which was paid for by one of the two guys that had sidled up to you and Laura about half an hour ago. They were cute enough, and Laura seemed pretty taken with the one she was talking with, but your conversation was not nearly as riveting and you quickly felt your mind drifting.
Joel had been floating through your thoughts for the past few days, and seeing him earlier had lit something electric in you; he seemed to occupy your brain like a parasite, thoughts never straying far from his face, his lips, his arms–
Joel (?!)
You feel something like a jolt pass through you as your eyes register his familiar face, and you blink a few times to assure yourself it's him. But he is there, it isn't a figment of your imagination, he's standing on the other end of the bar by one of the tall tables, and he's looking at you.
You feel your cheeks start to burn as a bashful smile overtakes your features, and you look away from him with laughter in your eyes as you turn back to the guy talking sitting opposite you.
"I'll be right back," you tell him, your smile changing slightly but your voice staying honeyed and soft, "I'm getting another beer,"
"Okay," he says, looking almost a little relieved, and you bite back a smile at the fact that the poor dude is probably just as bored as you are wing manning his friend, and jumping at a chance to disrupt the semi-awkward silence.
You get up from your seat, grabbing your almost empty glass and making a beeline for the bar. From the corner of your eyes, you think you see Joel moving as well, but you don't look his way as you give the bartender a smile, setting your glass down.
"Can I have another, please?" you ask him, and he nods as he takes your empty glass from you.
Then, to your left, someone clears their throat, and you turn to find Joel standing there, giving an amused smile.
"Hello," he tells you with a chuckle, and you press your lips together in a bashful smile as you nod.
"Hi, Joel," you tell him, chuckling slightly, "Long time no see,"
"I know," Joel muses, setting his own glass down, "Was wondering when I'd run into you like this,"
When, not if.
"Didn't think you were much of a bar person," you comment, and Joel's brows raise slightly.
"You makin' assumptions?" he asks you, and you shrug, making a joking grimace.
"Just sayin', Joel," you reply, and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards into the beginning of a smirk.
Your conversation interrupts for a second as the barman sets down your drink, and you pay for it. Then, you turn to Joel, beer in hand.
“Well, I'm going to enjoy my beer, which I can have," you say, your tone a joking reference to earlier.
"Yeah, yeah. . . what gets me is that you only think you've been made now," Joel says with a subtle raise of his brow.
"Oh?" you let out, and the corners of Joel's mouth twitch upwards into that smirk again.
"Sweetheart, I've been watching you all evening,"
Oh.
The moments his words reach your ears you feel something sending a small shockwave through your system, and your thighs involuntarily clench, which you try to cover it up with a small scoff.
"Guess I'm not as subtle as I initially thought," you mutter, and Joel lets loose a soft chuckle as he shakes his head.
"I've seen you throw back like 4 beers already, aren't you starting to feel it a little?" he jokes, and you scoff.
"This is my fourth, so no,” you say pointedly, before you press your lips together in a second of silence, "Okay I may be starting to feel it,"
"Alright," he says with a laugh and a raise of his eyebrows, before he finishes the beer at the bottom of his glass, setting it down on the bar next to you when he's done.
"You let me know when you want to go home," he informs you, and your brow creases into a frown as you stand up a little straighter.
"What?” you ask him, and Joel gives you a look, "Joel, no–. . . I'm a big girl. I came here on my own just fine, I can find my way home,"
"I'd still feel better if it were me taking you home," Joel replies in a tone that makes it clear he isn’t going to argue about it, and you suppress a sigh as you feel a shiver run down the back of your neck at his words.
Christ, this man had you in his grip.
"This is sort of ridiculous. . . I'm an adult, you know," you tell him eventually, and he gives you a dry smile.
"Indulge me, sweetheart,"
He's been a lot more liberal with the nickname lately than you think he's ever been, and it does something to you; every time it falls over his lips, your heart skips and your breath falters, leaving you scrambling to act completely normal about it.
"Fine," you give in, shaking your head with an eye roll, before you push off of the bar, your fourth drink in hand, "But I wouldn't wait around, Joel,"
Joel does wait around, and rightly so, because after another two hours, you've had enough.
You're not quite drunk, but you find that the alcohol you have drunk is not combining well with the exhaustion of a bad nights' sleep. Laura's been talking to the same guy who'd been by your table for about two hours, and even though his friend had tried chatting you up again, you'd been too distracted by Joel standing on the other side of the bar to be even remotely interested in what he was saying. Finally, you decide to bite the bullet.
"I'm sorry," you tell the guy with a small smile, before putting a hand on Laura's arm, who is deep in conversation with the other guy, "I think I'm headed home,"
"You all right?" she asks immediately, and you nod with a small smile.
"Yeah, just exhausted. . . lack of sleep catching up to me a little," you tell her, and she nods.
"Alright, I'll take you home," she says with a nod, reaching for her purse but you shake your head, giving her arm a squeeze.
"No, no! You stay here and have fun. . . Joel offered me a ride home," you tell her, and you watch as she bites back a smile, raising an eyebrow as her eyes quickly flick over to the bar to look for him.
"Okay," she says knowingly as she looks back at you, before she tries to cover up her smirk, "Get home safe, doll,"
“You too,”
You excuse yourself, and spot Joel leaning across the bar slightly, saying something to the bartender over the music, not immediately noticing as you walk to him. He only turns to look at you as he feels your fingers graze his arm lightly to get his attention.
"So," you say, your tone joking, "You still want to get out of here?"
To your surprise, Joel's mouth twitches into an amused smile at the double-entendre, which makes you smile slightly, and nods.
"Sure," he says with a knowing look, before he finishes off the rest of his beer, setting it down and saying goodbye to the bartender. He turns to you, pushing off the bar and motioning wordlessly for you to walk ahead, which you do. As you step through the thinning crowd of people in the bar, you swear you can feel Joel's fingers graze the small of your back, but the minute you notice, they're gone again.
The minute you step outside, you shiver slightly, and Joel frowns at you as you walk towards his car.
"Didn't you bring a sweater?"
You shake your head. "It wasn't this cold when I left. . . besides, I left my usual cardigan on your couch, I think,"
Joel had only noticed it the next morning, when he'd been sitting in front of the TV with his coffee and suddenly his nose had filled with the smell of you, which had startled him, until he'd spotted your cream cardigan stuffed unceremoniously in the corner of the couch.
Joel gives a hum as you reach the car, and you waste no time getting in the passenger seat, the car offering little extra warmth. Joel gets in, and for a second there's silence as he fastens his seatbelt and puts the key in the ignition, starting the car.
"Sarah at Tommy's tonight?" you ask him, and he hums as he puts the car in reverse, arm coming against the side of your headrest as he turns to look behind him. You feel something flutter in you as your gaze falls on the side of his face, but his eyes remain focused on behind him, oblivious to his effect on you.
"She's at a sleepover," he tells you, "Tommy just took her there,"
You nod in understanding, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you process this information, and finally Joel turns back to the wheel as he pulls out onto the road, eyes crossing yours furtively.
"Thanks for taking me, by the way," you say, and Joel nods, "Didn't mean to put an end to your night,"
"No problem, sweetheart. . . it was getting kind of stuffy in there, anyway," he tells you, and you chuckle lightly, before you turn to look out of the window.
"Spoken like a true old man," you say, under your breath, but Joel obviously still hears it, because he snorts.
"At least I'm not drunk after 4 beers," he counters, and your head snaps to look at him as you frown jokingly.
"I'm not drunk," you defend, and Joel chuckles.
"Really? Is that why you sat through an hour and a half of almost silence?"
You feel your breath stall in your throat for a second as you register that Joel had been watching you, and at least for the majority of the night for him to know this.
You purse your lips, shaking your head with a grudging smile. "He was boring. . . besides, I didn't do it for me, thank you very much, my friend was having a great time with his buddy!"
Joel nods with a hum. "You’re a good friend, then,”
His tone has a hint of teasing sarcasm to it, and it makes you raise your eyebrows in challenge.
"Well what about you, then?" you counter, and Joel raises an eyebrow as he glances at you from the road for a second.
"What about me, sweetheart?" he inquires, and you snort, shaking your head as you look out of the window.
"I saw you turn down, like, four women," you say pointedly, before giving a sarcastic chuckle, "Not good enough for you?"
Joel just shrugs. "Nobody special,"
You let out a bark of laughter, looking back at him. "Joel Miller is picky, is he?"
Joel doesn't look at you, but you watch as he pursues his lips, corners of his mouth twitching into a smile as he shakes his head.
"Not picky," he says simply, and his eyes cross yours for another split second, before they go back to the road, "Just had my eye on something better,"
It feels like something kickstarts inside you at his words, and you try your best to keep your smile from growing as your eyes drift back to the road with a hum and a sarcastic nod.
Finally.
In no time, Joel is pulling into your familiar street, and your heart is beating a million miles per hour as he turns into his driveway, headlights illuminating his garage door. Your hands feel sweaty as he switches off the engine, and when the lights die and plunge you back into the darkness of the evening, you start to feel nervous. What if you'd been reading it wrong? What if you were about to try something that would end in a decidedly awkward situation and forever taint your trips home?
You watch as Joel starts to speak, and you panic.
"Do you mind if I come in for a sec?" you ask, and Joel's words die in his throat as you hastily add, "To get my cardigan. . . I kinda need it tomorrow,"
Joel closes his mouth, and you can't quite decipher his expression in the dark of the car, but you hear him let out a measured breath. "Sure,"
Before you know it you're standing on Joel's porch as he unlocks the door, and he motions for you to go first as the door swings inwards. The house is dark but still recognizable, and you don't even think twice as you take off your shoes, not quite decided on whether you do it out of pure habit or because you’re finding an excuse to stay. If Joel notices, he doesn't say anything about it, and as you walk deeper into the hallway, he points at the kitchen.
"Put your cardigan on the kitchen table," he lets you know, "Thought it would remind me to come over and drop it off, but uh–. . . I ran out of time today,"
"That's okay," you say with a chuckle as you walk in the direction he's pointing, before stepping sideways into the kitchen. As you flick on the light, you hear Joel’s heavy footsteps in the hall before you hear the unmistakable creak of the couch as you assume he sits down, followed by a slight groan.
"You all right?" you call as you locate your cardigan, and you hear him hum.
"Glad to be home," he returns, "That bar gave me a headache,"
You stall in the kitchen door for a second, before you turn back on your heel and reach for a glass in the cabinet, filling it up at the tap with water. You take a deep breath, steeling the nerves bubbling in your stomach as your mind races with the thought of Joel sitting on the couch just past this room, legs undoubtedly spread and back leaning against the couch.
"The bar?" you ask, your voice humorous, "Or the beers?"
"Not usually a drinker," Joel says after a second as you switch off the tap, and make your way out of the kitchen with the glass in hand, your cardigan forgotten in the kitchen, "But Jerry kept buying em', and hell, saying no would just be bad manners, wouldn't it?"
You chuckle as you step past the threshold of the living room. Joel is sitting exactly as you imagined him, except his head is thrown back and his hand is pressed against his forehead as he lets out another heavy breath. You can just about see the rise of his bulge through his jeans when he's sitting like this, and the desire that overcomes you makes the nerves you'd felt earlier in your stomach disappear into a puff of smoke.
"And yet this is your first glass of water…getting behind the wheel after more than 3 beers?" you say in an almost chastising tone as you come around the couch. "How irresponsible of you, Mr. Miller,"
Hook.
From the corner of your eye you notice Joel's thigh clench under his jeans, foot digging into the carpet but not moving from the way he's sitting on the couch as his head moves, hand coming back down to rest on his thigh as his back straightens slightly. His eyes have moved to you, and you can feel them watching you as you put down the glass on the coffee table in front of the couch, standing straight. His gaze tracks you, so that when you're standing, Joel's eyes meet with yours, expression unreadable as you raise your eyebrows expectantly for an answer.
"Don't do that,"
His tone isn't easy to discern; the timber of his voice is a little deeper than it was a second ago, but you can hear the conflict between desire and restraint in his tone, which makes you bite back a smirk.
"Do what?" you return with a shrug, playing dumb, and you swear you see the color of Joel's eyes darken, and he clears his throat, pursing his lips.
"It's playing with fire," he warns you, and you let out a small breath of laughter as you take a step towards him, sitting on the couch, so that his head angles slightly to look at you as you get closer.
"Playing with fire," you muse jokingly, before you bend down ever so slowly, fingers going to close over an empty mug that had been left out on the small table destined for the lamp and remote. You have to bend slightly over Joel to do so, and your knee grazes his as you reach, Joel's eyes leaving your face for a second as they move over the curve of your back, and the rise of your ass, "What does that even mean?"
Line–
"It means you have to behave around me," he tells you, and for a minute you hear his usual stern tone bleed through the low and heavy pitch of his voice.
"I have to behave?" you ask, fingers leaving the mug on the table as your head moves to look at him with a raised eyebrow. Then, you move, leaning slightly over him, and Joel feels your leg move, knee coming to rest on the couch beside his thigh as your eyes never leave his, "I don't have to do anything, Joel. . . 'can do whatever I want,"
With that, you move again, leaning slightly on your knee and putting a gentle hand on Joel's shoulder in order to bring your other leg up onto the couch, so that you're straddling him, thighs over his and hands on his shoulders. It's risky, you know that, and at any moment you're half-expecting Joel to push you off of him, but he doesn't. He stays still, his eyes fixed on you.
"And what is it you want?" Joel asks, and his voice is raspy, almost breathless as he stays stiff beneath you, but you think you feel the tips of his fingers graze over your knee slightly. Your hand moves from his shoulder down his chest, nails digging slightly into the material of his shirt as you drag them down.
"I want you to touch me," you breathe, and your tone teeters on desperate, the pent-up frustration from all of this week coursing through your veins, "Please touch me, Joel,"
–and sinker.
You can see it in the darkening of his eyes, the clench of his jaw; you know you've got him right where you want him.
"Sweetheart," Joel's voice is low, a barely controlled grumble that comes from deep down in his chest, teetering between warning and wanting as he feels your palm move over his chest lightly, "This is wrong,"
You look at him, eyes low and searching his as your nails dig into the material of his shirt. His words and the tone of his voice fuel a fire in your belly.
"I know," you whisper, and Joel can feel your breath tickle his lips, before you lean forward, lips brushing past his cheek as you lean down to whisper in his ear, "Tell me to stop. . . tell me you don't want me and I'll stop,"
Stop.
Joel wants to say it, but somehow, the words refuse to cross his lips as you take it a step further and rock your hips against him, and then he's had enough. His hands move suddenly, planting themselves on your hips firmly, fingers digging into your exposed skin as he holds you in place, stopping your movements suddenly. You pull back slightly, so that you're looking at him again, and for a second you can read it all in his eyes. They flash between lust and guilt, and for a minute there's nothing but silence filled with Joel's measured breaths.
And then, at last, Joel Miller gives in.
His lips are on yours in a second, hand moving to the back of your head to pull you in, his other arm snaking around your waist as he sits straighter and pulls you flush to him. It makes your hips move against the hardening bulge in his jeans, the sudden movement of your panties against him making you let out a small moan of surprise into his mouth as he pulls you impossibly close. Your sound is swallowed by his mouth, moving with a desperate fervor against yours, taking advantage of the parting of your lips to let his tongue explore your mouth. He practically devours you as his palm covers almost the entirety of your lower back, the heat of his skin seeming to come through your dress. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, fingers tangled in the curls of his hair as you try and grab as much of him as you can.
It's messy, desperate, all clashing tongues and teeth as nearly two weeks' worth of tension comes to a head. You roll your hips again, this time slowly, and as you feel Joel's bulge grow underneath you, he pulls away from your lips to draw in a sharp, throaty breath.
"Fuck," he groans, eyes pressed shut for a second, before he tangles his fingers in your hair and uses them to pull your head back slightly, exposing your neck to him. Joel wastes no time running his lips over the edge of your jaw, kissing down into the crook of your neck and the column of your throat as his hand moves from your back to your shoulder, pulling down the flimsy strap of your dress. His hand moves with it, before tugging on the neckline of your dress. You let loose another moan at the action, his mouth kissing over your collarbone and moving to the side down the top of your now exposed breath.
You let out a strangled moan as Joel's lips close over your nipple, teeth grazing over the tip as he bears down on it, his hand cupping under your breast, fingers kneading into your skin.
"J–Joel," you stutter out as pleasure courses through your chest, your fingers tightening in his hair as his tongue draws illicit shapes over your nipple, before his mouth moves in hastened kisses back across the center of your chest, up your collar bone, until finally you feel his lips brush the bottom of your chin. The grip in your hair loosens, your head angled back down enough for his lips to meet yours in another searing kiss.
It's even more intense than the last, and it steals your breath, every move against his body like a shock, skin igniting with his wandering touches.
You mentally take note of how happy you are that you wore a dress tonight, because there’s nothing more than the thin material of your panties separating you, and you can feel Joel's bulge through his jeans. As Joel kisses you, his mouth slowly tracing kisses back down your jaw line, you reach for the button on his jeans, popping it, before your fingers move to the hem of his shirt. You tug, and Joel pulls away from you for a second to help you pull his shirt over his head, before he's kissing you again, your fingers undoing his fly.
It's one big rush, almost frantic, but for some reason, you can't wait any longer. Your fingers run under the hem of his underwear, while Joel's hand moves down between the two of you. Your body freezes suddenly as you feel the pads of Joel's fingers graze over your entrance. You had been so busy trying to get his pants off you hadn't even noticed him moving your panties to the side, but you can feel him as he pushes the tip of his thick, calloused middle finger inside of you.
You let out a stuttering gasp at the feeling, and you feel Joel smirk against your lips.
"Needy little thing, aren’t ya?" he whispers as he sinks the first knuckle between your folds.
Your only response is a whimpering sound as Joel pushes on, until finally his entire finger is buried in your pussy. Your eyes widen slightly at the feeling as your lips part in a breathy gasp.
"Fuck," you whisper out, and your eyes press shut and hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders as your feel Joel's finger curl inside of you, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.
"Feel good, baby?" he asks, his voice deep and velvety, his tone like music to your ears as you feel his other hand press firmly against the small of your back, keeping you close to him.
Joel clearly knows what he's doing, because in a mere manner of minutes he has you keening against him, a combination of expletives and his name falling over your lips in pleasured breaths. The heel of his palm grinds against your clit with every stroke of his finger, and the combination of the friction and the feeling of the pad of his index pushing inside of you as well almost sends you over the edge.
"Ah–. . . oh god, Joel," you stutter out, and you feel him smirk against your skin as he kisses down your neck back towards your breasts, recognizing the way your back stiffens and your thighs clench around his, your hips rolling over his hand desperately as he curls his fingers inside you again, working you open.
"Come on, sweetheart, I got you," he breathes against your chest, trailing your collarbone with his tongue, before his head dips, "Be a good girl and come all over these fingers, hm?"
With that, you feel Joel's mouth close over your nipple again, and your orgasm crashes through you. Joel does nothing to silence your sounds of pleasure as they echo through his living room, eyes pressed shut and brow furrowed as your head tips back slightly. Your chest heaves for breath as pleasure consumes you, your hips stuttering against his hand, and his head moves, eyes watching your face with a victorious expression, enjoying the sight of your blissed-out features. Eventually your moans become pants as your heartbeat starts to slow down, and you feel Joel kiss you again, your mouth opening to let him in willingly as you feel his fingers pull out of you, making you gasp slightly against his lips.
It takes a second for you to catch your breath, but not much longer, the weeks of lingering touches having filled you with so much anticipation neither of you can wait any longer to feel the other. You move off him for a split second to allow him to lift his hips so you can drag the waistline of his jeans down, Joel's lips leaving hungry kisses against yours. Neither of you bother pulling his pants down all the way, and as your hand wraps around the length of him, Joel lets out a stuttered gasp, fingers ghosting over the hem on your panties before moving them to the side again.
You slowly lower yourself until you feel the tip of him press up against you, before your hips stall at the feeling, your mind seemingly registering only for the first time tonight how big Joel might be. He definitely feels bigger than you'd anticipated, and your hips freeze for a second at the thought. When you look back at Joel, his eyes are already on your face, analyzing every frown, every twitch of your features to gauge a change in your mood.
"You all right there, sweetheart?" he asks you, and his tone is so different from a second ago when he'd been talking you through your climax, so gentle, it throws you a little off guard, "You still want to keep going?"
You feel your chest warm at the question and the feel of his hands placed gently on your hips, dress bunched up to your waist as his hands caress the skin underneath with gentle strokes. A smile creeps up on your lips as you lean forward to press a kiss to his lips.
"Yes," you let out a whisper, before you move your hips down and the head of his cock pushes past your folds.
Your mouth parts as you sink down onto Joel, his fingers digging into your skin as you watch his eyes close and a frown furrow itself deep in his brow. He doesn't push you down, and lets you control the pace as you work yourself down his length, which feels impossibly thick, but you find yourself enjoying the slight burn of stretching around him.
Finally, with a final push down of your hips he's buried to the hilt. The guttural groan Joel lets out, as he throws his head back slightly against the couch, mingles with your own moan as you dig your nails into his shoulders.
"Holy shit," Joel rasps out, "S'tight, baby,"
You just let out a whimpering hum, barely coherent as you feel Joel's hips press against your ass, skin igniting where it touches against his.
He brings his head back to look at you.You're a sight to behold like this, sitting in his lap, dress hiked up to your hips and flimsy straps halfway down your arm, exposing the tops of your breasts. Your eyes are shut, brow creased in effort and concentration, full lips parted in pleasure.
"There you go," Joel goads as you try and adjust to the feeling of being impossibly full, teeth biting down into your lip, "Knew you could do it,"
"Jesus, fuck, Joel," you stutter out, closing your eyes slightly as you feel him press his forehead against yours, perfectly still as he's buried into you as far as he can go, "You're so deep,"
"I know, sweetheart, I know" he coos, and you feel his hand run soothingly over the skin of your hip, "Is that what you've been thinking about every time you're over here, hm? How deep I'd feel inside of you?"
"Y–ye–. . . oh fuck, yes, Joel," you bring out as his hands gently roll your hips, making you whimper as you throw your head back slightly, eyes pressed shut, "Not just when I'm here. . . been thinking about it all week, Joel,"
"That so?" he hums, and you feel his lips leave open-mouthed kisses down your neck, "You been touching yourself thinking about me?"
The question makes your cheeks burn, and you open your eyes looking down at Joel. His eyes shift to yours as he looks up from where he's kissing your neck, a smirk spreading across his face as he catches sight of your embarrassed expression.
"Don't go shy on me now, baby," he tells you with a deep chuckle, before you feel him move your hips upwards slightly, pulling out halfway and waiting, "Been rather bold, haven't you. . . ? Bein' all flirty, pushin' up against me when you know I can't do anything about it. . . now, answer me,"
"Y–yes," you bring out, and with that, Joel pushes down on your hips suddenly, burying himself to the hilt once more, eyes never leaving yours. You can't stop the loud, desperate moan that falls over your lips and echoes through the living room as he does, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure courses through your body, and Joel watches with a satisfied smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
"That's bad, sweetheart," he says in a mockingly chastising, shaking his head, "Maybe you don't deserve it, then, hm? Maybe I'll just teach you a lesson instead,"
Joel's head dips again, one hand firmly on your hips, keeping you in place in his lap, the other moving up to cup your breast. His lips close over the sensitive skin of your nipple, you gasp slightly, before a moan builds in your chest. You try to move your hips, desperate to release some of the friction, to feel him thrust into you again, but Joel's hand is like a vice.
"No, baby," he rasps against your skin, before you feel his teeth nip at your nipple slightly, "You sit tight. . . don't get to move yet. . . not until I say so,"
You let out a plaintive whimper as you feel him flex inside of you, your walls fluttering around him desperately in anticipation.
"Fuck, sweetheart, you're squeezing me so tight," he groans, but still he doesn't move his hips, or let you move yours, lips resuming the onslaught on your breasts.
"Joel," you let out in a whine, and you feel him smirk against your skin.
"What is it darlin'?" he asks you, fingers digging into the skin of your hip, "Want me to move, hm? Why don't you beg for it?"
Joel watches as your eyes open, and you use your hand, tangling it in his hair to move him off your breasts, angling his head slightly upwards, looking down into his eyes.
"I don't beg," you tell him, your voice hinting at authoritative, and you can see in his eyes that Joel likes that you're challenging him.
You feel his hand move from your chest down between you again, and you can't stop the sudden gasp that escapes you as you feel the pad of his thumb press down on your clit, rolling over it slowly.
"You do now," Joel says, raising a single eyebrow as he smirks at you, your eyes widening at the feeling of his finger drawing steady circles over your sensitive bud.
Fuck this, you think to yourself. You need Joel to move.
"P–please," you stutter out as Joel's finger speeds up, and his chest rumbles as he chuckles deeply.
"Please what, sweetheart?" Joel hums, and you give him a look, eyes flashing with slight frustration at his insistence, which makes him smirk wider, eyes knowing as he waits for you.
"Please move, Joel," you let out in a breath, "Please just fuck me,"
"Atta girl," he says finally, and then, Joel releases his grip on your hips.
It isn't gentle, and it isn't slow; your hips stutter, and he thrusts up to meet them as he pulls you down on him over and over again at a fast pace. Your brow creases as your eyes shut, arms wrapped around Joel's shoulders as you push yourself up and down his cock desperately, the feeling of him filling you repeatedly almost too good for words. Joel isn't holding back anymore, either, and both of his hands are on your hips, pulling you down onto him just as hard and as desperate as your own movements.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you let out in small breaths, "God, Joel,"
The noises Joel is making under you are downright sinful. Deep throaty grunts with every thrust, like music to your ears, as his arms wrap tightly around your waist, keeping you close to him as you move in a rhythm.
"Shit, baby. . . that's right," he mutters, before moving one of his hands to run over your cheek, fingers burying into the hair at the nape of your neck, face so close to yours he's practically grunting into your mouth, "Feels so fucking good. . . pussy s'made for me,"
"It's all for you, Joel," you bring out between moans as he pushes up into you, "Fuck, oh god,"
The feeling of Joel is beyond words; you feel every vein, every ridge as he slides in and out of you, tip repeatedly hitting a spot deep inside you, that makes your vision spotty. You're almost ashamed to say it doesn't take long before you feel yourself getting close, and when Joel's thumb presses over your clit again, rolling in slow circles, you find yourself tipping over the edge again.
"That's right," Joel whispers against your lips and you moan into his mouth, legs shaking from your orgasm.
You know he isn't far behind you, either, by the way his thrusts are caught between speeding up and slowing down. His breath becomes shallower as his fingers dig into the flesh of your waist. As your walls flutter around him, you lean down, lips grazing from the corner of his mouth across his jaw and towards his ear.
"Come on, baby," you let out, your tone between breathy and sultry as you use the nickname he'd been using all night on you, "Want to feel you coming inside me, Joel,"
"Fuck, yeah?" Joel groans as he hears you let out another moan in his ear, your orgasm only just subsiding, "Fuck, shit. . . I'm coming,"
Your name falls over Joel's lips in a faltering breath as his hips stutter. His brow creases suddenly as his eyes press shut, before he buries his mouth against your shoulder, teeth nudging against your skin. His arms tightens around your naked chest as you feel him twitch against you, Joel's hips suddenly pressing against you so desperately he nudges something inside you that makes you whimper.
"Fuck–ah!" Joel lets out, followed by a whimpering groan against your ear as his teeth sink further into your shoulder, "Shit. . . sweetheart, ooh, fuck!"
He comes hard inside of you, no sounds filling your ears but his blissed out, whimpering moans for a second, which gradually turn into pants as his forehead comes down to rest on your shoulder, his breath against your skin.
Trying to compose yourself, you take your own regular breaths as your heart rate slows down.
"Jesus," Joel whispers to himself as he looks up from your shoulder. Then he's facing you again, looking into your eyes as you chuckle slightly, still trying to catch your own breath.
"Good enough for you?" you joke as you raise an eyebrow, and Joel gives you a look, before his forehead falls against yours.
"Sweetheart," he grumbles jokingly, his arms tightening around you as his eyes close and he lets out a contented breath, "I'm going to need you to do that like, 10 more times,"
You can't stop the small laugh that crosses your lips as you lean forwards and kiss him. When you pull away, you trap Joel's bottom lip between your teeth, which makes him groan deep in his chest as you pull away with a smirk pulling at the corners of your mouth.
"I think I can do that,"
writing this took it out of me, so reactions are sooo appreciated and feedback is more than welcome ღ k
a special shoutout is owed to @cutetomholland for her incredible help proofreading, so say thank you otherwise ya'll would be reading some straight shit teehee
summary: it’s that day again. you don’t know why joel’s so withdrawn, but you help him manage it in the best way you know how. based on 'cool about it' by boygenius.
warnings: angst angst angst, angsty smut (sorry), 18+, mdni, implied age gap (joel 50s, reader late 20s) grumpy & sad joel, drug use, alcohol use, oral (m receiving), p in v, creampie, shoulder kisses, pet names & slight praise, body worship kind of, feelings but also joel is bad at feelings, established...situationship. thing. pining (but don't tell them that). romance?? how dare you accuse them of such treachery
note: i am so sorry...this is pure unbridled self-indulgence. pls forgive me. also this is set in boston qz, reader and joel have a similar relationship to the one he has with tess, but she doesn't exist in this au (i'm so sorry). also i am kind of so proud of this one
It's been years since you met him, since you've begun to crack his otherwise hard exterior, helping him shed every icy layer to reveal the tired, aging man beneath it all. You've both gone to unbelievable lengths to protect one another against any trouble, or enemy, or plague, that has cast itself in your way. Each night concludes with your limbs tangled together, hands tucked safely within each other's reach. A promise, so quiet it's hardly binding—I've got you.
You've never defined exactly what it means when he calls you sweet pea, or when his lips drop a chaste kiss to your forehead in the morning, or when his hand lingers on your elbow a little longer than normal in the QZ. It never needed to mean anything, so the two of you never spoke about it. You belong to him; he belongs to you.
And yet, every year, on the exact same morning, Joel Miller wakes up a stranger to you. His eyes return to the icy dark depths that you met him with, and his hands find purchase in his pockets rather than absentmindedly rubbing circles on your skin. Every year, without fail, he retreats to his past, a place he won't ever let you see, despite your every wish.
i came prepared for absolution, if you'd only ask
A few years after you met him, you had tried asking him to explain, to let you into his head. It wasn't an attempt at intimacy, or a vulnerability that resembled anything that you hadn't seen from him before, but he'd done nothing more than shake his head.
"M'fine," he'd said. The entire day, every time you asked, no matter how softly, his answer remained unchanged. "Don't feel much like talkin'."
So instead of talking, you'd resorted to letting him come back to you on his own time, in his own way. With rough hands pushing you down to lay on your back, his eyes far away even as he brought you to the edges of bittersweet ecstasy. His kisses were always softer, more distracted. But it was the only communication you ever got out of him on those days.
When he rolled over at night, his hands curled into loose fists, you let him be. He never refused your touch, but you knew enough to recognize when it wouldn't come as any comfort to him. Not on those nights. Never on those nights.
The closest you'd get to falling asleep in his arms on those nights was with a hand placed purposefully between your chest and his back, just close enough that he might lean into it, should he shift in his sleep. And in those soft brushes of skin against cloth lay a million questions.
Forgive me, you'd begged inwardly one night. Forgive me for not understanding, and I'll forgive you for not sharing.
When the sun rose on a new morning, he was always back to the man you were used to, that you had grown dependent on. When his hands reached for you, and when his mouth painted swirls on your chest, you knew that it was out of want for you, not to distract himself from the ghosts of his own past.
He always praised your body's reaction to him, and you always relished in the way that his hips rocked against yours, stretching you out for him—tongue, fingers, his hard intrusion—on those mornings after.
You'd left it at that, for a year or two.
once i took your medication to know what it's like
He'd been resorting to more intense solutions when you decided to do it. When that day came as it always did, you watched as he drowned out the hours with whiskey and pills. You never knew where his supply came from or who was responsible for getting him his drug of choice; you could only sit idly by and watch his features droop from the effects of the dangerous combination, shuffling to your shared bed before he'd pass out until the sun rose on the next morning.
It only took three instances of this before you'd resolved to go through the day exactly as he would, as if it might help you understand. Perhaps it wasn't anything you were meant to understand, but you'd grown weary of seeing him motionless for hours on end. Usually, you never said anything. You didn't really believe he would take enough to cause any real damage; you were blindly faithful in his will to live.
"Joel," you'd said one year. That was all. One syllable, so familiar, and yet it bled with enough warning in your tone that he paused. Don't.
Glass raised, the rim already pressed to his lips—the lips of which you knew every crack and curve—pills already dissolving on his tongue, he'd paused. His eyes never looked at you, though. He sat there, frozen but for the whiskey sloshing gently in the glass before he resumed, swallowing the dark liquid in one go. With hardly a glance in your direction, he'd collapsed to the bed.
You didn't know exactly why you did it, or why it had been that year that you'd become fed up, but you couldn't ignore the fear that struck your chest when you saw him hit the mattress. Before you knew it, you'd swallowed the pills, scowling at the burn of whiskey down your throat.
It had never been your choice of liquor, but you braved the sting in your foolish hopes that it might tell you something about the gray-haired man in your bed. Like drinking his whiskey might envelope you in his arms and whisper his secrets to you.
Laying down beside him, you'd curled up to his side. He was already deep in his drugged slumber; he wouldn't be conscious enough to move from your touch. With a hand on his chest, poised over his heart to reassure yourself that he still had one, you closed your eyes and succumbed to the heavy press of sleep.
When he woke, saw your own empty glass and pill bottle left open on the table, he shook you until you startled awake. Eyes bleary, the effects of the drugs wearing off, you caught him staring down at you, his nose brushing your cheek and his lips a hair's breadth from touching yours.
"Don't ever fuckin' do that again, sweet pea," he snarled, but his words held no malice. You tried to ignore how big his eyes were, pupils blown wide.
You'd wanted to snap at him, to tell him the same thing, but you heard the desperate begging in his voice. The unspoken please. So rather than causing a scene, you'd nodded slowly and let your fingers brush the hem of his shirt. "Okay," you'd whispered. "I won't. Never again, Joel," you repeated, a mantra as you slipped your hands underneath his shirt.
Sliding his arms under your body and pulling you to him, he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, then your cheeks, both of your eyelids. He finally bent to your lips, chasing the taste of you and finding only his own mistakes on your tongue.
The day had passed. He had survived. With the gentle lull of his hips slotting against your own, he had breathed shakily into your mouth as your hands wandered along his skin. Like clockwork, Joel Miller had returned to you, if only for a short while.
i ask you how you're doing, and i let you lie
One day, the pills ran out. The whiskey didn't do anything on its own, so Joel was stuck to find something else to distract him. Whether you were the one that flushed his pills or found who was supplying him, you'd never admit. It was much too close to a confession of something than either of you were comfortable with, so you'd stayed quiet. Helped him find a new vice.
These days, you've lost count of how many years you've seen him withdraw into himself, a shell of the man you know. You've stopped trying to follow where his mind goes when the sun rises on that early autumn day, and he's never made the attempt to explain. For just one day a year, the two of you are silent except for a few mumbled words. Your hands rarely touch on those days, always a few centimeters from each other as he sits at the table.
A reminder. That you're there, that he's there, and that the day will pass. It always does.
His new vice becomes you before long, and you can manage that. He's never particularly rough on those days, anyway; he just needs your body to distract his mind. It takes him a bit to sink into the comfort of your curves, but you always help him get there. Until he's twitching under your hands and letting his eyes flutter closed as you expertly undo his jeans.
You never make him fuck you when he's like this, but you're happy to oblige when he slips a hand between your thighs, reaching for your core and always finding it ready for him. If it pleases him, you let him take whatever he needs.
With whispered moans that make your chest constrict and rough fingers pressing bruises to your hips that he'll kiss away the next morning, he gets through the day.
Today, you know it's not one of those mornings. He's already been awake for a while when you open your eyes, based on his tense posture as he sits on the edge of the bed. He's facing the window, which means his back is to you, withholding his face from yours.
Of course, you don't need to look at him to know what his face will look like. His chin is tucked toward his chest, and his eyes will be closed, hands clenched together as if in prayer. But you know better than to think of Joel Miller as a spiritual man. Whatever faith he might have had all those years ago has withered into scraps. His only faith is in your constant presence in his bed each night.
You sit up slowly, and the sound of rustling sheets makes him twitch his head to the side, the sight of his jaw ticking the only acknowledgement of you being there. With slow movements, you move to sit behind him, your legs on either side of his hips but never close enough to touch. He's gotten better at allowing for a few more moments of contact, and you think this means he's making progress.
How could you ever be sure, though? When he still won't reveal the pain of today?
"Did you wake up to see the sunrise?" you ask gently, leaning forward and bracing your hands in front of you, waiting. His response will determine how you'll distract him for the coming hours.
As usual, Joel doesn't say anything, but his back reclines an inch. It's all you need.
"I'll bet it was real pretty," you continue, trying to keep your voice soft. This is one of your many routines; you lift your hands and press them to his back, just enough for him to feel your fingertips. You don't know if he listens to anything you say, or if he even cares. This part is just for you. This is how you get through these days.
You lean just a bit further, letting your forehead rest on his shoulder. Your hands slide around his middle and your stomach flips selfishly at the feeling of his muscles tensing beneath your featherlight touch. Reaching down for his lap, you rest your palm against his jeans, feeling him twitch against your hand. There he is.
Maybe it's sad, maybe it's fucked up, but fuck what anyone else would say. This is what he needs, the only thing that helps him stay out of his nightmarish memories, whatever they may be. You'll never ask him to show that side of himself, not anymore.
Pressing a kiss to his shoulder, you deftly work the button on his jeans, pushing the zipper down and reaching into his waistband until his half-hard cock comes free. It rests heavy in your hand, and you're comforted by the weight of it. His shoulders are too broad for you to see it, but you're not bothered by this. With another kiss, this one landing on the soft skin of his neck, you give him a languid stroke.
Joel's chest rises and falls as he breathes, and you can feel his arousal stirring as he grows firmer in your grip. His hands begin to unclench, but his fingers remain flat on his tights, never touching you outside of where your legs are hooked to his, your chest flush with his back.
The room is silent except for his breathing, every second getting more shallow. You can feel the tension in his back release a little, and you let your thumb rub a slow circle over the slit on his tip, precum just starting to leak onto your hand.
You stay like this for a few minutes, one arm wrapped around his stomach and your other hand on his cock, tugging slow enough not to overwhelm him, and fast enough to keep him pulsing in your hand.
Only when his hips buck involuntarily do you let go, moving from your place behind him to the floor. Your knees hit the wood hard, but you ignore the pain as your hands slide up his thighs.
His own hands remain still on his jeans, and he lets you interlock your fingers with his own. A small mercy. Today might not be as bad as the years before, and you dip your head to lick a stripe from base to tip before closing your mouth around the head of his cock.
Joel's fingers twitch in your grasp, and you squeeze back, hardly noticeable. Just enough to act as thanks. Thank you for letting me do this. For you.
You never look up, afraid of what his eyes will betray when your mouth is around him. You know this is only a distraction, a slow respite from his thoughts. So you ignore the impatient pulse between your thighs and take him as deep as he'll go, your hopes lifting when you hear his shaky sighs.
One of his hands released yours and lands on your head, smoothing your hair as his hips fight to keep still. Your head bobs up and down, your spit mixing with his precum to leave a shining mess on his shaft.
He pats your head softly, the wet sounds of your mouth on him the only noise in the room. But then he's opening his mouth, and he's combing his fingers through your hair, and he's mumbling, "thank you, sweet pea," just quiet enough that you think you're imagining it.
Maybe you did. He doesn't say it again, and you don't look up to see how wrecked he looks. You're content to remain on your knees the entire day if it means he can relax, let go of whatever's haunting him.
But then he's pulling your head back, his cock leaving your mouth with a wet pop. Hands under your arms, he tugs you to stand in front of him. This time you do let yourself look at him, but his eyes don't lift to meet yours. He tugs your shorts and panties from your body, and once you step out of them he splays his hands on the backs of your thighs to pull you onto his lap.
His head is still tipped toward where your bodies rest against each other, rocking your pelvis against the length of his cock with a shuddering sigh. But you don't mind the view; you sit just a few inches taller than him in this position, so you can brace yourself against his shoulders, your chin resting against the top of his head.
He reaches down to rub a few quick circles on your clit, and you let him move your hips when he's ready, lodging his cock at your entrance. You're dripping, you have been this entire time, but you'd shoved down the heady desire that had punched its way through your body until he was ready. Now, with his hand guiding his tip into your sopping cunt, you let out a breath. There he is, a voice in your head repeats.
He pushes your hips down at an agonizingly slow pace, your pussy swallowing every inch of him, the sounds of your moans colliding at the feeling. "So good to me," he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your sternum and tilting his head back, closing his eyes. "Perfect."
You know that he doesn't think he deserves your praise, but you give it to him anyway. "That's it," you hum, squirming with his cock buried to the hilt. It's all you can do not to lift your hips and drag yourself up and down his length. "Take what you need, Joel."
He never lasts long when he can feel your walls squeezing his cock for all it's worth, your body betraying you when your mind just wants to remain warm and wet and ready for him all day long, until he's ready to be done with you. But with one look at you, his dark eyes finally connecting to yours, he blinks. "Thank you, sweat pea," he murmurs again.
You lift your thumb to his forehead and you trace the lines on his weathered skin, watching as your touch releases the tension from his face. All that's left is his desire, his need for you, however distracted it may be.
Joel lets himself enjoy this, as he rocks his hips into yours, the head of his cock brushing that spot deep inside you until you're shaking in his hands, forehead tipped against his as you let your moans fill the space between the two of you. He lifts your hips, pulling you nearly all the way off of him until he shoves you back down, the delicious squelch of your pussy on his cock wrenching a knee-buckling groan from his lips. "Where?" he asks, as he does every time.
You don't need to tell him, but you do. "Fill me up, Joel," you coo, a shot of pleasure spreading throughout your entire body. "Come with me, I'm right here with you."
"That's it, darlin'," is all he groans before he's wrapping his arms around your back, tugging your chest to him in a tight embrace. His face disappears into the space between your breasts and you feel his entire body quiver with yours as you reach your peak. Warmth floods your core as he spills his release into you, your walls fluttering with the intensity of your orgasm. You pull him to you, returning his near-painful embrace.
You're as close as lovers, as close to one another as you can physically get, but it'll never be enough.
The high after he comes inside you is fleeting. Only a few minutes pass before the line inevitably returns to his brow and his frown deepens after he softens. He doesn't lift you off of him, though, so you soak up the feeling while you can.
"Better?" you whisper, eyes locked on his.
He nods slowly after a moment, his mouth set in a grim line. "Always," he mumbles gently, his hand cupping your jaw as his thumb strokes your bottom lip. He presses his thumb into your mouth to the first knuckle, letting you taste salt and old sweat and your nectar on his skin.
You know better than to believe him, but you don't argue. Not today, never today. So you lift the corners of your lips in a sad smile and pretend that it doesn't feel like water rising in your lungs every time this day comes.
but we don't have to talk about it
i can walk you home and practice method acting
i'll pretend being with you doesn't feel like drowning
tellin' you it's nice to see how good you're doing
even though we know it isn't true
Joel will never tell you what's on his mind. Never today. September 26th won't ever mean anything to you, so why would he bother? For him, it's everything and nothing all at once. Brown curls and sparkling young eyes and blood crusted on his arms and the unforgettable weight of death in his arms.
Another year older, he sighs, his heart clenching in grief. Another year older, and another year further from everything he's lost.
tysm for reading, here's a box of tissues. :') i love u all
6.8k | joel miller x f!innocent!reader
follow-up to sensational
summary: you've tasked joel with teaching you about all of the things you missed. he's back for more...teaching moments.
warnings: smut (duh), 18+, mdni. softdom!joel vibes in this one, joel gives reader an anatomy lesson, pet names (lots of dollface) fingering, praise kink to the gods, masturbation (f and brief m), reader gives joel a hand(y), grinding, bit of a corruption kink toward the end, jesus there might need to be a part 3
note: well. look at what you guys did. you went and loved on sensational so much and asked for a part 2 so often that i just had to grant your wishes. i hope you’re fckn happy✌🏼🥹 (this is all jokes i’m so excited to write more of this dynamic teehee)
You'd never counted yourself as a dreamer of any sort; when sleep clouded your brain at night, every thought faded along with it. Aside from the occasional nightmare, reminding you of your parents' absence, you hadn't had an actual dream since you were a kid.
Of course, that night in Joel's house had changed everything, in every possible way. In just an hour or so he had taken your world into his hands, shaped it, flipped it, and returned it to you, unrecognizable. His name was carved into everything you saw and touched, and this included your dreams.
He was everywhere in your head when you slept. So much so that you'd begun to forget which was reality and which was a figment of your imagination, which made your patrols with him all the more humiliating.
Your hands were cold. It was all you could focus on as you followed Joel along your normal patrol route. Just twelve hours had passed since that night in his house, when he'd touched you with rough hands and what taught you what it meant to feel desired. His words still rang clear in your head days later:
Trust me, doll. I've got so much more to teach you.
It sent your head reeling just to think about it now. The memory of his fingertips grazing the side of your face as he'd said it, those brown eyes sparkling with desire for you—a vision of contentment.
You had leaned into his touch subconsciously, reaching a hand up to trace the line of his wrist. His eyes had darted to where your fingers pressed to his skin, a soft grin replacing his satisfied smirk. "I'd better get you home, then," he'd whispered.
It had taken everything in you to ignore the small pang of disappointment that had bloomed in your gut, but it was an easier task when he'd dropped his lips to your forehead.
"No one'll miss me at home," you'd protested quietly, trying not to relish too much in the feeling of his beard scratching at the space between your eyebrows.
This sentiment was true. You still didn't know how things had worked out so well, but after arriving in Jackson, Tommy (the fact that it was Joel's younger brother made this seem all the less coincidental) and Maria had been more than accommodating. They'd offered you your own space, a house to yourself. Granted, it was much smaller than Joel's, but it was your own. It had become home in the four short years you'd lived in Jackson.
No one was waiting for you at home. It was a fact that used to make your throat close up, memories taunting you every moment they could. Now it was a welcomed thought, if it meant that you could remain in the heady presence of Joel Miller.
But he'd only shaken his head, his brown eyes flitting down to your lips before returning to your gaze. "I'm sure they'll notice when you don't come strolling out of your own place in the mornin'," he'd insisted gently. His thumb traced your bottom lip when your shoulders slumped. You hoped you didn't look as pitiful as you felt, your lip threatening to push outward in a pout.
"Might not be able to keep my hands to myself tonight if I let you stay," he'd breathed. You didn't care if he said it as an apology, or if it was actually true.
Because who were you to disagree with him? It was Joel.
So without more than a lingering hand on your wrist, he'd walked you to your door. When you'd teased him for such a chivalrous act, he'd cocked an eyebrow, glancing sideways at you. "Can't just let you walk home alone after that," he'd scoffed, his voice rough again in the outdoors. A few people were still milling about despite it being darker than pitch after nightfall. "M'not a complete scoundrel," he said with a wry grin.
Your front door always looked so inviting, a place for you to take a breath and relax after a long day. In that moment, it was taking everything in you to put one foot in front of the other and return to your own place.
"Scoundrel," you'd mused, hoping the amusement in your voice covered the way you leaned back with every step, as if you could claim one more touch of his body—arm, chest, shoulder—to send you to bed with nothing but him on your mind. "Kind of a big word, wouldn't you say?" you'd teased him, just as he'd done to you. "Sure you know what it means?"
The twitch of his jaw was enough of a reward for your attempt at humor, but your satisfied smirk had been wiped clean off your face when he'd darted a glance around before leaning in, hovering just centimeters from your face.
It occurred to you in that moment that you'd truly only kissed him once. A shame, a voice in your head sighed. His lips were devastatingly plump, even in the darkness.
Joel had stayed there, his eyes tearing down to your mouth before warning you in that deliciously low baritone, "I know what it is. Best get inside," his jaw twitched once more and you caught him clenching and unclenching his fists, "'fore I show you what it means to be a scoundrel."
You'd gone inside with a shaky breath and the return of that familiar pulse that, it seemed, only he knew how to ignite.
—
Joel chose not to look in the mirror when he'd gone home that night. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stand the way his hair was undoubtedly wild, his eyes hard with desire, and his hands still aching with the memory of her squirming body in his lap.
After four years of near silence, this girl had unraveled him. After all those days on patrol with her, nothing to do except look at her when she wouldn't notice, Joel Miller had been undone.
The next day, waking up early with the stiffness in his boxers begging to be dealt with, Joel spit on his palm and wrapped it around his cock, releasing a sigh. Fuck's sake, he thought with a groan. Can't hardly get a full night's sleep anymore.
It should have annoyed him; it was certainly an inconvenience. But if it meant that he'd get to spend more time thinking about her body and her lips and her eyes when she asked those incessant questions, then so be it. He'd never sleep another wink and be glad for it.
It didn't take long for his release to come, not when the memories of her whines were so fresh in his mind. To think that he'd had her on his lap, hips squirming in that way that only she knew...it was enough to make him—"A grown fuckin' man," he reminded himself—spill into his hands and draw ragged breaths into his lungs to recover.
With an arm thrown across his face, he latched onto the image of her in the heat of ecstasy, her eyelids fluttering shut and her lips wet from constantly biting them.
For a moment, he tried to rein himself in. Can't be doin' this, he'd thought while getting ready for patrol that morning. Don't wanna take advantage of her, or fuck her up cause of my inability to control my own desires.
In reality, he'd considered, did she really know what she was getting herself into? With little more knowledge than the mechanics of reproduction, it had been evident with the events of the previous night that she knew nothing of what pleasure could be. Did he really want to be responsible for her discovery of such things?
But when he went to the stables an hour later and saw her standing in the snow with an extra twinge in her grin and her eyes sparkling despite the echoes of fatigue in her irises, every doubt dissipated immediately. He pretended not to notice the way her eyes lingered on his back when they saddled up, heading out of Jackson for the day.
Joel Miller was never one to deny a woman in need. Why should he have stopped now?
—
"How'd you sleep?"
When you looked over at him, almost shocked that he'd broken the silence, your eyebrow quirked up. "Fine," you answered.
It wasn't that this patrol had been disappointing, it was just...ever since you'd left Jackson that morning, you'd been waiting for him to look at you like he had the night before, or to even acknowledge you in the way that you could still remember him doing.
Maybe it was because Tommy was nearby at the time, or maybe he'd changed his mind after all. Maybe you'd overstepped, asking a man so much older than you to teach you all of this. Maybe it hadn't happened at all—your dreams were rather convincing these days.
If it hadn't been for those girls, hell-bent on making you feel ostracized, perhaps you wouldn't have landed yourself in this position. You probably wouldn't have had any reason to be curious about what it all meant, and you could have gone on in comfortable silence with him on your patrols.
With a heavy mind, you blew out a breath. If it hadn't been for those girls, though—you never would have known the creases that sank into the corners of his eyes when he grinned at you.
Beside you, having held back to come up shoulder-to-shoulder, Joel huffed. "Bullshit, darlin'," he scoffed, casting a sideways glance in your direction.
You tightened your hands on the reins. "Excuse me?" you said sharply.
His chuckle was a soft rumble in his chest, and you ached to feel it against your back. "I saw those sleepy eyes at the stables," he crooned, the corners of his eyes crinkling just like you remembered. "Looks like someone didn't get a good night's sleep."
"Oh, and I'm just supposed to believe you slept like a damn baby, then?" You couldn't help the incredulity in your tone, but you blushed when you noticed him smirking, his lips twitching as he fought a smile away.
"'Course not," he shook his head almost dismissively. "Couldn't tell my brain to stop conjurin' pictures of you shakin' in my lap." He adjusted the way he was seated on his horse, and you couldn't help but wonder if he was getting hard at the reminder of the memory.
You, in a similar vein, were trying to ignore the unmistakable feel of heat puddling between your legs. Keeping your eyes forward, you asked, "Is that a good thing?"
Joel nodded. "A very good thing, dollface. You were so good for me last night."
Any air that had been in your lungs left in a rush, and you put a hand to your cheek, warm despite the winter's wind. You thought you heard yourself whine at the sound of the pet name.
Thankfully, he didn't say or do anything to show that he'd noticed. Instead, he tugged his horse to a stop. "Let's get down here," he said. "Walk and talk, yeah?"
The thought of walking beside him after all that had happened the night before was enough to make you freeze in your saddle, suddenly unsure of how to get down. "Yeah," you mumbled, if only to fill the silence.
You could hear the crunch of snow under his boots as he came up beside you, thick gloved hands reaching for your waist. "C'mon, darlin'," he'd insisted, "I won't bite."
There was a note of irony in his tone, and you let him pull you from your saddle, landing in the snow in front of him. Your jacket snagged against his, and you stood there for a moment, letting your frosty wisps of breath coil and furl with his. "What do you mean?" you asked, cursing your ever-present confidence when it came to asking him questions. It seemed that you'd never learn to hold your tongue.
"Hmm?" he hummed in response. "What's what mean?" He stepped away from you to grab the reins in his hand and began to walk forward in the snow.
You shook your head and pushed on, stumbling after him. When did the snow get so deep? "You sounded rather..." you trailed off, searching for the word.
"Oh, here it comes," he mused in that serious tone, hardly covering the teasing lilt that rang clear in his eyes. "Bet you're coming up with a big word right about now, huh?"
You couldn't help it when you rolled your eyes and swatted a hand at the back of his arm. "I was going to say you sounded smug," you finished. "About how you won't bite?"
There it was again. That look of slight surprise at your questions. You waited for a few moments, the two of you trudging along in the snow, before he answered quietly. "We're jumpin' ahead of ourselves, but I s'pose it won't hurt." He shrugged. "Some people like it. Biting."
You furrowed your eyebrows. "Like it?" You looked down at your hands, covered in thick gloves. "Doesn't it hurt?"
Joel smirked. "It can," he considered, "if the person gettin' bitten wants it like that." He brushed your arm with his. "But some people don't like it at all. Just depends."
You braved a look up at his face and swallowed roughly, feeling your core pulse at the sight of his rosy cheeks. "Does it have to hurt?" You didn't mean to sound so desperate; you were just curious. "I mean, is it like...like a real bite?"
It happened so quickly that you hardly had a moment to process. Joel stopped in his tracks, pulled you near, and dipped his head down to your ear. "Don't have to," he murmured, and you were just starting to quiver at the feel of his voice next to your ear when he was brushing your hair from your neck and grazing his teeth against your skin. "Can feel good, if the person doin' the biting knows how."
You couldn't help the hand that shot out to grab his arm, as if it were the only thing that might hold you up. "I'm assuming you know how," you said thickly, eyes wandering on his weathered face. Funny, you thought at the sight of his grin, he looks quite young like this.
Joel shifted his arm so he could squeeze your hand once with his before letting it go. "Don't boost my ego too high, sweetcheeks," he warned, but you could hear the humor in his voice. "Might never let go if you do."
You knew he was kidding, but the prospect that he was being serious made your stomach flutter and forced you to clench your thighs together, bringing the forefront of your attention back to the frustration that was pooling between your legs. "Joel," you muttered in a whine, not quite realizing you'd said it until he was looking at you with a twinge of concern.
"What's up, doll?" he asked, slowing to a stop. "Somethin' wrong?"
A curly tendril of his graying hair was blown into his face with the winter wind, and you wished you could brush it away with your fingers like he'd done just moments ago. "I..." you inhaled deeply, and shifted your weight. "I'm..."
It took him a moment to understand, and when he did, his eyes sparkled. "Oh, doll," he cooed, reaching forward to tug you closer to him. "Need something', huh?"
You leaned your head forward until your forehead rested against him, breathing in the scene of pine and old leather and that heady musk that was utterly Joel. Nodding into his strong chest, you brought your hand up to his wrist and tugged it down, down, down...there.
Joel's large hand cupped the mound between your legs and you swallowed harshly as it pulsed again, begging for the sweet release he'd given you the night before. "Fuck," he breathed, the vibrations of his voice rolling against your skin. "Shoulda told me you were this bothered, baby," he hummed.
You lifted your head. "I've been trying," you said in a pitiful whine, although this wasn't entirely true, and he knew it. "Why does it...why do I ache so bad?"
His smirk quivered, and his pupils were suddenly huge as he withdrew his hand from where it covered your heat, exposing it to the frigid winter air once more. "I think we've gone far enough, don't you?" he winked. "Think we may as well head back."
The implications of what would happen when you got back to Jackson made your head spin. Nodding feverishly, you let go of the twinge of embarrassment at your eagerness. "Yes, please," you hiccuped.
His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. "Good," he murmured.
—
This was the worst possible outcome.
Just when you'd worked up to exactly where you wanted to be with Joel, with his hands on you and his intentions leading you back to his house (and hopefully his couch), Tommy stopped you at the stables.
Well, not you. Not you at all, actually. He stalked up to his older brother and said, Meeting at my place, Joel."
He'd just gotten down from his saddle to help you do the same and was letting his hands linger on your waist when the interruption happened. With his hungry eyes locked on yours, he'd been leaning into your touch and hovering his hands just inches from your heat.
You could have sworn he jumped out of his skin at the sound of Tommy's voice; you just hoped it was because of his infamous hearing loss on his ride side and decidedly not because he'd been caught standing so close to you.
"We just had a meeting last week," he said gruffly, his eyes still searching yours. For what, you weren't sure—but you were quickly growing addicted to finding those rare flecks of gold buried in the espresso brown seas reflected back at you. His hands clenched involuntarily, and given the fact that they were resting around your hips, you got a delicious lick of pleasure that shot through your pelvis at the sensation.
Tommy didn't seem to be in the mood for dawdling. "And now we're having one this week," he insisted. "My place. Maria and the others are waiting."
You lifted your chin to see him close his eyes in annoyance. His mouth opened once; he closed it. When he opened it again, his eyes flashed along with the movement. "Alright, I'll be there in a minute," he said tersely, and you pretended not to notice the way his gloved thumb rubbed a slow circle on your hip. An apology, perhaps.
When he didn't move, you blushed with smug satisfaction. It had never been more clear that he didn't want to move.
"Joel, it's important." Usually, you'd never had an issue with Tommy. Now, of course, the sound of his voice clawed at your every hope for tonight.
With a soft look at your lips, Joel jerked his head to look at his brother. "I said give me a fuckin' minute," he said, his words clipped. "Fuck's sake," he muttered as he turned around. "Just answerin' a goddamn question," he finished, soft enough that you were sure his brother couldn't hear.
Tommy grumbled his fair share of disapproving words, but you couldn't help the grateful bubble that bloomed in your gut when you heard the shuffle of his boots as he left you alone in the stables with Joel.
He waited a moment or two before letting out a soft sigh. You couldn't have known how disappointed he was, but the way he lifted a hand to your cheek was clue enough. "New lesson, dollface," he said.
A pang of regret hit your stomach and you found yourself shaking your head. "Please?" you asked in a quiet voice. "I don't want a new lesson."
Joel grinned and sucked in a sharp breath. "I know, baby, I know." The familiar phrase threw you back to the night before, when he'd had his hands all over you, reassuring you with those exact words. But now, it wasn't a comfort. "But if I'm not around and you need to feel good..." His hand trailed down your cheek, brushed against your chest and returned to its previous spot between your legs. "I want you to practice touchin' yourself, yeah?"
His voice had become a near-painful whisper, just loud enough for you to feel rather than hear his words caress your skin. "This of me all you want, darlin'. God knows I'll be thinkin' of you at this damn...meeting," he practically spat the last word, but it didn't take away from the pressure that was building and causing you to blink rapidly. "Think about me," he repeated, "but I want you to explore this pretty body for me so you can tell me all about it when I get back."
The sound of his voice enveloped you, that heady sensation nearly making your knees give out. With a slow nod, you couldn't see yourself ever disobeying him. Not when he asked such sinful things of you.
"Okay," you whispered. "I'll try."
His mouth was in a hard line, his irritation at Tommy's interruption still prevalent. But it softened for a moment when he slid a gloved thumb over your bottom lip, letting it get pulled from its place before bouncing back. You darted your tongue out, wetting your lip in a desperate attempt to taste his leather on your skin; to taste him.
"Good," he said softly. Something new pulsed at the sound of his praise, but you fought it down. "I'll see you soon, doll."
—
Despite everything you tried when you got home—despite squeezing your eyes shut and picturing that dimple in Joel's cheek when he smirked, or the way his arms felt when wrapped around you—nothing helped. The pressure remained, the ache between your legs was ever-present, and yet...
You couldn't give yourself the release you craved. Not like Joel could.
There was no telling how long you tried, hand shoved down your pants in a sour attempt to replicate the feeling he'd given you. Your fingers were clumsy, untrained, and entirely new to the task, leaving you desperate and unsatisfied. A strangled whine left your throat when your mind flashed with the memory of his face near yours, his lips on your own, and his rough hands rubbing that small bud at your center. It was maddening.
He'd asked you to do this one thing, and you couldn't deliver. Of course, you'd never even realized this was a possibility; you'd only ever heard of men bringing themselves to the plummeting precipice of pleasure. You never considered that you could do the same.
But you didn't want to make yourself feel good. You wanted Joel to do it.
After what felt like hours, stuck in your house alone, Joel nowhere to be found, and with your hopes slipping into despair, you gave up. Your fingers would never be as rough or as thick as his. You didn't know how to explore your body when you couldn't tip yourself over the edge to ecstasy; it was impossible.
Weary and defeated, you went to bed with a groan. Joel still hadn't shown up. Either it was a long meeting, or...you didn't want to entertain the thought that he'd possibly forgotten about you. About your task to be completed.
You actually did drop off into a dreamless sleep, but when you woke to the sound of a knock at your door, you were almost positive the dreams had begun again. Swinging your legs out of bed, you trudged to the door with sleep oozing in every movement. The door opened with a click, and you blinked.
"Sorry I'm late, sweetcheeks," Joel breathed. A distant streetlamp, the only one in Jackson, was the sole source of light that illuminated the edges of his broad body on your porch. He looked near-angelic.
You didn't say anything for a moment, only crossed your arms to keep yourself warm in the face of the wintry outdoors. The relief and anticipation at seeing him here paired with the disappointment and fatigue that it had taken so long warred with each other, creating a dangerous mix as you managed to say, "Are you...hungry? Or something?"
He swallowed, and your head swam with the desire to lay your tongue flat on his neck where his Adam's apple bobbed. "Starving," he groaned, and in one step he was not only in your house but he was all over you, and you were wearing nothing but your thin pajamas.
He'd apparently already taken off his gloves, and when his hand came up to cup your cheek your body registered the chill of his fingers with a shock, despite leaning into his touch all the same. He took a moment to look at you before touching his forehead to yours, pressing his lips to yours gently. You could practically taste the restraint on his mouth, and you wanted nothing more than to beg him for everything.
Something about your face must have given it away when he pulled back because he tapped a finger against your cheek. "You look like you need somethin'." He darted a look down to your legs. "Did you do what I asked?"
You weren't sure what made you lie, but you nodded nonetheless. "Uh-huh."
Even in the dark, he was so close to you that you could see his eyebrow lift in question. You didn't know how he knew, but why wouldn't he? This was Joel. "You didn't come," he concluded, and you ducked your head. "Why not, dollface? I thought I told you to."
The implication that his request was, in fact, a command, didn't slip your mind. Your cheeks burned when you forced yourself to look at him. "I couldn't. I don't know how."
"Sure you do," he whispered. "You did real good last night for me, remember?" His lips ghosted your jaw.
You shook your head. "I don't know how. I've never...made myself come."
When Joel looked at you, you could have sworn his lips twitched, betraying the desire in his movements. "I'm sorry, babydoll," he cooed, bringing his other hand to your cheek. He slotted his lips over yours once more, and it was all you could do not to sink to the floor right there. "We'll have to fix that, won't we?"
You nodded. "Show me? Please?"
Without another word he bent to brush his lips across your hairline—you could have sworn you felt him inhale with his nose in your hair—and murmured, "In the morning, yeah?"
You pulled away to complain but he only gave you a soft smile. It was then that you could see the exhaustion in his face, eyes downturned despite those creases winking at you in the darkness. "But—"
"Told Tommy you need a day off," he clarified. "'Cause you're...sore..." he splayed his hand on your back and tugged you near, voice low. "Ya know, from all that horseback ridin'."
An anticipatory chuckle bubbled from your chest. "No way he bought that," you said breathlessly as he nipped your jawline with his teeth (you were almost sure it was supposed to be a kiss). "I've been patrolling on horseback for years."
Joel shrugged and looked down at you with a smirk. "Who knows? Maybe I should have told him you were waiting for me to come home and make you fall apart on my fingers," he said dismissively, but his tone did nothing to stop your stomach from flipping.
"Oh," you said dumbly, cursing yourself inwardly for how easily you were rendered speechless in his presence. "He'll...he'll really let us take the day off?" Your mind swam with the possibilities of what you could do with an entire day.
He shook his head. "Not us, darlin'. Just you." Tracing the line of your jaw, his lips twisted into a dry smirk. "I'll have to go tomorrow. But," he whispered, squeezing a hand on your hip and cocking an eyebrow at the way your legs wobbled," I'd gladly go every morning all by myself if it meant you were in your bed all day, daydreamin' about me."
It was a heavier confession that you'd expected out of him, and you let out a breathy sigh. "In the morning then," you asked. You swallowed roughly in an attempt to push down the lump of pure need that had risen in your chest, but to no avail.
Joel nodded firmly. "Trust me," he hummed, "in the morning."
So you'd led him to your bed with no more discussion. It hadn't occurred to you that he might not stay the night; he'd come to your place after the meeting like he'd said, and it was the middle of the night. Why wouldn't he have stayed the night?
Despite everything in you fighting to stay awake, the second you returned to your mattress and pulled the covers up, your eyelids drooped. Joel stood at the end of the bed and shed his jacket slowly. "Sleep, doll," he said, his voice echoing in the otherwise silent room as he bent to kick off his boots. "I'll be here when you wake up."
—
Was he getting too close? Was he pushing the boundaries too far, too soon? Probably.
Selfishly, Joel didn't much care.
—
Sure enough—when morning came, when the dull winter sunlight crept into your house and draped the floor in soft yellow, you felt the dip of your mattress beside you and betrayed Joel's presence. He'd stayed. Like he said.
Quite the dedicated teacher, you thought to yourself with a satisfied warmth. You'd felt him climb into bed last night, but despite your every wish for him to press himself to your back and hold you tightly the whole night, he'd kept at least a foot of space between your bodies. Always close enough to touch, but never giving in.
You rolled over and swiped a hand over your face, a few stray strands falling into your eyes. The breath left your chest when you saw him there, eyes open and waiting for you. "Hi," you said, your voice rough with sleep. Again with the monosyllabic responses, you scolded yourself.
Joel hummed, the deep rumble of his voice reverberating through the mattress and into your body. "Looked so sweet like that, darlin'," he mused, his rough hands tucked under his head. He reached one of them toward you and tapped your bottom lip, plump with sheep, with two of his fingertips. "Didn't wanna wake you up."
"You didn't." You weren't sure what made you do it, but you moved closer, shifting your entire body until your nose almost brushed his. Your eyes flitted up to look at the way his graying hair laid messily around the crown of his head, haircuts neglected for who knew how long. "Can we...I want to start now," you mumbled.
His jaw ticked, and he looked like he was swallowing down a grin. "Look at you," he cooed, "so eager. Aren't you hungry, doll?"
You bit your lip and you could have sworn you saw his eyes widen. "Starving," you fumbled over the word, imitating his response to you the night before on your porch.
Joel let go of a chuckle and his eyes danced with mirth. "Always turnin' my words back on me, aren't ya?" When you nodded sheepishly, he slid his hand around to cup the back of your head and he pulled you in, connecting his lips with yours. "Okay, pretty girl," he said. "We'll start. Since you asked so nicely."
His lips were chapped from the cold weather but they were still soft as he pressed them to yours, moving lazily as the two of you blinked away the last clutches of sleep. "Always so soft, these lips," he murmured, and then his hand was moving from your neck to your chest. "Everyone's different, yeah? There's these spots on everyone's body," he said, absentmindedly drawing swirls along the expanse of your chest, making you shiver. "Let's call them...pleasure points."
"Pleasure points," you repeated breathlessly, your stomach fluttering as he rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. "Is that—"
He grinned with a nod. "Think I just found one of 'em, doll." He rolled you onto your back and bent his head down, his breath fanning over your chest and warming you through your thin pajama shirt. "This is how we get you all ready for me, when the time comes."
You nodded quietly and let out a shaky sigh as his hands wandered. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you practically preened at the feeling of his lips against your skin while his hands squeezed and caressed your breasts, moving over your stomach. "Joel—"
He paused, hand hovering over the hem of your shirt. "What, babygirl?"
You couldn't help the whine that fought its way out of your throat. "Please," you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut at the pressure that writhed in your core.
Joel's fingers lifted the hem of your shirt, his mouth widening in a grin at the way that your stomach rose and fell in spattered pants. "Come on, darlin'," he crooned, "open those pretty eyes for me. Gotta see you, doll."
It was all you could do not to take his hand in your own and shove it to your core where you needed him desperately, but you did as he asked.
"That's it, baby," he breathed, good girl."
You'd become familiar with the way your stomach clenched at his use of pet names, but this was new. You had done well for him. You wanted to stay that way. "Will you touch me please? I need—"
"So eager," he murmured, leaning in with his lips to your earlobe. "Lemme take my time with you, dollface." And then his lips were wrapping to the soft part of your ear, his teeth grazing at your skin. Paired with this sensation and the heady feeling of his hand on your waistband, fumbling to push his hand beneath it, you arched your back and released a series of high-pitched whines.
"JoelJoelJoelpleasepleaseplease," you were overcome with the pure, unbridled need that was speeding through your body like a tidal wave on a summer day.
"Alright, darlin', alright," he acquiesced, pushing his hand into your waistband and pulling it down over your hips. You didn't even have the mind to be shy about being laid bare to him this way; you just needed him to touch you.
Before you could beg him again, he had his fingertip on your core, sliding it gently through your slick heat. "Oh, baby," he groaned, rutting his hips against your side. His bulge pressed into your hip and you flexed your fingers to reach for it. "M'never gettin' used to how wet you are for me," his voice shook.
One finger became two, and then his fingertips were rubbing sweet circles to your sensitive bud, drawing near pornographic moans to tumble past your lips. "Can I touch you, please?" you begged, your hand fisting your bedsheets. "Wanna touch you, Joel, please."
He hummed against your ear as he swiped another finger against your bud and lifted your hand to his lips. "Sure thing, doll," he said, and placed it in his hair. Your fingers instinctually carded through the coarse strands, and you blushed when his eyes fluttered closed. "Hold on tight if you need to, pretty girl," he grinned, and lemme know if it's too much."
You were going to ask if what was too much, but then he dipped his finger further down your core, notching it at the small opening. You hadn't even thought this far ahead, that things would eventually lead here. Something pulsed and you whined, tugging his hair in your hand.
"Look at you, so ready for me," he murmured against your neck. His tongue swept out to lick a small stripe along the sensitive skin there and when you let out a stuttering breath he chuckled. "You are ready for me, aren't ya, pretty girl?"
You couldn't nod fast enough. "Please," you choked out, and then he was pressing his finger inside you.
It was a small intrusion, but overwhelming all the same. In all your years, you'd never had the thought that it could feel this good to have him close to you like this. He was only as far as the first knuckle, but with the way that his bulge was nudging your hips, he wanted much more. "Good girl," he breathed, "such a good girl, openin' your legs like this."
"Wanna touch you," you whimpered again, vision blurring with the desperation that coursed through your veins. "Please, Joel, let me touch you."
He kissed you, but you could hardly focus enough to move your lips against his. "Already touchin' me," he said. "You want more?"
"Yes," you nodded feverishly, releasing your hand from his hair. "I wanna..." you looked down at his bulge and licked your lips.
Joel's eyes were wide as he whispered, "For fuck's sake, darlin', when you're cryin' about it..." he swiped a thumb across your cheeks, collecting a teardrop you hadn't even known was there. "How could I say no?"
Thankyouthankyouthankyou were the only words in your mind, a jumbled mess as you reached for him. Your finger traced his length and before you knew it, you were reaching inside his boxers to release it from its constraints. "Holy fuck," you whined, bucking your hips into his hand as you saw just how big he was, long and thick and heavy in your hand. "Need it," you found yourself whispering. "Need you."
It was all you could do before he pushed his finger further, then out, and then in, just enough to throw you closer to that addicting edge of ecstasy. Once again, you found yourself enveloped in the thick pressure of pure desire in his arms.
He pressed the pad of his thumb to your bud and swirled circles in your heat, his lips connecting to your ear once more. "Alright, baby. Alright, baby," he practically chanted in a low tone, nibbling on your lobe just hard enough to pinch the skin. "C'mon now, squeeze my finger like that, that's it," he groaned, drawing out the final two syllables, "good girl."
With his hand in the crux of your legs and his mouth connected to your ear, whispering the filthiest things you'd ever heard in your sheltered life, you threw your head back into the pillow and curled your legs toward him, your hand squeezing his cock tightly as you continued your strokes.
The sounds that erupted from your throat as you burst in a state of pure pleasure were the most pitiful (and yet electrifying) noises you'd ever heard yourself make, and you couldn't help but continue rolling your hips into his hands, chasing the feeling until it became more intense and your legs began to twitch again. "Joel," you mewled, voice breaking, "I need you."
A teasing chuckle sounded, and your cheeks warmed as he removed his hand from your slick. "So much you don't know, dollface," he crooned, tracing his index down the line of your nose. He pushed another, shining with your release, into your mouth. The sweetness nearly made you fall apart again. "Don't know if you're ready for that."
Your body was on fire, nearly throbbing with the insatiable need to be wrapped in his arms, with his hands everywhere, his lips anywhere. Your hand had been moving on his shaft, but his hips stuttered with your next words. "I am," you insisted, "I need you, please. I wanna feel you everywhere."
Joel's pupils went wide and he shuddered out a breath, mumbling a string of curses with his eyes shut. He thrusted his hips into your hand and then your skin was sticky and warm with his own release, some of it landing on your stomach where you lay beside him.
"Shit," he groaned with a rueful smirk. "Maybe I'm not ready for that yet." His breath fanned deliciously over your skin as he continued. "Can't hardly last long enough with the thought of stretching you out like that, baby."
You grinned, and you didn't mind the fact that he could definitely see the flush in your cheeks. "No?"
He shook his head. "Fuck no. I don't wanna think about how quickly I'll come if I were to be inside that pretty pussy yet," he said with a short and gentle tap to your mound. When your hips arched off the mattress and you whined at the sensitivity, he cooed apologetically.
"Isn't that a good thing?" you frowned slightly. "I thought I was making you feel good."
"Makin' me feel too good," he mused, bringing his hand up to hold your face toward him once more. He winked. "Can't have me comin' before you do, sweet girl. Not very gentlemanly of me."
You couldn't help the pang of doubt that clouded your face, and it must have been obvious, because then he was cupping the back of your head and pulling you to his chest. Humming into your neck, he smirked. "Besides, I want to be able to take my sweet time with you. To see you squirmin' beneath me like you do, baby? S'enough to make the pope leave the goddamn church."
tysm for reading, i can't believe you guys convinced me to write MORE filth for these two. u made it to the end, lemme know what you thought!
this comes from this request. a few liberties were taken with the details (the reader knows that sex exists, but not much else), just fyi!
summary: thanks to becoming an orphan at age 13, you've lived the rest of your life oblivious to all the world can offer. now that you're in jackson, joel miller ignites something in you that only he can give answers to.
warnings: slight angst (mentions of parent loss), innocent!fem!reader, age gap (joel is 56, reader is 25), kind of pervy!joel, smut (18+, mdni!!!), fingering, grinding, reader watches old pornos with joel, slight praise kink, no use of y/n.
note: i planned originally to have this be just one part, but even though it ends in a way that i like, i could maybe be convinced to write a second part teehee (part two coming soon!)
You used to love the rain. The way it cascaded down your skin in little droplets, cleansing your body from a hard day's work, and the way it made your hair look so perfectly disheveled.
You craved the rain, until it became nothing but a reminder of the night your parents died.
It had been years at this point, but you would never quite forget how young, and small, and unsuspecting you'd been when they told you to run. How cruel, that time might pass, you might change, but with one smattering of rain, you returned so swiftly to the worst night of your life.
The three of you had been living alone, making your way...somewhere, but they never told you where. Your parents' only wish was to keep you safe, that much was clear. So it shouldn't have been a surprise that upon an ambush by at least ten clickers, after both your parents had been infected, that they'd insist that you run.
"Please, darling," your mother had pleaded, a lump in her throat as she formed the words. "Don't make me beg. I need you to run. Promise?"
Your father was somewhere else, but you could hear him yelling in the distance, in a fight for his life. You were too young, even at thirteen, to understand that those were the sounds of a dying man.
"I'll be right behind you," she'd choked on the last phrase, and in hindsight, you knew she was lying. But in the moment, you'd believed her. You couldn't see the bite she was hiding on her arm, her fate already sealed. "I'll come for you, my love," she insisted, "but I need you to go. Head for the woods."
It was the last time you saw her. You'd turned tail and had run as fast as you could for the woods.
The last thing you heard was a gunshot. A single shot, echoing around you in the trees. It may have been impossible to know, but you didn't need to turn back. Your parents were dead.
If you hadn't found Jackson, who knows how long you might have lasted. Nearing your twenty-first year, you'd proven valuable to the community, and they'd welcomed you in. Jackson was the first home you'd had since you were five.
It hadn't occurred to you that you were years behind your peers in terms of...well, everything, until you met Joel.
Rugged, tan, and sporting a perpetual frown paired with an ever-present crease between his brows, Joel Miller was your patrol partner. You weren't exactly sure why, and he didn't seem particularly pleased about it, but then again—he never seemed particularly pleased about anything.
It hadn't struck you as anything to be proud of, or to boast about to the other young women in Jackson, but they certainly loved coming up to you and expressing their jealousy when they felt so inclined.
"What's he like on patrol?" they'd ask, their eyes wide and lips curled in smirks as they waited for any insight you could give them on his mysterious personality.
All you could ever say over the next four years was a quick, "He's quiet."
Maybe that was why the two of you worked well. He wasn't much of a talker, and after you'd lost your parents, you hadn't been one to waste any breath on conversation, especially when you had survived alone with your own thoughts for almost eight years.
Silence was your mutual understanding. No talking meant no questions, and no questions meant no problems.
And this worked. Until it didn't.
-- -- --
It started like anything started. Quietly, hardly a bother, until it sank into the marrow of your bones and demanded that you address it.
More literally, it started in your shoulders. You'd been on patrol with Joel, a quiet, "Let's go," his only words to you that morning. They were his only words to you every morning, and that day was no different.
Patrolling with him was easy. Like you'd said—no talking, so no problems. You rode next to each other on your respective horses, and there was nothing more than a glance or two toward each other when necessary. It was the only form of communication that the two of you shared.
His big brown eyes had always startled you, looking so inviting in the contrast of the white snow during the winter, but they never showed you more than he allowed you to see. And all you saw of Joel was his dedication to sleep, patrol, eat, and repeat.
You hadn't felt the desire to look that closely at him until some of the girls in Jackson asked you how big his hands were, or what he looked like up close.
"You know," one of them had crooned, not realizing you were unsure of their intentions, "what does he look like without that big old coat on?"
You'd shrugged. "Why should I know?"
Another one wiggled her eyebrows. "Doesn't it get...lonely out there? Nothing but you, the snow, and a big man like Joel to keep you company?"
The faces of those girls, the glint in their eyes, it was something you couldn't quite decipher, as much as you wished you could. So one day, you'd asked the man himself what it all meant.
When you said it for the first time, it was so quiet that you could hardly even hear yourself.
Joel grunted, the only indication that he'd heard you.
Your cheeks burned, but you couldn't find a reason why. This was just Joel. He seemed to know everything there was to know about life; surely he could help you understand this. "Why do the girls in town keep asking me what it's like to patrol with you?"
He didn't answer for a second, but then shrugged. "They botherin' you?"
"No." You weren't quite sure that was true, and knowing him, he could probably hear the lie in your voice. "They're just kind of...belligerent."
His eyebrow cocked. "S'a big word," he mused. "Sure you know what it means?"
Your cheeks grew hot. "Yes," you insisted sharply. "I do read, you know."
He murmured a response, but the wind carried it away from you. You rode in silence for a bit longer before he said, "Don't let those girls get in your head. I think they just wanna get a rise outta you."
"A rise?"
Joel nodded and brought his horse to a routine stop. This was where the two of you always stretched your legs. He reached up to help you down your own mount and set you on the ground gingerly. "You know," he said, as if you should know, but with no regard for the fact that you didn't. "You're still kinda new here. Seems they're still pretty dead-set on embarrassin' you."
"I'm not embarrassed," you insisted again. "I just...is there a joke I'm not getting?"
"Any reason you chose to talk so much today?" was his only answer, which made your stomach clench.
There was no reason for you to be offended, as it was your typical routine to remain quiet unless absolutely necessary, but you couldn't help the way your lips curved downward. "Sorry," you mumbled, "forget I asked."
He was quiet again as the two of you walked at least two hundred paces, stretching out your sore muscles in the snow. It used to be comforting, the silence. It wasn't maddening, it didn't ever bother you if Joel was in his thoughts. You weren't even sure at times if he had any. But all that had changed now; his brow creased more than it usually did, and you wanted nothing more than to ask him what he was thinking.
Joel was the one constant in your life now. Maybe it was a—well, probably it was a trauma response from losing your parents, but you couldn't help it. You didn't need much from anyone, just someone to stay. Joel was strong enough to take care of himself and was smart enough not to make any rash decisions. As far as you could tell, he'd stay.
So how could you be so embarrassed by asking these questions?
"I forgot how long you said you were...alone out there," his grunting voice filled the space between you once more. It was quiet, and he sounded hesitant, as if he wasn't sure how to speak.
"Since I was thirteen," you said mechanically, so familiar with others in Jackson asking the same question.
"Shit," he cursed under his breath. "And you're how old?"
"Twenty-five," you said, feeling oddly small in his presence.
He shook his head. "That's a long time to be alone," he muttered, blowing out a breath.
You huffed. "Yeah, well, I survived. And besides, I've been here for four years now, you know."
"I know."
Again, the silence. Infuriating.
Then, you couldn't help it. "What's...'spooning,' and why do those girls ask me if we've done it?"
Joel stumbled, reaching out for balance. His hand found purchase on your shoulder, and you caught him awkwardly. "You don't even know what spooning is?" He sounded incredulous, as if you'd asked a juvenile question.
The warmth from his hand was astonishing, and distracted you from your embarrassment, if only for a moment. It sank through his glove into your coat, and down toward your skin. Something about the weight of his hand on your shoulder, even for a second as he removed it quickly, was enough to send you spiraling.
Your face burned. "Never mind," you said quietly and mounted your horse again. How stupid could you get? You scolded yourself. You'd ventured too far into this conversation, and now you didn't know how to get yourself out of it. "I was just...never mind. We should get back."
He nodded, but his face still looked somewhat pinched. "Yeah. S'getting dark."
The sun was still up. No intention of sinking beneath the horizon for at least a few hours. You rode again in uncomfortable silence, this time letting it fill the space. You foolishly thought that maybe if you were quiet long enough, he'd forget that you'd made a fool of yourself, that you'd exposed yourself to the truth: that you knew hardly anything about...anything except for survival instincts.
When Joel spoke again, it surprised you. "I didn't mean to tease ya," he said. "It's just kind of a surprise that you're not...that you don't..." he looked over at you, and there was some type of pleading in his eyes, as if he were begging you not to make him say it.
"That I don't what?" you said dumbly, hoping you didn't sound as childish as you felt.
He pondered his next words carefully, and then he hummed, "If you want, I could...teach you some stuff."
"Like spooning?" You felt a warmth in your face as you watched his shoulders hunch with a soft laughter. Your own shoulder burned where he'd touched it, and something bloomed in your gut.
He chuckled. "I don't know about all that," he said, "but I'll help you get...back on track. Would hate for someone to take advantage of your...innocence." It sounded sinful, the way he said it, and the something in your gut pulsed.
"You don't have to," you shook your head, but you didn't even believe the words as they came out of your mouth. "I'll just ask someone else."
"Darlin', don't trust anyone else to give you straight answers. I'm older'n half of everyone in Jackson, anyway." He flashed you a look. "I'll help. Whatever you want to know."
You bit the insides of your cheeks, your stomach turning strangely. "Anything?"
He nodded dutifully, but his eyes had already left yours. Joel Miller, ever the professional. "Whatever you want."
-- -- --
Joel liked to consider himself someone who would never again suffer the shock of surprises. After having lived through and seen more shit than any normal person could, he thought he'd experienced it all.
That is, until her pretty lips had opened and asked him to teach her about all she'd missed. Until she asked him to teach her.
He hadn't really seen her as the picture of innocence until he'd heard how long she'd been alone, surviving with no one and nothing besides her own thoughts and the clothes on her back.
The least her parents could do was teach her how to shoot, he'd thought when he first met her. It was a curiosity that was quickly resolved, as she'd proven herself valuable to Jackson.
Tommy had wasted no time putting them on patrol together. "It'll be good for you," his brother had reasoned when he brought up concerns. "You know, to talk to someone out there. I know she's on the young side, but you don't gotta fall in love with her." He'd flashed an apologetic smile when Joel had scowled. "You're scarin' everyone, Joel. Bein' all quiet and shit...it's—"
"It's what?" he'd asked gruffly. "I don't do it on purpose. I'm a grown man."
This was all true, and he very much didn't do it on purpose. With no one around whom he deemed worthy of his conversation, Joel Miller had become the quiet, introspective version of himself that everyone decided to become scared of all of a sudden.
The way he saw things? It wasn't his fault everyone in Jackson was boring. Or childish.
But her. With her unmistakable will to survive and those eyes that could burn fierce with ire one moment, and soften with curiosity the next...it was only a matter of time before he agreed to do whatever she asked.
He should have seen it coming, especially considering her past. Every time he thought of just how...unsuspecting she was about...everything, he had to shake his head, clearing it of any thoughts that threatened to take advantage of her.
But being ignorant of spooning. He had to clear his throat every time he thought of what that might mean for himself in this particular arrangement. If she knew nothing of something so...palatable, he could hardly help himself when thinking of what else she might be unaware of.
He tried to be patient, and he tried to be respectful, but at the end of the day, he was Joel Miller. From the moment she looked at him with those wide eyes, he was lost.
-- -- --
"What I would give to give that man the ride of his life," one of the girls next to you hummed at breakfast the next morning, her eyes presumably glued to Joel, who'd just come into the cafeteria. You didn't look up at him, instead casting a confused glance toward the girl who'd spoken.
"Ride where?" You cursed your quick instinct to ask questions, as the girls erupted into a fit of giggles. Face burning, you looked down again at your plate. "Never mind," came your almost instantaneous response. You were getting used to having to apologize for your ignorance, and people rarely—especially not these girls—offered their kindness.
One of the other girls snickered. "Why don't you ask him? I'm sure there's nothing much to talk about out there anyway," she said, smiling widely. Her next words were nothing short of a drawl, the complete essence of mockery. "'Joel, what's it mean to ride?'" she pinched her face in what you assumed was an impression of you, and it only made your eyebrows furrow despite your stomach sinking in utter horror.
And then there he was. He'd called your name, and now he was standing behind your left shoulder, hand outstretched to save you.
You were sure his hand had never looked quite as appealing as it did now. The calluses on his palm were raised and visibly rough. For a moment, you stared at his fingers and wondered what they might feel like against your cheek.
Swallowing a lump in your throat, that something arose in your gut once more before you heard him murmur your name again.
"Come on," he grunted, but there was a gentleness to it that made the hair on the nape of your neck stand on end. "Time to go."
The girls at your table were silent when you took his hand gingerly and let him lead you from the cafeteria. You noted the swift wave of cold that hit your hand as soon as he dropped it, just a second later. Clasping your hands together, you hoped in a fit of desperation that you might preserve some of the weight and warmth of his touch on your skin. It failed.
"Thanks," you said later, when the two of you were outside the community's borders. Jackson felt a bit too stuffy for any real admissions of gratitude, you'd decided. It turned out to be a good conclusion when you felt the delicious churn of your stomach at the idea of being alone with him once more.
I'm sure there's nothing much to talk about out there anyway, one of the girls had said. Doesn't it get lonely out there? You were reminded of another's teasing, and this time your cheeks burned at the memory. Nothing but you, the snow, and a big man like Joel to keep you company.
He was big, you considered. When he stood next to you, his frame was almost larger than life, and his shoulders were sinfully broad when you watched him walk in front of you on previous patrols. The sheer size of him was enough to send you into a heady descent.
As usual, Joel didn't answer for what felt like ages, and you'd begun to wonder if he could see where your train of thought had led you. Then:
"You could have told me they were bein' that outrageous," he grunted, keeping his eyes forward. "I woulda helped you out sooner. S'no fun feelin' left outta everything."
It was...odd to hear such words come from a man like Joel. Although, you reminded yourself, you'd hardly spoken to him in the four years that you'd been in Jackson; who was to say he wasn't normally like this? A quiet, brooding older man, yes; but maybe he was naturally like this. One to offer his help.
"If you wanted to help, you would have made an effort four years ago." You let your words hang in the air. You didn't mean for them to come off sharp; it was simply the truth. "I don't need your help," you added, tightening your hands on the reins of your horse and swallowing roughly. "It was fine. I am fine."
He flashed you a look as if to say, is that so? You couldn't help but notice the way the corners of his eyes creased, the only sign of amusement. It was all you could do to keep your eyes on him, although you weren't sure how you were going to explain the way your mouth went dry at the sight of his big brown eyes.
"Besides," you insisted quietly, "you're not my dad."
Joel cleared his throat. Looked down, shoulders tense. Inhaled. "No," he said decidedly. "No, I'm not."
Emboldened by this clarification, you inquired, "So what did those girls mean earlier? Riding, I mean?"
If you could have guaranteed the image of Joel's eyes going wide in surprise to remain in your head for the rest of your days, you would have done it instantly. His forehead was creased as his eyebrows lifted, and despite his position facing away from you, you could see it all.
The way he seemed to wrestle with himself before answering, the way his hands seemed to clench in his gloves. "So, uh..." he started, and then paused again. Mustering up whatever courage he needed, Joel finished, "Well, ya see, when a man and woman love each other very much—"
"Joel." Oh. You couldn't help it when a breathless chuckle left your lips.
He was silent, and when he finally answered, it wasn't a question. "What."
"I'm not fucking stupid. I know how reproduction works."
Joel's chest rose and fell in a deep sigh, and you couldn't ignore the look of complete relief that washed over his rough features. "Thank fuckin' Christ. Didn't know if I had it in me for another sex talk. I'm too old to be doin' this."
"Believe it or not, my parents did leave me with the basic information." Swallowing roughly, you continued. "And I know...I know that men usually...take. It's an assertion of power, from what I've...seen."
He shook his head. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised that you've run into your fair share of dirtbags, even in the middle of the world goin' to shit." He ran a gloved hand through his hair, and you secretly enjoyed the way it stood up. "Anyone ever, you know...take...from you?"
Hearing your own words regurgitated back to you left you feeling fluttery. Shaking your head, you got down from your horse; you'd reached your typical resting spot. "No," you said firmly. "They never wanted me."
Joel nodded. "S'good," he said, and it bothered you to no end that you couldn't understand the emotion in his voice. "So..."
By now he was standing next to you, closer than you were used to, judging by the way his coat sleeve bumped yours as the two of you walked, stretching your legs. "So," you said, thinking up a way to make this conversation less awkward. "I just hate feeling like a kid again. I'm twenty-five, for fuck's sake. There's more than just survival when it comes to living. I just want to know what I'm missing out on," you confessed with a hand on your stomach.
When Joel brushed by your side again your stomach flipped. And what the fuck is that about, and why do I keep feeling it? You asked inwardly, but you were too nervous to ask. Bombarding Joel with questions, especially after you'd just started talking to him on patrol after four years, seeming to be the wrong path to take.
He shrugged, eyebrows still furrowed in thought. "There's nothing to miss if you don't know what you're missin'."
"Yes," you admitted, "but that doesn't stop any of those girls from making me feel like I'm..."
"Innocent?" he murmured, and you thought you weren't meant to hear it until he turned to look at you.
Those big brown eyes, they just won't quit, a voice nudged you in your head.
"I don't want to be innocent," you groaned, throwing your head back. "God, not in the sense that they see me in. Sounds like a damn curse."
The sound of his rumbling laughter, however quiet, sent a shock down your spine and you nearly tripped in the snow. "There's pros and cons, I s'pose," he offered. "It's like I said: I'll help you get back on track. If that's what you really want."
"It is." You stopped walking, took a look around at the landscape, otherwise empty with the scattering of trees. You swallowed, pressed one. "So...riding. It's a part of reproducing, then?"
He chuckled again, but this time it didn't come off as demeaning. It was like he was teasing you, but good-naturedly. "Let's not jump too far ahead of ourselves, yeah? Start with somethin' smaller. Then we'll work our way up."
Joel's eyes were piercing when he held yours in his gaze. If someone watched this conversation, you were sure they'd be able to see the blush blooming on your cheeks.
"Learnin' takes time, ya know," he mused, his growling voice nearly a hum that could have warmed you from the inside out.
You'd made it to the edge of the woods now. This was normally where you turned back, heading for home. But neither of you moved. The bubble of something pulsed again, and you swallowed roughly before whispering hoarsely, "So where should we start?"
-- -- --
If Joel were a better man, he might have warned her what the curse of innocence in a young woman could be. He might have shook his head, stepped back, and told her to ask someone else. He might have taken the reins and turned the two of them back toward Jackson.
If he were better, he wouldn't have stepped closer to her. If he were a better man, he wouldn't have looked into her sparkling eyes and let the question slip. Fuck it all.
"You ever been kissed, darlin'?"
-- -- --
You swallowed. Don't make a fool of yourself, you begged yourself before answering with a quiet shake of your head. "Not many contenders out there. Not any good ones, anyway."
He'd leaned closer to you with his question, and now you could practically see each line of age in his face. Joel's expression was unclear; he could have been pleased with this information or...or maybe there was pity in his eyes. "No," he said with an understanding nod. "No, I suppose there wouldn't have been."
He lifted a gloved hand to his mouth and you watched as he traced it along his lips. The gray strands in his hair glinted off the sunlight, blinking pleasantly in your eyes. That something pulsed once more in your stomach, and there was a sort of realization that came with it.
Joel, you thought. Joel is making me feel like this.
"Will you kiss me?" The words were out of your mouth before you could reel them in.
But instead of laughing, or scoffing, or giving any sign of mockery, Joel Miller inhaled quietly. "You know how much older I am than you?" he asked.
You nodded. "We're both adults, Joel. Besides," you felt a ghost of a smirk come to grace your lips, a feigned confidence coming to save you in this moment of truth. "I thought you told me to ask you these questions."
He sighed. "You're right."
"So? Will you?" you asked, with a small, "please?" coming out afterward.
He moved slowly, something you were equally thankful for as you were frustrated with, but his forehead met yours soon enough. His eyelashes brushed against your cheek, and he let out a shaky breath, letting it fan deliciously across your face. The knowledge that he was just as nervous as you were was not only a comfort; it was perhaps the most attractive thing you'd ever known.
And when you lifted your chin, just a hairsbreadth from his lips, your eyes fluttered closed, waiting for him to meet you in the middle. It only took a moment before he was closing his mouth over yours, and Joel Miller was kissing you.
He was gentle, of course, but there was something restrained about his kiss, the way he slowly slotted his lips over yours as if you might crack under any more pressure. It only made you want more, more, more...
You pressed your hands to his chest and curled them into fists, tugging his jacket to lessen the distance between your bodies even more. You didn't know how you were doing this, how you'd managed to find confidence in what could have easily been a humiliating experience. Your first kiss at twenty-five? With anyone else, it might have been a nightmare.
With Joel, it was turning out to be the most delightful dream.
"So soft, baby," he pulled back to whisper against your mouth. "These lips are so soft for me."
You hummed your response and pulled him back to you, letting him see that you wanted more. That incessant pressure was building, and it wasn't until he had his arms sliding around your waist that you forced yourself to pull back, head spinning. "Joel."
He blinked. "What? Too fast?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, darlin', you're just so—"
"No, that's not it." You managed a weak smile, but the look in his eye, the question and the undeniable desire—is that what it looks like?—quivering in his brown irises, nearly made you collapse. He waited for you to continue, his hands never leaving you, a courtesy you were grateful for. "I feel...hot." Your cheeks warmed. "Um, there's this...pressure."
His lips closed in a tight smirk, and he squeezed your hips. "Where, baby?" he murmured, and you could have sworn you saw stars outlining his head at the sound of the pet name. "Show me," he cooed.
"Um." You paused, unsure of just how. But with his hands on your waist, his heavy, warm touch melting you on the spot, you took one of his gloved hands in yours and guided him to your stomach. "Here. Kind of."
"Yeah?" he said, and you forgot about the cold. About your horses waiting to be mounted, about your other responsibilities in Jackson. All you could see were his dark eyes that had somehow grown darker as you pushed his hand down, down, down...
"Fuck, babygirl," he cursed, and let his hand rest on the crux of your thighs, just barely pressing on the source of the tingling sensation. If anything, it made it worse, and you let a breathy whine fall from your lips. "You're gonna be the death of me, huh?" he groaned.
You couldn't form words. Just one kiss (a very good kiss, mind you) and a heavy hand on your core was all it took, apparently. You could hardly look anywhere but his face, your mouth dropping open as your hips moved of their own accord, grinding into his hand before you realized you were doing it. "Joel—" you whimpered, and he pulled his hand away.
There wasn't enough time for you to feel jilted, as he tugged you back to your horse and practically launched you onto it himself. "We're goin' back," he said firmly, "now."
Swallowing, your throat dry and rough, you pressed a hand to your cheek, feeling the heat swimming under your skin. "Did I do something wrong?"
You could hardly see him shake his head as he mounted his own horse, looking back at you to make sure you were following him. "'Course not," he called over his shoulder. When you caught up with him, the two of you shoulder-to-shoulder, he continued. "Look, darlin', f'I'm gonna be givin' you your first kiss and makin' you feel that good..." he sighed, his dark eyes finding yours. "I'm not doin' it in a fuckin' snowbank."
-- -- --
The entire ride back to Jackson was painfully long, silent but for Joel's mumbled directions, despite the fact that the two of you had taken this same route countless times in the four years that you patrolled together.
Your eyes were trained forward, and you knew his were as well, but it took everything in you not to glance at him even for a second. If you did, you were afraid that the pressure building in the crux of your thighs would never go away.
It would be unfair to say that you were completely unaware of what might happen when you got back to Jackson, but you still didn't know much, which left a nervous bubble rising in your gut. It wasn't like there were any books left in Jackson that you could read about it, or any movies that Maria would allow to remain in the community's borders.
Again, you got a wave of feeling like this should have concerned you, or at least made you a little anxious. But with Joel pulling ahead, his strong back the only thing you could look at, you felt the knot of tension release in your stomach. This was Joel. After four years—even four mostly silent years—of working together, you felt like you...knew him, somehow. That he couldn't possibly lead you astray.
Sure enough, when you were both within the borders, horses returned safely to their stables, the tension returned. Or had it ever really dissipated?
Joel hovered close to you as you left the stables. "Let's go, darlin'," he breathed, a gloved hand on your lower back as he guided you.
"Where?" you said, and you hoped it didn't sound as desperate as it did to you, the pressure getting worse. "I need—"
"I know, baby, I know," he cooed gently, his head on a swivel as if looking for anyone who might stop you. "We're goin' to mine. I've got the perfect lesson planned for ya, alright?"
It was all you could do to nod and let him push you forward through the snowy streets. If only those girls could see you now.
Once inside, you took a breath. There was no one around, and once the door closed behind you, the silence felt all the more heavy. "Ellie?" you asked, if only in courtesy.
He shook his head, and you bit your lip when you saw him smirk. "Just us, doll."
Joel shed his outer layers, and when he stood in front of you, you realized that this was the first time you'd seen him without his coat. Without his gloves, aside from that morning.
Your eyes snagged on his fingers, and you swallowed roughly when you saw the way they twitched, as if in anticipation for something. Or maybe he was holding himself back, you considered. His jaw did seem to have an impatient clench to it. Hands rough like you knew they would be, it didn't take long for your mind to wander into thinking of what it might be like to feel those hands on your skin.
With any luck, he'd give you the sweet release you craved, however it would unfold.
"See anything you like?" he teased, and your cheeks warmed.
"Sorry," you fumbled for a response, your eyes dropping. You'd meant to clear your head, but then your eyes were caught on his thighs. Specifically how hard the seams on his jeans were fighting to remain unripped. "Um, a lesson, you said?"
He nodded, reaching out a hand to take your own coat off, leaving you in the sweater and pants you'd had on all day. You were sure your hair was knotted and would be for days, but he only smoothed a hand down your face, letting you lean into his touch. His fingers were still cold, but your face was hot and it offered a dizzying sense of relief.
"I could never teach you all this," he murmured, his thumb rubbing back and forth in an absentminded swipe across your cheek. "Not without getting...distracted," he finished, pressing his other hand to your waist. Underneath the thick layer of your coat, his hand felt like a hot iron scorching your skin, despite there still being a few layers of clothes between your bodies.
"Distraction is okay," you breathed, lifting a hand to cup his on your waist. "Right?"
He shook his head, a chuckle lifting from deep in his chest. "Not tonight," he whispered. "Tonight, I want to stick to the plan."
"Which is?"
Wordlessly, he removed the hand on your waist and entwined it with your own, tugging you toward the living room where an old television had been placed on a rickety-looking shelf. "Sit," he directed, and you did so without hesitation. He paused, biting back a smile at your eager cooperation, and adjusted himself.
It occurred to you that as much as you were affected by him, he was experiencing a similar effect from you. His pants, already tighter than sin, seemed to have become even tighter, as a bulge began to grow while he stood just a few feet from your face.
"Joel—"
"No, no," he waved a dismissive hand and went to the television to grab something. He came back with something you recognized: a VHS tape. "Don't worry 'bout me, sweets. Tonight's just for you."
"We're gonna watch a movie?" you asked, trying to ignore the way your heart sank a little. You had been hoping that the two of you would kiss some more, and maybe even...you didn't even know the name for it.
"Not just any movie," he grinned, putting it in to watch. The video started. "A special one."
When the scene opened on a man and a woman in the throes of passion, you gasped. "No way," you whispered. "I thought Maria—"
He shrugged, sinking down on the couch beside you, his knee bumping yours. "She must've missed this one," was all he said.
The woman looked to be enjoying herself, as her scene partner kissed her neck, dragging his tongue from the dip in her clavicle to the curve of skin where her neck met her ear. A cartoon-ish moan left her lips, but you didn't pay it any mind. The sight of it made your thighs clench together subconsciously, the lick of pressure rising again in your center.
"Joel—"
"Shh," he said gently. "C'mere, darlin'." With no more than a heavy hand on your waist, he tugged you closer to him, situating you over his lap. "Comfortable?"
You almost said no; you knew that this wouldn't be an acceptable seating arrangement in the cafeteria (or anywhere public, for that matter), but when his hands landed on your thighs, you nodded swiftly. His fingers curled around your skin, and you could feel every pulse of his heartbeat through his fingertips, poised as if he might spread your legs from where they were squeezed together between his own thighs.
Something hard and solid nudged at your core, and you couldn't help it when you leaned back into his chest, head tilting back to rest on his shoulder. A breathy moan tumbled from your lips, and your stomach fluttered when you felt his chest rumble with a chuckle.
"That quick, baby?" he whispered, his breath fanning over your neck. "You really are a sweet young thing, aren't ya," he teased, pressing his nose to the joint between your jaw and your neck, "fallin' apart for me already?" He rocked his hips forward, his bulge pressing harder against you, and it nearly sent you into a spiral.
You swallowed, your throat dry. The sounds of the movie seemed far away as you opened your eyes and looked at his beard, peppered with gray and scratching at your chin when he leaned over you. "Joel," you whispered, bringing your hands to cover his own on your thighs, "I-I want to know everything." You'd never meant anything more fervently, more desperately, than this.
If you'd known how addicting this could feel, being so close to him, feeling his hands on you, perhaps you would have been embarrassed at the way your hips began rubbing yourself on his lap, hoping for—you didn't even know what could be after this. You just knew that the way you felt was the most intense thing you'd felt in your entire life, and you wanted to keep feeling this way, as long as you could.
Joel tutted, squeezing his hands on your thighs. "Oh, look at you," he groaned, a deep, carnal noise that made your chest constrict, "you're a natural, doll." His lips brushed your shoulder, and he darted his tongue out to lick a small strip up your neck.
Your heart swelled with the praise, and it was all you could do not to squeeze your eyes shut. "Please," you begged quietly, as if someone might hear you.
"I know, baby, I know," he crooned, dark eyes locked onto your own as his hand crept closer—to your waistband—closer—unzipping your pants—closer...there.
Your hips lifted from his lap with the heady sensation of his fingers pressed to a bundle of nerves between your legs. "Joel—!" you squeaked.
You felt him smile against your cheek. "So wet," he murmured, "so slick for my fingers, baby." He began rubbing that spot in tight circles, a slow, torturous pace. "Let me know when you're gonna come, yeah?"
"When I..." you trailed off. You'd never...how would you know? "I don't..."
Joel hummed in your ear, rocking his hips again and releasing a guttural groan. "S'okay, pretty girl," he reassured you, "I'll be gentle. Lemme know when it feels like it's too much. "I've gotcha."
You were too far gone to doubt him. This was Joel. He wouldn't let you fall, as much as you felt like you were going to slide to the floor at the feeling of his hand coming up from your leg to caress your breast, rolling a nipple between his fingertips. A strangled mix between a cry and a moan left your lips, and with one more kiss to your brow paired with a quick swipe of his finger over your ever-sensitive bud—
Something gave way and you jerked your head back, digging into his shoulder. Your legs spasmed and you squeezed your hand over Joel's, holding his hand in place underneath your panties.
"Fuck, doll, just like that," he encouraged you. "Look at you, eyes rollin' back for me. Shakin' like a good girl." His hips tensed beneath you and you felt his chest shudder as he released a punishing moan. "Got me feelin' like a damn teenager, comin' in my jeans."
His fingers stilled, but his hand didn't move. Your legs slowly stopped shaking, and the solid mass beneath you was softening. You let out a sigh, your eyelids fluttering closed. Your cheeks were flushed, you could tell; but this time, it wasn't embarrassment that brought the warmth to your face.
"You okay?" he murmured, carefully removing his hands from their places on you. "Feel alright, darlin'?"
Your head turned, nestling into the crook of his neck. Nodding quietly, you shifted in his lap. "I...I didn't know it could be like that," you shivered.
Joel paused the video, the living room falling quiet around you. Swinging a hand under your legs and tugging you to a more comfortable position over his lap, he raised his fingers to his lips, glistening with the remnants of your desire. Your jaw slackened when you watched him open his mouth, lapping at the tips of his fingers.
"Trust me, doll," he said with a glint in his eye. You whimpered in anticipation as he reached to brush a strand of hair from your face. "I've got so much more to teach you."
tysm for reading! you made it to the end! part two is in the works posted!
warnings: 18+, minors dni. smut. more smut. smut after that. age gap (reader is 23, joel is in his late 40s). dbf!joel, dom!joel, feisty reader, oral (m receiving), toxic!joel, light violence, edging, teasing, nonconsensual touching/harassment (creepy men at the bar), protective!joel, possessive sex, unprotected p in v, shower sex, pet names (angel, baby, pretty girl, etc), praise kink, no use of y/n.
a/n: im back...with another ridiculously long chapter and a ridiculously horny joel miller. i tried to incorporate a lot of requests this time around - shower sex, date night, pda, feisty reader...if you're someone who requested any of those i hope i could do 'em justice. i wanna thank y'all a million times over for all of your support on this series. it means everything to me. finding this fandom and being able to share this writing has been incredible. i love every one of y'all.
this is part 7 of my dbf!joel series. read the previous parts here (or read this standalone):
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6
masterlist here. kofi here, if you feel like leaving a tip!
“C’mon,” he says, when you don’t move. “‘Less you’d rather starve.”
He turns and walks off. You swear softly and scrabble at your own door, wrenching it open and jumping down to the asphalt. You have to jog to catch up to him.
“You’re supposed to wait,” you pant, when you reach him.
He shrugs. He pulls his car key from his pocket and clicks the lock. The truck chirps somewhere behind you.
“Y’were takin’ too long,” he says.
“You’re a gentleman.”
He looks at you. The corner of his lip curves.
“’N you’re a brat,” he says, cooly.
You don’t see much of Joel the rest of the week. It’s not for lack of wanting on either of your parts. You’re just…busy. You spend your days applying to every job you can get your hands on, and your nights watching shitty cable movies with your dad.
Your dad is even clingier than usual. He’s cockblocked you twice in as many days. You’d planned on sneaking out last night, after dinner — making up some excuse and going to Joel’s place, instead — and he’d stopped you with one foot out the door. Guilt-tripped you into eating frozen pizzas and watching the Hallmark Channel’s mind-numbing Christmas in July special.
So you’d stayed home, and swallowed the ache between your legs. Tried to think about anything other than the fact that you could be getting railed by your father’s best friend, right now, if you weren’t watching the world’s worst movie instead.
You’d texted Joel to let him know you wouldn’t make it. Some innocuous complaint about Hallmark and frozen pizza. You hadn’t been expecting much of a response.
But he had responded, about five minutes into the opening scene. You’d felt your phone buzz between couch cushions and fished it out of the dark.
Joel: That’s a shame. Had big plans for you.
You’d almost thrown your phone at the TV. And of course he hadn’t fucking responded to anything after that — even when you’d double and triple texted a series of frustrated ???s — because he’s a tease.
“Turn your phone off,” your dad had said. “It’s movie night.”
And then —
“Who’re you talkin’ to, anyway? That Hayes kid?”
You’d stared at Joel’s name on your screen. Clicked your phone off, and let it slide back between cushions.
“No,” you’d muttered. “Just a friend.”
—
By the time day three of no Joel rolls around, you’re coming out of your skin. It’s kind of embarrassing, how badly you want to see him.
So when your dad mentions him at breakfast, casually, like he’s reporting on the weather — you choke. Your mug comes down hard on the glass.
He stares at you. You wave him off.
“Sorry,” you sputter. “Swallowed wrong.”
“Mm.” He shakes his head. “So damn jumpy lately. Couldn’t even make it through Christmas in July.”
“I’m not jumpy,” you bristle. “That was just a terrible movie.”
His jaw drops. He glares at you, mock-wounded.
“Not terrible,” he says. “Classic. Iconic. Fun for the whole family.”
You lift a hand in surrender. Whatever you say. Your dad leans back in his seat, hands laced behind his head. He gives you an easy, goofy grin and you almost feel bad for steering the conversation back to his best friend.
“You were saying something about, um—” You clear your throat. Drop your gaze from your dad to your coffee. “About Joel, I think? Before?”
“Oh, sure.” He sits up. Slaps his hands on his thighs. “Alright. Listen. Hear me out ‘fore you say no.”
“Not off to a promising start.”
“Just—listen,” he says. “I was s’posed to head down to San Antonio with Joel this weekend. Just two nights. He’s meetin’ a client there. Some hotshot lady buildin’ a big house here in Austin. Wants to hire him for the job.”
You sip your coffee. It burns your throat on the way down.
“Okay,” you say, slowly.
“I can’t go. Got my own client problems. Need to stay here this weekend and put out some fires.”
“Okay.” You blink. “So…”
“So, I promised I’d help him out. S’posed to be a two person job. He’s haulin’ blueprints, samples, all kinds of shit to San Antonio. Go a lot faster for him if he had an extra set of hands.”
You’re not stupid. The only reason you don’t immediately pick up on what he’s asking is because you can’t quite believe what you’re hearing.
“So—sorry.” You shake your head. “You’re asking me to—”
“I’m askin’ you to go with him. As a favor. For me. You can—put it on your resume, or somethin’. For all those jobs you been applyin’ for.”
He must take your blank stare for distaste, because he doubles down.
“Look,” he says, when you forget to blink, “I know he ain’t the easiest. You been weird about him since you got home. But—”
“I haven’t been weird,” you say.
There’s an awkward pause.
“Okay,” your dad says, lifting his palms. “Whatever. Anyway, point is, he’s a pain in the ass. But I gave him my word. He’ll take good care ‘a you. And you hardly have to see him. Just — drive up there with him, help him with the client. That’s it.”
“That’s it,” you repeat. Your throat feels thick.
“C’mon,” your dad says. “Two days. You can handle him for two days, right?”
You can feel your heartbeat behind your eyes.
It’s kind of perverse, him pleading like this. You wonder what he’d do — to you, to Joel — if he knew just what he was offering. If he knew he was sitting here at the breakfast table, practically begging his only daughter to fuck off on an all-expenses-paid weekend of sex with his best friend.
So, really — you should say no. It’s the right thing to do. The good daughter thing to do.
But you ticked the good daughter box already, last night, when you watched that godawful movie instead of sneaking off to Joel’s. So…
“Yeah,” you say, and hope your voice sounds even. “Sure. I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” your dad says, and you almost feel bad. “I’ll break the news to Joel. Hope he won’t be too disappointed. S’posed to be a boy’s weekend, ’n all.” He looks at you. “No offense, kid.”
“Mm.” You shake your head. You have to bury your smile in the rim of your cup. “None taken.”
—
Joel, as it turns out, is pretty far from disappointed.
Your dad wanders over there around noon to let him know the change in plans. You get a text from Joel ten minutes later.
Joel: Heard you’re my new plus one.
You can’t help smiling. Your fingers fumble on the keyboard when you go to text him back.
You: disappointed?
Joel: I’ll live.
You smirk.
You: anything i should pack? clothing-wise?
He waits a couple seconds before responding. You can see his three grey bubbles appear and disappear at the corner of your screen.
Joel: The less the better.
Your head swims.
—
It’s a ninety-minute drive to San Antonio.
You listen to music for the first half of the drive. Joel lets you DJ and doesn’t kick up a fuss — not even when you put on a 2000s Party Hits playlist and sing into your phone like a mic. He refuses to sing along, though. You tilt your phone to his mouth at every chorus and watch the almost-imperceptible shake of his head. You have a niggling suspicion he’s trying not to laugh.
You nudge him halfway through Fergalicious. He tries his best to ignore you.
You lean forward and click off the music. Fergie trails into silence.
“You know,” you say, “you’re not very fun.”
He scowls.
“I’m fun,” he says.
“Oh, yeah? Name the last time you had fun.”
He tears his eyes from the road for a split second. Just to glare at you.
“Jesus.” He shakes his head. “How long is this fuckin’ drive?”
“Has anyone ever told you,” you say, leaning over the center console, “how sweet you are?”
He grunts.
Your phone buzzes before you can torture him more. You pull it back down to your lap and tap at the lockscreen.
Hayes: 1 new message
It buzzes again before your screen can go dark.
Hayes: 2 new messages
Your heart sinks. You click your phone off and let the screen go black.
“Good?” Joel asks, when you’re quiet just a beat too long.
You look up. Nod, quickly, and stash your phone in your pocket.
“Yeah,” you mumble. “Sorry.”
He shrugs. Unfazed. Your gaze lingers on his profile: the square cut of his jaw, the scrunch of dark eyes when he squints at the sun. His hand on the wheel, wrapped up on worn leather.
Hayes and his unread texts flee your thoughts before they settle. You’ve got one thing on your mind, and he’s sitting six inches away. His lip curves, like he can feel you staring, and a bolt of longing stings your core.
When he speaks he doesn’t look at you. His stare is fixed on the road.
“Can feel ya starin’, pretty girl.” His jaw flinches, like he’s trying not to smile. “See somethin’ you like?”
“Not staring,” you say, as you continue to stare.
You shift in your seat, trying to alleviate some of the tension between your legs. His gaze flicks briefly from the road. Just long enough to stoke the fire on your skin.
You twist to face him fully. You rest your elbow on the console and lean over into his space.
“I’m not,” you echo. You lay your free palm on his knee and smirk when he stiffens.
A muscle jumps in his leg where your fingertips dig into denim. He doesn’t say anything, though. Not until your hand moves higher, skating over his knee and up the muscled expanse of his thigh.
Your fingers tighten. You edge closer to the seam of his jeans.
“What are you doin’?” he mutters.
You pause. Your hand hovers at the inside of his thigh.
“Nothing,” you say.
You move again. Your fingers drift into his lap and trace the growing hardness there.
He drags in a breath. It breaks the heavy silence in the car.
“Let me,” you say, quietly. You squeeze, gently, and his exhale stumbles. “Please.”
He huffs. His eyes break from the road, long enough to look at you.
“Go on, then,” he growls. “Get a fuckin’ move on.”
Your skin flushes. His lip quirks.
“Go on,” he repeats. “Wanna run that mouth so much. Might s’well give it somethin’ to do.”
You swallow. White heat pools between your legs.
You stroke the head of his cock through his jeans and he sucks in a breath. Your hand pulls higher, to the metal teeth of his zipper, and you steal a look at him.
He’s still staring stubbornly ahead. Jaw tight. Eyes glued to the highway. Hand looped around the wheel with a white-knuckle grip.
You work his fly down. His fingers flex on the wheel.
He lifts his hips. Gives you just enough leeway to drag his jeans and his boxers down far enough to free his cock.
The truck lists to the left. He pulls it back to center with a curse.
“Shit,” he mutters. His voice sounds strained. “You—”
You don’t wait for him to finish. You lean further across the console, braced on your elbow, and take the tip of his cock into your mouth.
He curses. Covers his groan with a cough.
You smile. Your lips curve around his cock, squeezing gently when you take him deeper. Your palm stays flat on his thigh, resting on faded denim as you ease him past your tongue.
He’s big. A hell of a lot bigger than anyone you’re used to. Especially at this angle, draped across the console with his cock stuffed in your mouth. He nudges the back of your throat and you choke.
“Fuck,” he drawls. You can hear his velvet smirk. “Too big, baby?”
You have to clench your fist to keep from whining. Your nails dig into your palm. You try to tell him no, fuck off, screw you — and all you manage is a strangled mmph.
So much for that. You hear his satisfied chuckle somewhere above you.
“S’okay,” he says. “You’re tryin’.”
You mumble something defiant around his cock, and the hum of your voice makes him groan. You relax your throat and take him deeper — as far as you can — and the added inch makes him hiss.
Then you ease up, and drag your mouth up his length, and release him with a tight little pop. Spit drizzles from your lip to the head of his cock.
His hips twitch. He bears down so hard on the wheel that the leather starts to groan.
You stick your tongue out. Lick at the tip of his cock with tiny, shallow strokes until his palm picks up and smacks hard on the wheel.
“Fuck,” he growls. “Stop it. Just— ”
You pause. Your breath pants at the head of his swollen cock. You wrap a fist around his base and hold him steady, just in front of your tongue.
He swears again. Tries to strain into your mouth. Pre-cum beads at the tip of his cock and drips to the top of your fist.
“I can take it,” you say.
He grunts. Irritated, turned on — both, maybe.
“Let me show you.”
He grunts again. A little more desperate, this time. You feel his truck drift to the right before he drags a sharp breath and corrects on the wheel.
You lick a stripe up his shaft. He groans.
“Unless…” You look up. He swallows, hard. “Unless you think I can’t.”
“No,” he huffs. “Fuck. No. Know you can, angel. Show me. Fuckin’—Christ.”
You smile. You swirl your tongue along the head of his cock, lapping at the mess he’s already made, and take him back between your lips.
It’s almost too much. You can tell. His cock pulses on your tongue.
“Easy,” he gasps. “Slow, baby, easy.”
You ignore him. You hollow your cheeks and swallow him deeper, all the way to the base, until your lips brush his pelvis. Your throat burns. He throbs inside your mouth, hot and thick and velvet-soft. He’s too fucking big for this, but you’re determined.
One of his hands flies off the wheel. You hear it pound against the window.
“Fuck,” he groans. “God — damn. You’re a fuckin’ — ah, angel, slow. Fuckin’ — slow.”
You grin. But you listen, this time. You take it slow. Mostly because you’re having fun, torturing him, and it’s another half hour to San Antonio. You figure he can suffer a little longer.
You ease up. Your head bobs slower and you hold him at the back of your throat. You hum softly, ignoring the heat that drips between your thighs.
His breathing evens. Just slightly. You can tell whenever he takes his eyes off the road and looks at you, wrapped around his cock, because the truck lists dangerously close to the median. He must drag it back from the brink five times in ten minutes.
“Told you you were fuckin’ — dangerous,” he punches out. “Gonna get us — fuck, baby — gonna get us killed.”
You drag your mouth from his cock. His eyes leave the road and roll to the sky.
“I could stop,” you offer.
There’s a grunt. His hips chase your mouth.
“Think I’d rather die,” he says, trailing to a groan when you take him back to your mouth.
You’re content to keep him on the edge like that for a while. Until you feel the truck slow, to what you assume must be the speed limit, and you hear his finger taptap on the wheel.
“Cop,” he mutters. “Keep your head down.”
You sputter. You try to slow up — to pull your head back — and he snakes a hand from the wheel. It tangles in your hair and holds your head steady. Your mouth stays fastened around his cock.
“What did I just fuckin’ say?” he breathes.
You mumble. His hand loosens in your hair, forming a makeshift ponytail as he guides your mouth updownup.
Your pulse quickens. Wetness seeps to the hem of your panties. You half expect the whine of sirens; the flash of blue and red with every shallow thrust of his hips.
“Attagirl,” he says. His gaze is trained on the windshield. On the road. “Such a pretty mouth, baby. Better not get us into any fuckin’ trouble.”
You shake your head, or try to. It’s kind of useless, with his hand stunting your movements. His thigh twitches under your palm.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You wanna swallow, babygirl?”
You nod, as best you can with his cock down your throat. His fingers stroke your hair.
“Not til he’s fuckin’ gone,” he says, with a glance at the cop in his rearview. “Y’hear me?”
Your breath quickens. You squeeze your thighs against the ache that pulls there. You try to nod, again, and it’s good enough for Joel. His cock pulses twice at the back of your throat and he spills hot across your tongue.
He breathes hard. A broken moan slips past his lips.
“Fuck,” he pants. “Fuck, baby.”
You draw back, but you don’t get up. You stay sprawled over the console, head in his lap, mouth full of his cum. A little bit spills free and drizzles down your chin, and it’s filthy — it’s fucking filthy — but you don’t think twice. You just do it. You hold it there in your mouth, let it drip down your chin — because he asked you to. Because you want to.
The cop must pass, because you hear Joel breathe out a sigh, and the truck picks up speed again. His hand goes flat against your head, nestled snugly in your hair.
“He’s gone,” he says, so casually it makes you weak. “Sit up, pretty girl. Swallow.”
You pull yourself out of his lap. Slump back against your own seat. He rips his eyes from the road long enough to watch you swallow.
“Good girl,” he mutters. He takes one hand off the wheel and reaches over, swiping his thumb across the mess on your chin. “Listen a whole lot better when your mouth is full.”
You shrug. You pull the mirror down on the passenger side and fix your rumpled hair.
“Maybe you should shut me up more often, then.”
You watch him swallow.
“Jesus,” he mutters.
You snap the mirror closed. Look over at him with a raised brow.
“What?”
“Nothin’.” He shakes his head. You’re pretty sure he almost laughs. “Not gonna get any fuckin’ work done.”
—
Joel checks you both into the hotel. It’s nice enough. A Hyatt in the center of downtown.
You’re booked for two separate rooms. It’s your dad’s reservation — and, naturally, he’d opted for his own room.
The woman at reception confirms the booking. Rooms 1410 and 1412. Joel stops her with a quiet hand.
“Just need the one,” he says.
Your heart skips. You’re not sure why. You can blow him all day in the front seat of his car, but it’s the fact he wants to share a room that brings on the butterflies.
You lay your hands on the front desk. Lean into the counter, casually, and pretend like you’re not interested in the conversation Joel’s having with the concierge.
“—change of plans,” he’s explaining. “Don’t need it.”
The lady hesitates. She looks at him. Then you.
“Okay,” she says, after a beat. “And is that — sorry, is that gonna be two Queens? Or—”
Joel tilts his head. His fingers trill on the counter.
“That all you got?”
She consults the computer.
“We have, uh — one King left.”
“King, then,” he drawls. “Only need one bed.”
You swallow. The concierge nods.
“Sure. That King room is one of our suites, though. It’d be about — $300 extra, for the two nights.”
He tosses you a sidelong glance. You start to shake your head.
“It’s fine,” you say, quickly, “you don’t have to—”
He draws his wallet out of his back pocket. Slides his card across the counter.
“Work trip,” he says, when the lady takes his card. “No expense spared.”
You have to hide your blush in your sleeve.
—
The room is nice. About $300 nicer than it needs to be, thanks to Joel’s spur of the moment upgrade. You’re on the 14th floor — very top — with a bird’s eye view of downtown from your window. You can make out the tops of peoples’ heads as they gather at a crosswalk.
Joel carries your bag up from the car. He sets it down by the bed and joins you at the window, caging you against the glass with his chest to your back.
Your body responds immediately. Your head tilts back, into his shoulder, and he bends to nip at your neck. His hands settle heavy on your waist.
“This is nice,” you say, softly. “The room. And — this.”
He hums. His stubble rakes your neck.
“You do this for all your work trips?” you murmur. “Or am I just special?”
His mouth drops to your shoulder. His hands squeeze gentle at your sides.
“You’re certainly somethin’,” he mutters. Teasing.
You twist to face him. Your back thuds softly against the window. You rest your arms on his shoulders and fix him with a grin.
“Rude,” you say.
He huffs. You watch his gaze dart from your mouth, to your eyes, to your mouth, again.
“Meetin’s not til tomorrow,” he says. His voice is low. “We could…y’know.”
He nods out the window. To the street below, lined with life. You catch his drift.
“Mr Miller,” you gasp. “Are you suggesting a date?”
His jaw flickers. “Don’t fuckin’ — call me that.”
“What? Mr Miller?” You laugh. “You don’t like that?”
He stares at you. You clock the change in his eyes; the way they darken, the way his breath pulls — and your brows flick.
“Oh,” you say. “You do like that.”
“Fuck,” he growls. “Stop it.”
“Or…”
“Or we ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he mutters. “Stay here ’n fuck you, instead.”
Your fingers bunch at his shirt collar. You tug him into a kiss, and he meets your mouth with a low, hungry groan.
You slip your tongue to his. His cock stirs to life against you and he groans, breaking the kiss before he loses himself. His forehead tips to yours.
“Go—” he pants, watching you through hooded eyes, “—go get dressed. ‘Fore I change my mind.”
You smirk. Your arms slip from his neck and drop back to your sides.
“What am I wearing?” you ask. “Is this, like — fancy?”
He frowns. “You want fancy?”
“Not particularly.”
He grunts. “Then no.”
You stifle a smile. Tip your head up, quickly, and brush your lips against his jaw. Then you’re ducking out, under his arm, leaving him at the empty window. You rifle through your bag for something date-with-Joel-Miller appropriate and disappear into the bathroom.
—
Joel’s waiting for you when you re-emerge, half an hour later. You look good. Maybe a little nicer than the casual look he’d suggested — slip dress, white sneakers, jacket slouched over your arm — but, fuck it. It’s your first date.
It takes Joel a hell of a lot less time to get ready. You’re pretty sure all he’s done is swap his t-shirt for a flannel and rake a comb — or his fingers — through his hair. The rest of him looks the same. Same jeans, same boots, same belt he’d driven down in. Never one to make a fuss.
He’s sprawled across the bed when you come out. His legs are angled off the side, letting his boots dangle. His hands are clasped across his chest. You’re pretty sure he’s asleep, if his heavy breaths are any indication. It’s kind of adorable, as far as Joel goes. Barely eight o’clock, and he’s passed out on the pillows.
Your phone buzzes before you can wake him. You flip it over in your palm and check the screen.
Hayes: 4 new messages
You ignore the notification. You swipe open your messages and text your dad, instead.
You: made it to san antonio
He responds quickly. Probably been waiting for your update, you think, with a pitiful pang.
Dad: Thx for update. Have fun! Don’t give Joel too much trouble…
You look up from your phone. Look at Joel, stretched out across the sheets. You smile.
You: i’ll do my best
But that’s a lie, of course, because you have every intention of giving him trouble. And you do, when you climb quietly to the bed and straddle his waist.
He blinks himself awake. You roll your hips into his lap and he hums sleepily, hands coming up to grip your sides.
“Nice nap?”
He scowls. “Was just — restin’ my eyes.”
“Oh, sure. Okay.”
You smile. You bend to kiss him and his hands skate higher, up the dress you’ve worn just for him and to the silk-sheathed shape of your breasts.
“Thought I said nothin’ fancy,” he murmurs. His palm splays against your breast. He finds your nipple over silk and swipes his thumb across the fabric.
You gasp. Your hips roll into his.
“Didn’t wear it for you,” you breathe, which is a dirty fucking lie and you both know it. But he doesn’t kick up much of a fuss. His attention is elsewhere — on his hand, gliding over silk and under your dress and to the edge of lace panties you’re wearing for him.
He hooks a finger in the band. You swallow, hard, and your hips jerk in his lap.
“How bout these?” he murmurs. “You wear these for me?”
You bat his hand away. A blush stains your cheeks.
“No.”
“No?” he echoes. He sounds amused.
“No,” you repeat. Your teeth graze your lip. “Don’t — fuck. Don’t sleep with guys on the first date. And I definitely don’t—ah—” He tugs at your panties, and the fabric drags against your clit, “—don’t sleep with them before.”
His eyes flash. You hear him mutter a curse. At least he’s awake now, you figure. He could barely keep his eyes open two minutes ago. Now he’s T-minus ten seconds from fucking the life out of you.
You notice the change in his stare — the shift from sleepy to starving — and you try to wriggle from his lap with a squeal. His finger slips from the band of your panties and his hands curl tight around your hips, holding you squarely in place.
“Keep it up,” he warns, “’n you’re gettin’ yourself off tonight, pretty girl. Which would be a shame —”
He slips one hand back under your dress. Swipes his thumb over damp lace.
“—considerin’ how fuckin’ soaked you are.”
Your breath catches. You rut your hips into his thumb and your smirk twists to a moan.
He drags his hand away before you can use it. Slaps it lightly to your hip.
“Up,” he gruffs. He sits up, off of the pillow, and you crumple to his chest. You wrap your legs around his waist and he gives a playful groan, swinging his feet to the floor while you cling like a koala.
He stands up and takes you with him, lifting you like you weigh nothing. Your lips nuzzle in the crook of his neck. His hands drift to your ass, and your dress bunches between his fingers when he gives a gentle squeeze.
“You’re a tease,” you whine, when he sets you down on your feet. You smooth your dress. Flatten your hair with your palm.
He shrugs. You watch him swipe a room key from the nightstand and shove it deep into his pocket. He’s already halfway to the door when he turns to look at you.
“You comin’?”
You huff. You drag yourself across the room and meet him at the door. He holds it open for you and you mutter under your breath.
“Apparently not.”
“Clever,” he drawls. He tips his head to the hallway. “Get your ass out there.”
You roll your eyes, but you do as he says. You hear his shallow chuckle at your back, and the click of the door as he pulls it shut. He joins you in the hallway and slips his hand into yours.
You steal a glance, when you’re sure he’s not looking. You’re pretty sure it’s the first time you’ve ever really seen him smile.
—
When Joel says not fancy, he means really, decidedly, not fucking fancy. He drives you to a spot about fifteen minutes from the hotel, somewhere off the main road, and when he parks the truck you’re convinced he’s lost.
But — no. He cuts the engine and looks expectantly at you.
“Alright,” he drawls. “Out you go.”
“Here?” You cup your hands to the window. Stare out, squinting at the dark. “In this…abandoned parking lot?”
He grunts.
You pull your hands away. Stare at him.
“Romantic,” you say. “I know I said casual, but—”
He rolls his eyes. Leans over, and unclips your seatbelt. Then he cracks his car door and hops out, dusting his hands on his jeans.
“C’mon,” he says, when you don’t move. “‘Less you’d rather starve.”
He turns and walks off. You swear softly and scrabble at your own door, wrenching it open and jumping down to the asphalt. You have to jog to catch up to him.
“You’re supposed to wait,” you pant, when you reach him.
He shrugs. He pulls his car key from his pocket and clicks the lock. The truck chirps somewhere behind you.
“Y’were takin’ too long,” he says.
“You’re a gentleman.”
He looks at you. The corner of his lip curves.
“’N you’re a brat,” he says, cooly.
Your stomach swirls. You try to scowl, shake your head, something — but it’s too late. He sees the way your eyes dart to his mouth. To the silver buckle on his belt.
His smile pulls. He puts a broad hand on the small of your back and your core sparks at the contact.
“S’alright,” he mutters. “Deal with you later.”
Fuck. You almost turn around right there. March him back to the truck, and make him deal with you in the backseat. But you don’t, because — well, because you’re kind of curious, if you’re honest. You want to know what Joel Miller considers a date. And you’d like to see this parking lot adventure through, now that he’s swindled you out of the car.
So you suck it up, and ignore the slick pull between your legs, and follow him over cracked asphalt.
He tugs you around a bend and your eyes go wide. You make a small, surprised sound and turn to look at him.
“Okay,” you say. “I take it back. This is cool.”
He shakes his head. But he looks pleased, you think. Like he’s happy you’re impressed.
And it is cool. Like, surprisingly so. You’re still in a parking lot — graffiti and asphalt and concrete medians — but a huge swath of space has been reclaimed by string lights, and food trucks, and wooden picnic tables. Colorful lanterns on the ground and woven runners on the tables. Music humming from outdoor speakers. And it’s crawling with people — vendors, couples, families. Like a makeshift night market, hidden smack-dab in the heart of downtown.
“How’d you find this?”
He shrugs. He looks annoyingly smug. “Could tell you,” he says. “I’d have to kill you, though.”
You glare at him. Punch lightly at his sleeve. He catches your arm and pulls you close, into his chest, and you bury your nose in his flannel. It smells like him. Warm. Safe. Light. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and your heart skips.
People can see you. There are a lot of lights, and a lot of people, and a lot of eyes on you when Joel kisses your head. You make eye contact with one couple while his arm is slung over your shoulder. A few minutes later a larger group stumbles past, obviously drunk, and Joel wraps you up into him as they pass.
You almost push him away — out of instinct, and nothing more. You’re half expecting your dad to wander out of the dark. Or Sarah. Or Hayes, and his thousand missed messages.
But they’re not here. They’re a hundred miles away, and you’re alone, and this is — new. This is nice. The closeness. The not having to hide when someone swings in your direction. Him dragging you close, instead of shoving you back. Making you laugh — out loud, with his hand on your waist — instead of muffling your moans in his palm.
It’s so nice it almost hurts. Because it’s not really real, and you know it, and you wonder if he knows it, too. You wonder if he’ll hurt the way you will, when you have to go back home. When you have to hide again.
But you can worry about that later. For now, you can just — be. You can pretend he’s not your dad’s best friend, and you can pretend there won’t be hell to pay if you touch him like this back home.
He strokes your hair back from your forehead. Looks down, frowning slightly, like he can tell your mind has slipped.
“I’m good,” you say, before he can speak. “I just — I like you. I like — spending time with you.”
His brow lifts. He looks bemused.
“Like you too, angel. Figured you knew that already.”
“Yeah, I just — you know.” You wave a hand. You’re not sure what the hell you’re trying to say.
“I know,” he says, gently.
You look up at him. His thumb stills on your chin. He tips your face to his and kisses you.
“Go ’n get a table,” he says, quietly. His lips brush yours. You can taste him: whiskey and cedar. Masculine. Joel.
His eyes drop. His stare rakes over you: your jacket, the slinky, silk slip you definitely didn’t wear for him — over the lace he knows is waiting underneath. You shiver.
“Fuck,” he mumbles. He wrings his head, like he’s trying to focus. “Go. I’ll get us some food.”
You’re reluctant to leave him — especially when he looks this close to breaking, and just dragging you back to the hotel — but you do as you’re told. You find an empty picnic table and beat a teenage couple to it.
You don’t feel like turning your phone on, and seeing god knows how many messages from Hayes — so you look around, instead. You watch a herd of tiny children sprint across the lot, dodging in between food trucks, wielding vanilla cones like little scepters. One of them has dark hair. Tousled, unkempt. He races past you, light-up sneakers thudding on pavement, and you catch a glimpse of big brown eyes.
It makes your heart hurt. You’re not sure why.
“Scoot.”
Joel’s voice. Gruff, gentle. You blink twice and your focus snaps back. You move down the bench to make room.
He drops down beside you with two paper plates. You peek over his hand.
“Tacos,” you say. “Inspired.”
“Just—fuckin’—try ‘em.”
“I’ve had tacos.”
“Not like this.”
“Well, yeah,” you say. “Exactly like this. They all kinda look the same.”
“Jesus Christ. You’re a piece ‘a work.”
You grin. You slide one of the plates in front of you and take a bite. He watches you intently, like he’s genuinely invested — like he really, truly cares whether you like his stupid tacos.
And you do. Of course you do. Because they’re really fucking good. Because he bought them for you.
“Oh, shit,” you mumble. Sauce drizzles to your hand. “You’re right. That is good.”
He rolls his eyes. Leans in, close, napkin in hand, and swipes your wrist clean. It’s weirdly intimate. More so than every kiss you’ve shared since you stepped out of his truck.
He lingers in your space for a second. Long enough for you to watch him scowl.
“See?” he mutters, when he draws back. “‘F you listened more, ‘stead of runnin’ your mouth all the goddamn time — I could show you a few things.”
“It’s one taco. Don’t get a big head.”
He stares at you. He tries — really, really tries — to keep the scowly, stern, I’m so scary thing going. He lasts a solid three seconds before he breaks. His frown crumples. A shallow laugh spills out of him.
“Fuck’s sake.” He shakes his head. “You’re impossible.”
You wipe your mouth with the edge of your napkin. When you’re done you push your empty plate away and lean into his shoulder. You’re making the most of this uninhibited closeness. Touching him whenever you get the chance: little, harmless brushes and soft kisses behind strangers.
You rest your head on his shoulder and look up at the lights. The string above you flickers, muted yellow, and the glow paints Joel’s skin golden.
You sigh. His flannel grazes your lips. His mouth finds the top of your head and nestles in your hair.
It’s been largely innocent up until now. The touches, at least. You’re not really one for PDA — not usually, anyway — but he has you feeling like a teenager again. And he doesn’t seem inclined to stop you, when the flat of your palm slips underneath the table and dusts over his knee.
He only pumps the brakes when your lips graze his ear, scraping soft skin, and you whisper something filthy that only he can hear.
He clears his throat. His gaze flicks to the milling crowd.
“S’it,” he announces. “We’re leavin’.”
You have to stifle a laugh at the sound of his voice. The quiet desperation he masks as command. Turned on. Time to go.
He makes to stand and you squeeze his knee. His body stiffens. His weight drops back to the bench.
“Don’t wanna leave,” you say. You give him your best pout. “I’m having fun.”
You’re teasing. Truth is, you’d race him to the truck right now if it meant you’d get back faster. But you like working him up. You like him riled, by the time he’s fucking you. You like his breathing ragged and his snarl at your back.
He gives you a sharp look. Heat pools at the pit of your stomach.
“Come on.” You’re egging him on now, and he knows it. He knows it. “You take me out, and you can’t even make it past ten?”
There’s a muscle in his jaw going haywire. You watch it. It’s a good gauge of just how fucked you’ll be, later, when he takes back his upper hand.
For now you press him. You’re feeling bold. Maybe it’s the little plastic-cup margarita he’d brought out with your food, or the fact that a hundred people can see you with him, watch you touch him, and for the first time you don’t give a shit.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you say, dropping your voice. Your hand skates higher, under the table — up his thigh, over blue jeans. “I didn’t even — I wasn’t even thinking. It’s, like — it’s way past your bedtime, right?”
A low, low sound escapes his throat. His hand finds yours on his thigh and closes fast around it — just tight enough to stop your moving. Not tight enough to hurt.
“Got a real goddamn attitude tonight,” he growls.
His hand squeezes yours. Harder. Enough to make you whimper, when you imagine those fingers on your throat, instead.
“S’okay,” he murmurs. His hand lets up. Your own fingers tremble on his thigh. “S’alright, babygirl. Gonna take care of it.”
He leans closer. His breath is hot on your skin.
“Gonna fuck it outta you,” he drawls.
The heat in your stomach spills over. Fire drips between your legs.
“Fuck it,” you mumble. “Let’s go back.”
But he’s playing, now. You teased him too much, overplayed your hand, and now you’re fucked. He’s looking at you with those big brown eyes and you can see them go black when he smirks.
“What’s ‘a matter, angel? Thought you wanted to stay out.”
“Joel—”
“Made a whole goddamn fuss,” he says. “Can’t go back now.”
“We can,” you insist. “Yes we can. There’s not even — look. Everyone’s leaving.” You point to the crowd. No one is leaving. “It’s all — it’s closing. It’s done. Let’s go back.”
He doesn’t look. He clicks his tongue, instead. Mock-sympathy.
“C’mon, now,” he says. “We’ll think ‘a somethin’. Keep you nice ’n busy. Few more hours, at least.”
You groan. Your forehead thuds on the edge of the table.
“Fuck, you’re mean.”
You hear him hum his soft agreement. The bench whines when he stands, and then his palm is at your back, gently guiding you up and onto your feet.
“Ain’t the one who started it,” he says. He drapes an arm around your shoulders and leads you away, back towards the truck. His mouth bends to brush your ear. “Could be headed back to the hotel, right now,” he says. “Could be in bed. Could have my head between those pretty legs.”
You swallow.
He pauses. His fingers tap lazily against your shoulder. “Too bad y’were such a goddamn brat.”
You make a quiet, frustrated sound. You know he won’t let up. You’re resigned to suffering in silence, until Joel decides you’ve had enough. Until he decides to drive you back to the hotel, finally, and fuck you the way he knows you need.
“Y’know what your problem is?” he asks, casually, as you approach the car. “Y’got no follow through. Roll over too easy.”
“I don’t roll over,” you huff.
“No? ’N how come every time you run that mouth, try to tease me—” he cracks the driver’s side door. Looks at you. “—you always end up beggin’?”
You’re quiet. You’d bite back, if he wasn’t infuriatingly right. It’s not like you can think of a comeback, anyway. You’re so turned on your mind is hazy.
“Think on it,” he says, cooly. He puts the truck in reverse and throws his head over his shoulder. “Got nothin’ but time.”
You mutter something soft. A curse. A plea, maybe. You watch him turn out of the lot and go the wrong way — not back to the hotel, not back to the room, not back to bed — and you pull your thighs against an ache that won’t quit.
—
He takes you to a bar downtown. Kind of…divey, but fun. Cool. It’d be a hell of a lot cooler if you could actually enjoy it. If you could think about anything other than him fucking you senseless, right now.
You trail him in. Out of the car, down the steps, past the bouncer who checks your ID and not Joel’s.
He posts up by the bar and you join him. There’s one stool left and he saves it for you, standing at your side while you sit and smooth your dress.
You’re attracting looks. A lot of them. The crowd in here is…diverse — college kids, bikers, bachelorettes on the road to blackout. You stand out, in your little silk dress. Joel — in his flannel, and blue jeans, and worn out work boots — not so much.
He flags down the bartender. It’s a miracle he gets served, considering how swamped the bar is. But Joel commands a room, in that cool, quiet way. He taps a lazy finger on the bartop and the bartender comes running.
“Whiskey,” he says. “’N a…”
“Rum and coke,” you say. It’s the first thing that comes to mind.
The bartender nods. Joel slides a bill across the bar and tells her to keep the change.
“Rum ’n coke,” he says, when she leaves to get your drinks. He shakes his head. Chuckles. “You drink like a high schooler.”
“Shut up. They’re good.”
“Uh-huh. Remind me t’make you a proper drink, sometime.”
You shoot him a scowl. But your heart lifts, a little, at the implication that there will be a sometime. You’re always half-expecting him to run again.
It’s hot, in here. Too many people. You shrug your jacket off and spread it out across your lap. You lean your elbows on the counter and frame your chin in your palms as you look up at him.
His head tilts. His gaze drops to the skin you’ve exposed. You catch the almost-imperceptible hitch in his breath, and it makes you smile. It almost redeems the blinding, white-hot burn between your legs that he refuses to acknowledge.
“Parking lot tacos and a dive bar,” you say. “I feel like a princess.”
His eyes drag back to yours. He huffs.
“You wanna go out again, ’n act like a good girl — maybe I’ll treat you like one.”
Your breath snags. A blush tickles the base of your neck.
He pushes his sleeves up, past his forearms. Leans an elbow on the bar to get closer to you. There’s music blaring — some classic rock mix — and by all accounts it should be the only thing you hear. That, and the clamor of too many people and too many drinks. But you’re too far gone, staring at him, and you can’t hear anything that doesn’t start and end with his velvet fucking drawl.
It’s the reason you don’t hear the voice at your back. Not until it’s rasping hot along your ear.
“Hey, pretty lady.”
You start. Your back stiffens. You swivel in your seat to face the sound.
There’s a man there. Two men, actually, crowding the side of you Joel isn’t occupying. They both look trashed. Slurring, bleary-eyed — but sober enough, still, to know what they want. And drunk enough to try and get it.
The one closest to you — crew-cut, square jaw, somewhere between your age and Joel’s — slaps his hand on the bartop. The sound makes you flinch. You can feel Joel bristle at your side. He pulls up, off of his elbow, and straightens to his full height.
“Sorry,” you say, and you hate that you apologize. Hate that it’s reflexive, when they’re bothering you. “I’m — we’re kind of in the middle of something.“
The one with the crew-cut frowns. His friend simpers.
“You don’t even have a drink,” he says. “C’mon. Let us buy you a drink, at least.”
The bartender re-appears, as if on cue. She slides Joel his drink and hands you yours. You wait til she’s gone and tip your glass towards the men. Cheers. Fuck off.
Crew-Cut smiles. His friend shrugs.
“Alright,” he says. “But we can do ya one better.”
His friend rifles through his jacket. He produces a tiny, plastic baggie and passes it to Crew-Cut. Two pink pills rattle at the bottom.
“See this?” Crew-Cut grins. A gold cap glitters on his tooth. He folds the baggie in his hand and nudges yours. “You wanna have a little fun, sweetheart? Look like you know how.”
His touch makes you freeze. Your throat feels thick.
“I’m not—”
There’s a thud — furious, loud — as Joel’s fist comes down on the bar. You can feel it, beside you. The whole counter shudders. Someone four seats down looks up in surprise.
“She ain’t fuckin’ interested,” Joel growls. “Move on.”
Crew-Cut lifts a brow.
“Who’s this?” he laughs. His hand slips to your wrist. “This your daddy?”
Silence. He nods at Joel. “You her daddy?”
“Take your fuckin’ hand off her.”
“Oof. Daddy’s got a mouth on him.” His fingers dig into your pulse point. “Ain’t gonna take my hand off her,” he says. “Think she likes it. What do you think, Dutch? Think she likes it?”
His friend — Dutch — nods stupidly. You try to pull your hand away and your drink wobbles on the bar.
“Fuck off,” you hiss.
“Damn. You got a nasty mouth, too.” He looks up at Joel. “She’s a hot one, huh? Ain’t no way you can handle all that.”
You rip your hand free. Successfully, this time. Your wrist knocks your drink and it goes flying — glass, rum, ice on the floor. Coke splatters Crew-Cut’s jeans and he swears.
“Shit,” he mutters. “Fuckin’ bitch.”
“Shut your goddamn mouth,” Joel snarls.
He slips from your side. You can feel the heat roll off him, when he moves around your seat and stands in front of you, instead. You watch his back. The way his shoulders bunch under flannel; the way his fist flexes at his side.
He’s blocking your view, now. Standing between you and the men. You have to tip to the side to catch a glimpse of Crew-Cut’s glare.
And he’s glaring, all right. He looks pissed. His lip curves up and his gold tooth winks.
“What ya gonna do?” he taunts, when Joel takes half a step forward. The words are slurred. He’s fucking hammered. Probably high, too, if the pills in his palm are any indication. “Huh, big man? Two ‘f us. One ‘a you.”
Dutch nods. His big, dumb hand curls to a lazy fist. Not the brains of the operation, you figure. But still large, and still tall, and still leering with a look that makes you sick.
“You got ten seconds to get the fuck out,” Joel says. He sounds eerily composed.
“Or what?” Another nasty grin. “You gonna fall asleep on me? Bite me with your fuckin’ dentures?”
“Nine,” Joel says. “Suggest you get a move on.”
“Yeah? You suggest I get a move on?” Crew-Cut jabs his head past Joel. Towards you. “That what she tells you when you fuck her?”
Oh, fuck.
“Joel,” you mumble, but it’s too late. He’s closing the distance between Dumb and Dumber before you can even process he’s moved. He leans over the counter in a single, fluid motion and swipes something from behind the bar. You don’t see what it is. Not until he brings it down, to the thin stretch of skin between Crew-Cut’s knuckles, and you catch a flash of silver just before it lands.
You’re lucky this place is so packed, and so loud, and so — well, shitty. Because the shout Crew-Cut lets slip — followed by the horrified yelp from his friend — would be pretty fucking hard to miss anywhere else.
“Holy shit,” you breathe. “Joel—”
There’s a steak knife pinning Crew-Cut’s hand to the counter. Joel’s fingers are wrapped around the hilt. There’s blood where Crew-Cut’s hand rips, dripping heavy to the floor — but it’s not as much as you’re expecting. Not as much as there will be, when he pulls the knife back out.
Your gaze darts to the bartender, at the far end of the bar. Her back is to you, and to Joel, and to the steak knife sticking out of her patron’s hand. It’s dirty. Serrated. Probably giving Crew-Cut tetanus, on top of the stitches he’ll need.
Joel leans in. His hand tightens on the knife.
“C’mon,” he drawls. That velvet voice that makes you ache. Darker, rougher, but — still Joel. “Lemme walk you out.”
He yanks the knife out. You wince. Crew-Cut gives a mangled cry and stumbles back into his friend. Blood gurgles from his palm and drizzles down over his wrist.
“Fuck you, man,” Dutch says. He looks a little pale, but he stands his ground. They both do. “Messed with the wrong fuckin’ guys.”
Joel’s quiet. He slams the tip of the steak knife into the wood bartop, and you watch the handle wobble. The men flinch.
“Out,” he says, softly. “Now.”
Crew-Cut goes first, cradling his hand. Dutch follows with a dumb, dark scowl. Joel trails them both. His boots crunch on glass from your spilled drink.
You get a glimpse of his face, when he turns to you. You’ve never seen it quite like that.
“Stay put,” he mutters. You realize he’s talking — to you, and not the men— and your skin sparks.
You should probably stop him. From — well, from whatever he’s about to do. Escort them outside, murder them, something in between, maybe.
But you…don’t. You just nod, slowly, and swallow back the fire in your throat.
“Yeah,” you breathe. “Take your time.”
He pushes both men past you. Crew-Cut mutters something as he passes you. Sounds a lot like fuckin’ slut.
You watch Joel tense in your peripheral. The tug between your legs pulls so taut it almost hurts.
You’re pretty sure it’s fucked up, to want him the way you do right now. You should be horrified, or something. You should look at the blood on the bartop and get the first bus back to Austin.
You definitely shouldn’t just…sit here. You shouldn’t be fighting every urge to slide a hand up the hem of your dress and make yourself cum to the sound of his snarl.
But — fuck it. You’ve done a lot of things you shouldn’t do, this past month. So you watch his knuckles close around the back of Crew-Cut’s collar, and you watch him drag both men across the threshold of the bar. Out the door. Out of sight and out of mind.
You order another drink while you wait. No one bothers you, this time.
And when Joel comes back ten minutes later, alone, with bloody knuckles and a split in his lip — you practically drag him out of the bar.
—
The drive back to the hotel is pretty much silent.
He doesn’t tell you what happened outside of the bar. You don’t ask.
You watch his knuckles grip the wheel, instead. Red. Raw. Ruined. You rub your thighs together and shift in his seat.
He pulls in by the lobby. He puts the truck in park and doesn’t let the gear shift go.
He looks up. At you.
“Are you alright?” he murmurs.
It’s so…gentle. Kind of a jarring contradiction, to the blood splashed on his knuckles.
“Yeah,” you say. Your voice is quiet. “I’m good.”
He nods. But he doesn’t quite believe you, you think, because his whole frame is stiff — when you grab for his hand on your way inside, and when you lean into his side while the elevator comes.
You get in first and he follows, slowly. He stands opposite you and grips the steel handrail.
He reaches for the buttons. Presses 14.
He clears his throat when the doors close.
“‘M sorry,” he says, finally. “You shouldn’t—wasn’t right, what I did. You shouldn’t ‘a seen — had to see that.”
“See what?” You cock your head. “See you beat the shit out of two assholes?”
He looks at you sharply. You shrug.
“That’s funny,” you say, and you’re only half teasing. “I was gonna ask if you could do it again.“
He shakes his head. Swears, softly.
“Ain’t right,” he mutters. “‘F your dad was here, he’d—”
“He’s not here,” you say. A little more bite than you mean.
It shuts him up, at least. He’s silent when the elevator climbs past 4.
“Never seen you that mad,” you say, after a beat.
His fingers tense on the rail.
“I scare you?”
“No,” you say, quickly. “Just never seen it before.”
He watches you. A muscle jumps in his jaw.
“You always get that pissed?” you ask.
“No,” he says, after a pause. He looks at you. Then —
“Just don’t like people touchin’ what’s mine.”
Your stomach swirls. The elevator announces floor 9.
“Is that what I am?” you ask, quietly. “Yours?”
He tilts his head. A low, quiet sound slips past his lips. He pushes off the rail and crosses the floor to you, caging you against the wall. The small of your back digs into steel.
“You tell me,” he growls.
His mouth is so close you can taste him. His drawl drips to your skin and paints you red.
You kiss him. Your mouth slants against his and he punches out a sigh. His hands find your waist and crumple cheap silk.
You drag him closer. Your fingers bunch at the front of his shirt. You pop one of his buttons and he groans, licking into your mouth.
You’re so busy attacking his shirt you don’t hear the elevator ding at floor 12. You don’t even feel it stop until the doors are wheezing open.
You freeze. Your lips go slack against Joel’s. You hear him huff and you push at his chest. He stumbles backwards, half a step, just as an elderly woman shuffles inside.
She greets you both politely. You manage a smile and Joel manages nothing.
And then you’re moving again, climbing the last two floors to 14 — and the elevator opens.
“S’cuse us,” Joel gruffs, and practically shoves you over the threshold. You apologize to the woman when you trip over her shoes.
“Sorry,” you squeak.
“Quite the hurry,” she notes.
You have no fucking idea, you want to say. But Joel is dragging you down the hall, and keying open the room, and she’s out of sight before the door can even close.
—
You wonder if he’ll say more, now that you’re finally alone. But when you’re back in the room, and he drops his wallet and his phone and his keys on the desk by the door — he’s clearly not in the mood for conversation. He tips his chin to the bed, and the command is clear. But you still want to hear him say it.
So you stand, stubbornly. His mouth twitches.
“On the bed,” he says. “Right fuckin’ now.”
You take a few steps back, toward the bed. Then you stop.
He growls in frustration.
You ignore him. You point to his bloody knuckles, and to the dust on his flannel. There’s blood on your lip — his blood — where he kissed you with a sliced mouth.
“No,” you say. “No. I’m sorry. I’m not going anywhere til you get in the shower. You look like you just killed someone.”
He scowls. Stares at you, nonplussed.
“You didn’t, right? Kill someone? Or — someones? Because—”
His frown deepens. You watch his eyes narrow.
“Kidding,” you say, quickly. “Sort of. Just — shower. Please. You’re a mess. And those are white sheets.”
He mumbles something unintelligible. He holds your gaze a second longer and then stalks past you, toward the bathroom, still muttering as he fumbles with his shirt.
“What was that?”
“Nothin’,” he grunts.
“Didn’t sound like nothing.”
He whips back around. His shirt hangs, half-undone. His eyes glint.
“Said you’re fuckin’ impossible,” he gruffs.
You grin. You flop back onto the bed while he hovers at the bathroom door.
“Better hurry,” you tell him, trailing a hand up your thigh. You bump the hem of your dress and your fingers creep under. “Might get started without you.”
His stare goes dark. His hand drops from his shirt.
“Don’t,” he warns.
You give him a look. Your fingers drift up the seam of your thigh, circling the wetness there. The hem of lace panties peeks over your wrist.
“Don’t…what?”
“Fuck,” he hisses. “The hell’s gotten into you?”
“Don’t know,” you say, innocently. “You? Hopefully?”
His jaw flickers. He swears, softly, and his belt hisses from his jeans. He shrugs his shirt off his shoulders and takes half a step toward you.
You grab a pillow off the bed and hurl it at his chest. It lands with a thud and stops him in his tracks.
“Go,” you say.
“Jesus,” he mutters.
But he does as you say. He turns around; walks back to the bathroom with a low, angry sigh, and you watch his jeans ride low on his waist.
The door clicks shut behind him. You wait for the water to start and then you get up, off of the bed, shedding your shoes and your dress as you cross the carpet. You crack the bathroom door open and slip in.
He doesn’t see you come in. He’s turned away from you, standing under the water with his back to fogged glass. The walls and the counters are slick with steam already.
You step out of your underwear and leave them on the tile. Tug the shower door open, just wide enough to edge through, and join him underneath the spray.
“Hey,” you say, softly.
He turns. Blinks at you. Water streams down his brow and cleans the cut on his lip.
For half a second he seems surprised. And then his gaze evens out and his eyes rake your body.
Your skin heats — under his stare, under the water. You watch him swallow and your stomach does a flip.
“Close the door,” he mutters. “Lettin’ all the steam out.”
You do as he says and slide the glass shut. The added warmth makes your skin sting.
He brings his hands up, to push through soaked hair. Water drips past his knuckles and hits the ground pink.
You take half a step forward and the spray beats at your neck. You lift your hands to his and drag one of them down and he lets you, watching you with quiet eyes. You fold a palm over his knuckles and he sucks in a breath.
You bring his hand up to your mouth. Press a featherlight kiss to the bruise on his knuckle.
He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t yank his hand back. Just looks at you, with that soaked-black stare.
You gaze up at him, eyes wide. Water drips from your lashes and skates to your cheeks. You part your lips and drag two of his fingers up into your mouth.
He sighs. His half-hard cock stirs to life by your thigh.
His fingers are soaked, from the spray of the shower. Slippery. It means they slide easily into your mouth, and curl wet against your tongue when you take him to the knuckle. Your lips brush the cuts there and he hisses through his teeth.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “Easy. Easy.”
He uses his free hand to tip your chin up. To look into your eyes, when you hollow your cheeks and take his soaked fingers deeper. There’s a look on his face you can’t quite read.
“You like that, baby?”
He sounds a little mystified, maybe. His fingers play on your jaw, urging your mouth open wider. You can taste the salt on his skin. The metal tang of blood where his knuckles are raw. The sweet-smelling soap he’s used to clean out his wounds.
You whine, with your mouth full of him. Try to take his fingers deeper when they hook around your lips.
“Fuck,” he mutters, half to himself. “You do.”
He drags his fingers out of your mouth. A string of spit hangs from his fingertips and disappears under the spray.
“Turn around,” he says, softly.
You turn around.
Truth be told, you’re expecting him to fuck you. Finally. What you’re not expecting is the telltale pop of a shampoo cap, and the smell of artificial fruit, and Joel’s broad, bruised hands in your hair, massaging soap to your scalp.
You let a small, involuntary sound slip. You tilt your head into his hands and water splashes your collar.
“Can do that myself,” you mumble.
He hums in response. His fingers dig into your scalp and you moan.
“Know you can, angel.” He works the soap through your hair. Kneads tight little circles at your roots. “But let me.”
You nod, absently. Let him cradle your head in his hands. His fingers pull to the nape of your neck and work at the knots there. Probably the same ones that settled when you leaned over his lap in his truck, this afternoon, and dragged your mouth along his cock.
His hands leave your hair too soon. The excess soap drips down your back and leaves you smelling like strawberries and Joel.
You almost turn back around to face him. But then his hand is on your back, between your shoulder blades, and he’s pushing you forward until your palms kiss tile.
He doesn’t tease you. He doesn’t make you beg for it. You’re sure he would, if you’d never gone to that bar. He’d torture the hell out of you, the way he promised he would.
But you did go to the bar, and now he’s bruised and bleeding and broken, and there’s something to his touch that you can’t quite place. Something different. Something desperate. Like he needs you worse now than you’ve needed him all night.
“You still want this?” he asks, behind your back.
You can feel his cock, soaked and swollen, nudging at the slick skin between your thighs. But you’re pretty sure that’s not what he’s asking about. You can tell, from the drag in his voice. From the way the words stumble down your back and swirl to the drain. You know what he’s actually trying to ask — in that rough, muddled way that only he can muster.
You still want me?
You twist your head over your arm. Look at him under the spray.
“Always,” you mumble. “Always want you. Please, Joel—”
You don’t need to beg him. He listens. He lines his hips behind you and his skin touches yours, soaked and soapy and scalding hot where water runs. He’s taking the brunt of the spray, behind you. It thrashes his eyes and streaks past his mouth, punching the split in his lip. You can hear him wince at your back. Can hear him hiss, when his knuckles squeeze at your sides and his sliced lip buries in the slope of your shoulder.
He’s clearly in pain. And he clearly couldn’t care less, when he tugs your hips back into his and strokes his soaked cock through your slick.
“Fuck,” you breathe. Your fingers scrabble for purchase on the tile. It’s too slippery, too wet, and you have to lean over further to brace your forearms on the wall.
The new angle makes him groan. You’re more exposed, like this. Bent and dripping for him. The head of his cock notches at your entrance and his fingertips twitch on your waist.
He’s not stingy with the foreplay, usually. But his mouth is out of commission, and so are his fingers, and even though you have a feeling he’d do it, gladly, if you asked — you’re so turned on from hours of back and forth teasing and whatever the hell happened at that bar that you’d rather he just —
“Fuck me,” you gasp. Your muscles clench around nothing. The steam from the shower muffles your moan. “Just — fuck me.”
“Relax,” he drawls. “Relax, baby.”
He pushes the tip of his cock into you. Just barely. Making sure you’ll take him, without his mouth or his fingers to ease your way, first.
You squeeze pitifully around the head of his cock. Whimper something that sounds like his name.
“Fuck,” he mumbles. He sounds a little awed. “You’re fuckin’ — soaked. You need it this bad, babygirl?”
You rock your hips back in response. His cock slides deeper, an inch, two inches — stretching you open — and then he’s grabbing at your hips and thrusting all the way in.
You yelp at the intrusion. His hips smack your ass and shove you up against slick tile. You have to push back against him to keep from slamming into the wall — and when you meet his thrusts he snarls.
“Always so — fuckin’ — tight,” he hisses. Something drips to your back. Hot and thick, thicker than water. Blood from his lip, you think, torn open again on his snarl.
“Tell me,” you say, urgently. You wouldn’t ask, usually, but — you can’t think straight. The water is scorching your skin, and his hands are even hotter, and his cock is lighting you up from the inside out. “Tell me what you — ah. Tell me what you did to them.”
His thrusts slow. He drags his cock out of you.
“Who?” he murmurs.
And then he pushes back into you, white-hot and no warning, and your breath punches out of your lungs.
“The—fuck,” you yelp, “the guys. At the — the — ngh, Joel — at the bar.”
He’s quiet. He pulls out again, all the way, and waits until you whine to thrust back in. And then he does it again, and again, over and over, until the slap of soaked skin drowns the sound of the shower.
“Tell me,” you plead.
“Fuck,” he swears. “Fuckin’—sent ‘em home.”
“Yeah?” You swallow a moan. Your muscles clamp down on his cock. “In one — fuck — piece?”
He makes a sound — like a chuckle, or a groan, or something in between. His hand leaves your hip and wraps tight around your shoulder, bracing you against his cock as he pounds you into the wall.
“Just about,” he pants.
You bite down on your lip. His cock rolls against your g-spot and you cry out. The sound fogs the glass and drips to your feet.
Heat drills at your core. Your eyes glaze.
“Fuck,” you mumble. “Fuck, Joel, I’m gonna—”
“Yeah?” His voice rips through you like wildfire. Low, rough, serrated — like that dirty fucking blade he’d left swaying in the counter. “That turn you on, hearin’ all that? You gonna cum?”
You whine. Water rakes down his jaw and splatters your back.
“Bad fuckin’ girl,” he growls. He bottoms out and his hips stall. His cock throbs somewhere deep inside you. “Never been so fuckin’ wet for me.”
Your hands make useless fists on the tile. You stare at the water on the floor and your vision swirls.
“Joel—”
“Go on,” he says. “Attagirl, baby, go on. Lemme feel.”
You’re so tightly wound your whole body almost snaps. You’ve been two well-timed touches away from falling apart since this afternoon, when he shoved his cock down your throat and told you in no uncertain terms to keep your fuckin’ head down.
So when he pushes you over the edge, finally — your knees buckle. You’re lightheaded. Your muscles strangle his cock, bearing down so hard it practically drags his own release out. His hips stumble into yours and he chokes on your name.
His hand lets up on your shoulder when he cums. Without him holding you in place you go limp, boneless — and your forearms slip on the tile wall. He barely — barely — catches you before you sink to the shower floor.
“Woah — hey —” He’s got you, you think, and you can’t really see, with the shower all fogged and your eyes all hazy — but he’s got you. He’s got you. He’s got his big arm wrapped around your tummy, stopping you from crumpling all the way down.
“Okay, easy,” he murmurs. You can barely hear him over the roar of the shower, and the static between your own ears. “Shh. Easy. S’okay. ‘M right here. I got you, babygirl.”
You mumble something that gets lost in the spray. You’re pretty sure it’s his name. And then he’s sinking to the ground, with you, because it’s easier to go down than to bring you back up. He clutches you to his chest as he slumps against the wall. He hits the ground first, before you, so that you land in his lap instead of the floor.
And then he just…holds you. You fold into his chest and you feel so fucking small, all wrapped up in him, with your legs tangled over his and your head tucked under his jaw. He wraps an arm around you and you leave soaked, breathless kisses on whatever bit of him you can reach.
He reaches his free hand up and fumbles for the shower handle. He cranks it, hard, and the water shuts off. A few searing droplets land on your bare shoulder. He kisses them dry and his stubble scrapes your skin.
“Okay,” he breathes. Over and over, until his voice soothes your shiver. You tuck into his chest and your breathing starts to still. “Okay, angel.”
You feel like crying and you’re not totally sure why. Maybe it’s the earth-shattering release he’s just given you, after hours and hours of fucking nothing. Maybe it’s something else. Maybe it’s the fact you can hear his heartbeat, pressed up against your ear, and you can feel it skip when your lips skim his jaw.
“Talk to me,” he says, softly. And then, a little unsure — “Please.”
“‘M fine,” you mumble. The words are semi-slurred. You’re blissed out. You’re tired. You smell like soap, and sex, and you smell like Joel. Or Joel smells like you. You can’t even tell anymore. “‘M good.”
“Fuck,” he says. “Fuck. Was that — was I too rough? I — you should’ve said, I should’ve —”
“No,” you say. You shake your head. “No. Was good. You’re good. Perfect.”
You hear him exhale. Short, shallow. Relieved, or amused.
“Okay,” he echoes. Agonizingly gentle. “Alright, baby. Let’s — let’s get you to bed, yeah?”
“Mm,” you mumble. “Yeah.”
You let him lift you. Let him carry you out of the shower, past the glass sliding door and onto dry floor. He sets you down, on top of the closed toilet seat, and sits you there while he finds you a towel. Your head hums. Your skin glows pink — from the shower, from his touch. When he comes back with a towel you let him wrap you up like a burrito, thudding into his chest while he dries you off.
He leans down when he’s finished. Presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“C’mon,” he says, softly.
You look up, bleary-eyed. His stare searches yours.
“Bed?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Think so.”
“Mm. Not tired.”
“No?” You watch his brow lift. “Not tired?”
“Mm. Mm-mm.”
“Okay. Sure.” He takes a breath.“How ‘bout you just humor me, then?”
You nod solemnly, like you’re doing him a favor. You let him tug the towel tight around your shoulders and you stand on your own, this time, wobbling on shaky legs. You lean into his side and he walks you out, into the bedroom and straight into bed.
He pulls the sheets up around your chin. You’re semi-aware of the fact that you’re naked, and you can’t bring yourself to care. You watch him pull on dry boxers from the duffel bag at the foot of the bed, and then he’s climbing in beside you. The mattress dips with his weight. You register somewhere, in the back of your mind, that it’s the very first time you’ve ever slept beside him.
The thought makes you lightheaded again. You nuzzle into his side and he drags you close.
A few minutes pass like that. His breathing slows.
“Joel,” you say.
He mumbles. His voice is rough in the dark.
“Yeah.”
“I had fun,” you say, sleepily. “Today."
He exhales. He rolls onto his side and pulls you close, his chest to your back. His mouth drops to your shoulder.
“Yeah,” he repeats. “Me too, angel.”
“‘Specially when you killed those guys.”
You can feel him roll his eyes. His teeth nip at your shoulder.
“Ain’t kill anyone,” he mutters. “Jesus. Go t’sleep.”
“Mm.” You yawn. “Okay. When you stabbed that one guy, then.”
He sighs. His breath drips down your skin.
“He was a dick,” you say. The words are muffled in the crook of his arm.
You hear him huff.
“Yeah,” he says. “He was a dick.”
You hum happily. Curl up between his arm and his chest. Your ass rubs up on his boxers and you can feel him harden again, already — but he doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t roll his hips into yours, or say something filthy, or tighten his grip on your body. He just holds you there, to him, until his breathing drops off and his arm goes limp.
Something flickers in your chest. Something dangerous. You twist quietly in his arms until your chest is brushing his.
“Joel,” you whisper.
When he doesn’t respond you edge closer to him. You rest your nose and your mouth in the crook of his neck.
“I am, y’know,” you breathe. “Yours.”
He doesn’t answer. You’re pretty sure he’s asleep. But later, when you drift off with your head on his heart — you could swear he buries a kiss in your hair.
I got the chance to work with @writingliv once again – yes, I am very much fangirling, y'all know how much I adore Liv – and boy, I am so proud of us and of this beautiful fic we've written together. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this! Enjoy my loves. xxx
Summary: Professor Cumberbatch was perfect. He was sweet, supportive, ever-willing to help. He was attentive and loved to praise your achievements. It came to no surprise that you had ended up trying and succeeding at becoming his favourite student. The two of you had become an unstoppable duo, however, could there be more than mere passion for academia behind it?
Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, lots and lots of tension, small sprinkles of angst, age gap, professorxstudent relationship
Pairing: Prof!Benedict Cumberbatch x fem!reader (about 9k words, she's a long one)
Professor Cumberbatch led a life full of rules, keeping clear schedules, boundaries, and conversations. Honest, passionate, and helpful would probably be the three words most people would use to define him. A life dedicated to teaching, to helping, to learning. He never swayed away from his clear-cut schemes unless it was for somebody else’s benefit. Selfless… Professor Cumberbatch was also incredibly selfless.
You, however, would think this set of facts did not do justice to his character. Professor Cumberbatch was not just selfless. He was an absolute saint. He had been your point of guidance since you first joined his class in your last year of undergrad and had offered you a place as a research assistant as a Master’s student. He had happily stayed until late hours helping you with your first dissertation and had never failed to answer any question related-or-not to his topic. Benedict Cumberbatch was your hero, which made your crush on him so much more inappropriate.
You had tried to stop thinking about him that way, feeling guilty at the idea that this saint of man was so willing to help you and take you under his wing, and all you did was fantasise about him breaking all the university rules and fucking you. It was an awful feeling, especially when you were sure he didn’t feel the same way, but it was something you couldn’t yet find a way to get rid of.
So here you were, sitting in his office, wearing that baby blue shirt he had once complimented a year ago or so, waiting for him to come back with news on whether you had been accepted to attend the most important conference in your field. You had excused your continuous wear of the shirt by referring to it as your lucky colour, making it the perfect attire for any important moment you had shared with the professor.
Your black heels had been incessantly tapping his beautiful Persian rug as you tried your best not to bite your nails when the door of the office finally opened incredibly slowly, and a gloomy Cumberbatch appeared on the opposite side wearing a shirt of a starkly similar colour as yours. “I am sorry…” he started to speak, and you felt your heart drop immediately, your hands moving to your face, covering it. “That you will have to cancel all your plans for the week April 19th because we are going to the conference!” He shouted your way, a gigantic crooked smile filling his mischievous face. You couldn’t believe it, instantly uncovering your face and checking his expression for a bluff.
You couldn’t help yourself jumping up from the excitement and reaching for him, giving him a hug. Your professor seemed to equally disregard all decorum, wrapping his hands around your waist before whispering to your ear, “it seems like your lucky colour works.” You tried your best to hide the growing warmth on your cheeks as he let go of you.
“Thank you so much for this! I am so excited! I cannot believe it!” You replied once the two of you were at an appropriate distance again, still looking at each other with the utmost admiration and excitement.
“Do not thank me. You did this all yourself. I just had to answer a reference request, and you may be surprised about this, but I find it incredibly easy to tell people how incredible you are.”
…
“Can anybody tell me when Operation Overlord was fought?” Professor Cumberbatch’s voice echoed through the classroom, eyes flickering to meet yours at any given chance. It felt like you two were playing a game, a game whose rules you have long forgotten, unable to focus on anything but him.
Him, the one you dream of when the nights grow warmer, when the heat fills your bedroom like the heat filling your veins whenever he speaks to you.
Him, the one that makes you tremble whenever his skin meets yours, never in an inappropriate way, though forced closer like magnets unable to part.
Him, the man that popped up in your thoughts when you wake and when you are about to fall asleep. An ever present sensation you slowly but surely adapted to.
You didn’t pay attention to the answer of the student that tried to catch the professor’s attention for the past minutes. Your thoughts weren’t able to grow quiet, a loud sound that rang through your mind like a song you couldn’t stop singing. It was wrong, so awfully wrong, and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from craving his touch, wanting to feel his body pressed against yours without any clothing caught in between.
Professor Cumberbatch needed a few moments to rip his eyes from your features, breaking eye contact with a slight scowl tugging on his face. The nagging voice inside your head made you wonder if he was annoyed with the other student for cutting your shared moment short. There was always something so intense about the way he looked at you, forcing you to sit straighter, eyes unable to move away.
“Anything else you want to add to today’s lesson? If not, you are good to go.” Your heart picked up its beat as his eyes found yours once again, a silent way of communicating, asking you to stay behind for a few more moments. The other students pushed past you all too impatiently, wanting to flee from the classroom, but you didn’t move, not able to even try to imagine another place where you’d rather be.
“I won’t hold you back for long, I just wanted to give you these folders. It’s everything they gave me for the conference.” Your fingers brushed his as you took the folder, breath hitched in your chest. His eyes followed your every move, watching you thumb through the papers, unable to bite down your smile.
“I am so excited, I can’t wait for us to go there!” Your voice left him smiling, unable to bite down his excited grin. Your nerves were running wild, wondering how being at the conference with him will play out, praying to whoever was listening that you’d be able to also focus on something else besides the gorgeous professor you wanted to call yours.
…
Soft music filled Professor Cumberbatch’s office, ringing in your ears without distracting you from the essays you were grading with the professor. It wasn’t unusual for you to join in on his later sessions, finding comfort in his closeness, even though you wouldn’t share many words, just a few glances here and there.
“What is it? You are biting your lip again.” Professor Cumberbatch’s voice ripped you out of your trance, eyes snapping up from the paper. Heat flushed through you as you let go of your lip, teeth no longer buried in the warm flesh.
“Sorry, I struggle to follow their argumentation, it simply makes no sense, and you know how much I hate saying this.” Your voice was soft, not wanting to interrupt the calm atmosphere you two were trapped in. You watched him move closer, admiring the way he carried himself, the way his beige trousers hugged his legs, and how the rolled up sleeves of his black dress shirt exposed just enough of his muscular forearms and the watch clinging to his left wrist. Fuck, you’d dream of this tonight, you were sure of it.
“Let me have a look.” The professor sat down next to you on the comfortable sofa placed in the far back of his office. The scent of his cologne crawled up your nostrils, making you shudder as his leg was pressed against yours. His eyes carefully followed the sentence you had highlighted, concentrating on the arguments the student seemed to have struggled with. “Yes, I see what you mean. Leave it on my desk later, I’ll add some comments myself.”
He pushed the essay back into your hands, eyes meeting yours. Neither one of you dared to move, eyes not wanting to break contact, hearts calling out to one another without finding the right words to express what was burning on the tip of your tongues. He broke the intense moment first, clearing his throat before he rose back to his feet.
“I think I’ve kept you here long enough, you should get some rest and start packing your bags.” Disappointment filled your system, slowly nodding your head as a quiet “Of course” left your lips. And with one last glance shared, you left his office with a racing heart and sweaty palms.
…
You arrived at your apartment and dropped on your bed, sighing loudly. It was getting too difficult to deal with, to keep your gazes in check, to keep him from knowing how you felt. It was overwhelming. It was driving you crazy. You were growing so desperate for any hint of reciprocation that you had started to imagine things, seeing lust in his gaze when it couldn't be there, when it shouldn’t be there.
You decided to check your already packed bag one more time, giving into the parting words of your professor. All the outfits for the conferences lay perfectly organised in your bag, each accompanied by a pair of matching lingerie. No. you were not planning on sleeping with anyone at this event. It was just an old trick that you had once read; wearing matching lingerie makes you feel confident even outside of the bedroom.
You were about to close the bag when your phone rang on your nightstand. You picked it up, surprised to see Professor Cumberbatch calling you at almost 1 am.
“Hello?” you picked up, your fingers playing with the silky material of the matching nightgown to your lingerie.
“Hey there, apologies for the late phone call,” his voice sounded tired and stressed. You knew exactly how badly he wanted all his students to do well, and grading always put him in a bit of a bad mood.
“No problem, Professor. Is everything okay?” your question was filled with worry as you sat down on your bed and wondered if he was still in his office.
“I was just thinking about our conversation from earlier, and I was worried you would think I dismissed you because you couldn’t finish correcting that paper. You know how much I appreciate you helping me with corrections, and I wouldn’t want you to think anything bad of my dismissal. It was just so late and… I sometimes worry that I am stealing all your time. I am sure you have better things to do on a Saturday night than spend it with me, correcting papers with me.” He ranted away nervously. You could hear the sound of his dress shoes in the background as he paced through the room.
“There is no other place I’d rather be,” you blurted out right away, immediately realising the finality of that statement.
“Really?” he chuckled bitterly, “I am sure any other woman your age would disagree. Your twenties are important for your career but also to go out, have fun, make friends, and make mistakes. Please don’t let me keep you away from doing all of those things.”
“I am having fun, and I have friends,” you laughed, slightly hurt that he thought you were a complete loser.
“You know what I mean,” he chuckled, embarrassed.
“No, professor, I am not quite sure. From what I understand, you think I am a loser with no friends or fun,” you laughed, teasing him further.
“What I was trying to say is that there are significantly funner things to be doing on a Saturday than correcting papers with me. At your age, I was doing much more interesting things, at least.”
“What were you doing, Professor?” It was an inappropriate question, especially in the tone you had spoken it. You were not sure where it had come out from, but the exhaustion and comfort of your bed had pulled it out of you.
“I don’t know…” he seemed to be thinking, trying to understand himself where he wanted to draw a line before this conversation broke his rules, “I was partying, drinking, getting into trouble, trying to get girls.”
“I do all of those things,” you replied confidently, a foxy smile on your lips and a particularly strong inflexion in the all.
“Girls?” he asked, cursing himself right away for falling into your obvious trap.
“Girls… boys…” you laughed, “I am usually not the one trying, though. Especially recently, nobody has really caught my interest that way.”
“I guess I should take advantage of it and continue to monopolise your time until you do,” his answer sent a shiver down your spine. It was late, and neither of you was thinking perfectly straight.
“I think you should,” you replied before a yawn took over your voice.
“I should let you get some sleep. We have a long week ahead of us. See you at the station tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Professor.”
…
You watched the scenery pass by, the lush green countryside, the houses that seemed empty and once left behind in a hurry to disappear from rural places like these. Your heart ached at the thought, finding sadness in the empty places, wondering who had once lived inside these buildings.
It had been a good two hours since you had met the professor at the railway station, boarding the train to the conference. And while he was sitting next to you, elbows and thighs close to touching, eyes focused on a book he was reading, you didn’t find the needed comfortableness to focus on your book nor on your notes.
Your mind painted a colourful picture, wondering how the upcoming day with him so close would play out. Even though you were used to seeing him every single week, this was something new, something exciting, something that left you gasping for air.
“Are you cold?” His voice stroked your limbs like the soft April breeze, hands instinctively finding your arms.
“No, I’m alright, thank you.” You shot him a tired smile, cursing yourself for going to bed that late. A yawn clawed through you, eyes momentarily fluttering close. Perhaps you’d be able to find a few moments of rest, nothing long, though just enough to settle your mind and heart.
It felt like a trick of your brain, focusing on the elbow that was slowly pressing against yours, the forearm that met yours on the armrest separating your seats. Your heart was back to jumping in your chest, pounding louder than the rattling noises of the train.
While your mind started overthinking his move, trying to read between the lines, your body seemed to understand what it was supposed to do. All too slow, you placed your head on his shoulder, eyes not daring to flutter open in case you read the signs wrong. A soft exhale of air left the man, hand finding your knee to squeeze your soft skin.
“Get a bit of rest.” His voice successfully managed to lull you to sleep, heart slowly but surely finding a pace that would allow you to rest.
…
“We are here,” a voice shook you softly awake as you realised you had fallen asleep on the man’s arm. You instantly retracted back to your seat, putting as much distance as the train allowed. He looked at you entertained as he stood up, offering you his hand so you could do the same.
You grabbed it slowly, savouring the way his slender long fingers held yours so confidently and got up.
“The hotel is just a 10-minute walk from the station,” Cumberbatch added as he brought down both of your bags from the shelf at the top and then handed you yours.
…
You made sure to fill up the walk with every possible fun fact you had on the city, describing the few monuments you passed by and making sure you to search for your professor’s eyes, incredibly afraid that you had crossed a line by falling asleep on him. He listened to every single one of your words attentively, nodding and smiling as you made the third energy joke in a row.
“We are here,” Cumberbatch finally interrupted you, pointing at a beautiful historic hotel. You exhaled, thankful that soon you would be able to be in your room, away from him, and finally able to think straight.
The two of you entered the hotel and approached the reception, where a pretty, tall girl offered you a smile. “Hi, how are you? We have a four-night reservation under the name Cumberbatch. Two rooms.”
“Mmh… Cumberbatch?” the woman spoke back as she typed the name. A worried expression crossed her face before she looked up, meeting your eyes first and then the professor’s. “I only have one room for two reserved. Not two rooms.”
“That cannot be.” Benedict’s voice was firm and serious as he calmly placed his arms on the front desk.
“I am very sorry. People sometimes get confused when booking from more than one person and assume there are separate rooms.” She spoke politely, showing her best apologetic look.
“I will then pay for an extra room,” Benedict replied, not once turning to look at you.
“We are fully booked,” the woman replied, pressing her lips together, “I am very sorry.”
“There must be SOME available room,” he doubled down before you interrupted him.
“It is fine. We can make it work. The room has a couch, right?” You tried to ease off the tension, smiling at both your professor and the receptionist.
…
“I am so sorry. I have no idea how this mistake could have happened,” Benedict apologised for the tenth time as you reached the elevator, his eyes as soft and heavy as he tried to find a solution to this situation.
“Professor, it is completely fine.” You finally stopped him as the two of you entered the elevator, “there is a couch in the room. I am happy to sleep there.”
“I won’t let you sleep on the couch,” he replied, shocked that you would even think that was an option.
You sighed, closing your eyes, trying to decipher whether this was a dream or your worst nightmare. All you wanted right now was to be alone, to be by yourself, away from the overwhelming need this man filled you with. You had no idea how you would survive sleeping in the same room, regardless of whether it was on a couch, on a bed or on the ground.
The two of you walked towards the room’s door as Benedict bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from apologising again. He opened the door and was met with a queen-sized bed and a tiny minuscule couch. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, turning back around to you to apologise once again, but you stopped him.
“Let’s grab dinner! I heard some people from the conference are also staying at the hotel and grabbing dinner close by! Let’s go!” You patted him on the back and dropped your bag, ready to leave the room and what it would bring in the following days.
His heavy steps pounded against the ground, following you back towards the elevator. An almost uncomfortable silence was now following you two around, urged on by the inappropriate thoughts you both couldn’t shake off. Perhaps dinner would manage to distract the two of you for a moment, letting go of the tension and relaxing in comfortable chairs with other academics close by.
…
“Some more wine?” Benedict’s breath tickled your neck, forcing you to swallow loudly as you wordlessly reached your glass out for him to refill. His gaze was stuck on your features, on the smile you couldn’t stop from widening whenever he spoke up, murmuring facts about the academics you were now surrounded by.
“You have to tell us, (y/n), how does working with a stubborn man like Benedict Cumberbatch work out?” Your chuckles rumbled through you, eyes finding the piercing ones of the man sitting next to you. By now, you have forgotten most facts Benedict had shared with you, could barely remember their names, and yet you tried to play along, elbows placed on the table with your face placed in your hands.
“Let me tell you, it’s an utter nightmare.” Laughter boomed through the evening, through the garden that surrounded a few tables and chairs. The cosy atmosphere that lingered in the restaurant eased some of your tension from earlier, allowing the two of you to breathe calmly. “I am very lucky to have him by my side. No other professor has ever taught me this much.”
The hand of his that was resting on the back of your chair found your shoulder, fingers stroking your skin softly to communicate the gratitude he was feeling. Benedict was all too used to praises, and yet your words had a new meaning to them, making him sit a bit straighter as he began to pay attention to how some of his colleagues looked at you, unable to bite down their curiosity.
“I am the lucky one, I’ve rarely met students as bright as (y/n).” Heat flushed through you, forcing you to take another sip of your wine. You weren’t nearly as tipsy as you wanted to be, unable to accept his praises, the words he spoke that left your insides churning in excitement.
“Be careful, Benedict, otherwise, we may steal her from you.” One of the men sitting close to Benedict spoke the words without much thought, or so it seemed, not expecting the hard expression to widen on Benedict’s features. The professor didn’t reply, eyes searching yours as you shot him a small smile, hand finding his knee before you could give the gesture much thought. His muscles tensed underneath your hand, but before you could even try to move your hand away, he placed his hand on top of yours, squeezing yours.
“We had a long day, we should catch up on some sleep. Have a good evening.” Benedict’s words forced you to your feet, murmuring a soft “Goodbye” to the others. Your breath got stuck in your lungs as Benedict’s hand found your waist, pulling you closer to him as he guided you out of the restaurant. Once again, you felt your thoughts race, focusing on the way his fingers stroked your clothed waist, guiding you through the warm evening towards the hotel.
No further word was spoken as you stepped into the elevator, standing in front of Benedict with your eyes searching his. You couldn’t ignore the way his eyes flickered between your lips and eyes, praying deep inside that he’d finally close the gap. The two of you stood closer than needed, with his hand still placed on your waist and your hand finding his other one. Perhaps this was the moment you had been desperate for years, hoping that he’d finally cross the invisible line between you.
The mere thought of finally feeling his body pressed against yours left heat to fill your veins, heart pounding in your chest. But before either one of you could move again, the elevator came to a halt, forcing the two of you to step out. Only as the darkness of your shared hotel room lured you closer did you begin to realise that the night wouldn’t end like you had hoped it would.
He turned on the light and spoke, “I will take a shower before going to sleep, but don’t wait up for me, sleep well, (y/n). Please take the bed.”
…
Benedict entered the bathroom and left you alone in the bedroom, leaving you to wonder what you had possibly done wrong to ruin such a perfect moment, to stop him from kissing you. You sat on the bed, defeated, as you heard the sound of the shower turning on. Fuck. Maybe it was the alcohol or the burning feeling on your skin, but this felt like too much, too close, too little. It was ridiculous, nothing that deserved you crying over it, yet you could feel your eyes tearing up. The need was too much. He was too much. It almost felt unfair for him to leave you wanting the way he did.
As the sound of the shower stopped just for a second, you snapped out of your pity party, cleaning the tears from your face and getting changed before your professor could exit the room. You opened your bag and searched for your pyjama, only then realising you had brought your nightgown as your only sleeping option. You sighed loudly, covering your face and then dropping your arms to decide.
“Fuck it,” you spoke to yourself as you took off your clothes, putting on the nightgown that barely covered your ass and left little to the imagination for much else. If he could tease you all night, touching your waist, looking at you the way he did, you could do the same and even if he was not interested at all. Even if you had made every sign up in your mind, no man would not at least be tempted by such an outfit.
The bathroom door opened a few seconds later as you were busy folding your clothes back into your bag. You didn’t even dare to turn around to meet his gaze, suddenly feeling a wave of embarrassment overcome the boldness of the alcohol.
Your professor cleared his throat, and you finally met his gaze, feigning being completely and totally oblivious to what you were wearing. His blue eyes looked almost black by how dilated his pupils were, and you couldn’t help but offer him an innocent smile. He was wearing a loose black T-shirt and some grey pyjama pants.
“I am sorry. I didn’t think I would be sharing my room tonight,” you acknowledged the outfit, walking by his side, brushing his arm just so slightly before entering the bathroom with your toothbrush at hand.
Benedict had to command every single one of his muscles not to turn around, not to look at you walk into the bathroom, not to follow you, to pin you against the sink and fuck you right there.
You left the door of the bathroom open as you brushed your teeth, giving him the possibility to look into to watch as the hem of your nightgown rose high enough to show the curve of your ass. He, however, didn’t. Going straight to his couch and grabbing a pillow and duvet from the cupboard, and laying down.
You exited the bathroom excitedly, hoping to have one more chance to tease him before heading to bed but found him already deep asleep. Facing the back of the couch as he uncomfortably tried to fit within it.
…
POV Benedict
He didn’t dare move, eyes squeezed shut, arms wrapped around his too tall frame for a couch this small. Benedict tried to listen to your breaths, counting them to try and figure out if you were already asleep. His cock was aching, twitching in his boxers in a desperate need to be touched by you.
Fuck, he felt like a young boy, unable to guide his body, to pick up on his needs and urges, and to stop himself from giving in before it got too much. He hadn’t expected you to wear something like this, something that left his heart racing, pumping blood straight to his cock. It was torture, the worst situation he had been forced to live through so far, Benedict was convinced of it.
The second his mind painted a picture of your body pressed against his, he shot up from the couch, searching the false comfort the bathroom offered him, door falling shut with a thud. He could only hope that you were truly asleep by now, not picking up on his movements, the heavy breaths leaving him.
His hand pushed his boxers down his legs, just enough to free his hard cock. Precum was bearding his tip, veins shining through the thin skin, fuck, how much he wanted to feel and see your hands wrapped around him. Would you use your mouth on him? Would you stroke your tongue along the underside of his cock before sucking on his tip?
A heavy moan threatened to leave him, caught seconds before it could echo through the bathroom. His teeth left marks on his lower lip as his hand picked up its pace, fucking himself without any mercy, working on the fleeting time night offered him. Deep down, he hated himself for pushing you away this very night, wondering why he hadn’t given in, why he hadn’t chased the closeness you had been willing to offer. But something had held him back, something he was now regretting.
He couldn’t stop another moan from not leaving him, eyes squeezed shut, head rolled back. His orgasm was close, a desperate need to finally get over the sensations the mere sight of you had pushed through him. Benedict had to stop himself from choking on your name, from talking to the (y/n) he imagined kneeling in front of him.
With one last heavy breath leaving him, white cum began to cover his hand, sticking to his skin. Benedict pumped his cock a few more times before he let go of his cock, settling down on the toilet seat.
…
POV Reader
This night probably counted as the top three worst nights of sleep in your life. You had spent it between nightmares and sweats, waking up every couple of hours, feeling incredibly restless. You were thankful to see that it was already 7 am the next time you were shaken awake by another terrible dream. It took you a second to ground yourself; remember where you were. You instantly turned to the couch and found it empty, the bedsheets of your professor perfectly folded on top of it.
You scanned the rest of the room, sitting up, finding it equally as empty. A mix of disappointment and relief filled your chest as you were equal parts thankful he wouldn’t have to see you with this exhausted face and sad you didn’t even get a glance at how he looked right after he woke up in the morning.
You checked your phone and found a message from him, “Good morning! I wanted to give you some privacy before the big day. I will be waiting for you at the lounge if you want to grab breakfast together.”
You smiled at the message, forgetting all about last night. Everything was okay. The two of you were okay. He was your professor, after all, your rock. He had every right to reject you. Everything was okay.
…
You took your time getting ready, trying the different outfits you had brought as options and opting for the simplest one. Your ‘lucky’ shirt, some black suit trousers, and black stilettos. You exited the room confidently, your bag with your presentation at hand and your earphones in your ears. Your “gameday” playlist playing at full volume.
You entered the hotel lounge, finding your professor sitting on a beautiful leather couch, a newspaper on his lap. He was wearing a white button-up and some navy trousers. You approached him eagerly, removing your earphones and greeting him with a smile, “good morning, professor.”
“Good morning,” Benedict spoke, not meeting your gaze once. Eyes stuck on the newspaper.
“Should we get breakfast?” You kept on the smile, sure, he was just very enthralled by whatever he was reading.
“I have actually already eaten,” he replied with a sigh, intensifying his gaze on the paper. You pouted, disappointed, confused by his sudden coldness. “I have some meetings to attend before your presentation. Do you mind if we meet there already?”
You hesitated in answering, trying to keep the disappointment on your face from turning into clear sadness. He finally looked up, noticing your silence. His eyes were empty, cold like they had never been before.
“Of course,” you finally replied after he raised an eyebrow, “I…I will just go over the presentation by myself.” You had to look away before your eyes started to water, which seemed to pull a reaction right out of you.
Benedict stood up and placed a hand on your shoulder, “you will do amazingly. You are smart and incredible. You don’t need me for this. I will be in the crowd cheering.”
You tried to look at him, thankful that it had just been a small weird moment of coldness, but he had already started to walk away towards the exit of the hotel, leaving you standing there.
…
Were this many people always supposed to be at the event? Had everyone just suddenly realised your topic was cool and decided to listen to you talk? Where was he? You were starting in mere minutes, and there were barely any seats left. Where was he?
You squeezed the flashcards in your hands, trying to stop the trembling in your hands. You peeked once again from the stage, searching for him between the rows of mostly middle-aged men.
“You are going up in three,” some random guy with an earpiece said as you nodded emphatically, shutting your eyes and trying to control your breathing.
You stayed there for a couple of seconds, controlling your breathing, reminding yourself that this was your research. That you could do this alone. That you didn’t need anybody else. You were about to open your eyes when a hand on your shoulder startled you. Blue. All you saw was blue for a second until you could focus on the rest of his face. He had changed. He was wearing your lucky colour.
“Everything will be fine,” Benedict nodded softly, a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead as he seemed slightly out of breath.
“You are here,” you exhaled the words out.
“I am sorry, I-” he lowered his gaze in shame, but he was stopped by the earpiece guy announcing you were up. “You can do this. You are smart. Your research is incredible, and you are so incredibly charismatic that I wouldn’t be surprised if every professor in the room would try to steal you after this. Go show them how amazing you are. I am here.”
You nodded emphatically, instinctively pulling him into a hug and burying your face in his chest just for a second, feeling as he stiffened under your touch. You let go of him and nodded a little more, breathing in and out and walking onto the stage.
…
“Thank you, everyone, for listening,” you closed your presentation as the room broke into a myriad of applauses, a feeling of euphoria filling your chest as you turned to look to your professor, that stood still behind the curtain, giving you the most idolising smile you had ever seen.
You walked out of the stage with a gigantic smile straight towards your professor, whose hands immediately cupped your face, “that was incredible.”
“Thank you,” you looked up at him, immediately filled with all that tension that had been there the night before.
You were interrupted by a group of listeners approaching, and Benedict immediately moved away from you, looking down, realising the inappropriateness of his proximity. It felt as if this moment managed to rip you out of your trance, the bubble of excitement and happiness had popped, and once again doubts began to fill your mind. You were hurt, sad, and angry that Benedict hadn’t been there to support you through the hours leading up to your talk, hiding away from you rather than murmuring comforting words.
Whatever game he was playing, it was a game you found no pleasure in, growing antsy as you began to overthink what had happened in the past hours. From the second he had told you about the conference, Benedict had promised that he’d be with you on that very special day. He’d guide you like a mentor, like a friend, empty promises you were now clinging to. The ship had left the harbour, but the waves of anger had ripped it to the cold ground before the crew could swim to safety. Swimming had always been easy with Benedict near, but drowning had felt so much easier today.
…
The glass of champagne felt cold against your palm as you let your eyes wander. You were able to spot a few familiar faces in the crowd of scientists you were trapped in, celebrating your and their success. Benedict stood close to you, focused on the conversation he had been pulled into, unable to escape before the others had noticed him.
“An impressive talk, (y/n), I hope you’re proud of yourself.” One of the men you and Benedict had dined with yesterday evening was now standing in front of you. He was handsome, almost as tall as Benedict, but his eyes didn’t have that mesmerising blue colour you’d always recognise, his hair wasn’t brown like the coffee Benedict would bring you whenever you helped him grade essays, and his hands weren’t as big as the ones you wanted to feel on your body.
“Thank you! I am very happy about the crowd’s reaction to it.” A smile tugged on your lips as you took a sip, buying yourself some time. Fading seconds Benedict used to study you, the fake smile he instantly saw through, the slightly uncomfortable shifting of your weight from one leg to the other. He stepped closer, hand trying to come to rest on your waist, but you pulled away before he could touch you. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll get myself another drink.”
You felt his eyes burning through your back, standing on the spot you had been standing on seconds ago, jaw muscles clenched. With every step you took away from him, your heart picked up its pace, pounding in your ribcage, fuelled by your anxiety and anger. Why did he have to be so cold towards you this morning? Why did he have to chase the distance rather than finally closing the small gaps between you?
Slowly you made your way through the crowd, holding onto your refilled glass with an iron grip. You weren’t nearly as tipsy enough as you wanted to be, pouring down big gulps to try and get rid of the tension that held your system hostage. Piercing blue eyes found yours from afar, wordlessly guiding you closer, surrounded by men and women you haven’t met before.
“May I introduce you to my wonderful (y/n)?” Benedict’s voice had a strange undertone to it, pronouncing your name with a newfound possessiveness dripping from it. This time you didn’t get to pull away as his hand gripped your waist, pulling you into his side. Your thoughts were racing as fast as your heart, but you tried to smile at the people that now shook your free hand, eyes not wandering from your features. Benedict’s fingers kept boring into your skin, not giving you the slightest chance to even try and escape him.
Only as the people moved on, finding new conversations to get lost in, did you manage to free yourself. With your gaze set on your glass, you took a step away from him and another before his patience seemed to snap. His big hand came down on your wrist, the other took your glass from you to place it down on the nearest table before he started pulling you through the room.
“Where are we going?” He ignored your question, pulling you outside into the hallway.
“What is going on with you? You’re behaving like a child.” Benedict’s words cut right through you, forcing a scoff from you. For a second, you allowed yourself to study him. His eyes no longer reminded you of a cloudless blue sky, but rather an angry storm threatening to unleash its power, fuck, why was he still so very handsome.
“I’m the one behaving like a child? You left me hanging this morning, even though you promised not to leave me alone before the talk!” He clenched his jaw, eyes growing even darker as he took a step closer, towering over you.
“Is that how you speak to your supervisor? I’d be careful of my tone if I were you.” You barely recognised his voice, dark and husky, leaving your thighs clenching and your hands shaking. Even though you were angry at him, so fucking angry, you couldn’t help but let your gaze flicker to his lips, wanting to feel them pressed against yours.
“Are you threatening me? You know what, fuck you, Benedict!” The words left you before you could stop them from rolling off your tongue, trying to turn away from him with hurried steps. But you didn’t get far, pulled against his hard chest with one of his hands cupping your warm cheek and the other resting on your waist. For a few seconds, Benedict studied you with dilated pupils and heavy breaths spluttering from his thin lips. Seconds that passed by all too slowly, torturing you and your racing heart. Something seemed to give him the final push, lips meeting yours before you could speak another word.
Your mind didn’t get any time to focus on the situation, guided by your body, by the way your lips moved in sync with his. For years you had tried to imagine what kissing Benedict may feel like, but this was a new sensation, something raw, something full of emotion, something you were addicted to from the first second on. Your hands found his suit jacket, clinging to him for dear life as if you were scared he’d part from you way too soon.
His tongue moved along your lower lip, coaxing a moan from you. The kiss grew more heated with every passing second, relishing in one another’s touch, the beats of your racing hearts, the blood rushing through your veins, a beautiful mixture. Benedict slowly parted from you to catch his breath, staring down at you with a smirk, an expression that left your insides churning in anticipation. With his hand finding yours, he wordlessly pulled you down the hallway towards the elevator that would take you up to the floor of your room.
Was this it? Was this the moment you had thought of too many times to count? Was this the moment you had thought of as your wandering hands took care of the ache between your legs?
The second the doors of the elevator started to close, you were pulled in for another kiss, pressed against the mirror you didn’t dare look at. You could only guess that you looked like a mess, hair tousled, lips swollen, eyes wide – all because of the man that couldn’t stop touching you.
“I,” Benedict murmured against your lips, hands toying with the fabric of your lucky shirt, struggling to find the right words. “I’m sorry for being this cold towards you, I still struggle with what you make me feel, and with the power my position holds over you, I don’t ever want you to think that I’m using you. You need to know, if you want me to stop, you can always say so.”
His thumb ran along your swollen lips, unable to bite down his smile as you pressed a kiss to his digit. The elevator came to a halt, allowing the two of you to find your way to your hotel room, pushed inside by his big hand finding your lower back. Benedict didn’t let you get far, hands pulling you against his chest, eyes getting lost in yours.
“I need your spoken consent before I touch you.” His lips ghosted over yours, patiently waiting for you to speak up. It took you a few seconds to speak up, unable to concentrate on anything but his touch, the fire he had unleashed inside of you, a fire so daunting he wouldn’t ever be able to tame it.
“Touch me, please, professor.” The use of his title seemed to push Benedict over the edge, growling against your lips as you were guided towards the big bed. His lips found your throat, sucking on the spots that left your toes curling and your heart skipping needed beats. Skilled hands undid the buttons of your shirt, pushing the fabric off your shoulders to expose the lacy lingerie you were wearing. Benedict marveled at you, freezing the moment for seconds as his eyes took in the sight in front of him, wondering how and why he got so lucky.
You murmured his name, snapping him out of his trance, hands working on his shirt. The moment pushed your nerves over the edge, hands struggling to undo the small buttons, signing in relief as he pushed you away, tugging the shirt over his head. Benedict didn’t give you any time to take in his upper body, the muscles you wanted to run your hands across, the freckles and small spots you wanted to kiss, forced down onto the bed. Your professor towered over you, lower lip caught between his teeth as he watched you undo your bra, exposing your breasts to his wandering eyes.
“I’ve been waiting a long time to see you like this, at my mercy, ready to give me whatever I’m asking of you.” His raspy voice left you gasping, eyes rolling back as his hands undid your trousers, helping you out of them. By now, you were only wearing your soaked-through, lacy panties, a sight that could make the blind see again, Benedict was sure of it. A work of art, the finest creation his eyes would ever get to take in. He wanted to take his time with you, wanted to love on every inch of your skin, but his own desperation drove him closer to you, shuffling out of his trousers with hurried movements.
He crawled up your body, flipping the two of you around for you to settle in his lap, feeling his hard cock pressing against your core. Fuck, you were already done for, balancing along the line of your state of pleasure only he’d push you into. His hand found the back of your neck to pull you in for another kiss, eyes fluttering close as his free hand found your chest, cupping your breast, tugging on your hard nipple. Moans clawed through you, all too shamelessly, all too freely, unable to hold back the sounds he elicited.
“I knew I'd never be able to hold back once I touched you, and I was scared of losing my control around you.” You knew he was talking about yesterday evening. You knew he was trying to smooth out the wrinkles on your heart he had crumpled like a piece of paper, and yet you couldn’t focus on them. You kissed him again, murmuring a soft “I need you, professor” against his lips.
His strong hands found your hips, grinding your core against his clothed cock, making your breaths get stuck in your lungs. The both of you were close to snapping, skipping the foreplay just to feel one another, and yet Benedict tried to hold back, not wanting to end your moment together this fast. Your legs quivered, the feeling he pushed through you with the grinding movements left your walls clenching around nothing, forcing a “More, please” out of you.
“Ask for it properly, you know how to be a good girl for me.” Benedict’s teasing words left you whining, eyes fluttering close as he stopped your movements, holding still to patiently wait for you to express your every need.
“Want your cock, fuck, need you inside of me.” A growl was forced out of Benedict, flipping you around once again, panties forced down your legs before your mind could even begin to catch up with his movements. With your body fully exposed to him, you were lying beneath him, staring up at him with lust-blown pupils and your teeth buried in your lower lip. His big hand found your core, brushing his fingers through your folds, moaning as he felt your wetness. You were dripping for him, body showing him how much you needed his touch, how desperate you were for him, for his fingers, for his cock.
His soft fingers circled your pulsing bundle of nerves, forcing your back to arch and your hands to fist the fabric of the blanket you were laying on. Benedict found himself obsessing over your sounds, hoping that he’d get to coax them out of you for endless nights to come, very well aware that he’d never be able to part from you and your bond again.
“Oh fuck, don’t stop.” He had pushed two fingers into your tightness, curling them against your swollen spot. Both of you knew that he was teasing you, fucking you all too slow, wanting to prolong the moment for as long as possible. Curses rolled off your tongue, forcing one of your hands to find his forearm, nails clawed into his skin, set on leaving marks he’d have to hide for the next few days.
“So desperate for me, so pretty, I knew you’d be perfect for me.” His praises left your skin growing warmer, eyes unable to meet his intense gaze. You felt your orgasm growing closer, wanting to let go, giving room to the intense sensation you were aching for. But just a second before you could give in with his name rolling off your tongue, Benedict let go of you.
Your eyes snapped open, staring at him with parted lips and furrowed eyebrows, a moment of confusion passed as you watched him reach for his wallet, pulling out a silvery foil packet. His eyes searched yours as he pulled his cock free, boxers left on the ground next to your panties; you couldn’t pay any attention to the fabric, eyes wandering down his naked frame, taking in the sight of his hard cock. His tip was flushed red, length twitching in his grasp, close to combusting.
“Are you sure about this? We can always stop.” Benedict was once again towering over you, not daring to move as he stared down at you. With one hand, you pulled him down to you, lips finding his as you murmured a soft “Fuck me”. Skilled fingers rolled the condom down his cock, aligning himself with your entrance before he slowly pushed into you. The both of you had to halt for a moment, eyes squeezed shut to take in the new feeling, adjusting to the tightness of your walls to the size of his cock.
“Move, please.” Your command was met with a groan, building a slow rhythm that took a few thrusts for you to get used to. The moans that tried to claw through you were held back by your pressed-together lips, not wanting to give your loud sounds enough room to reverberate through the thin four walls you were surrounded by, something Benedict easily picked up on.
“Don’t hold back, let me hear you, love.” The use of the nickname broke the dam, allowing your sounds to rumble through you. Your nails left marks down his back, scratching at his skin in a desperate try to hold onto him. His hips met yours with every thrust, forcing himself deeper into you, needing to etch this every moment into your mind. “You’re doing so well, my pretty girl.”
The second his tip met your swollen spot, you choked on your gasps, letting go of a high-pitched “Oh god”, very well knowing that you’d cum all too soon. Benedict’s smile began to widen as he picked up on your desperation, fingers finding their way back to your clit. You gripped his shoulders as your orgasm began to rock through you, filling your every pore, overtaking your whole body.
Benedict fucked you through your high, getting lost in your pleasure and drunken features, feeling his own high filling his body. He gave it a few more thrusts before he came, holding still as his cum filled the condom.
…
The rest of the week was spent between conferences, lingering touches, and long nights of fucking. Benedict could barely keep his hands away from you when you were in public. His eyes were always searching for you when you weren’t by his side. His hands perpetually on your waist as the two of you made small talk with other academics. Sometimes you couldn't make it until the night, sneaking into an empty hallway, a bathroom, back to your room. He was addicted to you, and you could barely believe all your dreams had finally come true.
It was safe to say your grading sessions were never the same again. They mostly occurred in his house now, and they included dinner and a couple of fucking-breaks. They weren’t as efficient but significantly more fun.
So incredibly grateful to have had the opportunity to collaborate with you, love! To all my cumberbabes, I hope you enjoy it! It has everything you could ever want hehe
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