Berry;

• she/her • 20 • obsessed with old men •

[vetornic]

Summer Smells Like Strawberries

Pairing:Joel Miller x fem!reader Summary: Joel’s a needy man who wants to take care of his wife after a long day, but his aching bones have other plans... Warnings: +18 MDNI, sexual tension, short and pure smut, fingering, comfort sex?, summer sex, semi public sex, no outbreak, Joel Miller!boyfriend, carpenter Joel, Joel's a grumpy but loving man, petnames, no specific description of reader Word count: 1.4k (oneshot)

Notes: FINALLY I POSTED SOMETHING. FINALLY!

Credits: Those gorgeous divider was made by @suupersonic !!!

The sun was sticky and baking against your skin, thick with afternoon heat.

There he was. Your man. He was bent over his wooden workbench, fingers carefully carving away at a piece of oak. An unlit cigarette was tucked behind his ear, and a sweating beer sat just to his right. Every few seconds, his focused brows would lift as he blinked, refocusing his eyes on the gentle details of the wood.

"What's that look for, pretty girl?" he asked. His shirt rode up just enough to show a hint of his dadbod belly, the happy trail you loved to caress disappearing beneath the waistband of his faded jeans.

You smiled and stepped closer, planting yourself right on his lap. He didn't complain about the sudden weight - he never did.

"There she is." he murmured, brushing his nose against your temple. His hands kept working the wood, though his movements grew gentler, careful not to nick you with the blade.

"What are you making?" you asked, leaning in to look at the small shape taking form.

"Mm... It's a horse. Still doesn't look right, I know." He sighed, but you shook your head, watching the steady rhythm of his hands.

"It just needs a few extra touches." you hummed. He answered with a low grunt.

Resting his chin on the top of your head, he breathed you in. "You smell like strawberries." he grumbled. One of his large hands came to rest on your thigh right where your sundress had ridden up. "Soft..." he added, a calloused thumb brushing the warm skin of your inner thigh while his other hand picked up a pencil to sketch out some guide lines.

You giggled, leaning back against his chest to look at him. "It’s the body lotion. And the perfume. I thought it was nice for the summer."

"Nice? It's intoxicating, baby. Killin' me right there, on the spot, ain't ya?" he pinched your rosy cheek.

The afternoon was melting into a soft evening. It always felt that way when you were tucked against his chest, listening to the steady scrape of his tools, the comforting thump-thump of his heart. You found yourself humming a quiet country song, daydreaming as you watched the pencil move.

Then, you felt his thumb trace the edge of your panties and a sudden shiver ran straight down your spine.

"Whatcha got there?" You could feel the smirk on his lips against the back of your head as his fingers tried to map out the fabric. Soft edges... Probably the baby pink ones he loved. But no... The pair you had on today had a little bow with a tiny charm at the top.

"The red ones?" he grinned, remembering the little strawberry charm on your favorite pair.

You giggled, turning your face to hide your blush against his bicep. "Shut up."

"Oh, no, no, sweet girl. I like 'em on ya." he murmured, his palm pressing through the fabric, shifting to cup your soft pussy.

"Joel!" you squealed with a hushed panic in your voice. "Not here... Mrs. Hopkins-" You vividly remembered the last time the old lady from across Joel's house caught you two making out in the backyard, more specifically she caught you while Joel was eating the fuck out of your puffy cunt.

"Don't care about her right now, sweetie... I know you need this." His breath was warm against your skin, laced with the faint, familiar taste of tobacco. It made your head spin, and before you could even protest, your knees naturally parted for him.

He palmed you through the underwear, his steady pressure driving away your resolve. "That's it..." His index finger found the damp heat already bleeding through the cotton. "Just relax for me."

You gasped, your hand flying down to clutch his wrist. "Joel, I'm serious..." you whispered, though your voice lacked any real authority. Your eyes darted toward the small, flower-filled house across the yard. You could practically picture the old lady's face peering out from behind the dirty windows in her apron. "Anyone could walk by..."

"The yard's fenced, sweetpea. Don't worry your pretty head over it. Just feel." With a low chuckle, he hooked his middle finger under the elastic. He smirked as the bright fabric peeked out from under your hiked-up dress. "Fucking knew it. You always wear 'em when it's this hot outside" He let out a ragged sigh, sounding as if he were the one being exposed to the neighborhood.

He hooked the fabric away, leaning down to sigh into your ear. "Legs wide, baby." He pressed a lingering kiss to the nape of your neck, his fingers working their magic until you were completely breathless, clinging to him in the open air.

"Joel..." you whimpered, your fingers tightening around his forearm as the warm humid air hit your bare skin. The contrast of the hot sun and his cool, calloused hand against your thigh made you ache, your pulse racing at the sheer thrill of being so exposed in the open.

He didn't say a word, just let out a low, gravelly hum that vibrated right against your back. His large hand slid fully between your thighs, his palm cupping your bare heat, instantly smearing the slickness that had already gathered there.

You let out a sharp gasp, your head dropping back against his shoulder. "Please..." you breathed, not even sure if you were asking him to stop or to hurry up.

"I've got you." he murmured, his voice thick, rough. He gathered you closer with his free arm, locking you against his chest so you couldn't pull away even if you wanted to. His long fingers began to work, slowly parting you, his thumb finding the sensitive bud and applying a slow, heavy pressure that made your hips instantly twitch upward.

"Ah- Joel, wait..."

"Shh. Just focus on me." he commanded softly against your ear, his rhythm steady and unbothered. He knew exactly how to touch you, his thumb circling, tracing, driving you crazy while his middle finger slid down, teasing your entrance. "Nothing to worry about but this. Hear the crickets? Just us out here."

You closed your eyes, forcing yourself to lean into him, drowning out the fear of the neighbors watching and tuning entirely into the sensation of his rough skin against your softest parts. He was taking his time, pushing you closer and closer to the edge with agonizingly slow strokes. Every time you tried to hide your face, he’d kiss the side of your neck, whispering low praises that made your face burn hotter than the sun.

"Look at you..." he growled softly, his fingers slick as he pushed one, then two deep inside you. "So sweet for me. So wet."

The sudden fullness made your breath hitch, your hands clutching blindly at the wood of his workbench in front of you. Your hips began to move on their own, chasing his hand, begging for a faster pace.

"Joel, please, I'm gonna-"

"Go on then, sweet girl." he whispered, his thumb picking up the pace, friction turning to pure heat. "Take what's yours."

With a choked cry, your body shuddered, clamping down hard around his fingers as a wave of pleasure crashed over you. You hid your face in the crook of his neck, muffled whimpers spilling against his skin while he held you tight, riding out the orgasm with you, his hand steady and grounding until the last of the waves finally faded.

By the time he pulled back, fixing your dress with a gentle, lingering stroke of his calloused hand, your face was burning.

"There ya go. All set now?" he asked softly, pressing a sticky kiss into your messy hair. You could only let out a breathless chuckle, your fingers still tightly fisted in his flannel shirt. "That's right." he murmured, settling back.

He grumbled in contentment, but his soft eyes suddenly sharpened, staring just past the fence line.

Sure enough, Mrs. Hopkins was standing right outside her house, holding a watering can, her faded apron tied tightly around her hips. Her lips were pressed into a strict, thin line, her glare loudly screaming, I saw exactly what you just did.

Hearing Joel clear his throat, you snapped your head up. The second you followed his gaze, all the warmth left your body. "Joel, I told you!" you groaned, instantly burying your face in your hands.

But Joel just took them in his much larger ones, pulling them away to kiss your knuckles. "Let her look, baby. They ain't getting any of this." He nuzzled his crooked nose right under your ear, pulling you close.

"You're so damn reckless, Joel Miller." you sighed, losing the strength to argue as you melted back into his chest.

[littledes1re]

From Apple Pie to Cream Pie

Pairing: pervy!oldman!joel Miller x cheater!female!reader

Summary: you bring apple pie to Joel Miller's porch, telling yourself it's nothing; just a visit to your boyfriend's older brother. But uncle Joel has been lingering in your mind since the night you heard him say it. This is a tale about something more than apple pie—the sweet pull of longing, care and the making of cream pie.

Warnings: 18+, Smut, MDNI, huge age gap (20s and 60s), pervy!joel, cheater!reader, FAUXCEST, Joel calls himself uncle, reader cheats on Tommy, sub/needy!reader, pinv, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, praise kink, slight nipple play, slight degradation, no outbreak

A/N: It’s too hot to function and my brain is mush, so here's a "little" draft while I melt and work on a million other fics. Check the warnings, SCROLL if needed, it's really easy peasy. Drink water, my dear pookies <3

The throbbing started in your belly.

It was a deep, insistent pulse radiating outwards in slow, heavy waves that settled right between your thighs. Heat hummed relentlessly against your center, leaving your skin feeling tight and feverish. Slowly but surely, that dull ache migrated to your lower belly, then to your mound, before finally landing squarely on your clit.

And it was all because of two words:

Uncle Joel.

Your mind hadn't stopped circling those words for the past week—a constant, agonising reminder that echoed in your mind, your belly, your cunt, and even deep in your thighs.

The desire was as stubborn as the man himself; it refused to leave you. But then again...maybe you didn't want it to leave.

"Hell, you should bring her over to Uncle Joel sometime. I'll give her somethin' that satisfies her proper."

You could still remember standing there, just inside the screen door, heart hammering against your ribs and thighs pressing tight together as every filthy word Joel uttered sank straight between your legs.

The heat had pooled low in your gut, your cunt throbbing with every perverted suggestion Joel tossed out oh so casually—completely ignoring the fact that your boyfriend, Tommy, had simply asked him for tips on how to handle your high libido.

You couldn't even bring yourself to care once Joel started talking.

It started with, "Jesus, Tommy. You complainin' about good pussy?" before spiraling into explicit instructions on how to break a woman. "Well, sounds to me like you got yourself a girl who knows what she wants. Ain't nothin' wrong with that. You gotta treat that pretty little thing right, boy. Show her who's in charge. You gotta work that pussy like it's the last one on earth. Fingers, tongue, cock—whatever it takes. And when she starts shakin', don't stop. Push her right over the edge till she's squirting all over your hand, your face, your sheets. That'll settle her down proper."

Heck, you knew he was a pervert.

It was no secret. Even Tommy called him an old, perverted bastard.

But that didn't change the fact that he was older, bolder, and possessed large, rough hands that gestured emphatically as he spoke. Those were the same hands you'd watched grip tools and beer bottles—and the same hands that had, once or twice, brushed against your waist a little too long.

His eyes always lingered on your tits and your ass, looking at you as if he was already imagining exactly what he'd do to you if his pissy little brother didn't exist.

Since that night on the porch, your hand hadn't stopped wandering down to your cunt. Your fingers wouldn't stop rubbing that twitching nub until you came all over yourself, shivering with the forbidden thoughts of your boyfriend's brother—or as you desperately wanted to call him:

Uncle Joel.

And now, three days later, you stand at his door, pie in your hands warm, the heat seeping through the dish into your palms, grounding you, reminding you why you're here—you baked it, you told yourself, because you're a good neighbor, a good sister-in-law, because it's what a good woman does, brings pie to her man's brother, a gesture of kindness, of family, of nothing more than that.

But that lie tasted like bitter ash on your tongue, so you swallow it down, and you knock...

When the door opens, the world already narrows to the shape of him. Big. Board. Frame like a wall of stone, chest rising and falling beneath that old flannel shirt, the buttons straining across his big belly and smelling like musk or something unwashed in the best way. 

It makes your nostrils flare and your thighs press together of their own accord, a slow, wet shift of muscle and fabric that you can't control, that you don't want to actually control.

A slow, crooked smile spreads across his lips.

"Well, well, well," he says, and his voice is exactly as you remember it from that night on the porch, from the endless, aching hours when you pressed your fingers into yourself and imagined this moment, this exact moment, here, now, with him looking at you like you're something to eat, something to savor, something to devour slowly, filthy, until there's nothing left but the memory of pleasure. "Look what the cat dragged in."

He leans against the door, arms crossing over his broad chest, letting his gaze wander down your body and back up again, taking his sweet time; savoring every inch of you, from the curve of your hip to the swell of your breasts to the flush on your cheeks. You feel naked under that gaze, stripped bare, even though you're wearing a dress, a simple cotton thing, light blue, that falls just above your knees. Chosen unintentionally, or not? 

"Hello there, honey," he says. "Did my brother treat ya so bad you come to uncle Joel?"

Uncle Joel...uncle Joel...

He says it like a joke, a teasing jab, but the word uncle hits you square in the chest, soaks into your belly, and your thighs press together involuntarily. And oh, you know he sees it.  

You know he sees everything, because his eyes flick down to your hips, to your thighs, and his smile widens, deepens. 

You clutch the pie tighter. 

"I...I made pie," you say, and your voice comes out smaller than you intended. "Apple. I thought you might like some."

His grin widens, and he pushes off of the doorframe, stepping aside with a sweep of his arm, a gesture that makes the flannel stretch across his shoulders, and you catch a glimpse of that hair on his chest, thick, dark and curling, and you want to press your face into it, to breathe him in, to taste the salt on his skin.

Jesus Christ, what was wrong with you?

"Apple pie?" he says, voice full of amusement. "Lord, girl, you know the way to a man's heart. C'mon in, c'mon. Don't stand there like a stranger."

You step past him, and the door closes behind you with a soft click. There's no going back now, no pretending you came here for pie, no pretending you're anything but what you are: a hungry woman, a desperate woman, a needy, shameless woman who has come to her man's brother to be filled, to be claimed, to be taken the way she's always wanted to be taken. 

A worn sofa the color of dried blood sits against the far wall, the cushions sagging in the middle, shaped by the weight of his body.

He gestures for you to sit, and you do, sinking into the cushions, the pie still warm in your lap.

Joel disappears into his tiny kitchen, and you hear the clatter of plates, the running of water, the soft hum of a man moving through his space. He returns with two plates, two forks, a knife, setting them on the table with a soft clink.

Then he drops onto the sofa besides you.

He doesn't sit far away, doesn't leave a polite distance between you, nah, he sits close, his thigh brushing yours through the fabric of your dress. 

"Alright, alright," he says, reaching for the pie. "Let's see what we got here."

He cuts three generous slices, the knife sliding through the crust with a soft crunch, and he slides one slice onto your plate, two onto his, then picks up his fork and digs in like a starving man.

"Oh, fuck me," he groans, closing his eyes, and the sound is raw, almost sexual. He chews, swallows, shakes his head slowly, his eyes still closed, his jaw working, and you watch the muscles in his throat move, watch the way his Adam's apple bobs.

"That's..." he says, opening his eyes. "That's real good, sweetheart. Real good. You got a gift."

You flush, the heat rising up your neck, spreading across your cheeks so you look down at your plate.

"Thank you," you say, your voice is small. 

He takes another bite, and another, and you watch him eat, watch the way his lips close around the fork, the way his tongue flicks out to catch a crumb, moaning around the taste. 

He sets his fork down and leans back, one arm stretching across the back of the sofa behind you, his fingers brushing your shoulder, tracing the line of your collarbone through the thin cotton of your dress, a featherlight touch that sends shivers down your spine, that makes your breath catch in your throat.

"C'mon," he says, and his voice is lower now, a purr that vibrates in his chest. "Tell me what's botherin' ya. You don't usually come over alone. Not without Tommy."

You look down your plate, pushing a crumb around with your fork.

"Nothing," you say, and the lie is thin. "Just...wanted to bring you something. That's all."

His fingers trail down your arm, featherlight, tracing the curve of your elbow.

"You ain't the type to make a pie and show up for no reason," he says, and his voice is patient, knowing. "I know ya, girl. I've seen you grow into a woman. I've seen the way you look at things." He pauses, and his fingers still, resting on your wrist, his thumb pressing against your pulse point, feeling the rapid beat of your heart. "The way you look at me."

Your heart hammers against your ribs, and before you can even process what he says, you're already trying to escape the situation. 

"I should go," you say and you start to rise, but his hand lands on your knee, firm; squeezing once. 

With that, magically, your muscles relax, your hips sink back into the cushion, your thighs open slightly, just slightly, an invitation maybe.

"Sit down, honey," he says, and his voice is gentle, but a command wrapped in silk behind it. 

So you sit. 

He leans in closer, and his breath is warm against your ear, smelling of apple and cinnamon. 

"Is it Tommy?" he asks. "He can't take care of you?"

You loved Tommy. God, you loved him. 

You shake your head, a tiny, jerky movement, "No. That's not—" your throat tight, your mouth dry, your heart pounding so hard you can hear it in your god damn ears. 

"Because he told me something the other night," he says, and his voice drops lower. "Complainin' about how much you need it. How he can't keep up. How he's exhausted. And I gotta say, I felt sorry for you."

You swallow. 

"A woman with that kind of hunger," he continues, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on your knee. "All alone in her bed, touchin' herself while her man sleeps. Thinkin' about what she could have. What she deserves."

He pauses, and the silence stretches.

Until—

"Thinkin' about me?"

You can't answer. Your mouth is full of cotton and want, your tongue is tied, your throat is closed, and all you can do is just sit there, trembling, your thighs pressed together, your hands clenched in your lap, your eyes wide and wet and desperate.

"You wanna show uncle Joel?" 

A whine bubbles from your throat. You immediately feel yourself nodding like a desperate little puppy excited to get treats, making him chuckle.

"Words," he says, and his voice is patient. "I need words, babygirl."

"Yes," you whisper. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please...uncle Joel."

He chuckles again, and the sound vibrates through you, settling in your bones, in your blood, in your cunt, and you feel yourself clench. 

"That's a good girl," he says. "Now stand up for uncle Joel. Right in front of me. Let me see you."

You rise with shaky legs, thighs trembling, and you stand before him, your hands at your sides, your heart in your throat, your cunt aching wet and ready.

He stays seated, looking up at you, his dark eyes hooded and patient, like a wolf watching a deer wander into the clearing...like a predator who knows his prey is already caught.

"Now pull that dress up," he says, and his voice is soft—a gentle command. "Slow. Let me see what my brother's been wastin'."

Your fingers tremble as you gather the hem of your dress, lifting it inch by slow inch, the fabric sliding up your thighs, revealing the skin of your legs, the soft curve of your hips, and then the oh so wet, slick fabric of your panties. The cotton clinges to your folds, almost translucent with arousal, a dark stain spreading across the pale blue.

Joel exhales slowly, a long, low breath that seems to come from somewhere deep down his chest. 

"There you go," he coos. "Keep goin'. Let me see that pretty pussy."

You pull the dress up to your waist, exposing your ruined panties, the glistening outline of your cunt hidden behind the soaked cloth. 

He reaches out immediately, hooks his fingers in the waistband, tugs them down, and the fabric slides over your hips, past your thighs, down your legs, and you step out of them, standing before him completely bare from the waist down.

"Well, would you look at that," he murmurs. "Ain't that the prettiest thing I've ever seen. All wet and ready for me. And Tommy, that dumbass, he can't even handle it."

You whimper, the sound escaping your throat before you can stop it. He starts spreading your labia with his thumbs, gentle; exposing your slick, pink flesh, the small nub of your clit, the opening that clenches and releases with your breath.

"Would ya look at that, honey." his voice barely above a whisper, and he leans in, closer, closer, until his breath is warm against your cunt. "Glistening like a goddamn jewel. You're so fuckin' sweet, baby. You know that? You know how fuckin' perfect you look right now?"

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, just above your knee, then another kiss, higher, on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and another, higher still, his beard scraping against your skin.

Your fingers find his hair, tangling in the salt and pepper strands, gripping him, holding him, wanting to feel his mouth on your cunt, but he doesn't go there, he just keeps kissing your thighs, your hips, the soft skin of your belly, until you're trembling, shaking, your knees weak, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

"Please," you breathe. "Please, Joel."

"That's uncle Joel to you," he corrects, his voice a gentle growl against your thigh as he looks up at you. 

"Now c'mere, sweet pea..." he says, and he pulls you down onto his lap. "That's it, right where this old man wants ya."

You straddle his thighs, your bare cunt pressing against the rough denim of his jeans, without much thinking you grind against him, a slow, desperate movement, a plea of want.

His hands slide up your sides, under your dress, palming your breasts through the lace of your bra. He finds the clasp, unhooks it with practiced ease, pulls the straps down your arms, and the bra falls away—your breasts spill free, full and heavy, your nipples peaked and aching. 

He cups them quicky, his thumbs circling your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure down your cunt. 

A whine escapes from your throat. 

"Oh, I know," he murmurs, his mouth against your neck, his lips brushing your skin, his teeth grazing your pulse point. "You're my good girl."

He kisses your neck, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. You arch into him, pressing your breasts against his chest, grinding your cunt against his thigh.

Then his hand slides down, down your belly, down through the soft nest of hair between your legs. His fingers find your cunt, and he doesn't tease, doesn't play, doesn't dance around the edges—he plunges two fingers deep inside you, making your hips grind at him and your back arch. 

"God damn," he groans against your throat. "This pussy's so hot and slick, clenchin' every time I push in deeper."

He pumps his fingers in and out, a steady, rhythmic rhythm.

You hear it: the wet, sucking sound of your own arousal, a rhythmic schlick schlick that fills the quiet room, that echoes off the walls. 

"Tommy don't know what he's got," Joel murmurs, curling his fingers, hitting that spot inside you, that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes, and you feel the pressure building, the heat rising, the pleasure coiling in your belly ready to snap. "He don't know how to take care of a woman like you. But I do. Uncle Joel knows."

He kisses you then, his tongue sliding into your mouth, tasting of apple and cinnamon, and you moan into his mouth, your hips rocking against his hand, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

"Christ, you're suckin' 'em in like you don't ever wanna let go. Keep those hips still, baby girl, or I'll have to hold you down while I work 'em deeper." he says, pulling back, his forehead against yours, his breath hot on your lips. 

His thumb finds your clit then, circles it, presses down, gently at first, then harder.

"I'm gonna—" you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders, your legs trembling, your cunt clenching around his fingers, "Joel, I'm gonna—"

"Mhm, let go for me, honey." he commands, soft but firm. "Cum on uncle Joel's fingers. Show me how good I make you feel."

And you do.

You shatter. A cry tears from your throat as your climax rips through you, waves of pleasure crashing through your pelvis, your thighs clamping around his hand, your cunt clenching and fluttering around his fingers, the release slowly going through your body as he works you through it, slowing his rhythm, gentling his touch, murmuring praise after praise.

"There we go," he says, his voice soft, tender. "That's a good girl…let it happen. You're making such a mess on uncle Joel's hand." 

You slump against him, boneless, panting, your forehead resting against his. You can feel his smile, feel the satisfaction in his chest.

But before you can catch your breath, before the aftershocks have even faded, he's lifting you, shifting you, laying you back on the sofa, and your head hits a cushion, your legs hang over the edge.

He unbuckles his belt, and unzips his jeans, the sound of the zipper a slow, deliberate rasp, a sound that makes your cunt clench hard around nothing.

He pulls his cock free, and your breath catches in your throat.

It's thick, hard, the head glistening with a bead of pre-cum already, a vein running along the shaft like a river on a map. It's bigger than Tommy's; thicker, fuller.

"Look at that," he says, stroking himself slowly, his hand a rhythmic pump, and you watch his hand move, watch the way his fingers wrap around his shaft, the way his thumb swipes over the head, spreading the pre-cum. 

"Cunt clenching around nothing. You hungry, sweetheart? This pussy hungry?" he asks. "You want uncle Joel inside you?"

You spread your legs wider, your pussy still clenching, still dripping, still hungry for more, and you look up at him, your eyes wide, your voice a whisper. "Inside. Please. Please, uncle Joel."

He positions himself at your entrance, and you feel the head of his cock pressing against your slick folds. You hold your breath, waiting until he pushes in, and when he does you gasp at the stretch, the fullness, the way he opens you up. 

He is so much bigger than Tommy, thicker, fuller that you feel a moment of panic; can I take this? Can I really take this? 

But then he's soothing you, voice soft and gentle.

"Shh, shh, easy now," he says, and his voice is a balm. "Breathe for me. That's it. You can take it. You can take all of uncle Joel. Let it in nice and deep." 

He pushes deeper, inch by agonising inch, a slow, but huge invasion, and you feel every ridge, every vein, every inch of him sliding into you, stretching you, filling you in a way you've never been filled before. 

"Feel that?" he whispers. "Feel how good we fit together? Tommy never made you feel like this, did he?"

You shake your head, tears sliding down your cheeks, and you can't speak, can't find the words, can't do anything but feel, feel, feel.

"No," you whisper, and your voice is broken, cracked, raw. "No, never."

"Because he's a fool," Joel says, and his voice is tender, loving, even as he pushes deeper, even as he fills you completely, even as he buries himself to the hilt. "A fool who don't know how to handle the treasure he's got. But I ain't a fool. I know a good thing when I see it. I know a hungry woman when I see her."

He is buried to the hilt now, letting you adjust to his grit, letting you feel the weight of him inside you, the stretch, the ache, the pleasure, and you feel your cunt clenching around him, trying to pull him deeper.

"Atta girl…there it is. I'm allll the way in. Gonna keep you pinned nice and deep, grindin' slow so you feel every throb, every pulse." He says softly. 

Tears start to prickle in your eyes when he starts to thrust. Slow at first, deep, each thrust a drag against your walls, a wet slide that makes you moan, and his hips meet yours with a soft, wet slap.

"Listen to those messy sounds—Christ, you're drippin' down your thighs already." He murmurs, making a sob erupt from your throat. "Oh, I know, that's my girl. Takin' me so good, aren't you? So fuckin' tight. You like being filled by your uncle, hm?"

"Yes," you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders, the pressure rising, the coil winding tighter, ready to snap again. "Yes, yes, yes."

"Say it again, honey." he demands softly. But his pace quickens, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, more urgent, and you feel the couch creak beneath you.

"Uncle Joel," you gasp. "Please. Please fuck me."

He groans, his head dropping to your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin, and his pace quickens, his thrusts become harder, deeper, more urgent, and you feel the pleasure building; rising, the coil winding tighter and tighter, ready to snap. 

"Goddamn," he grits out. "you're perfect. You're gonna make me cum, sweet pea. You gonna cum with me? Cum with uncle Joel?"

"I don't know—" you gasp, your vision blurring. "I'm close—it's too much—"

"It ain't too much," he says, and his voice is firm. "You can take it. You're a strong girl. A hungry girl. Let go for me. Let me feel you break."

He drives into you harder, faster, and you feel the coil snap, the pleasure explodes and you shatter again. A broken cry tears from your throat as you cum, your inner walls clenching around him, fluttering, pulsing, milking every last drop from him. 

A guttural groan leaves his lips and he follows a moment later, spilling inside you in hot, thick drops—filling you up with a warmth that spreads through your belly. 

Your cunt still works around him as he collapses on top of you, his breath hot against neck. 

After a long moment, he stirs, lifts his head and presses a soft, tender kiss to your lips.

"You did so well, sweet pea," he murmurs. "Took everything right into that cunt of yours." 

He pulls out slowly, and you whimper at the loss, the sudden emptiness a hollow ache. 

He fetches a damp cloth from the kitchen and cleans you up with gentle hands, wiping between your thighs, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, whispering: "We made some cream pie, didn't we?" and you feel like crying, like laughing, like giggling. 

"You gotta go home soon," he says. "Tommy'll be back in an hour."

You nod as you sit up, and reach for your panties, but he stops you, his hand on your wrist, his eyes dark and possessive.

"Leave 'em," he says, and his voice is a firm command. 

"What?@

"The panties, hon." he says. "Leave 'em here. I want to know you're walkin' around without 'em. Thinkin' about me. Feel my cum drippin' down your thigh."

You blush, a deep, burning flush that spreads across your cheeks, but you don't argue. You pull your dress on over your bare skin, leaving your soaked panties crumpled on his coffee table like a trophy. 

He walks you to the door, and as you step out into the fading light, he calls after you.

"Come back tomorrow," he says, soft. "I'll have the pie warmed up."

You smile, and your thighs are still slick with his spend, and your cunt is still sore and full, and you know, with a certainty that settles into your bones like honey, like syrup, like warm apple pie, that you will.

You will.

Poor Tommy lmfaooooo😭😭

Taglist: @vickie5446 @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @afyreinjuly @shivispunk @kyloispunk @marisemonteiroo @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @blueberryfruittart @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner @millersweetheart @wildthyng @armandispunk @chick66i @bratty-spicee @am1a-niigo @hopelessromantic727 @styleslfreak @psclcain @susieqorion24 @rxsemarinusx @jandtmillersgirl @fertilise-me @mitskilover88 @lostboys1987girl @begginforthread @pinkangelglitterdusttt @facethepascal @ddiana111 @twilightblogss @cheeseizts @pedrosgirl03 @swimmingnightcolor @gabfromgreedycity @bartzabel4 @blueflowerstranger @madnessofadaydreamer @sadie6sinks6slut @hopelessromantic727 @miramindlesslywriting

[vetornic]

Girliepop, you just made my day☀️🥴🌶️

[gutsby]

Loophole

Pairing: Sex Ed!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel teaches you a different kind of sex.

Warnings: 18+. FIRST TIME ANAL, NO ONE LOOK AT ME!!!! Need all my backdoor baddies behind me on this one, both literally and figuratively. Unprotected p-in-a. Daddy kink. Breeding kink. Assplay. Salad tosser!Joel. Olive oil used as lube because this is, unfortunately, the apocalypse, and all sex shops are out of business.

Note: Any and all characters written in this story are adults. Reader is described as having grown up in isolation, without access to formal education, and as such, her understanding of the human body and sexual reproduction is limited. This is not a reflection of her intelligence or her ability to learn the topics.

Another note: This is a semi-sequel to Birds & Bees :-)

One more note: I’m on Instagram now (kinda), come say hi!

Word count: 6.3k

This was always the most difficult time of the month.

For Joel, anyway, it was pure misery day in and day out

Why? No reason other than it being the hardest to resist you. When you’d wake up all fidgety and hot and wanting him, and that burning sensation wouldn’t subside until long past your bedtime. Even in your sleep, to the man’s teeth-gritting dismay, that body lying next to his would inevitably wind up moving just as needily grinding up against him, and he’d feel powerless to its charms. He would have to relent.

Capitulation wouldn’t bother him so much if it didn’t mean you were ten times more likely to get pregnant.

“Ovu-la-tion,” you’d sounded out for him one morning, lips forming the most perfect ‘o’s and ‘u’ while you did.

It was in moments like those that Joel regretted teaching you sex at all. Giving you knowledge about your biological makeup and function certainly had its purpose, to be sure, but when he’d gone so far as to show you—how fucking sweet you’d looked peering up at him, then murmuring, ‘Show me where it goes?’—well, he’d just as well have gone out back and shot himself in the foot. The act probably would’ve been less painful and left him with fewer places scarred than what he endured each time he had to turn you away.

“Done told you about a hundred times now, honey, that kinda lovin’ leads to babies if we ain’t careful this time of month. Y’think we need a new mouth to feed?”

It killed him to say it.

Hell, deep down, there wasn’t a thing in the world he wanted to see more than a couple of rugrats with your pretty eyes and smile crawling around, pestering him.

But this wasn’t the time for that.

You’d pout and you’d clamp your legs together, tell him he was so mean, and why’d you even bother teachin’ me this stuff if we can’t do it when we both really want to? Joel would smile and smooth a hand over the crown of your head. He’d kiss your cheek and remind you he had fingers and a tongue, too, and more often than not, you would begrudgingly accept that offer.

Today, you were considerably more hardheaded and ornery. Everything seemed to be making you mad since you’d set off from Jackson an hour ago, and there wasn’t a lick else for Joel to do other than to—

“Fuck you,” you cursed, kicking a stump.

You’d almost just tripped over it.

Joel was leading the way home after a successful supply run in town and a visit with Tommy and Maria, and you appeared to be even more upset to leave than you normally were. You’d all but torn a tree limb the length of your body off of a nearby offending oak just fifteen minutes ago, and your impatience with nature was evidently only growing the longer you walked on.

The old man smothered a smile as he turned to you.

“Alright there, sweet pea?” he said.

“Nope,” you huffed at him, low.

Joel turned back to the path and pretended not to hear you threaten the life of some shrubbery by the wayside

He might’ve carried on like this for another two hours, at least. Surely the forty-five minutes that were left in your journey home would’ve been a cakewalk—and more than a little entertaining to him, despite the sharp pang of need he felt, too. When he was outdoors, and he was moving, and he didn’t have to stare for too long at your face or your body or the little swishing movements of your dress as you walked, he was fine. Or OK, anyway, and able to play it cool.

“I wish you’d bought me a bigger dildo.”

As soon as you said it, Joel choked.

Alright, so he wasn’t perfect.

“Hon, what did I say about—”

“Yeah, yeah. You told me don’t say nothin’ too ‘graphic’ about our sex life when we’re not at home, but that doesn’t really matter out here, does it?” You stopped in place, and that made him stop, too. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere. I can say I get fucked every day—”

“Baby.”

“—except when you’re scared of knockin’ me up!”

It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t also painfully true.

If Joel wasn’t currently watching you shrug off your knapsack, drop the thing to the forest floor like a bag of potatoes, and glare at him as if he were maybe the single meanest man alive, he might’ve even laughed.

Then you dropped to your knees. Right there in the middle of the clearing the two of you had just been trying to cross, you went and reached inside your bag.

He’d bought it as a precaution—this…gadget.

On the nights that he knew he’d have to spend away from home for patrol or a hunt or just some emergency run to Jackson that he couldn’t have you join him on, Joel had bought you a little toy to keep you company.

Especially in times like these, when you were horny and heated as you’d ever been, it had seemed ideal.

He just wished you hadn’t chosen an open field almost an hour away from home as the first place to pull it out.

“Sweetheart,” Joel said, tone now appreciably firmer. “You ain’t gettin’ down in the dirt and…and…playin’ with yourself with that brand new toy daddy got, OK?”

But it was too late.

You’d already taken it out.

The man deserved to be punished a little bit.

What, did he think he could just open up a whole new universe of debauchery and pleasure and then shut you out of it whenever he damn well pleased? Of course, Joel had taught you about consent and how each party to ‘playtime’ between adults needed to give it enthusiastically in order for their actions to be considered sex at all, but you weren’t asking him to participate if he didn’t want to. You weren’t begging for permission, either. You just wanted to act on the natural impulses you felt inside yourself and not be treated like some kind of freak for wanting relief.

So you would fuck yourself, plain and simple.

Only it wasn’t so simple, really.

Joel had instructed you on intercourse, giving and receiving head, touching your partner in their erogenous zones, and knowing how and when to cum—many, many times since he’d first taught you in the spring—but he hadn’t shown you how to fit this thing.

You were slicker than an oil spill between your legs. The skirt of your dress was flipped up, and the pale ivory material was spilling out over the ground beneath you. Your panties were off, and your cunt was on full display.

Joel was perched between your knees, hovering.

A sheen of sweat had broken out across his brow, and you could see the moisture beading at his temples before they slid down, rolling slow to reach his beard where a sea of silver and black consumed each droplet. Lined and weathered and pathetic was the face peering down at that treasure inside you. Brown eyes blinked slow, as if in a trance, and a tongue darted out to wet his lips every now and again.

If this wasn’t power, you weren’t sure what was. Smiling sweetly, you moved the tip of the bright pink toy down your seam and wriggled your hips a little.

You pretended like it was for dramatic effect and not because you had no fucking idea how to fit a dildo inside you and actually make it feel like sex would.

“Lemme lick her some,” Joel said, lowering his head. He was on his stomach, and his face might’ve been a foot and a half away from your drooling, aching heat.

It would be so easy…

Just a couple strokes from his tongue, maybe a finger or three pumping in and out of you. Groans rumbling between your thighs and in no time, you’d find bliss.

But that wasn’t the point of all this, was it?

The point was self-sufficiency.

Not needing anybody else.

In keeping with this thought, you spread your legs even wider and began to push the tip of the toy to your core.

It made it less than a centimeter before it met with resistance. At the same time, Joel let out a strangled:

“S-Sweetheart. Baby, let me show you.”

“No.”

“But darlin’, you’re gonna hurt yourse—”

“So?”

With your other hand, you began to play with your clit.

Maybe a little pain wasn’t the worst thing to feel now.

A breathy moan slipped out of you, and you could just tell that the less-than-secret Sex Ed professor in Joel was dying inside. He couldn’t bear the thought of something hard and phallic that wasn’t his penis brushing against your velvety walls unless he had some sort of say in it. He wanted to teach you again.

“Pussy’s too…fuck.” He watched the silicone sink in half an inch before your hole forced it back out, leaking. “She’s too fuckin’ tight. Needs daddy to stretch her out a little, get her ready for the fun, huh?”

“Nuh-uh. I can take it.”

This time, you gripped the base of the thick, veiny fake cock and pushed up—three or four inches, all at once.

“Fuck, daddy,” you whimpered. “Oh, that’s so good.”

And that was all it took, apparently.

Three and a half inches, two seconds, and one soft, pleading look from you had Joel changing his mind. Or deciding something, at the very least. He flipped you.

He caught your pink toy slipping back out and held it.

“Hands an’ knees, baby. All fours, yeah. Jus’ like that.”

You could barely breathe, let alone process the words being spoken to you, but somehow you managed to follow his orders. Your mind was swimming with lust and a bone-crushing need, your body pulsing with a warmth unlike anything you’d felt in a while. That sensation would come in waves during the time of the month you were most sensitive, when you were ovulating, though those moments were all short-lived.

Now Joel was indulging you in the feeling, and really dragging it out. Not only touching you but filling you up with something that wasn’t just his tongue or his fingers. You kneeled there, awed, and you could feel your fingers curling into the grassy earth beneath you.

You arched your back, dropping down to your elbows.

And Joel took control of that toy, sawing it in and out of your dripping pussy with practiced, near-perfect precision. Even as his hold shook a little, when the grip of his free hand on your ass tightened and you heard him mutter, low, ‘Fuck, that’s it, pretty girl. Take it all inside,’ he stayed focused on you. It went in deep.

It wasn’t him, but it was close, and Joel was kind.

“Lemme stretch her out. Make her feel real nice.”

Your cunt was making loud sucking sounds with each withdrawal and entry of the dildo, and your legs had started to shake. You clawed at the grass, whimpering.

“Da—ah— d-daddy.”

“There’s a good girl. Always so sweet openin’ f’me.”

Sometimes you swore you could finish from Joel’s words alone. His timbre, his control, the way he spread your cheeks open and spit—it all made you feel filthy in the best way. In your current hormonal state, wildfire blazing through your limbs, you couldn’t help yourself.

Half-cockdrunk and ovulation-crazed: “More—More, Daddy. Want your cock in me. Fuck me now, p-please.”

“You can’t have ‘im, baby. Ain’t safe right n—”

“But you wanna fuck, too, don’t you?”

Now you were peering over your shoulder, looking up at him. Joel was watching you back with an almost mournful expression, and you could tell he wasn’t just teasing you when he spoke. He felt genuine remorse.

“‘Course I do, baby,” he answered without hesitation. “I always do. Jus’ wanna do what’s…what’s right f’you.”

At the same time, you pushed your hips back a little.

Joel’s crotch was aligned with your ass, and as soon as you moved, a big, heavy, denim-clad bulge kissed you back. It bumped the dildo even deeper, and you hissed.

Joel groaned at the contact, gaze snapping down.

“What’s safe…” His words trailed off in a breath.

A barely coherent murmur: “What’s…what’s…”

You ground your bottom even harder against his front, the base of your toy no doubt bobbing back and forth.

Self-sufficient. Easy.

“Sweetheart.”

In and out.

“Daddy, I want it,” you pouted.

More friction.

More pleasure sprouting between your legs, tightening in your core and all but forcing the sentence out of you:

“Can’t you…put ‘im someplace else—someplace safe?”

Your mind was spinning perilously, not really forming any logical thoughts, but the concepts were there: your pussy, your mouth, between your tits, up and down.

Joel had started to move his lower half in time with yours—pantomiming thrusting. Grinding even harder when you dropped your head and let out a needy sound and begged him, ‘Put him anywhere, daddy.’

Joel’s hips jerked forward, and he cursed.

“Anywhere, baby?” he said, breathless.

He was dry-fucking you in doggy now.

The dildo was still lodged in your pussy, and Joel was still fully clothed, but he started to move as if he had really mounted you and was splitting your cunt, or something, open on his cock. He humped you like an animal in heat, grunting and groaning and holding your body as if it was the last thing tethering him to Earth.

Feeling equally feral, you turned your head again, and you asked him in a tone as sweet as you could manage:

“Please, Joel?”

He was going to explode.

You are not fucking her in the ass, Joel told himself. You are not doing that. Not now, not later, not ever.

Better late than never, you thought with a smile.

After verbally sparring with the man for all of five minutes—arguing that you should, in fact, use some ‘loophole’ that would keep you from getting pregnant—Joel had agreed. Angrily. Seeming to hate himself for it

“This is not somethin’ you do on a whim, hon,” he’d groused, scrubbing his beard in a slow, worried way.

He’d opened his satchel anyway. Rifled around in the thing before procuring a bottle of something sleek and sloshing. Your gut had twisted, but you’d felt eager, too

You hadn’t been entirely clear on what this kind of sex entailed, but if it was anything like the first time Joel had taught you, you sensed that you would enjoy it.

“So you just…put ‘im someplace new, is that right?”

“Ain’t like that.” Joel had shook his head.

“But—”

“No ‘buts,’” he’d interrupted at once. Poured the liquid from the bottle into his palm, the stuff gleaming in the sunlight a pale yellow hue. “‘F’we do it, we do it slow.”

So that was how you and him were doing it.

Slow.

Now you were perched at the edge of a riverbank, your gaze drifting lazily with the flow of a stream no more than four or five feet away from you and a sense of gentle, calming quiescence filtering through your system. On all fours again, you felt comfortable.

Joel had rolled out a blanket for the two of you to take your places and was careful to secure a new spot away from the beaten path, under the shade of a stand of aspens. Both of you had stripped. With the hand that wasn’t lathered up, Joel rubbed circles into your back.

“You sure you don’t mind doin’ things a little different today, baby?” His voice was low, almost grave. “Won’t do nothin’ unless you like it—I want you to know that.”

And if your body hadn’t already gone half-limp with all the pressure and the pleasure this man was inflicting on your muscles through his soft, kneading motions, you might’ve turned around and faced him. Smiled and said something like, ‘Don’t be silly, daddy. I like it all.’

Your contented hum evidently conveyed that well enough, because the next thing you knew, there was a new force beneath the kneading, between your thighs.

Solid, wet pressure you were more than familiar with.

“Daddy,” you giggled, body jerking forward a little at the sensation of him licking through your folds. “‘S’ain’t— ain’t no different! We always do this!”

At first, Joel didn’t answer—he simply tracked his tongue down the length of your seam from behind and lapped wetness from it. Nosed further between your legs and used his beard to stimulate the extra sensitive skin while he nipped at your slit, kissed your aching clit, and sucked your essence with the sweetest fervor. It didn’t take much for the arms holding yourself up to grow weak, then, and shortly, you were moving down onto your elbows with your rear pointed up at Joel.

He speared your dripping, quivering cunt with that tease of a muscle repeatedly, in and out again and again while you shuddered against him and sighed.

He maneuvered the hand that was coated in that slimy substance, finally, and started palming your ass with it.

“Daddy…p—please…I want…”

Joel paused just long enough to unglue his mouth from your pussy: “Want what, now, darlin’? What?”

You wriggled again, and you let out a dramatic huff.

“You know what,” you told him, words a plea. You rooted your bare knees even deeper into the blanket, and you canted your hips up. Pushing back onto him. “Wanna come, and I want…want you to be…inside.”

“That so?”

And to your surprise, you heard a chuckle, soft and low

At almost the same time, the hand covered in the slick, oily stuff started sliding down your ass again, inward, sliding through not just your folds but the entire cleft.

Joel knelt again.

Put his tongue to work again.

And for a second, you wanted to rebuff him…again.

Felt tempted to kick your feet and say this lickin’ ain’t any special or different, daddy! Sure ain’t no loopho—

“Oh.”

You froze.

Stared straight at the river and watched it churn and gurgle and flow and saw none of what was going on, really, because you’d just been hit with a new feeling.

Realization.

Penetration somewhere else.

You couldn’t even wonder at where that originated. Your legs clamped together, and you let out a breath.

“Wh— Why’re you lickin’ there, daddy?” you stuttered.

Joel’s hum vibrated through your center all the way to your teeth, causing them to grind together while you tried making sense of this novel feeling. Whimpering.

A few more featherlight, languid licks from Joel, then:

“Need it wet back here if I wanna play with her, right?”

“But that’s not my—”

“I know, baby.”

After Joel’s, your next words were swallowed up in a moan when the man started tracing circles—making an outline of a ring, again and again—and it was all you could do to keep from rutting your hips in helplessness

Ever the patient teacher, Joel stroked your back with the hand that was dry, again, and gave you a second to soak it in. With the hand that was coated in slick, he followed after his tongue with just the fingertips rubbing, coaxing the flesh. Prodding it to open.

“See, this hole doesn’t self-lubricate like your pussy does, sweetheart,” Joel said, near-pedagogical now. “No matter how turned on you are, it’s never gonna get all drippy and wet and pliant on its own. ‘S’why I gotta coach her along. Make sure she’s nice and slicked up.”

“But why?” you squeaked, reflexive. “For— For what?”

“For this.”

Then Joel slid something inside—not his tongue.

It edged in once, maybe half an inch, then slid back out. And in again, deeper, before retreating to the rim and toying with the muscles you felt clamp in unison.

“Try to relax, darlin’. Only makes it harder if you don’t.”

“But how come?” You squirmed. “Feels funny, daddy.”

Joel took a beat, and for that moment, he didn’t move. Just held whatever he’d stuck in you—presumably, his finger—and he didn’t poke or push you again, just held the tip tight to your puckered ring and hummed softly.

“Y’know the stuff I put on my hand?” he asked.

“Some…Some kinda oil, I guess?”

“Olive oil, that’s right, baby. It ain’t ideal, I’ll admit,” Joel paused, and it felt like he was shifting around. Adjusting his grip, maybe, until you sensed what felt like his thumb pressed up against that slicked place. “Back in the old days, they made real, um…gooey stuff special for doing things like this. Called lube, OK?”

OK. You nodded, still too off-kilter to look behind you.

Suddenly, swiftly, Joel’s thumb started to rub a little.

And you couldn’t say why your body jumped the way that it did, but you jolted before you could even try to keep it in. You mewled like some kind of strange and wanton creature, and you pushed your hips backward.

Embarrassment gripped you almost immediately.

Blinking hard and staring straight ahead, you shook your head, “‘M’sorry. Sorry. Don’t know why I did that.”

“Aw, honey,” Joel cooed. “Baby. Don’t apologize, OK?”

Still, your face was hot. You hated how you’d sounded.

“Would you turn around and look at me, sweetheart?”

Slowly, you did.

Behind you, your old man was perched on his knees, with a serene and gentle expression on his face. The fine lines and wrinkles had smoothed considerably, and what was left behind looked like understanding.

Wanting, too.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of, what we’re doin’,” he started, slow. He rubbed a big, slick hand over your skin, and your whole body warmed in response to it. “Might make some different sounds, ‘cause Daddy’s playin’ with a whole different hole, and that’s OK. What’s important is that you like what’s happenin’.”

A brief beat of silence.

“That’s…consent, right?” you said shyly.

Joel grinned. “Yeah, darlin’. That’s consent.”

Consent when he edged in his finger to the knuckle next. Consent when he sawed it in and out, and twirled it around. Consent when he added a second, then a third, then quit the stretching altogether and just bent down to latch his mouth onto your wet, quivering ring.

He kissed it and licked it and laved it in saliva. Spit on it more than a couple times. His beard must’ve been drenched by then, but Joel didn’t seem keen on stopping for a while, judging by his grip on you.

Meanwhile, you were amped to no fucking end.

“Oh, daddy,” you hissed out a sigh of pleasure when his tongue slipped back inside, all the way and wriggling. “Daddy, put it—put him in, now.”

Joel grunted and retracted his tongue.

“You sure you’re ready for it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And where do you want daddy inside?”

“Um.”

You snagged your bottom lip between your teeth.

It felt wrong to say it, so you simply pushed your knees wider apart. Arched your spine, blinking back up at him

“There,” you whispered, wiggling your hips.

“Darlin’, you’re gonna have to say the place out loud if you want me to fuck it, OK? That’s all part of the deal.”

“But daddy.”

“I need you to get comfortable with stuff you think is wrong or ‘taboo,’” Joel continued, gentle but firm. “Don’t want you gettin’ halfway through and thinkin’ maybe you shouldn’t’a done it, and feel ashamed.”

Maybe that was part of it.

Maybe you did feel a little embarrassed that your body was currently in flames, and you wanted this man inside you so badly that you’d accept him anywhere, anyplace, even if you hadn’t the faintest idea how—

“Baby.” Joel interrupted your thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me all the places we’ve already done it.”

Your cheeks warmed reflexively.

“We…we’ve…”

“In your pussy?”

You nodded back.

“Between your tits?”

“Y-Yeah. There, too.”

“And…?” Joel trailed off.

“And…” You stared back at him, cheek resting on your forearms and your naked ass still up high by his face. Admittedly, this did feel a little enervating. But you tried to bite the embarrassment with a little smile. “You’ve…put ‘im in my mouth—fucked my throat, too.”

Joel grinned back. You took that as your cue to go on.

“And um…well, I’ve sat on your face. Rode your…thigh a little bit before. And you’ve rubbed your cock, like, between my legs until you spilled all over my pussy.”

“Anything else?”

“We did that ‘69’ thingy.”

You were pretty sure that was all of it.

Joel hadn’t been teaching you for that long. Compared to him, anyway, your experience was but a blip on the radar, and you had a good ways to go before you could say you were anywhere near as knowledgeable as him.

You peered curiously at your teacher; he peered back.

“Now, can you be a good girl and say where daddy’s goin’ next?” Joel goaded you gently. Edging in closer.

“In my, um…” You couldn’t help it when your face heated again. You braced yourself. “In my…backside?”

It sounded dumb as fuck saying it like that.

Surely there had to be a better word than—

“Anal.”

“Anal?”

“Yeah, sweet pea.” Joel smoothed his touch up your spine, then back down again. He rubbed at the muscles that were tensing slightly. “That’s it.”

From your position under him, it was hard to read his face. You couldn’t begin to imagine the look on yours.

When you didn’t say anything at first, still processing that one word, Joel went on—massaging, and talking.

“Old school birth control, I guess you could call it. Probably more effective’n rubbers. And it means daddy can cum as much as he wants, deep as you’ll let ‘im, y’know, cause, uh…y’can’t make a baby in the butt.”

You let out a giggle.

Again, you couldn’t help the reflex.

“Really?”

“Really, really.” Joel smirked.

Solemnity of the moment temporarily suspended by a couple sly, stupid grins and laughter sneaking out between you, Joel dove in. He didn’t drop his whole body weight on top of yours, but he got damn near close with the way he pretended to collapse and his entire torso draped over your back while you kicked and squirmed and bit out, giggling, ‘Get off, daddy!’

You lay flat on the blanket, belly-down, and Joel planted his forearms on either side of your frame, caging you in. He bent down to pepper you with kisses.

“That tickles!” you hissed, chin jerking against the assault of his lips. You writhed and laughed with him.

The little detour couldn’t have lasted more than a minute or two, Joel touching and teasing and kissing you in that sweet way he did, and you pretending to be annoyed. But your body relaxed, and you didn’t protest in the slightest when Joel tilted your chin back to him to get a proper kiss. You opened your mouth without thinking, melting under that calm and tender caress.

Warmth crowded you. Something hard pressed into the space between your legs, and you parted your thighs unconsciously. Joel groaned into the kiss.

“Darlin’,” he started, only for his breath to hitch a second later. You’d lifted your hips the slightest bit and pushed back toward him, so the tip of his cock was nudging between your cheeks. “Hey, there’s no rush, OK? Daddy can wait longer if you need more time.”

“I don’t. ‘M’ready now.”

Really, you didn’t understand why Joel seemed so loath to try this with you. Had he changed his mind?

With the side of your face cradled in his big, warm hand, you craned your neck slightly to meet his gaze, and you asked him, quietly, “Do you…not wanna…?”

Joel blinked once.

He looked almost ready to internally combust or blow up when he nodded his head, fast as he ever did before

“Yes. I do. Sweetheart, I wanna be inside you so bad, but this kinda sex…I just get nervous, might hurt y—”

At the same time, you raised your hips again.

With Joel’s broad and bare and massive body blanketing your own, it was hard to push far, but you did well enough. You pressed the blanket for leverage.

You notched the head of Joel’s thick, leaking cock at the entrance it had never breached before—that taut little ring of muscles—and you sank in backward. Slow.

“Oh,” you groaned at the sting, which was immediate.

Joel had been right: it hurt. It wasn’t remotely the same as being penetrated in any other place, and it almost made you want to squirm away with how tight and uncomfortable it felt. The oil barely helped at all.

Then Joel groaned, too. The hand holding your jaw tightened its grip reflexively, and as it did, his cock jerked inside you. He was no more than half an inch in.

“Baby, fuck,” he cursed. “You’re so fuckin’ tight.”

You lips twitched up a little, despite the burn.

“It h-hurts. Feels…weird,” you said honestly.

Joel halted without a moment’s hesitation.

He bit out a soft, rasping apology, ‘’M’sorry, sweetheart. ‘M’sorry. Daddy didn’t mean it.’

And, just as he moved to pull his tip from your achy hole, you eased your hips back onto him again, further.

Your muscles clenched hard against the intrusion—a dull throb spiraled from the spot where Joel was entering you, right up through the column of your spine—and a pitchy whine clawed out of your throat.

You ground your teeth and sucked in a breath, feeling as split open, exposed, and vulnerable as you’d ever been. It didn’t seem like something should go there.

But desire had other plans for you both, apparently.

The plea bled into your tone, covert and quiet.

“Keep goin’, daddy. Please. I want it.”

Your eyes locked with Joel’s, your hips stirring again, and that look communicated everything you needed.

Joel swallowed.

It had to be a relief to him. Dreamlike, almost.

“That right?” he said, slow smile starting back.

And you like it like this, don’t you? was implied.

The first wet drag of your heat down his length was painstakingly slow. You made it halfway to the base when your rim squeezed tight, and you made a face. Pain flared, but only momentarily. Joel was there to hold steady, knees firm on either side of your legs, as he let you take the lead a little. He kissed your neck.

“There’s my brave girl,” he murmured in your ear. “Takin’ it all like a big girl, huh? Like usin’ this hole?”

You nodded, fucking yourself further onto him.

New. Taboo. Stretching out a different place, all because you were ovulating, and this was one of the few ways to make sure pregnancy didn’t happen.

Joel let you sink back until the swell of your ass was kissing the coarse gray hairs at the base of his abdomen. Your hole fluttered and sucked at his cock, and Joel’s grip flexed on your jaw. His hold lowered.

And, just as the muted sting had begun to settle in your stomach, reality of what was going on and how you were taking him gradually touching your conscious brain, you felt fingers press your throat. They were gentle, not forceful. Just testing your level of comfort.

“Where’s daddy, baby?” he murmured softly.

“In my ass,” you answered. Holding his gaze.

He squeezed more, groaning when you squeezed back.

“You like takin’ cock up there, sweetheart?”

“Yes, daddy. Love—Love feelin’ you here.”

And it was strange—the harder he held you to him then, the more he stretched you and made you want to whimper and writhe on the blanket, the better it got. The more pressure he applied and the more possessive he seemed to get with each aching second that passed, the easier that weight felt inside you.

The deeper desire burned when Joel lifted up and dragged his cock with it, tip sliding to your entrance.

You wanted him sheathed back inside you.

You wanted to take some control yourself.

So, before the old man could make the next move and ease back in, you pushed up swiftly. You heard, and you felt, a wet squelch as your channel spread to accommodate his girth all at once. It burned a bit.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby,” Joel cursed.

“Like that, daddy,” you whimpered.

You turned your head so you were facing the river again, fingers curling into the worn, plaid material of the blanket beneath you. Joel lifted slightly, as if unsure what else to do but needing more, and you obliged by sliding back. And forth. Rutting your hips and rubbing your raw, wet hole up and down his shaft.

You didn’t ride Joel often. He was usually the more dominant one, wanting to take charge and fuck you senseless. But today, on this sweet, quiet, balmy summer afternoon, you made the man pant and groan and grip your throat helplessly while you used your taut, yet-untouched orifice to drive him out of his mind

Pleasure sparked low in your body, in a place you didn’t think it was possible to feel it. The pain turned sweeter.

It wasn’t like it disappeared altogether, but it did become something you could use to get yourself off.

That, on top of Joel’s strangled, labored words right next to your ear, damn near pushed you over the edge.

“Pussy must be feelin’ extra lonely seein’ daddy love all on this other hole, ain’t she, sweet pea?” Joel shifted, lifting your hips higher to fit his hand between your thighs. He groaned at the contact. “Can feel her leakin’ somethin’ awful—like she’s achin’ to be stuffed, too.”

Now he was meeting your thrusts; they got weaker and sloppier while he took two fingers to your clit and started rotating them over the swollen little nub.

Euphoria blinded you for a moment. Your body jerked, teeth sank into your bottom lip, and you cried, hoarse.

“Fuck me, daddy, please.”

You didn’t care which hole.

Your bodies were colliding, grinding in frantic tandem with one another and making the most obscene sounds as you did. Joel’s strokes were maddeningly shallow, like he couldn’t keep out of your warmth more than an inch or two before he needed to be driving back in, scraping your insides and fucking you fast.

“Wanna fill you in both, next time,” Joel said, almost helplessly. Rutting in harder with each new word. “Stuff that pretty pink dildo in your pussy while I take your ass, or the other way around, whatever y’want.”

Your eyes squeezed closed at the thought. Stars burst behind the lids while Joel fucked you relentlessly, and you pictured getting plugged up by both your toy and his cock, and you almost hit your peak in the moment.

Then your eyes opened again, and Joel had lowered his head beside yours. He tilted your chin to him with the hand that was still on your throat, pressing tenderly despite how hard he was pounding you from behind.

“How’s that sound, sweet pea?” He smiled.

You trusted him.

You nodded your head.

Then, in what felt like it might’ve been out of place with any other man but him, you kissed. Deeply. You parted your lips, let Joel’s tongue invade your mouth, and you absorbed every grunt and moan and praise while you did the same with those quick, sharp thrusts. The dichotomy was so dizzying you almost didn’t hear the good girl, and sweet, perfect thing, takin’ all o’me.

His words were so continuous and sweet, and your orgasm was so rapidly approaching that you almost didn’t say what was humming in your skull, presently.

But it came out before you could try to stop it.

“In—In my pussy next time,” you panted from the kiss. Staring at him. “Want you to come inside me, a-and—”

Joel’s cock throbbed inside your ass, and he groaned.

“Baby. Please. Don’t say it.”

You knew he wanted to hear it, though; it was just a matter of how dangerous the declaration would be once it left your lips and hung in the air between you.

The knot of pleasure in your stomach swelled to the size of a fist. Your body shook with each thrust Joel delivered, and the sweet feeling curled your toes, made drool start to peak out of either corner of your mouth.

Your eyes were as soft as they’d probably ever been peering up at Joel then, watching him stare right back.

Your insides squeezed, and he drove in even faster.

Joel’s lips couldn’t have been more than an inch away while he held you to him, knit his brows, and practically heaved the next breath out while he hammered at you.

“Don’t wanna…play it safe next time?” he groaned.

You shook your head.

“Want me to come inside your pussy next month?”

Your soft yes, and its result, could’ve ended you both.

As soon as you said it, recognition that was pregnant with meaning filtered between you, and your bodies drew even tighter. Joel leaned in to kiss again, needy as you’d ever seen him, the muscles of that sweet, slippery ring choked his cock from root to tip as he stabbed in repeatedly, and you kissed back, grinning.

He erupted inside you not long after your hole spasmed and your body went lax under him, spent. You felt him fuck his seed deep in your ass and relished the feeling, while also picturing it leaking somewhere else.

Ovulation was a dangerous fucking thing.

Joel pulled out, fingering the warm, white, gooey stuff right back into your fucked-raw channel when it started to dribble out. He kissed behind your ear.

He pressed his length flat against your lower back, wet with fluids and nowhere close to going soft after the events that had just transpired—with the thoughts that were no doubt humming through his head same as you

Over your shoulder, you met his gaze, the smile on your lips a little sleepier but no less eager than it was before.

“Well,” you said, low, “I can’t wait for next month.”

[vetornic]

THIS WAS SOOO GOOD! OH GOSH 🫶🍓

[texasafterdark]

trouser snake | joel miller

pairings: caretaker! joel x fem! reader

tags: 18+ only, ICKYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY joel, dark! joel, naive! and oblivious! reader, post-outbreak au, ellie doesn't exist, sweet nicknames, daddy kink, dd/lg elements, large and in-charge legal age gap, oral m receiving, corruption kink

word count: 1868

summary: you ask joel what a trouser snake is...

a/n: i was inspired by a story on an spicy lit website but i cannot for the life of me remember the authors name💔also lowk cant write smut anymore its been too long BOOOOO

in the early sweltering heat of spring, you wiped the sweat that was beginning to form at your hairline with the back of your hand. a cool breeze hit you, the air going straight up your back to dry off some of the sweat there. you were thinking about if maybe joel would be at home yet.

he helped out with the construction of things in jackson with his brother, tommy. joel was more-so the management and tommy was out there with the others, ever since tommy made him quit carrying heavy lumber due to his ever-aching back. as you walked by the swaying trees, the sound of a nearing car motor caught your attention from behind.

glancing back over your shoulder, you saw it was a truck full of boys and smiled politely at them. your late grandmother always told you to smile at everyone, including strangers, but you recognized some of them from town meetings.

you were fully expecting to get a kind gesture back, but were met with confusion instead.

"hey sweetheart! come sit on my trouser snake!" one boy said, invoking laughter from the others. furrowing your eyebrows together, you cocked your head to the side. "your what?"

they all laughed even harder and just sped away, yelling.

"trouser snake…" you mouthed the words back to yourself, trying to put the pieces together but to no avail. as you finally neared the house, you spotted joel's truck in the driveway, and skipped toward the front door as your skirt fluttered in the air behind you. opening the door, your eyes dart around in search of joel. you really wanted to ask him what a trouser snake was.

"hey darlin', that you?" his voice resonated from upstairs. "yes!" you called out to him, practically running up the stairs. he was in his bedroom, back turned to you, accompanied by a drilling sound. walking closer, you see that he was currently working on a miniature wooden house.

"hey princess." he greets again, not taking his eyes off of his work in progress.

you always felt so comfortable with joel. ever since you stumbled upon jackson during that extremely cold winter, he and tommy were the ones at the gate who let you come in. they wrapped blankets around your shivering frame and gave you endless cups of hot chocolate once you were inside the bar.

bringing your hands around his head to rest over both of his eyes, you giggled. joel smiled as well, even though he tried to hide it.

removing your hands, you stand to the side of him. "…um, i have a question?" you propose and he turns his head to you. his hair was mostly silver nowadays, the strands almost glistening in the beams of sunlight that came through the window.

"ok." he nods, awaiting said question.

you just come right out and say it. "what's a trouser snake?" your lips stay slightly apart in wonder in contrast to joel's, who's eyebrows were furrowed and his lips a straight line, mixed emotions on how you know what that is.

or who said that to you.

"where'd 'ya hear that from, princess?" joel asked cautiously, not wanting you to believe that you were in trouble or anything like that. as you shake your head, you recall the whole street interaction with the truck full of boys and them yelling it out to you, plus your confusion and everything.

"the boys outside. they said, 'sit on my trouser snake' but i don't wanna get bit by a snake!!" fear seeps into your brain, never having gotten bit by any type of animal, definitely not by a snake. "i was so confused, i thought you would know because you teach me everything." your eyes light up, so grateful that joel has learned you the ways of this new world.

joel looked like he had seen a ghost.

he sighed out, blowing out his cheeks and shaking his head slowly. "princess...i," he began to speak. "is it poisonous?" you ask carefully.

he stands up from his chair, a quiet groan evident, before going to sit on the edge of the bed, his hands on his knees. "honey, what those boys were talking about...it, well," you cut off his train of words once more. "have you seen one?"

the gears in joels mind were working overtime. he knew that you wouldn't know what a damn trouser snake would be. he didn't wanna ruin your innocence like that.

but he can't lie and say that the thought of you only being taught things by him was darkly exciting. you trusted him with everything in you. he began to nod to your recent question, making your eyes widen.

"what does it look like? he said it's in your pants! isn't that scary?" you asked these questions like you were asking what was for dinner. running a hand through his silver hair, he just went along with it.

"no. it's not scary." he simply said, with a sigh. "oh..." you brought your hands together, rubbing your nailbeds against each other, making a soft clicking noise as you thought.

joel's pants were already a little tight, but now they were restrictive almost. his "trouser snake" was getting a little excited at the whole situation.

"but, princess, don't worry about that. it's really not all that imp-"

"can i see?" you ask with hope. joel's expression contorted. his eyes darted around the room, keeping his head immobile. "see what?"

"your trouser snake!" you say matter-of-factly as you plop down next to him on the bed. he was now aware of how close you two were, and scooted away a little bit. "no, i don't think that's a good idea." he says firmly, he raises his hand in your direction briefly before setting it back down on his thigh.

your expression showed slight irritation. "joel! that's not fair, you said you'd always explain things to me. they didn't teach me anything at the other camp! pleaseeeee?" you drug out the last word. and it was true. the camp that you were previously at raised you from a baby to a now 20-something-year-old, but it was mainly elderly women who were nun-like. they told you to not think about or trust boys, but you knew you could trust tommy and joel.

"…no baby. i'm sorry." he managed to get the words out clearly.

you turned away from him before standing up and stomping your foot. "fine!" you call out, making joel raise an eyebrow at you, but you didn't care right now. "i'll just ask jesse! he'll show me what a trouser snake looks like since you won't show me yours." you huff out. you didn't understand why joel wouldn't agree to your request.

"jesse?!" he asked, anger seeping around the edges of his tone, making you retreat just the slightest. "you go ask jesse and see what happens." he spoke lowly as your eyes dropped to the carpeted floor, doubtful now. "you know better than to stomp your foot at me. go to your room." he pointed to the wall, to your room which was right next to his own. you knew not to push any further and begrudgingly obeyed his order, slamming your door shut before plopping face down on your bed. out of the corner of your eye, you spot your withered sketchbook and pencil, grabbing them both to doodle to calm yourself down.

you weren't aware of how much time had gone by until there was a knock at your door.

"princess? can i come in?" joel's soft voice spoke from the opposite end of the door. pausing for a moment, you answered yes and heard the door creak open. you stayed on your stomach, with your back to him, quiet. then he sighed. "you really wanna see one, hm?" this made you immediately turn over, making joel shake his head.

"come here." he motioned with his hand as you scurried to stand up and go over to him.

"close your eyes." he continued, and you did so. he grabbed your hand, flipping it palms-down and guided it until your fingers bumped into something…hard.

“keep those pretty eyes closed, babygirl.” his breath came out a bit labored. he hadn’t felt a touch other than his own in years. his fingers closed around yours, putting pressure on both his hand and his clothed cock. you gasp at the feeling of it in your hand. “joel yours is big?” you say curiously, making joel smugly smile.

“yea, baby. he is a little big, huh?” he speaks, his mind barely focusing on his words and more so on your hand rubbing him so good through his jeans.

“oh that’s a good girl baby. just like that.” joel breathed out, breaths uneven as your tongue glided up and down the side of his aching, throbbing cock. and an old tie as a blindfold over your eyes.

it was awful.

joel lying and saying that sometimes a trouser snake needed to be licked like a lollipop so it won’t be angry and bite him. your eyes enlarged to saucers at the thought of joel being injured and jumped at the idea to help.

the condition?

you couldn’t look at it or it would bite you too. that’s where the blindfold comes into play. so there you were, on your knees before him, mouth open and dragging your tongue around his heavy meat like it was the best lollipop in the world. his hand was on the back of your head now.

“open your mouth and stick your tongue out, baby.” seeing nothing but the darkness caused by the tie over your eyes, you do as he says. shortly after, you felt the heavy slaps of it on your wet tongue, with joel loving the site.

“will ‘ya be a good girl and do this for daddy when he needs it?” he runs his head across the flat of your tongue, then pulls back to rub against your lips. you nod almost immediately. “yes, yes i will.”

“say, ‘yes daddy i will’.” he softly commands.

you swallow briefly. “yes daddy, i will..”

“atta girl. open up wide, baby.” his length invaded your mouth, lips stretching as you try not to gag. soon enough, your spit was dribbling down your chin as joel gently fucked your mouth, his hands keeping your head close.

“oh baby. you’re making him realll happy. such a good girl.” each thrust in your mouth brought joel one step closer to his peak. his cock slippery with a mix of your spit and his precum, made every single one of his nerve endings buzz with complete pleasure.

“fuck fuck fuck. oh here i co—it comes. don’t be scared princess.” he warned you before his trouser snake sprayed its seed all over your pretty blindfolded face. spurts came out and landed on your forehead, cheek, nose, and even in your hair. you weren’t scared only confused.

“it’s warm daddy.” your fingers were splayed out, not used to the foreign substance. joel was still standing above you, trying to catch his breath from a mind blowing orgasm. “it’s okay, princess. that means he likes you.”

taglist: @sunshineflowersandkisses @taniamiller @ilovetoomanymen @ghuoab @joelsarchive @wand-erer5 @mydarlingjoel @pleurspetal @politeolive @twilightvelour @h3avenlyglory @kkatnapp

[sunday-bug]

[vetornic]

Joel fucking Miller, anyone??? You cannot tell me he ain't an eater (⁠灬⁠º⁠‿⁠º⁠灬⁠)⁠♡

[snifsnouf-art]

Sleeping beauty 😴✨

[pedge-page]

Joel Dealing with His Girlfriend (pre-wifey): Milestone

Joel x F!Reader

Set when Joel and reader are still dating

Warnings: Talking about soft dicks. Joel goes to pound town. multiple orgasms. fucking until unconscious.

18+ ONLY

- - - -

A typical Saturday evening with your boyfriend usually involved you reading in bed while your aforementioned boyfriend hugged your abdomen and rested. Joel is coddled up against your stomach, breathing deeply into your shirt. His face smothered in your scent and touch. Body lax, breathing deep and steady. One leg tossed over your calf. Sometimes you’d run your fingers through his fluffy messy tuff of hair, earning low purrs from deep within his chest. He'd nuzzle his nose against your tummy with a soft grin.

It suddenly dawned on you.

You put your book down , accidentally smacking his head where he let out an 'oomf' into your stomach.

“Why have I never seen you soft before?” you ask.

Joel had started getting used to these kinds of questions from you. Something told him early on this is likely what life with you would be like, so might as well get used to it. He barely reacted aside from casually grumbling into your body: “S’never a time where you n’ me in the same room, and ya lookin’ at my dick, and it wouldn't be hard.”

But that wasn’t good enough for you. “That can’t be true. Roll over right now.”

But Joel didn’t budget.

So you used your surprising leg strength and flipped him like a pancake.

Joel tossed over easily, but the way your eyes laser beamed down at his crotch made him cover the area sheepishly with the pillow.

You saw it anyway, the clear print tent on his front jutting out.

“Are you hard right now??” You ask in disbelief.

“When ya lookin’ at me like that? Of course I am!” He retorts defensively, shifting his hardened dick to a more comfortable, more discrete location without his trousers.

“I’m not lookin at you any different way.”

“Every look ya give me makes me hard…” he admits. His ears turned red.

“But... When will I be able to see it soft…” you draw your eyes into a cute pout.

Joel rolls his eyes. “When I’m dead probably. I can't stay soft when I’m with you.”

“So you’re just walking around with a boner all day every day?”

“No. It’s only after I get to see you.” 

You suck your cheek in, looking away. You don’t want him to notice the unavoidable grin plastered on your face from his open and unashamed confession.

You tap your finger on your book for a moment.

"I want to see it soft," you declare.

Joel lets out a chuckle. "Never gonna happen."

"I've known you for a year. I have to know. its like. A milestone. Or something..."

He raises his brow.

You double down. "'Or something', I said! Its a thing. Look it up." When he doesn't relent, you get up on your knees, tossing the book aside. "What do I have to do to make it soft."

Joel laughs, leaning back with one hand behind his head. "You know, there you have been in the same room as me when i've been soft many times, babygirl. Always the same situation."

"Why don't I remember??"

"Cus you're always too fucked out droolin' in the sheets by then," he says cockily.

Something about his smug sexy grin riles you up, and you quickly find yourself straddling atop him.

His hands instinctively seek purchase on your thighs, stroking them up and down while his eyes racked up and down the gorgeous sight of you on top of him. "This ain't helpin' ya get any closer to seein' the 8th wonder of the world..." He hums. To emphasize his point, he drags your clothed mound against his bulge.

It made your insides warm and fuzzy for a moment, your brain slipping into that dizzy realm of pleasure. The one that makes you sway and melt, do whatever the hell Joel wants, and sleep so good afterwards--

No! you were determined to see that thing floppin' around like a deflated wet balloon, even if it was the last thing you saw!

"I need you to get soft."

"Its too late. Im rock hard."

"Make it go backwards!"

"Cant go backwards. Only go forward. Care to find out?" He teases with a smirk. Joel sucks his lower lip as he slowly starts a steady rhymth, rocking you in place, his feet planted a little more firmly so you had no chance of escaping.

You let out a low whine. The only way out, was through. For as long as Joel knew you, you never backed out of a challege.

You also never really win at these things... but he loved how that fact never stopped you.

1 hour later...

The most desperate, pained, pleasurable croak you could muster gets muffled into the betsheets as you bite down on the fabric.

"Ah huh. How ya doin' sweatpea?" Joel huffs. Powerful hips drive into your ass repeatedly, his hands gripping your waist like he meant to leave bruises there. Each thrust sent your forehead scraping forward against the mattress. It took all your night not to fall off the side of the bed.

This fucker! you thought. How the fuck does he do this?

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he expertly angles his cock down, smacking your g spot repeatedly.

Like always, you'd lost count of your orgasms. Like always, you stopped using coherent words and instead resorted to babbling whines to communicate. and Like always, Joel wasn't anywhere near slowing down.

"I ain't hear you, baby." He lays his body closer to yours, chest top your back, slotting against you like a mould. Slow, deep, method rolls keeps his tip planted deep inside you. He was so solid inside your body. Outside your body. all over you, all of him. His scent, his taste, his touch. Intoxicating and addicting over and over again.

That fucker!

You could feel his breath tickle your as he whispers: "You still waitin' to see it soft?"

Thirty minutes ago you would have ground your teeth and stuck it out with your middle finger up, ass even higher, and mind set to the sky.

But now?

Now you just hummed stupidly, eyes blurry with tears, and brain so switched off, its a miracle you could ever form a thought.

It took less than 20 minutes from that before you were face planted, unconscious in his pillow, a drooling sight he never got tired of.

Joel laid back next to you. He sighed heavily, body ablaze with sweat. You didn't notice it, but he had cum three times, and he was beat. That was usually his max, granted he had saved all week until he could get his hands on you. He was patient like that, waiting for when you'd be in the mood, and not pouncing on ya. Sex was better when you were a stubborn, determined little thing.

But he was exhausted. and true to his word, his cock sagged tiredly against his lower belly.

Joel raises his brow before brushing the hair from your face. If there was a chance you were awake to peak it, you would have shown sign of being alive right now. Instead, despite his best effort to poke your cheek awake, you snored deeply. A well earned rest.

A chuckle escapes his chest. "So much for milestones," he says to himself. He doesn't stop brushing your hair gently from your face. His thumb grazing the soft expanse of your cheek.

"My girl," he hums softly.

He remembered the first time you slept at his place over a year ago, and the thought of waking up to you like this every day plagued his mind.

Its the same thought that tumbles through his mind as he rolls the little velvet box in his hand. He keeps flicking it open, then closed, and the beautiful diamond ring flashes at him repeatedly.

"Whatdda think? You gonna like it?" He asks to your unconscious body, presenting the ring.

you let out an even louder snore.

"Yeah. let's hope that's a yes."

Joel tucks the ring back in his bedside drawer. Not today.

Some day.

Then, the thought dawned on him. A terrible, awful, unthought of one that could thwart that dream from every happening.

What if you said no, all because you never saw him soft???

- - - -

taglist

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld @urlivingdeadgirl @yourmommycallsmemommy @kellielovesmovies @whoaitspascal87 @yournameyn @mani-pedro @wildthyng @ashleyfilm @tateypots @capaxolotle @kelbrave @xxstarlighthazexx @twilightvelour @jeewrites @armandispunk

[reedispunk]

𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆?

You find a stray kitten during patrol and can't resist bringing him home to a grumpy Joel a/n: didn’t plan to post this, but it’s just a little fluff that wouldn’t leave my thoughts at midnight. contains: fluff, dad Joel, protective Joel, established relationship, not proofread wc: 2k

“No.”

“Joel, you haven’t even said hello.”

“I don’t care, baby; it’s a no.”

“But look at his little face; how can you say no to that?”

You look down at the kitten's big eyes staring up helplessly at you. You’re standing next to Joel as he sits at his workbench, glasses on the tip of his nose as he fiddles with something he's working on. During your evening patrol shift, you found the kitten looking scared and desperate not far from the town. Despite being more than aware that Joel would not appreciate such an addition to the family, you couldn’t just leave this helpless little being out in the snow all alone. So there was only one solution: hide him in your supply bag where it was warm and safe, and bring him home with you.

“Take it to Maria or that old lady down the road; we can’t have that thing running round ‘ere. Probably carrying enough disease to wipe out the town too.”

“Don’t be crazy, we’ll have the vet check him out.”

“I’m sure he's got more pressing matters than this.”

“Well, that was not the welcome I promised you, was it, huh?” You say down to the tiny bundle of innocence in your arms. “Think you caught him on a grumpy day.” Joel rolls his eyes as he continues carving the wooden object in front of him. “We’re not sending him back out into the cold, Joel.”

“He’s an animal; he’ll survive.”

“He’s too tiny; another night out in the snow would kill him, Joel.”

“Well darlin’, I don’t know what you want me to do, but he isn’t staying under my roof. And whatever you do, don’t let Ellie see him.”

Almost perfectly timed, you hear the front door close in the distance and soon the approaching footsteps up the wooden stairs.

“Great. Here we go.” Joel mumbles, knowing exactly what’s about to happen. Turning around, you’re greeted with a rosy-cheeked Ellie, back from her night with Dina at the Tipsy Bison. Her eyes instantly go wide with affection as she takes in the sight before her.

“Oh. My. God. Are you kidding me?? Heyyy little one!” She comes forward, taking the kitten from your arms and holding it up to her face, letting the tiny being sniff at her face. “She’s so small! Where did you find her?”

“It’s a boy.” Joel grunts from behind you. You smile then; at least you know he paid attention.

“Found him by the old barn about a mile out from town. Poor thing was shivering, alone and hungry. Checked the area for Mom and any siblings, but there was not trace. Will check again next patrol to make sure.”

"Jesus christ," Joel mutters under his breath. "I hope not, we'll have a whole goddamn zoo before we know it."

"Joel," You laugh at his words.

“What are you going to call him?” Ellie asks.

“Not calling him anything El'. He ain’t staying,”

“What?! No, we have to keep him!” She protests, worry spreading across her face at the thought of giving him away, or worse, letting him loose back into the harsh mountains surrounding Jackson.

“He should stay here, he knows us now, anyone else would only frighten him.”

“Yeah, right. Kids been out there in the wilderness by himself this long; if he can survive out there, he ain’t afraid of nothing.” Joel bites.

Ellie moves around you over to Joel sitting by his workbench. Without giving him a choice, she hands the kitten to him. Instinctively, he holds the kitten close to his chest, his protective nature kicking in. She turns to you with a wink. The kitten reaches up, his little paws coming up to rest on Joel’s chin. Joel’s a big guy, and seeing this tiny little vulnerable creature in his hands, you’d expect the kitten to be frightened, but he isn’t. Instead he seems taken to Joel more than you and Ellie as it licks at his beard.

“He loves you already.” You say in a soft voice.

“How do you get him to stop doing that?” Joel shuts his eyes in disgust, wanting to pull away but not wanting to hurt the baby.

Ellie laughs. “You don’t. He’s just telling you he likes you.”

“Hmmm.” He grunts. Moving the kitty away from his face gently, Joel rests him down on the bench in front of him. The kitten bounces across the table quickly, and the look of panic on Joel’s face amuses you. He might not want to keep him, but that look certainly tells you he cares. As the three of you watch him, the kitten begins to flick his tiny paw against a small tool laid on the surface, making it roll along the top.

“Like father, like son.” You tease.

"Don’t start with that." Joel's shakes his head.

“He could be your workshop buddy!" Ellie suggests excitedly.

"No. I’d never get any of these things complete. Besides, it’s too dangerous.”

"okay, well..." Ellie looks up trying to think of ideas, anything to try persuade Joel. "You could train him up and take him on patrol, your own little protector!”

“I don’t need a protector, El'. Besides, how would a thing smaller than my hand protect me? I'd probably just end up accidently standing on him and that would be the end of it. Look, he’s not going to be anything, ok?." The kitten then begins playing with a large piece of wood, making it spin off the surface and onto the floor. “Hey, stop that.” Joel says, picking the ball of fur up in one hand and holding it close to his chest again. “Damn things a liability. Just take him somewhere else.”

“But it’s so dark and stormy now. Tomorrow?” You ask. You know Joel too well, he might not want him right this second, but just keeping the kitten in his company tonight, he’ll be attached before he knows it.

He sighs. “Fine. He can stay here tonight, but that's it. I mean it, he’s not staying.”

"Awesome!" Ellie looks at you with a cheeky smirk. When it comes to you two, Joel may put up a fight, but he almost always gives in.

“Oh, and he’s not staying in your room, Ellie." he turns looking up at you. "There’s a box in the garage; put him in that.”

“Right, sure.” You nod in agreement, but have no intention of leaving the poor thing in a dark and scary box alone in the cold garage all night.

Two hours later as the snow falls and the wind howls outside, you snuggle up under the covers and rest your head on the pillow, waiting for Joel to come out of the bathroom and join you. When he finally plods around the bed, he climbs in and pulls you close into him with a kiss on the top of your head. He smells clean and feels a little damp from his shower, but he’s warm and always makes you feel so safe in his arms. You know he’s tired, he’s been complaining most of the night, so it isn’t long before you feel him starting to drift off. As he does, there's movement underneath the covers, something soft against both of your legs. His eyes open wide.

“What is that?” He asks, though you know he knows exactly what it is.

“What?”

“Please tell me that isn’t what I think it is…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You whisper, playing innocent.

He untangles from you, reaching over to the nightstand to turn the lamp back on, and you both watch the small lump under the covers moving up towards you.

“You’ve got to be joking,” he exhales as the kitten’s face pokes out from under the covers. “You’re not supposed to be in ‘ere,” Joel mumbles, looking down at the fur ball as though he’s expecting any kind of response. He picks the kitten up in his hand and holds him up above you both, watching him make biscuits in the air. “Didn’t I tell you to put him in the garage?”

“Somehow I don’t think he wants to be in the garage…” you whisper.

“I don’t have time for this, darlin’. Got a busy day tomorrow, I need sleep.” He leans over and puts the kitten down on the floor beside the bed. “You, stay down there; don’t even think about jumping back up here.” The kitten just looks up at him, a sparkle in his eye. “Don’t look at me like that.”

He switches out the light and turns back over to you, wrapping his arms back around you to pull you in again. But of course, within seconds, you hear the tiny persistent thud of the kittens' paws on the floor as he continuously fails to jump back up onto the bed.

“You know he’s not going to stop that, don’t you? He wants to be with us.” You smile.

“Oh, he’ll stop when he gets tired, give it five.” He mumbles into the pillow.

Your heart starts to break at the thought of the kitten not being able to reach up as you lie there listening for a while. As you're about to move to get out of bed to rescue him from the floor, you see those little familiar ears climbing up the mountain of Joel’s back, over his shoulder and jumping down off his arm to land in the very small gap between your heads, the soft fur tickling Joel’s nose.

“Urghhhh. This goddamn child.” Joel groans deeply, but he doesn’t attempt to move, accepting defeat. You watch in the darkness as the kitten curls up just underneath Joel’s chin.

“He likes you, baby, I think you’re his favourite already.” You watch the kitten settling down to go to sleep in the safety beside Joel.

“Just for tonight then. Tomorrow, you find him another home.” His eyes are closed, and the sight before you is adorable. Joel, so big, so broad, so protective with the tiniest, most vulnerable little ball of cuteness buried close against him.

When you wake the next morning, your heart melts. Joel, the same Joel who told you this kitten couldn't stay, is lying on his back with the kitten curled up on his chest, both sleeping peacefully. You watch them both for a while until the kitten turns to stretch and wakes Joel. He breathes in deeply, his long limbs moving under the covers until his leg rests up against yours again and his hand reaches out to stroke and down the bare skin of your thigh.

“Morning, you two.” You say softly, head resting on your palm.

“Morning, my love.” He says half asleep.

“Hate to ruin the moment, boys, but someone’s given me the task of finding a new home for this one.”

“Talking to me or him?” Joel jokes, and it makes you chuckle. He opens one eye to look at you. “He’s resting. Let him stay for another hour, then you can take him.”

“Whatever you say, mister.”

Two nights later when you curl up into bed again, Joel walks in, the kitten balancing on his shoulder, clearly still not taken to another home.

“Ellie said I’m a cat dad now.” Joel says with a shake of his head.

You grin. “I think she might be right.”

“Jesus Christ.” He sighs, coming over to the bed.

“Don’t pretend like you hate it.” You giggle. He rolls his eyes as he climbs under the covers, and the kitten jumps down to curl up in the small space between you both.

“We have to find him a different bed tomorrow, though; he can’t sleep in ‘ere anymore, keeps stealing my spot next to you.” He sighs. “Kid needs to respect his parent’s privacy, gonna have to teach him some boundaries...” Joel reaches down underneath the covers, letting his palms roam up and down your body.

“Sure, baby.” You smile to yourself knowing full well Joel isn’t ever going to be able to let this kitten out of his sight for too long.

(I added a part 2 here)

[cinnag1rl]

Sleepy baby ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

tags: Slight age regression, Age gap (50s and 20s) (not implied directly), Daddy kink, praise kink (slight), fluffy Joel, needy reader, creampie, manhandling, slight oral fixation, p in v, pre-established relationship.

Note: Ok i’ll admit it i’m a sucker for soft Joel. Also sorry this took too long to post!! Small reminder: i will be posting once a week cause my schedules really busy ahha. As always, thank you for your love and support , it always makes my day<3

W.C: 1.2k

Summary: After a long day, you and Joel always spoon and lay together. the exhaustion of both of your days finally melting away once you snuggle together,  but some days after Joels really wearisome days , when he comes back too damn tired ,he always asks his sweet girl to help him relax.  

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

As you both enter your shared bedroom after a long day, work, house chores and dinner all these responsibilities finally ending ,Joel starts taking off his shirt, tossing it in the laundry basket in your shared room, and then his worn out jeans , he grabs his grey sweatpants, finally getting comfortable.

Simultaneously, you remove your shorts and top, and every night you wear night dresses Joel can’t stop buying you, tonight you wore one of your favourite,made by mesh,the colour being a soft pink with a beautifully ruffled hemline just above your knees,adorned with a lacy trim matching the colour of the meshy fabric, no wonder it was your favourite, the sheer fabric barely hiding any part of your upper body, and only wearing some cotton pink underwear. Joel turns to look at you and smiles,

“Gonna help daddy relax, baby?” He asks lowly, and you already know what that means, his eyes, not ashamed to wonder to your nipples that were already hardened from the sensation of the mesh material.

“Can we cuddle first..?” you softly ask him with a slight pleading look.

The corners of his mouth twitch into a smile and lets out a small snicker, “Yeah, baby..Cmon..” He states and in a beat gets in bed, as soon as he settles under the sheets you join him and quickly move closer to him and he settles you in his arms , your back facing his front body as he spoons you.

He plants his face on top of your head and inhales your scent, making him relax slowly slowly. A few moments later you slightly pull away and turn your front body to face him and then move to set yourself on top of Joels body, your face inches away from his, he lets out a small grunt and snickers by you changing your position in a commanding way

“Kisses..?” you ask softly, your pleading demeanour once again making him fold and he ultimately nods in approval

“You’re commanding tonight, aren’t you, angel?” he chuckles and you giggle as well at his little comment and sits up settling you on his lap , firstly kissing you softly, gently, he pulls away and starts softly kissing you along your jawline and then along your neck, the small kisses making you giggle and blush you always love when he is gentle.

He lays you two back down, pulling you to lay on top of his body again. You stare up at him, suddenly feeling a bit drowsy and you can’t help but let out a small yawn, he chuckles and places his thumb in the middle of you yawning, in your mouth, his action making you blush as you start to suck on his thumb, almost like an alternative pacifier.

“Sleep, bunny..” he smiles and looks at your drowsy expression as you look up at him wearying, sucking on his thumb, you pull away,

“M’not tired, daddy..” you mumble wearily, you softly argue, “I swear-“ you mutter and abruptly yawn and he chuckles, “Come on, baby, you’re tired go to sleep.”he mumbles and gently pats the back of your head,

“I want to help you relax..” you silently beg, “You said you wanted me to help you relax..” you slightly whine and pout.

“I did.. But you’re tired, angel.. Don’t want my sweet girl all tired..” he tells you quietly.

“Please, daddy..Wanna make you feel good..” you pout, giving him your puppy dog eyes. Joel looks at you and sighs in defeat,

“Alright, angel..” he says and sits up once again and you sit up as well, he pushed aside the bed sheets from on top of you two giving you space to move, then you slip off your little pink undergarment already soaked with your juices and toss it aside, your bare pussy, raw and pulsing, as you settle yourself on your knees his legs between your own, giving both of you some space between you.

Then you help him pull down his sweatpants at the same time with his underwear letting it stop just above his knees, you look at his hardened dick evident and throbbing. And even though you’ve seen his dick multiple times, his thickness always makes you blush. He snickers as he watches you look down at his cock,

“Gunna ride me, bunny? Gunna make me feel good..?” he says lowly and smiles as he teases you. You slightly blush and and nod,

“Help me first..” you mutter, always asking him to help you start whenever you rode him. He smiles and nudges his slick tip at your entrance, teasing you open

“So needy..” , you let out small gasps as he teases your opening with his tip that's already coated with his precum, making his teasing even more slippery. His fat cock stretching you wide , slowly entering you as you lower your body to enter him, the sensation making you whimper and moan, your sweet noises and the feeling of your tight pussy squeezing around his fat lengthy dick, making him groan and grunt,

“Fuck.. Cmon sweet girl, said you were gonna ride me..” he grunts, and you start moving in an inconsistent pace, dumbing from the pleasure. He grunts in your inconsistency, he then grabs onto your ass and guides you up and down on his dick in a slightly fast pace, manhandling you as if you were his own personal sex toy.

You moan and gasp, your pussy tightening and pulsing around his rock hard cock, Joel moves you in a brutally fast pace on his dick, his balls slapping against your ass, making a disgustingly lewd sound just by your skin slapping against each other, you can’t help but plant your hands on his shoulders, holding so tightly thats the skin reddens.

“Can’t hold it, daddy!” you whimper and shout in desperation,

“Fuck.. Gonna come too, baby” he grunts loudly, And in a beat you both let go, You let out long whimpers, whines and gasps not being able to control your noises, chills running down your spine as Joel grunts and groans , he comes deep inside you, his dick still buried deep inside you with all his come.

He lifts you off his dick and his come drips and lands everywhere, your thighs, his own thighs and the bedsheets. Joel lets his fingers wander on your come smeared folds and grabs a dollop with his fingers, he smiles and without warning shoves them in your mouth, making you suck and swallow his come from his fingers.

He snickers as he watches you, you swallow his come, the mixture of your own juices with his own combined, tasting salty and savoury, tasting too good that it should .He pulls away his fingers from your mouth and snickers,

“So full of me, like a little creampuff” he chuckles, you blush from his little comment. he lays back down , pulling you with him and letting you rest on him.

[johnny-depp-is-loved]

[vetornic]

basically me. I swear that a new content is coming, i swear guys...

[vetornic]

I want to write sooo bad, but I have so many things I have to finish before the end of this week. I want to write Joel Miller fic because I LOVE THIS MAN SOOOO MUCH. But again... I can't... I'm miserable.

[vnderliinde]

pervy oldman!joel fucking you with your own dildo because it’s “better than corrupting you with his own dick”

After months of eye-fucking and a shit ton of home-baked goods, you finally got the old man in your bedroom. It wasn’t like either of you were playing hard to get, Joel was just stubborn. Refused to give in to the growing ache in his heart—and other places. Usually he’d take whatever goods you made him and shy away back into his house. But today was different. Today, he couldn’t resist that gleam in your eyes when he opened the door.

 He stood with his hands deep in the pockets of his worn work jeans, a telltale reminder of how out of place he was in your bedroom. All girly and untouched, a reflection of you. He’s pulled out of his thoughts when your lips meet his. Soft and delicate against his own—dry and filled of dirt and profanity he wouldn’t dare to get on you. It was a wonder to him why you’d even take another look in his direction.

 Your tongues press firmly together. The poor man hasn’t kissed in so long, he was like a poor virgin just barely grasping the ropes. “Fuckin’ slow down,” he almost pleas. With a sinister giggle, you quietly refuse as you pull him by his old flannel and onto the plush, pink sheets of your bed.

 “I’ve slowed long enough,” You sigh as you kiss down the rugged stubble against his face and neck. He groans and fists at your shirt. His heart raced for many, many reasons. For one, years in construction and zero pussy gets you like a puddle in bed in a snap. And two, he felt wrong and dirty for even accepting the first batch of cookies you made him. He knew what you were getting at, but fuck. He was only a man; a reasonable one at that. Who was gonna turn down a sweet thing like you in tiny shorts with a box of warmed goods?

 “Gon’ give me a heart attack, girl.” He sighs as he watches your smaller hands undo the buttons of his shirt. He writhes beneath you, head turning as if to find some sort of salvation. As if answering his mercy’s call, he spots it. A pink dildo just in the open drawer of your night stand.

 He reaches over and grabs it, leaving you confused sitting atop of him. Your face scrunched as you watch him inspect it. Blushing with embarrassment you mumble, “What? Never seen a girl own a sex toy?” He eyes you before patting your thigh and sitting you on the bed.

 “Got an idea, lay back,” he demands. Confused, but nonetheless willing, you lay back and start to remove your shorts and panties. Joel watches, his eyes blown wide with his lips in a small pout. Old man couldn’t remember the last time a woman had her legs spread for him like this. Taking a finger, he drags it along your slit. You grip the sheets beneath you, whining quietly. “Already so wet.” He licks his fingers and takes the dildo. Slapping it a few times against your cunt, he brings it up to your mouth. “Suck.”

 “You’re kidding right?” You scoff. But the look on his face said he clearly wasn’t. With a defiant whine, you reluctantly loll your tongue out. You lick the tip before taking inch by inch. His breath shakes as he watches your lips wrap around the matching pink silicone.  He thrusts it in and out slowly, watching your spit slick and shine the toy. He pushed it further until it bumped against the back of your throat, biting his lip as your eyes welled in tears. You pull off and wiped the drool from your mouth. “I want you to fuck me.”

 “Oh do you?” He says with a smirk. His vacant hand pulls your thighs apart wider. With your spit slick dildo, he nudges it against your entrance. “Can’t fuck you the way you want me to,” There was a hint of disappointment behind determination. “don’t mean I can’t pleasure you.” With that, he inches the toy into you. Your pussy clenches with every thrust from him. He massages your clit as he starts a pace. Soon, the room filled with moans and slick sounds. “Look at you takin’ it so well.” He groans, watching as your pussy sucked in the dildo.

 Your back arches, the silicone tip hitting just right. “Fuck, Joel..” His jaw clenches at the way his name rolled off your tongue so naturally.

 “C’mon baby,” He urges, his wrist joint starting to sore as it continued its vigorous motions. He refused to slow—even if by a beat. The need to make you come was stronger than any will in his body that begged him to stop. Your breaths shorten and shake, whines pulling from your throat. Watching intently, he continues to hit that sweet, spongy spot within you, his hand soaking from you. With a final, throat-aching cry, you spill over his hand. But even so, he continues to fuck you with the you until your shaking legs calmed.

 “Joel..” You sighed. It takes a moment for him to realize how labored his breaths were. He feels a long lost—yet familiar—ache pooling in his lower abdomen. Looking down, he sees the unmistakable tent in his jeans.

A/N: this was not beta-read.. at all.. just got horny thinking ab oldie!joel

[vetornic]

Fuckin' in love with this.

[vetornic]

Smokes 'n' Second Thoughts

.ೃ࿐ II Part (Final)

To read the Teaser click here.

¡! ❞ Spotify playlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader Summary: Being a DEA intern wasn’t the dream, but it beat the suffocating boredom of dull life. At least until the office life started getting to you more than it should - in all cases. Warnings/Tags: +18 MDNI, slowburn, fluff, smut, angst, misogyny adequately to the time the story takes place, sex under slight influence, protected AND unprotected PinV, rough sex, gentle sex, degradation, petnames, nippleplay, oral (f receiving), manhandling, semi-public sex, swearing, blood, pinning, Javi is an ass but also not?, boss x intern, reader is in her 20s, Javi is in his early 40s, power imbalance, no mentions of Steve, no specific description of reader Word count: 14.3k (second and final part of the fic)

Notes: This took me a while, since I'm a really slow writer and a real miserable perfecionist. Excuse me for any spelling errors that can occur - English is not my first language. Either way, I hope you'll like it. Sending love.

Credits: Find those beautiful dividers made by @viviansturns and @cursed-carmine !!!

ㅤ

A few weeks deep into your work, the mood at the station wasn't much different from what you had already experienced.

Bulky, arrogant agents, manspreading and chewing chili sausages, smacking their lips with every bite - in that context the thought of tearing your ears off didn't seem like such a miserable decision. Especially with the weight of their words every time you sat by your desk, hid in the corner. Sexist, catcalling pigs.

As expected, Peña's turned you into his errand girl. You were supposed to brew his coffee four times a day, bring all the important files straight to his desk and be polite.

"Good morning, Sir. Is your coffee warm enough or should I make another one?" you asked, forcing a dumb smile on your pissed face. You probably looked like a shitting cat, but you didn't give a single fuck.

"It's fine." you relaxed. "But..." your shoulders tensed again. "Don't you think my desk is a little bit too messy?" you knew right away what he was implying.

And the devil knows you wanted to cut that man's throat when he told you, that each morning, before his arrival you should check if his office was clean enough for him to work. Of course it wasn't... You had to clean his ashtray and wash coffee-stained mugs, sort documents, fucking polish his leather chair!

"Special Agent Buffoon." you muttered to yourself every time you finished with your chores inside his office, because outside of it you weren't even halfway done.

A familiar whistle took you out of your thoughts. Great. You knew what that meant - an overweight greasy-haired guy practically rolled your way. Aside of Peña, there were other assholes in this department.

He threw a stack of documents at your face.

"Peña wants these filed by end of the day, Dolly. Don't choke on 'em." You scanned the headlines, the dates.

"These files have been lying around all week, Wilson." your brows furrowed. "Couldn't you have brought them to me sooner?" he just shrugged and started picking at his teeth like a toddler.

"See, told you you ain't ready for this kind of work. 'S man's job" he mumbled with a finger in his mouth.

Oh, you tried so hard not to roll your eyes at this clown, but it was physically impossible.

"Whatever. I'll get 'em done by tonight." you weren't about to risk it with a boss who had been giving you the death stare since the moment you met - even if it meant staying overnight to do some prick's job.

"Save me some time, Dolly, and leave them on Peña's desk when you finish. M' seein' a nice lady tonight, real pretty thing..." your brain shut down his nonsense, opening the first file.

ㅤ

That's what you've been assigned to since you first set your foot in this department. In full honesty, you didn't really expect Peña to send you to the field as you first joined, you knew it would take some time - gaining trust was a process after all. However, at this point, it was getting ridiculous.

Chained to the old, dusty desk with little view of the outside world, any fresh air swallowed by the gnawing jaws of cigarette smoke and the smell of booze, carried with the fusty breaths of your coworkers.

It seemed like the place was designed just to torture you. You became a victim of an inquisitio specialis, how ironic.

Your cramped workplace was getting more and more cluttered with coffee mugs and aspirin wrappings, the corner of your eye set on the door that led to freedom, the door that everyone was slowly crossing - one by one - finishing with their day.

As the last lights around you were turned off you groaned - maybe a bit too loud for it to be ladylike. You couldn't care less with how you were being treated around here.

"Fucking dick," you spat, your eyes burning as they traced Wilson's name scrawled across the files for the tenth time. "I wonder whose fault it would be if I didn’t finish these by tomorrow, huh, jerk?" You jammed a finger against the ink, but the paper didn't hit back.

The silence of the office began to heavy, punctuated only by the hum of the fluorescent lights and the distant ticking of a clock. After another hour, the adrenaline of your anger curdled into a cold, hollow exhaustion. Something inside you finally snapped - not with a bang, but with a weary sigh.

You stood up, your legs stiff, and wandered toward a neighboring desk. You didn't even care whose it was as you rifled through the drawers. Paperwork, rusted paperclips... And then, the prize.

A bottle of Scotch, nearly empty. The smell of it was enough to make your eyes water and throat burn. You didn't bother looking for a clean glass, just poured a solid splash into your stained coffee mug and took a desperate, burning sip.

Your head started ringing, you were no better than any of the men working here. Drinking during your overtime? A proper young lady would never - only the alcohol effectively calmed those thoughts.

It also successfully took your ability of rational thinking so the few last reports were chaotic, although finally done. Your forehead hit the edge of the wooden surface. So peaceful, so quiet...

I'll just close my eyes for a lil', tiny second. Yes, just a little while...

ㅤ

Your head snapped up at the sudden hit that vibrated through the surface on which your cheek was rested. Your eyes still drowsy from the remnants of sleep and alcohol, locks sticking to the forehead, chin and lips moist with drool.

It took a while for your vision to register the person bent over your writing table. Broad shoulders hidden under a yellow shirt, a tiny glimpse of a strong neck was staring back at you. Then the face...

"Oh, shit!" never, ever, since you had your first drink, you have sobered up so quickly. "Agent Pena- Sir..." you bit your tongue accidentally.

He profoundly took in the pathetic look on your tired face, scanning, observing. His own tongue hit the roof of his mouth, creating a wet click.

"Became so dedicated to your job, you started sleeping here?" he crossed his arms.

"It- no. Just an accident, Sir." you stuttered, hiding the empty bottle of Scotch hurriedly, yet clumsily enough for his eyes to register.

"Bottle of Scotch for dinner. That an accident too, Ma'am?"

"I... It was just a few sips- Had work to finish. I mean, it's done! It's all done, Sir! Was about to put it on your table, but-"

"You fell asleep." you nodded. Thanks to the dim light he probably hadn't caught that rosy tone tinting your cheeks.

He rubbed his tired face. He would turn into a nasty hypocrite the moment he started lecturing you about drinking at work, so - for now - he dropped the topic.

"What files are those?" he asked, not really waiting for your answer. He read the name on the front. Everything made sense.

"Wilson told you to fill these?" Peña raised an eyebrow at you, half furious, half impressed.

Was he mad at you? Was any of these files secret? Is he going to fire you because you had read something that an intern should never have access to?

"Handed 'em to me and said it has to be done today." you suppressed a yawn.

"Lazy asshole." He finally dropped the papers, looking up at you, properly. "It was his job, you shouldn't have been doing this for that idiot, sitting here all night an' getting shitfaced."

He interrupted when you were about to speak up.

"Get your things and go home. I'll scold that slob in the morning." he promised.

You walked towards the door on shaky legs. His gaze was burning a hole in your back.

"When's your bus?" You did a little twirl, staring at him.

"The 402 stopped running an hour ago. M' takin' a walk."

A groan left his lips, like what you just said physically pained him.

"Came here to finish my records, now I gotta play nanny for a drunken girl." He said loud enough for you to hear. Peña put on his brown leather jacket and was already moving towards the exit.

You hadn't even have time to ask him for such a favor, nevertheless he offered himself, even when it collided with the plans he'd made.

The night air hit you like a hot slap, making the Scotch fuzz inside your head, your legs almost giving out when your heel caught on the uneven pavement. Almost, because before you fell straight on your face a strong hand clamped onto your upper arm - heavy, warm and too firm to be friendly.

"Easy." his voice hit the notes - the steady, low cadence of a Texas upbringing. "I'm not carrying you to the car. C'mon, walk."

He led you to the dark Chevrolet, bathed in the dust of Colombian streets.

"Get in." he said after unlocking the door, the metallic sound of the keys clacking through the empty parking lot.

As you sank into the worn leather, the interior smelled of his sharp cologne and the lingering scent of tobacco. The silence between the two of you suddenly even heavier than the conversation in the office.

Once he learnt your address and turned on the engine, the car rolled onto the road. The asphalt was rugged and bumpy and you had to close your eyes not to paint the dashboard in your vomit.

"So..." you opened your eyes as his narrowed in a way that made you feel like you were under an interrogation. "How long has Wilson been treating you like his personal secretary?"

You kept quiet.

"He's a parasite." Peña shot you a short glare, the orange glow of street lights illuminating your face. "Bastard's feeding on people like you - people who don't know how to say no."

"I know how to say 'no'." You huffed.

"Doesn't seem like it." He bit back.

"I just wanted to prove that I could manage. Everyone in the office is such an asshole towards me." The alcohol and the warmth of his car loosened your tongue.

He let out a dry huff of laughter.

"You ain't provin' nothin'. Fillin' out reports for a man who's out chasin' skirts, isn't 'the work', sweetheart. It's being a doormat."

You sank down in your seat, crossing arms under your chest, his eyes catching the glimpse of your exposed cleavage before drifting back onto the route.

"'S too late for poutin' now," he mumbled. "Next time he pulls a stunt like that, you tell him to go to hell or tell me. Understood?"

Surprise wasn't the word that could describe how you felt right now. You knew it was probably 'cause Wilson's been a pain in everyone's ass for way too long, yet it still made your chest tighten with the spark of... Hope?

"Yes, Sir." You nodded, focusing on his side profile - jaw locked, lips forming a straight line.

The man's lashes were sparkled with golden, his hooked nose scrunching in concentration from time to time, Adam's apple bobbing with every swallow, his rough hands squeezing the steering wheel.

You felt the tingles on your arm, where he held you with those thick fingers just minutes ago. You were a mess, alright. Just by staring at your boss, who did literally nothing to make you feel this way.

Your whole body fell forward when he hit the brakes, arriving at the destination. You've been daydreaming about him once again and for the second time he ruined the moment. Not that he was aware of it.

"Go to bed, chica. Do yourself a favor and stay home tomorrow. Don't need another hangover wreck in my office." He turned to face you completely.

"Thank you, Agent Peña." You said, messily gathering your things. "I mean it... Thank you."

"Yer a good kid," he fell silent for a moment. "Go on, off you go." Then he cleared his throat.

Javier waited for you to climb the stairs to your hotel, making sure you didn't tip over and crack your head open on the concrete. Only when the door clicked shut behind you did the low growl of the Chevy fade into the Colombian night.

The second you stepped through the door of your small bedroom you fell face-first on your mattress, letting out a long, heavy sigh.

'A good kid,' your brain recreated his weary voice, the Texan accent lulling your tired body into deep sleep.

ㅤ

The sunlight piercing through the grime of your bedroom window felt like a personal attack. Every pulse in your temples echoed the rhythm of Peña’s voice from the night before. The memory made you groan into your pillow, a sound of pure, unfiltered shame.

No matter how hard you tried to stay in bed, once you've woken up, you couldn't fall asleep again. Lazily you got dressed, wrapped your hand around the first thing you've found in the fridge and took a bus to the embassy.

By 9:00 AM sharp, you were at your desk, dark circles under your eyes, cheeks hollow but hair done flawlessly, as if it would anyhow help your appearance.

Wilson arrived fifteen minutes later, whistling a tune that died down the second he saw the stack of files on Peña's desk actually finished. He swaggered towards your desk with a grin, leaning down until you could smell the grease from his breakfast.

"Late night, Dolly? You look like you went a few rounds too deep with a bottle of cheap vodka."

"The reports are done, Wilson," You said flatly, not bothering to look up from your typewriter. "If you have a problem with the formatting, take it up with the boss. I'm sure he'd truly love to discuss why I was here untill three in the morning doing your job." you jabbed.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. For once he didn't have any wise remarks - not when the loud thud of the station's door silenced him.

Peña walked in, looking infuriatingly awake in a fresh baby blue shirt. He didn't stop at his office. He walked straight towards the two of you. Wilson straightened up so fast he nearly tipped over his own feet.

"Wilson," Peña rumbled, the drawl cutting through the office chatter like a blade. "My office. Now."

His eyes shifted to you, taking in your tired body. He'd scold you for coming here when he clearly told you to take a day off, but right now he had something far more important to take care of.

"Get some goddamn coffee." He just muttered, low enough so only you could hear and holding your gaze for a second too long.

Wilson trailed behind him, keeping his head low and you couldn't help the satisfaction bubbling deep in your gut.

The door barely had the time to shut when the muffled yelling of Peña was already cutting through the morning air. Through the glass you could see Javier's finger jabbed into his subordinate's chest. Your fingers hovered over the keys as you suppresed the urge do bite your lip. Your first small victory.

Half an hour later Wilson walked out of the room, looking like a kicked puppy, though comparing him to a puppy felt like a crime.

"Peña says he wants to see you," he spat the words your way, the bitterness in his voice evident. "Rat." He could call you anything now. The victory couldn't be sweeter.

You stepped inside the room as the man let you in. He was sitting behind his desk with a cigarette crushed in between those full lips.

"I thought I was clear when I told you to stay home." he said, the smoke curling around his face like a veil.

"I tried," you lied, your voice steadier than you felt. "But the walls at home were closing in. Figured I might as well be useful."

Peña shifted, leaning back in his chair. He watched you in silence for what felt like an eternity, his dark eyes scanning you - lingering on your blouse before dropping to your breasts. His eyes narrowed, and he took a sharp drag from his cigarette.

"Wilson's been humbled, won't cause no more trouble." his eyes traveled back up, breathing out a cloud of grey smoke. Then he pointed a single finger at you - the same one he’d just used to threatened Wilson.

Your heart lurched. Was he finally going to scold you for the drinking incident?

"But since you dared to show up... You're going out with Nielsen. He's a fine agent. He'll keep you safe in the field."

What the fuck did he just say? The field? Was he serious?!

"Excuse me, Sir?" your mouth felt too dry to swallow.

"You showed me you can handle the paperwork, let Wilson struggle with it for a while. I guess it’s time to see if you can handle the heat," he grunted, crushing the cigarette's butt in his ashtray. "As an intern, of course. No guns, no running, and for Christ's sake, no drinking. You’re an observer. You stay in the car unless Nielsen tells you otherwise. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir. Understood." you nodded eagerly. Agent Peña was turning you into an obedient girl, wasn't he?

"Good, now get out of my sight. You'll find Nielsen in the motor pool." he mumbled, returning to his paperwork.

ㅤ

For the first time, you felt grateful that Wilson had forced his boring paperwork on you.

ㅤ

You met Nielsen downstairs, just like Peña has told you. He was a lean man yet his face held a sense of responsibility.

"You the intern?" he asked, throwing an olive-green vest on the hood of the Ford Bronco.

You gave a him a nod.

"Wear it. May be a bit too big on ya, may be smelling like the big ol' uncle Sam himself forgot to wear deodorant, but it'll keep ya relatively safe. I'm not explaining to Peña why you got a stray hole in your blouse."

As you struggled into the stiff, salt-stained Kevlar vest, Nielsen finally looked at you. His eyes were a startling, icy blue, narrowing as he took in your silhouette.

"Peña says you're an observer. In my book, that means you're not here. You don't talk. You don't get in the way. And most importantly," he tapped the dashboard of the Ford for emphasis. "You stay in the car. We’re doing a simple hand-off check near the Barrio. If a single rock flies in our direction, you duck. Got it?"

"Got it." You said, clicking the heavy buckles shut. The weight of the vest was overwhelming, pressing against your chest, making every breath feel deliberate. It made the danger - the real, unpolished danger of the Colombian streets - feel tangible for the first time.

The drive was boring, bathed in the scorching Colombian sun. Nielsen's fingers were chaising a rhythm that only he was hearing.

"So, what exactly is our job?" You asked, his fingers stopped instantly.

"You don't talk." He reminded. The silence stretched thin again...

"We're supposed to check a few locations," he added, letting out a weary breath. "See if there are any campanas patrolling the streets. Look for the kids with radios on rooftops or balconies."

ㅤ

And so, that was your life now. Working in the field meant sitting in a sweltering car in a tight, smelly vest, checking the area for anything suspicious. Still it was better than sitting on your ass all day, back in the office, letting those bastards insult you.

But even if you spent half your day outside the Embassy walls, the other half was spent filing mission reports. Back in the office, you were surrounded by the same assholes who couldn't keep their jealous mouths shut.

"Hey, Dolly, you done playing soldier for the day?" A few men laughed at Wilson’s jab.

You ignored him, focused on typing your report, the clicks of the keyboard your only response.

"Don't go cold on us now, sweetheart. We're just worried about you."

"Leave her alone, Wilson," another chimed in, leaning back with a cruel grin. "She’s probably too busy wondering how many showers it'll take to scrub Nielsen's scent off her. You two get real cozy in that car, huh?" They all roared with laughter while you bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted copper, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Bet Peña would hate to smell another man on you. Would give the man a stroke." Wilson almost spat on himself. "Y'all know he always had a soft spot for poor lil' stray girls."

Throughout the months, you’d managed to reach a neutral ground with Peña. He’d actually seen your potential, often shutting down the other agents before they could cross the line. But in a place like this, respect didn't come without a price - and the rumors were spreading like a wildfire.

"So, tell us," someone from the group started, his voice cutting through the fading snickers. "The guys are taking bets. Did Peña actually read your field reports, or does he just prefer the oral briefings you give him in his office?"

The clicking of other typewriters in the room sputtered to a halt. This wasn't just a jab anymore - it was a full on stab.

"I heard he’s been staying late at the Embassy just to review your paperwork," Wilson added from across the room, his voice dripping with mock innocence. "Must be some pretty impressive clerical work you're doing under his desk."

A chorus of whistles followed. Your fingers hovered over the keys, trembling just enough to be visible. These weren't just insults anymore, they were stripping away every hour of sweat, every mile driven in that sweltering car, and every scrap of potential Peña had seen in you, turning it into something dirty, filthy.

That was exactly how you felt in that moment - cheap.

The air in the room felt thick, it was dripping with their cruelty. You stared at the paper in your typewriter, the ink blurring as your vision tunneled.

"Nothing to say, Dolly?" Wilson prodded. "Come on, share the secret. Some of us have been working their asses off for a promotion for years, and you seem to have found the-"

"The what, Wilson?"

The voice didn’t come from you. It came from the doorway behind them. Low, gravelly, and dangerously steady...

The silence that followed was deafening. Javier Peña was leaning against the frame, his jacket slung over one shoulder, the holster hang tight on his belt. He didn't look angry, he looked adamant, which was significantly worse.

He walked into the room, the slow click of his boots the only sound. He stopped right behind Wilson, who had suddenly lost his smirk and stiffned in his seat.

"You were talking about my techniques," Peña said, his voice dropping an octave as he tilted his head toward the other men. "I’m interested. Since you’re so concerned with how I spend my time in my office, maybe you’d like to come inside and we can discuss your performance reviews? I’ve got a stack of your reports here that are about as useful as the shit you stepped onto this morning."

Wilson opened his mouth to stammer an excuse, but Peña cut him off with a sharp look.

"As for you, Wilson," Peña’s eyes sharpened. "If I hear the word 'Dolly' come out of your mouth one more time, you're flying straight back to Uncle Sam and tell him exactly why you got your ass canned. Is that clear?" he spat and Wilson nodded. " I asked you a question."

"Yes, Sir. Understood."

"Good, now go back to work you worthless sons of bitches." He muttered, turning towards you.

The chilliness in his eyes didn't disappear, but it turned into something more focused. "Finish what you're doing and go home. You've done a good job today."

He gave you a single, approving nod and a firm pat on the shoulder. Even though his face remained emotionless, the weight of his hand felt like a shield against the rest of the room. Without another word, he turned on his heel and headed for his office, the click of his boots disappearing behind the wooden door.

‎‎ㅤ

For the last three days, the office had been a graveyard of cold shoulders and muffled whispers, but today was different. Nielsen was down with a stomach bug, and instead of letting you stay in the office to be picked apart by Wilson, Peña had simply pointed at the off-road vehicle and said,

"You're with me."

Unfortunaly, or maybe fortunately for you - Nielsen's stomach issue turned out to be worse than he firstly reported, so you ended up cramped in the same car as Peña for almost a week.

Now, you were two hours into a stakeout in a neighborhood that looked like it had been forgotten even by the God. The silence in the car was stifling.

Peña sat in the driver's seat, his aviators on, looking like a statue. He hadn't said more than ten words to you since you left the Embassy. He was focused on a dusty apartment building across the street, but you could tell he was aware of every breath you took, the sound of your pen noting everything he said.

"You're twitching," he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence like blade. He didn't turn his head.

"I'm not-"

"You are." He finally looked at you, lowering his glasses just enough to let his dark eyes bore into yours. "You’ve been adjusting that vest every five minutes. I need you focused. If you’re looking at your gear, you’re not looking at the door and you turn useless."

He reached over, his hand brushing against your arm as he adjusted the side strap of your vest with a rough tug, tightening it until the Kevlar pressed hard against your ribs.

"Better?" He asked, his hand lingering just a second too long for it to be strictly professional.

"Yes, Sir." You managed to say, your heart hammering against the very vest he was fixing.

"Good." He grunted, leaning back and returning his gaze to the street.

"They’re going to have a field day with this..." The words slipped out before you could swallow them down.

Peña didn't move, but his jaw tightened. "With what?"

"This- Me. Being out here with you instead of Nielsen." You twisted a loose thread on your sleeve around your finger. "The rumors were bad enough when I was just filing your reports. Now that I’m in your car? They’re going to think..." You trailed off, the comments from days ago ringing in your ears. "They already hate me. This is just giving them another reason to never let me live."

Peña finally turned his head. He took his sunglasses off, hanging them from the collar of his shirt. He looked at you not as a boss, but as someone who survived this kind of office tension a hundred times.

"Listen to me." he said, his voice low and deep. "In this job, people will hate you for being good, they'll hate you for being bad, and they'll hate you for just being in the room, breathing the same air. If you’re worried about making friends, go work at a nail salon."

He leaned a bit closer, his elbow almost bumping yours, resting on the center console. "They think you're here because of me? Let them. Use it. If they’re busy talking about who you’re sleeping with, they aren't watching their backs and that’s their mistake, not yours."

"But my reputation-"

"Your reputation is built on the work you put on my desk." he interrupted, his eyes boring into yours. "The only person in that building you need to worry about is me. And right now, I'm more interested in whether you can spot a suspect than what Wilson whispers to himself in the breakroom."

He reached out, his thumb grazing the edge of your tactical vest, his expression unreadable. "Besides... If they really think I’m that easy to get around, they don't know me at all," his voice coarse. "Now get a grip."

A man in a white shirt left the building you were observing. He was arguing with someone.

"Target's moving, grab the camera. If you miss a shot because you feel hurt, then I'll give you something to really worry about." He commanded.

"I won't." You took the long-lense camera, zooming onto their faces,

The shutter snap was the only sound in the car. You captured them perfectly - the exchange, the faces.

Peña didn't look away from the window, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch in what might have been a ghost of a smirk. "Got 'em?"

"Clear as day," you whispered, feeling a surge of pride that had nothing to do with the office work and everything to do with the man sitting next to you, shoulder to shoulder.

"Smart girl." Peña half smiled.

‎ㅤ

Instead of heading toward the embassy, Peña took a sharp turn toward a small, nameless pub tucked between two aged, crumbling buildings. The smell of grilled meat hit you before the car even stopped.

"Sir? The reports-"

"The reports can wait until the ink on the photos is dry," he interrupted, killing the engine. "You haven't eaten since we left, and I don't need you fainting on the drive back. C'mon."

Inside, the light was bright - too bright. He guided you toward a corner booth, his hand flat against the small of your back. It was a subtle touch, but through the thin fabric of your shirt, it felt like a claim. He ordered for both of you, a beer for him, a soda for you, and two plates of something you could barely spell out.

You frowned when you saw the neon pink soda sparkling in a bottle.

"Sir, I'm an adult," you muttered. "I can handle a beer."

"You're barely twenty from what I heard." he didn't even look at you, stuffing his mouth with food, and your eyes rolled to the back of your skull.

"Well, I'm still an adult, not a twelve-year-old girl. The pigtails era is far behind me." you huffed defiantly.

Peña leaned back, his collar unbuttoned now, looking more relaxed than you’d ever seen him. He watched you over the rim of his glass.

"Really? I wouldn't have guessed." he said sarcastically, scanning your body like he had hundreds of times. He leaned forward then, changing the topic. "You did good today."

He reached across the table, his fingers brushing yours as he moved the salt shaker toward you. He didn't pull his hand back immediately. "Don't let the office rot your brain. You’ve got the instinct. Most people spend twenty years digging for it. You're a natural."

He looked at you for a second, the hierarchy of boss and intern felt very, veeery thin.

"Eat," he grunted, the professionalism sliding back into place. "We go back in twenty minutes." He nudged the colorful bottle toward you again.

You took a slow sip.

‎ㅤ

The Embassy felt like a tomb, the silence of the hallways pressing in on the closed door of Peña’s office. The air conditioning hummed a low tune, making the hair on your body stand on end. The sharp, chemical scent of the newly developed photos clung to your skin, mixing with the heavy aroma of the bourbon Javier had just poured. To your surprise he pushed one glass your way.

"You deserve this."

A few minutes ago, the lab runner had dropped off the prints. Now, they were scattered across the mahogany desk - a proof of your hard work.

Javier leaned back in his leather chair, the amber liquid in his cut glass glowin in the yellow, dim light. His tie was pulled loose, his top buttons undone, revealing the dark hair at the base of his collarbones. He looked at the photos, a fire sparkling in his brown eyes, then slowly drifted his gaze up to you.

He raised his glass in a mock salute.

"To the 'stray'," he murmured, his voice a rasp that vibrated in the small space. "To the girl who stayed late to do the work the big scary boys were too lazy to handle." he took a slow, deliberate sip of the alcohol, letting it run down his throat.

"Well, thank you, Agent Peña, for giving me this opportunity..." your voice steady as you took a sip, smiling against the pleasantly cool rim of the glass. The bourbon burned, but in a way that made you feel more awake, more alert. "Back in the States, I would’ve just kept making coffee for old, frustrated policemen."

You chuckled, the sound soft in the quiet office. It was a pointed jab, considering that was exactly what he’d had you doing since you first landed in Bogota.

Javier’s smirk widened, his eyes crinkling as he acknowledged the hit. He didn't look away, if anything the challenge in your voice seemed to intrigue him. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, the ice clinking like a dare.

"Careful." he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again. "If you keep getting this good at the job, I might have to start making the coffee myself. And we both know I’d be terrible at it." you softly bit on the glass, suppressing a smirk at his obvious flirting.

His dark eyes never leaving yours. The professional sham was starting to shatter, replaced by something heavy and raw. He set the glass down with a heavy clink and stood up, walking around the desk until he was standing directly over you.

Two fingers grabbed your chin, tilting your head to finally look at you.

"You're a good girl." Peña growled with hazy eyes that bored straight onto your parted lips. The rough pad of his thumb was now caressing your bottom lip. "Real good for an intern."

You felt the shiver run down your spine, but you didn't let it weaken you. Instead, you let a slow, mocking smile pull at the corner of your mouth. You reached up, your fingers wrapping around his solid wrist - not to pull his hand away, but to hold it in place.

"Is that all I'm going to hear after a whole day in the cramped car, following orders and finally catching a glimpse of the devil on paper?" you asked, lips kissing against his finger as you talked.

"You've been begging for that all day, huh? A scrap of attention from the man who's twice your fuckin' age." he huffed through gritted teeth. "All that talk about the office rumors and right now you're feeding right into them?" his other hand grabbed your hair at the base, tilting your head back and forcing you to look at him.

"Whole weeks I spent, shutting their mouths, yet here you are. A needy piece of work, who knows exactly what buttons to push to make her Boss do what she wants - just like they're saying." he hissed. He didn't look like a mentor anymore, he looked like a man who was tired of fighting his own impulses.

"I'm not pushing anything, Sir..." you gasped as his hand lowered to your throat, squeezing just enough to feel your galloping pulse.

His pupils dilated even more, if that was possible.

"So polite, even with my hand around your pretty little throat?" he traced the shape of your cheek, inhaling the sweat of the day mixed with your perfume. "Is that what they teach you at the academy? Ruinin' a man's career by simply keepin' your manners an' fluttering your eyelashes?" he huffed.

You felt the tingly sensation in between your legs. You tried to rub them together, to ease the biting feeling of raw desire, but he was standing in between your thighs, sensing what you were trying to do.

"Dirty little thing... You never wanted a mentor, huh, nena? You needed the dick of the man nobody could even touch..." He hoisted you up, your skirt going up, revealing the tiny glimpse of your lacy panties, as he settled you on the desk. He didn't care about the files and photos falling to the floor.

"Javier-" you gasped, but he shut you up with a rough kiss. All tongue and teeth, his saliva carrying a rich taste of the golden liquid. You kissed him back messily, moaning into his parted lips. His moustache creating a heavenly, burning sensation.

"Don't you cry about what the fuckers say, tomorrow, because tonight you're exactly what they said you were." he muttered against your lips, his hands already going to the buttons of your thin blouse.

You giggled when his warm hand brushed against your collarbone, tickling you softly.

"You think it's funny? I'll show you funny..." he tossed the fabric aside, his mouth watering at the sight of your hardened nipples peeking through the beige, lacy bra you were wearing. "All day... You've been walking around in that?" Javier muttered, licking and nibbling your throat.

"Is that against the rules, Sir?" he chuckled at the question.

"With you, sprawled on my desk like that? Never..." he licked a fat, wet stripe through the valley between your breasts. His thumb hooking under the edge of the lace pushing it just enough to expose your soft flesh to the cool air of the office.

"Been playin' an obedient intern for months, but these nipples tell precisely what's been on your mind this whole time." he gasped, looking into your eyes, before the tip of his tongue nudged your peaked nub, teasing.

You closed you eyes, letting out a small whimper. Your fingers clutched in his dark locks, tugging, pulling. You've never thought you'd live the day to see your Boss sucking your tits.

His plush lips closed around the aureola, sucking and biting gently. The obscene sound of his wet mouth on your hot skin was echoing through the hollow silence of the office. He wasn't just doing it for your pleasure - he was doing it for himsef, sighing and huffing against your chest.

Javier let your breast fall from his mouth with a loud, wet pop. His hair was messy, clinging to his sweat-slicked forehead.

"Eres tan jodidamente hermosa." he gasped, climbing back up and capturing your lips with his. You pushed him closer by the loose tie, wrapping your legs around his hips and focusing on the shape of his lips.

He finally took off his shirt, the second it hit the floor the remnants of 'Agent Peña' dissolved. The hair on his chest brushing against your bra caused him to groan. You quickly got rid of it fully, before he was caressing your chest again, trailing kisses towards your stomach and to the edge of your skirt.

"Months... I’ve spent months watching you walk past my desk, smelling your perfume, hearing you laugh at Wilson’s shitty jokes… All I wanted to do was drag you in here and lock the door, worship this fucking body." his hand moved to the zipper, sliding it down so slow you thought you'd actually die.

"You're no better than any of those idiots." you jabbed and could feel him actually smile against your belly.

"Watch it, muñequita." he sucked a dark, purple bruise just when your underwear met your hip "I'm afraid your pleasure depends on me. I would watch my mouth if I were you." he pushed the skirt down fully, letting it fall to the floor.

You squealed, wiggling your hips against the desk impatiently and grinding against the stiff member hidden beneath Javier's favorite jeans, which were now bearing a damp spot of your slickness.

The friction of the rough denim against your sensitive skin was almost too much to bear. When you ground your hips against that unmistakable, solid heat again Peña let out a pained groan that you felt vibrate through your entire body.

"God, you’re a menace," he choked out, his hands slamming down on the desk on either side of your head. He wasn't smiling anymore, the playfulness was gone, replaced by a raw, desperate need that made his movements jerky and frantic.

The moment was broken only by the sharp, metallic clink of his belt buckle hitting the mahogany. You stayed right where he’d put you, over the photos and files of a million- dollar investigation, watching him with a shameless, wide-eyed hunger that seemed to fuel his ego.

He reached over you, his broad shoulder blocking out any source of the dim light as he grabbed his leather jacket from the back of his chair. He found his wallet and dig out a silver foil packet that glimmered like a forbidden fruit under the yellowish lamp.

Javier didn’t look away from you for a second. His eyes were dark, predatory, and fixed on yours as he shoved his jeans down past his hips. When his cock finally sprang free - thick, uncut, pulsing, and mapped with bulging veins - the air left your lungs like a punch. The prettiest cock you've ever seen.

To your absolute shock, there was no cotton barrier. He wasn’t wearing any underwear, his untamed pubic hair were the only cover his bulge could afford. The sight of him, raw and ready in the middle of your workplace made the situation hit you ten times harder.

"Always walkin' around with your cock free?" you bit your lip, mouth already watering at the very thought. The whole time, the access to his big, veiny member was so fucking easy.

He didn’t answer. With practiced movements, he tore the foil with his teeth so effortlessly it made your stomach flip. He rolled the latex on with a quick, efficient motion, his knuckles brushing against his own skin in a way that you hand ached to wrap around him.

Peña didn't waste time with pulling down your panties. Instead, he reached down, his large, warm hand sliding between your thighs. His fingers hooked into the thin lace of your thong, and with a single tug, he pushed the fabric aside, lettin it bite into your hip. The cool air chilly air hit your wet skin for only a second before he replaced it with his aching heat.

He stepped back into the space he’d forced between your knees, his muscular thighs pinning you to the desk. He leaned over you, his chest hair grazing your nipples as he guided his cock to your entrance. He paused for a second, the tip of him probing the slick warmth of your pussy.

"You're so ready for me, it's pathetic," he chuckled cruelly, though his voice was thick with his own desperation. "All that talk about the rules, yet you're practically begging me to break them inside that filthy cunt."

He gripped the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white, his eyes searching yours for any second thought, before he lost his mind completely, forcing himself inside your hot, awaiting body.

You inhaled sharply, squeezing your eyes shut. It was a tight fit. You should've told him the last time you took a real cock was back in the States, a random hookup, but you didn't want to sound inexperienced. You tried to relax your muscles when he struggled to put it inside, but he seemed to recognize the tension.

"Hey..." his voice was softer now, muttered all while kissing you shoulder. "Relax, cariño..." Javier whispered, joining your foreheads.

"I- I don't know if it's gonna fit... Its been a while." the look in your eyes was pathetic and something in his heart stung.

"Chica, relax... Close your eyes... Just like that, good girl."

The praise seemed to work on your stiff body that was slowly melting into his experienced hands.

"That's it... Fuck, yes." he bottomed out inside your tight walls, his head falling back in ecstasy.

You whimpered, feeling so full. So goddamn full...

"She's trying to swallow me whole, baby... Sucking me in like a whore's hole." he pushed forward with the sentence, rebirthing with the feeling of the warm, wetness enveloping him.

"Please... Fuck me." you looked up at him with those doe eyes and he just hadn't been able to tune out your pretty pleas.

"You want it?" he hissed against your neck, his breath coming in hot, frantic bursts. "Fucking take it."

He didn't give you time to adjust before he was moving. He established a rhythm that was purely for the sake of his pleasure - fast, deep, and punishingly raw. The desk rattled rhythmically against the floorings, the sound of skin-on-skin slapping together filling the air, drowning out the distant hum of the city outside.

He was breathing your name into the crook of your shoulder, his stubble burning your skin, his hands moving to your waist to hoist you even higher, meeting every one of his thrusts with an animalistic groan.

"Don't you dare close your eyes," he commanded, his face inches from yours, his pupils blown out until his eyes were nothing but void. "I want you to see exactly who’s ruining this pussy. I want you to remember how my cock felt deep inside your belly."

"Oh my God! Yes, yes, yes... Javi..." you moaned, your toes curling.

He shifted his weight, leaning back just enough to slide one large, calloused hand between your bodies. His fingers were slick and hot as he found your center, his thumb assulting your clit with a sudden, steady pressure that made you see stars.

"Yeah, that’s it," he growled against your ear. "Grind against me, sweetie. Show me how much of a polite girl you really are when you're being screwed like a common whore on your Boss's desk."

His thumb didn't stop, circling with a relentless, punishing speed that caused your juices to leak down your ass. He watched your face, his eyes hooded and dazed, devouring every hitch of your breath and every roll of your eyes.

"You like the way this feels? Knowing anyone could walk in and see the embassy’s intern with her skirt on my floor, taking cock like she’s starving?" He leaned in, his teeth catching the sensitive skin of your neck, biting. "Tell me, reina. Does it make you come faster, knowing those assholes in the hallway were right about you all along?"

You could barely form a thought, let alone a sentence, as his pace increased. He was hitting the back of your throat with every deep, heavy thrust, while his thumb continued to ruthlessly tease that tiny, overstimulated bud.

"I bet you've been thinking about my hand here for months," he hissed, his movements becoming more frantic, more chaotic. "Imagining what I’d do to you while I was giving you orders. Well, here I am. Am I being thorough enough for you? Are you getting exactly what you asked for?"

He wasn't waiting for an answer anymore. He saw the way your eyes were starting to glaze over, felt the way your nails scratched his bicep, his ribs and back, heard the way you moaned his name like a prayer.

"That’s it... Give it to me, muñeca." he rasped, his own breath breaking as he felt the first shivers of your orgasm. "Come on my cock, come..." he growled, nearing his own release.

"Javi, I'm coming...!" your brain shut down, living on pure ecstasy and pleasure. Your pussy clutched him like a vise, milking him dry as he came inside you, filling the empty pocket of the condom.

"Fuuuck..." he groaned with one last thrust, collapsing on your sweaty body.

For a long minute, he didn't move. He just held you, his fingers still twitching where they were buried in your hair. Then, with a low, coarse groan, he pushed himself up on his elbows.

His hair was a disaster, his pupils were slowly shrinking back to their normal size, and his favorite shirt was a wrinkled heap on the floor. He looked at you with a mixture of deep satisfaction and the dawning realization of what they’d just done.

"Javi, huh?" he rasped, a ghost of a smirk pulling at his swollen lips. He reached out, his thumb catching a stray tear of overstimulation on your cheek. "Didn't know we were on first-name basis." he teased.

He pulled out slowly, the sound of the latex being thrown to the bin making you both flinch in the quiet. He turned his back to you for a moment, cleaning himself up with a haste that felt masculine and slightly far too jarring after the intimacy of the last ten minutes.

He buckled his belt the heavy click of the metal ending the session. When he turned back around, he picked up your blouse from the floor and tossed it to you.

"Get dressed," he said. The stern voice was back, but it was slightly softer around the edges. "I’m driving you back to your place. Can't let you walk right into the morning shift looking like... Well, looking like that."

"Like you just fucked my brains out?" you chuckled, still feeling slightly dizzy.

He leaned over the desk, his hand landing right next to your hip as he watched you button up.

"Something like that" his voice dropped an octave. "After this, not a word falls from these pretty lips, yeah?" he left a rough kiss on your shoulder. "You did a hell of a job today." he smacked your butt lightly.

ㅤ

Javier drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift, his mind still buzzing with the sticky memory of your touch. He glanced over at you, wanting to make a joke about your 'resolve' for the job, but the words died on his tongue.

Your head was tilted back against the seat, your lashes creating long, dark shadows over your flushed cheeks. The adrenaline and dopamine that had carried you through the night had finally run out, leaving you in a soft, heavy slumber. You looked small in the passenger seat, your worn blouse still a little rumpled, a stray lock of hair stuck to the corner of your drooling mouth.

"Stubborn girl," he muttered, but his voice lacked any of its usual bite. It was thick with a reluctant tenderness.

He slowed the car as he pulled up to a red light, the neon sign of a nearby greasy pub washing the interior in a hazy red glow. He reached into the backseat and grabbed his heavy leather jacket - the one that still smelled of his cologne, tobacco, and the faint, lingering scent of sex.

Carefully, as if he were handling something fragile, he leaned over. He draped the jacket over you, tucking the collar gently under your chin.

You stirred slightly, your nose wrinkling as you caught his scent, and you let out a tiny, contented sigh, snuggling deeper into the oversized leather.

"Javi..." you mumbled into the collar, your eyes never opening.

He didn't pull his hand away immediately, instead he let his knuckles brush against your hot cheek, lingering there for a second longer than he probably should have.

"Sleep it off, sweet thing." he whispered, turning his attention back to the road as the light changed back to green. "You earned this after tonight. Real good performance you gave us all..." he mumbled to himself.

The rest of the way was spent in a comfortable silence, keeping his speed steady and his eyes on the road, looking less like a hardened agent and more like a man built with flesh, blood and emotion.

When he pulled up to the driveway of your hotel, the engine died with a final, heavy shudder, leaving the car in a thick darkness. Javier looked over at you again. You hadn't moved an inch, still buried under his heavy leather jacket, looking almost too peaceful for a woman who had just spread her legs in front of her Boss.

He knew he should wake you, watch you stumble into the filthy lobby, and drive away to his own empty apartment and process everything that has happened. But when he reached out, his hand paused, he hesitated.

"Nena." he whispered. You didn't even twitch.

With a resigned sigh, Javier climbed out of the car and walked around It, opening the passanger door with a quiet clink. He scooped you up with ease, your head falling naturally into the crook of his neck as if it has always belonged there. You were a warm, soft weight in his arms dusted with brown hair - a stark contrast to the cold, calculated persona he created.

He crossed the empty hallway in long, purposeful strides and carried you all the way to your room. Once inside, the moonlight filtered through the light curtains, painting the bed in white sheen. He laid you down gently, your body sinking into the mattress. As he reached down to retrieve his jacket and leave, your hand shot out, your fingers curling around his wrist, just like earlier.

"Stay," you murmured, your voice small and dusted with sleep. You opened your eyes just a peek, the big doe eyes from the office returning.

Javier froze, his silhouette cast by the silver light of the window. "I shouldn't." he rasped, his thumb subconsciously stroking the skin of your arm. "I've got a meeting at six, and if I’m seen leaving your room in the morning, you know what happens..."

"Just for an hour, until I fall asleep." you lied, your grip tightening. You scooted over, patting the empty space beside you. "The bed is cold... And you're already here."

He stood there for a long beat, the logic of the big bad DEA agent warring with the hunger of just a man. The man he was won.

"One hour," he grumbled, though he was already kicking off his boots.

He didn't take off his clothes, just shed his holster and laid down beside you. The second he was comfortable, you crawled into his side, resting your head on his chest and putting a hand against his heartbeat. Javier let out a long, heavy breath, his arm wrapping around you to pull you flush against him.

"You're a real trouble, you know that?" he whispered into the crown of your head, his chin resting on your hair.

"Mhmm..." you hummed, already drifting back under the comforting spell of slumber "A sexy trouble."

He didn't argue. He just held you tighter, his eyes closing as he let the quiet of the room shielded you from the outside world. He knew he wouldn't be leaving in an hour - with you all over him like that? It was impossible. For the first time in a long time, Peña didn't think about work when falling asleep. His mind was occupied by a certain intern, stubbornly wiggling her way under his skin.

ㅤ

The morning sun fell through the curtains of the hotel room, far brighter and less forgiving than the moonlight of last night. You reached out, your hand sweeping across the sheets, expecting to feel the warmth of the man, occupying your bed.

Instead, you found only stiff, wrinkled duvet.

The killing silence of the room hit you first, followed closely by the dull ache between your thighs - a physical reminder of exactly how much 'work' had been done on that desk. You sat up with a groan, the sheets slipping down your chest and pulling around your bruised hips. Your muscles were sore, and your skin felt sensitive where his stubble had caressed you throughout the night.

"Of course he left, you silly girl." you whispered to yourself.

Then came the familiar clatter from the small kitchen, followed by the rich, earth scent of Colombian coffee - red and citrus fruit. You got up, but the second your feet hit the floor, your knees buckled slightly. You ended up waddling strangely toward the doorway, your pelvis protesting during every movement.

Javier was standing at the counter, his back to you. He looked quite decent despite the hustle of the night. His shirt was tucked in, though his tie was still missing. He was plating some eggs and toast, the only things he's found in the cabinets.

"I thought you said you had a meeting with the Ambassador at six." you bit back the smirk pushing onto your face, leaning heavily against the doorframe for support.

Javier turned, a mug of coffee in one hand. He scanned you from the bottom to the top - hair reminding him of a nest, eyes puffy from sleep, and walking as if you’d just spent twelve hours bouncing on a horse's back. He actually had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

"I did," he mumbled, his body turning towards the stove again "I called it in. Told them we can arrange the meeting later... Who the fuck makes people meet with the Ambassador at six in the morning? For Christ's sake..." he cursed under his breath, making you giggle.

He walked over, handing you the coffee. As you reached for it, you winced again, shifting your weight in a clumsy manner.

"You're a brute, Javier Peña," you muttered, though you took a grateful sip of the fresh roast. "I feel like every bone in my body has been crushed."

He let out a low, huffing laugh and brushed the lock hiding your face . "Yeah, I can see that. You’re walking like a newborn giraffe."

"Hey!" you protested, swatting at his arm, though even the soft swing of your arm made you wince.

"Tell you what..." he said, his voice dropping into that deep grumble again, "You’re staying here today. I’ll tell the Ambassador you've caught that stomach bug going around the Embassy. If any of the boys sees you walking like that, they’ll know exactly whose desk you were whimpering on, and I'm not in the mood for their bullshit."

"A day off?" You arched an eyebrow, leaning into his heat. "Is that the special treatment all the girls working with you receive?" He smirked, putting on his jacket.

"Don't get used to it." he said sharply, slaping your butt. "Get back in bed. Eat. If I See you in the office today, I will personally tell them how you were grinding that greedy pussy against me."

Your cheeks turned a deep crimson colour and he left you just like you were standing, grabbing his gun from the table.

ㅤ

You walked through the Embassy with your chin up, just like he’d told you to, but the air in the bullpen was already thick with unsaid words.

You hadn't even reached your desk when you saw him. Your lover was leaning against the edge of Wilson’s stall a file in one hand and a steaming cup of black coffee in the other. He looked like any other day - rumpled shirt, sunglasses tucked into its collar, and that same unreadable, stony expression. He didn't even look up when you walked in.

"Look who’s back from the dead," Wilson spun in his seat, leaning back in the chair with a smirk that made your skin crawl. "Feeling better? This stomach bug must've been awful, huh, Dolly?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but Javier cut in, his voice flat.

"She’s fine, Wilson. Focus on the logs before I find someone else to do your job."

For a split second, you thought he was defending you. Then, he finally shifted his gaze to you. There was no warmth. No trace of the man who had been in your bed just yesterday. His eyes were like deep wells, where all emotion was drowned in the void.

"Nielsen’s back," Javier said, nodding toward the burly agent currently checking his sidearm at the next desk. "You’re back on his detail. He’s heading down to the docks to verify the cargo manifests we recieved yesterday."

The words felt like a slap. After everything, he was tossing you back to Nielsen like you were just another piece of equipment to be handed off and replaced.

"I thought I was finishing the report on the white-shirt target," you said, trying to keep your voice firm. "The photos I took-"

"The photos were a start." Peña interrupted, his voice dropping into that dismissive grumble. He stepped closer, but only to drop a heavy stack of paperwork onto your desk. "Nielsen will handle the field follow-up. You’re an intern. You go where I say you go. Right now, Nielsen needs a pair of eyes to record the ID numbers."

He leaned in slightly, his scent, that familiar mix of tobacco and expensive cologne, filling your lungs. For a heartbeat, you expected a wink, a whisper, literally anything that said it was just an act.

Instead, he looked you dead in the eye and said...

"Try to keep your hands off your vest today. Nielsen doesn't need another twitchy amateur on his head." he turned on his heel and walked away toward his private office without a second glance.

"Come on, kid." Nielsen sighed, grabbing his jacket. "The docks aren't going to watch themselves. Move it."

As you gathered your things, you could feel Wilson’s eyes on you, the satisfaction in them. It was clear, the special treatment was over the moment he stepped out of your bed.ㅤ

ㅤ

The day at the docks was a blur of concrete, sweaty air, and Nielsen’s irritating humming. Every time you zoomed the camera lens at a shipping container, you didn't see crate numbers, you saw the way Javi had looked at you in the pub, his office and the way he had looked through you yesterday's morning.

The confusion you felt bubbling inside your chest was substancial. Was it just a game to him? A way to pass a slow evening before returning to the real world? The crude way he’d dismissed you - the threat to tell the office about your intimacy, even if he meant it as a joke - it all made you shake in disorientation.

By 7:00 PM, the Embassy was mostly empty. The humming of the air conditioner felt louder in the abandoned place. Nielsen had dumped a pile of handwritten notes on your desk and headed for the nearest bar, leaving you to decipher his messy writing.

Your fingers flew across the keyboard, but your eyes kept drifting toward the glass-walled office at the end of the hall. The light was still on, casting a subtle glow against the floor.

Through the half transparent blinds, you could see the silhouette of him. He was hunched over his desk, sleeves rolled up, a cigarette burning in an ashtray. He looked tired. He looked just like the man who slept in your bed, spooning you, who brewed you fresh coffee, who draped hil leather jacket over your shivering body.

You finished the last entry and closed the files. You took the documents and padded toward his office.

You didn't knock. You just pushed the door open.

And Peña didn't look up. He just blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. "Nielsen’s at the bar. Why are you still here?"

"Finishing the work you said was so important," you said sarcastically, your voice tighter than you intended. You dropped the report on his desk, right over the files he was reading. "I'm not an amateur anymore, Javier. And I’m not a toy you can play with and then put back to the box whenever you feel like it."

He finally looked up. The shadows under his eyes were deep. There was just a deep, hard exhaustion.

"You're still talking..." he muttered, leaning back in his chair. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, his eyes tracking the movement of your throat as you swallowed. "I told you to get a grip. This is the job." he gestured to the empty office. "It doesn't matter what had happened in between us."

"It matters to me." you stepped closer, resting your hands on the very desk he had been fucking you on not even two days ago. "You can't treat me like a... Like I'm something more than an intern and then leave me, making me wait for you to be 'in the mood' for the emotional intimacy."

Javi stood up slowly. He was much taller than you, his presence filling the small office until the air felt thin again. He walked around the desk, stopping just inches from you. He didn't touch you, but the heat coming off him was a making your knees buckle.

"You want the truth?" he hissed, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "The truth is that we're in no position to be making demands. Not me, not you. If they even catch on that the rumors aren't just rumors, they’ll ruin you. They’ll send you back to DC with a black mark on your record before you can even pack your bags."

He reached out, his hand hovering near your jaw before he pulled it back, clenching it onto his belt.

"I’m an ass because it keeps you safe." he leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. "Tell me again how I’m treating you like a toy while I’m sitting here at eight o’clock at night waiting for the sound of your footsteps."

You didn't melt. For the first time since you’d met him, the undeniable pull of Javier Peña wasn't enough to make you forget the sting of his words earlier that morning.

As his breath brushed your ear, you stepped back, creating a gap of air between you. You pushed his chest, your palms hitting the solid muscle of his sternum with enough force to make him blink.

"You're literally doing this right now, stayin' late and waitin' for the office to go empty, because you know I'll be here." you snapped, your voice echoing off the glass walls. "Don't you dare play the 'I'm doing this for you' card, Javi. That’s a shitty excuse and you know it."

He straightened up, his eyes narrowing as he watched you pull away. The exhaustion in his face was quickly being replaced by a sharp, defensive glimmer of anger.

"You don't get to treat me like an idiot in front of Nielsen and a 'greedy' slut in bed, then act like you’re some messiah protecting my career." you said, your voice trembling with a mix of defiance and hurt. "If you were worried about my reputation, you wouldn't have kissed me in the first place. That wasn't for the Ambassador. That was for you."

"Watch your tone," he warned, his voice dropping into these dangerous, low waves.

"Or what? You'll fire me?" You let out a harsh, dry laugh. "You already sent me to the docks to count crates. You’ve already tried to make me feel small. It didn't work. I’m not some girl who’s going to sit in a corner and wag my tail happily every time you decide to be 'nice' behind closed doors."

You stepped back into his space, pointing a finger at his chest. "I’m an adult. If I’m willing to take the risk of being seen with you, that’s my choice. But if you’re too much of a coward to treat me with a fraction of basic respect when the moon goes down, then stay away from me. End of story."

"You're finished?" he asked quietly, his eyes boring into yours, jaw working something hard.

"I'm finished bein' treated like a scum by my own fuckin' Boss." you spat, grabbing your bag from the guest chair.

Just then he moved. He didn't grab your arm like earlier, but he stepped in front of the door, blocking your exit. He was breathing shallowly, the desperate man from a few days back returning.

"You think this is easy for me?" he hissed, leaning down into your face, your noses bumping against each other. "Watching you walk around this office and having to pretend I don't know the exact sounds you make when-" he cut himself off, rubbing a calloused hand over his face. "Fine. You want respect? You want to be treated like an adult? Then understand that this world is filthy. I am a filthy man. And if I let you get too close to me, the dirt swallows you."

"Maybe I don't care about the dirt, Javi." you whispered, your defiance softening just enough to let the words flow from your mouth. Your soft hand touched his cheek, caressing the stubble with your thumb. "I just care about the man who cares about me, who makes me feel seen. And right now, I don't even know who he is."

You circled him, making your way to the exit. The click of the door lock echoed in the silent office as you stepped out, leaving him breathing in the dark with the sting of your palm still burning on his face. You didn't look back. You didn't give him the satisfaction despite the longing you felt inside.

ㅤ

The next three weeks were a blur of 'professional' coldness.

Javi was back to being a ghost. He was there - present, running the records, leading briefings, slamming files onto desks, but he never looked at you. If your eyes accidentally met his during a meeting, he’d shift his gaze as if you were part of the furniture, not even a person anymore.

He kept you glued to Nielsen’s side. He kept you buried in archives. He gave you the protection you’d mocked him for and it was suffocating.

But Javier Peña wasn't such a good actor as he thought he was.

One morning, you found a filling on your desk that you hadn't finished yet. Looking inside, you've found a corrected version of your work, refined with his personal notes on how to improve your reports in the future. No signature, of course, however, you could smell the faint aroma of his cigarettes on the paper.

You knew how he was feeling, because you felt the same goddamn way but weren't about to come back to him, when everything that happened was on him. You weren't that desperate yet.

ㅤ

That was until the humid, heavy heat embraced Bogota. You and Nielsen were sent to patrol the fourth sector with a larger force. At first, it was boring, as always - the only entertainment being Nielsen’s constant, off-key humming. Then, one man from the lead car spotted three campanas huddled together, talking rapidly into their radios. For a second, it was quiet. Too quiet. Then came the roar of three black motorcycles, and everything turned into chaos.

The radio in the office had been nothing but static and fragmented sentences for the last twenty minutes. Then, Nielsen’s voice broke through, distorted and breathless: "Ambush... Sector four... We’ve got a man... No, two men hit- And the intern's-..."

The sound Javier made was animalistic. It was a strangled, guttural noise as he lunged for the radio, his knuckles white as he screamed for a location.

By the time the truck skidded into the motor pool, Javier was already there, his tie gone, his shirt sleeves pushed up his forearms. He didn't wait for the vehicle to fully stop. He ripped the door open.

You were slumped against the seat, your face as pale as a sheet. The shoulder of your blouse was soaked, a dark, blooming maroon that looked black under the harsh white lights.

"Out of the way! Get the hell out of my way!" Javier roared, pushing through the medical unit with enough force to make them all stumble.

"Javi, I'm okay..." you breathed, the word caught in your throat as the movement of the car sent a spike of fresh pain through your arm.

"You're okay, you're okay, you're going to be fine." he was chanting. It sounded like he was saying that to calm himself, not you. He was pacing in small circles around the car as the medics tried to get a bandage on the wound.

"Javier, it's just a graze, it went through." Nielsen tried to intervene, putting a hand on his shoulder. Javier swung around, his eyes wild, looking like he was ready to strangle his own, most dedicated man.

"A graze? There’s a hole in her! There’s a fucking hole in her because I sent her to that hell-hole!"

He turned back to you, his hands hovering over your skin, terrified to touch you yet so terrified to let go. His eyes were vibrating with a panic so raw it was embarrassing for an agent of his rank.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice breaking. He cupped your face with his hands, his palms smelling of bourbon he was calming himself with. "How are you feeling?" you chuckled weakly, looking into those eyes.

"Alive. Nielsen pushed me to the floor... If it hadn't been for him..." your trailed off, searching for the familiar face of your colleague. Peña followed your gaze, finding Nielsen standing by the edge of the ambulance. Javi gave him a solemn nod, a silent 'Sorry' for his previous behaviour and a "Thank you' for saving the only thing worth keeping.

ㅤ

After you had been stitched up and handed a heavy prescription for antibiotics, Javier didn't even ask, he simply drove you straight to his place.

"Javier, I said you could give me a ride, but to my place." you mumbled. Even in this state, hazy and partially drugged, you were still a stubborn mess. The sight of it made him smile. A real, genuine smile. "I'm not... I'm not going to occupy your priceless time..."

"If I'm not mistaken, your right arm was almost shot off, and you're living by yourself in a cramped hotel room." he countered, his voice firm as he pulled into his driveway. "You need someone to look after you. Even if it’s just for a few days."

He paused, his gaze lingering on your features - the way your nose wrinkled in protest, your knitted brows, and those drowsy, heavy-lidded eyes. A mess. A fucking beautiful mess. The mess he’d wanted to kiss right in front of the entire embassy the moment he realized you were alright.

ㅤ

He carried you inside as if you weighed nothing, his movements quick but still gentle. Once he sat you down on the edge of his bed, the silence of the apartment felt honest in a way the office never was.

He knelt between your knees to help you out of your shoes, his hands finally stopping in their shaking. He looked up at you, his face softened by the dim lamp on the nightstand.

"I thought I’d lost the only thing that made this godforsaken city worth waking up for." he whispered, his voice thick. "When I saw that truck pull in... I felt my heart stop."

He took your good hand, pressing a tender kisses to your knuckles. "I need you to forgive me. For the things I said. For leaving you during that morning, for acting like you were a problem meant to be hidden, when in reality I was trying to protect my own head. And I almost let you go, thinking you didn't matter to me."

You blinked slowly, the painkillers making the world feel like it was made of pink cotton candy. You leaned forward, your forehead thumping softly against his.

"Javi..." you mumbled, a loopy smile spreading across your face. "You smell like cheap bourbon and cigarettes... It’s a very manly scent. Very big bad DEA agent aroma..."

He let out a deep, wet laugh, his forehead still pressed to yours. "Is that the drugs talking?"

"Maybe," you whispered, reaching out to clumsily poke his cheek. "But also... You have really nice eyelashes. I wanted to tell you that when you were yelling at me earlier. I was like, 'He’s so mean, but he has so many eyelashes. Like a cow. A very grumpy, very handsome cow.' And now I'm jealous."

Javier closed his eyes, his shoulders finally dropping as the last of the adrenaline left him. He let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, leaning into your clumsy touch.

"You're ridiculous." he breathed, his voice full of a tenderness he usually kept locked deep inside. "Completely ridiculous."

"You looove this 'stray'" you mumbled, your head drooping onto his shoulder, drooling over his shirt as the drugs pulled you toward slumber. "And you're not allowed to send me back to DC, because they don't have... They don't have you in DC. And I need those sun-kissed eyelashes. I need you."

"You were never a stray, nena." his arms wrapped around you with careful, protective strength. "I'm right here. For as long as you'll have me."

ㅤ

The next morning, you woke to a dull, pulsing ache in your right shoulder, a reminder that the painkillers were finally wearing thin in your bloodstream. You frowned, shifting against the weight of a heavy, warm arm draped over your waist. As your mind cleared, the memories of the previous day came rushing back in a blur of pain.

"J-Javi?" your throat felt sore. "Ugh, I feel like I've been hit by a truck..." you mumbled into the pillow.

"You were hit by a bullet, nena. 'S practically the same thing." his voice rumbled, the vibration deep and comforting against your good shoulder.

It hit you then, not just the shooting, but the things you’d said afterward. The silly, crazy things you told him and the way you’d forgiven him before he’d even finished apologizing. You realized with a start that you would have done it even if you’d been completely sober.

"How’s the pain?" Javi asked, shifting to prop himself up on one elbow. He cupped your cheek, his thumb smoothing over your skin with a gentleness that felt entirely yours.

"Better..." You looked up at him, an impish glint returning to your eye. "Mr. Cow." He rolled his eyes, but he couldn't hide the lopsided grin tugging at his mouth.

"I'll make us something to eat," he whispered, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

"Don't..." you whined, the remnants of the drugs still making you feel like a stubborn child. You didn't need the food, you wanted the warmth of him.

"You have to, cariño. Can't take antibiotics on an empty stomach," he said with that tone he used when he was being protective. "I'll be back in a second."

And he was. He didn’t run away like he had so many times before, hiding behind a desk or a whiskey glass. He fed you, changed your dressing, made sure the antibiotics were taken on time, and bathed you with a tenderness that felt almost like a forbidden fruit. He stayed beside you when the drugs made you a total pain in the ass, answering every one of your stupid questions without a single complaint.

"You're far too good to me, Javi..." you whispered one evening, watching him prepare the bed for the night.

"Oh, I know I am, trust me." he jabbed and you were already lifting your arm to poke him in the ribs but the physical restriction caught up with you mid-motion. Instead you settled for sticking your middle finger.

"Real ladylike, Ma'am." he chuckled as he stretched out on the fresh sheets.

You joined him, curling against his chest. You sought his warmth like a kitten these days, though it was not only the heat you were after.

"I wanna have sex with you." you said matter-of-factly, looking him dead in the eye.

"The doctor said you should take it easy, let the wound heal. You barely got your stitches removed and you're walking behind me all day, saying one thing." he looked down at you, he was so close that his mustache tickled your cheek.

He stayed like that for a long moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing shallow. You could feel the battle going on inside him, the responsible agent fighting the man who had been starved of your touch for weeks.

"We can go real gentle, Javi." the whisper caressed his lips. "Just... Please." you gave him your best puppy eyes.

"You're a complete manipulator." he sighed, closing his eyes for a second. "You know what you're doing to me..."

"Is it working?" you grinned, starting to hump his thigh.

He inhaled the bedroom air sharply, his big hand stopped your needy hips. Finally he looked at you again.

"We're doing this my way. I do all the work while you just lay and look pretty, yeah? And if anything hurts you - you tell me right away, understood?" he traced your jaw with his thumb.

"Yes, Sir." you couldn't help yourself. The tease made his jaw clench in that way you loved.

"Don't you dare..." he grumbled although you felt the way his lips tilted upwards when he kissed you.

The kiss was slow, tender, like he was afraid you'd disappear again, like the big bad city would swallow you whole. He shifted, his movements slow and calculated, his eyes locked on yours to catch even the slightest flinch of pain. But there was no pain - only the heat of him, the scent of soap and mint toothpaste, and the overwhelming realization that for the first time since you'd arrived in Bogota, you were exactly where you belonged.

He began to undress you with a glory that felt almost like a prayer. His hands, usually so steady and efficient when handling a weapon, trembled as he eased the fabric over your good shoulder, then carefully, oh, so carefully, down your injured arm. When the bandage was finally revealed, white and naked against your skin, he leaned down and pressed a soft loving kiss to the thin skin just an inch beside the wound.

"Javi..." you breathed, your fingers tangling in his hair.

"Stay still." he commanded softly, but it wasn't an order, rather a plea.

He worshipped your body like you were the God you once saw in him. His mustache grazed your ribs, traveling down the softness of your stomach and in between your thighs. He took in the scent of you, the heat of your skin, and he could've sworn that if you strangled him with your thighs right then and there, he'd die a happy man.

His tongue finally licked a gentle stripe through your folds, those perfect, puffy lips closing on your pearl, flicking, sucking. Your back practically arched off the bed and you were already calling his name.

"Shh, easy..." he muttered against your tender flesh, licking your pussy clean from the nectar you were weeping for him. "Fuckin' deliciosa..."

With the way his mouth was working you, the steady rythm of the suction made you come faster and harder than ever again. Javi drank up all of your juices, leaving a single, tender peck on your overstimulated clit.

"The sweetest pussy I've ever had..." he licked his lips clean for emphasis, wiping the rest of your slick with the back of his hand. "You good?" he asked and you giggled with eyes half closed.

"I'm good, baby." he nodded, acknowledging what you just said. He climbed up your body again, kissing your lips sweetly.

"Just tell if it hurts..."

You felt the tip of him teasing your entrance. When he finally pushed inside you, you felt him pulsing around you. He started slow and gentle, just as he promised. For the whole act he held you caged in his arms, his eyes locked on yours.

The eye contact was what finally undid him. Looking at you while he was still inside you made the weeks of distance and the horror of the shooting feel like a distant bad dream. He was trying to be the man the doctor ordered, the one who took it easy for his woman, but the friction and the way you breathed his name against his lips were too much.

He felt your muscles tighten, pulling him deeper, and he let out a sharp groan. His rhythm broke. The promise of gentleness vanished, replaced by a desperate, sloppy pace. He was a man who had been starving, and you were the only thing that could fill the hunger.

"Javi…" you gasped, feeling the shift in him.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body shaking with the effort. With one last, deep push, he stiffened, his breath caught in a choked sound as he came, painting your walls white, his heart thudding violently against your own.

"Mierda, nena... Lo siento." he muttered, embarrassed as he rolled slightly to his side to keep from crushing your healing arm. "I didn't mean to... It's just been a long time. And it’s... It's you."

You let out a soft, sleepy laugh, reaching up to stroke the back of his head.

"Don't apologize, Javi. I think that’s the biggest compliment you’ve ever given me." you kissed his temple gently. "Thank you..."

You let out a long, content yawn as he tucked you against his side, his arm a warm, protective weight that kept you safe. The fear of the Embassy, the black marks on your record, and the chaos of the city outside the window felt miles away.

"Eres mi vida, ¿sabes?" he whispered against your skin, his voice thick and certain. "Lo eres todo."

[vetornic]

The face I hit after announcing a new fic and struggling with three words for a whole day. Anyway he's so pretty I wanna kiss his cheeks (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

YOU. WILL. WRITE. oh you want to write so bad. all the motivation is here. the plot is so good. words come to you so naturally. YOU ARE GOING TO WRITE. RIGHT NOW.

[vetornic]

Smokes 'n' Second Thoughts

.ೃ࿐ Teaser

To read the second (final) part click here.

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader Summary: Being a DEA intern wasn’t the dream, but it beat the suffocating boredom of dull life. At least until the office life started getting to you more than it should - in all cases. Warnings: +18 MDNI, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut (but not yet, you gotta work for it), boss x intern, no mentions of Steve, reader is in her 20s, Javi is in his early 40s, power imbalance, misogyny adequately to the time the story takes place, Javi is an ass, no specific description of reader. Word count: 1.2k

Notes: Hi! I wanted to give you a taste of the new story I am currently working on. Sorry for any mistakes!

Credits: Find those beautiful dividers made by @viviansturns and @cursed-carmine !!!

Criminological apprenticeship in Colombia. Drug Enforcement Administration.

Saying that out loud sounded insane; in fact, it was insane. In your fourth year in university, you should have been playing it safe. Your previous rotations were close to home, to family and friends. But when a former agent, Mr. Hall - your dad's friend - offered you something different, your ambition had overridden your common sense.

Back home, you were the barista of the department, brewing coffee, filing reports under the bored gaze of senior colleagues and sketching psychological profiles of people you’d never meet. Now? You were all alone in a country that felt like a fever dream. The equatorial climate was playing tricks on your head, and your Spanish was barely enough to order a tinto and arepas without pointing.

"In deep shit," you whispered to yourself. That’s exactly where you were. But Mr. Hall said you're a smart girl, that you'll manage.

Yeah, well, it wasn't him, lost among the musty alleys of Bogota, with a faded map in hands that didn't match the reality of the streets. You were already late for a job that, by the way, didn't pay much more than your coffee brewing days.

The sickeningly warm, humid air made you wanna throw up, the sun suddenly felt too sticky on your skin and far too bright in your eyes.

"Fuck me." a sigh left your lips. "Get yourself together, you moron. It's too late to cry now." you talked to yourself and you'd swear it was this goddamn weather turning you into a crazy lady.

Finally, oh, finally you managed to hail a taxi that dropped you at the gates of the U.S Embassy. While paying the driver, you prepared yourself for the rough day ahead.

What a hell of a first impression. Over thirty minutes late, slick with sweat, hair a mess and the mascara you'd applied in the morning was probably creating dark circles around the frame of your eyes.

A real sight, that what you were.

"ID." the guard at the gate frownined slightly, a submachine gun slung over your shoulder, a silent warning - just in case.

After completing the identity check the man escorted you inside. The air conditioning hit you like a wall of ice, the relief was indescribable, a dry, artificial cold that instantly sucked the Bogota humidity off your skin.

The lobby was spacious, almost empty, besides a few uncomfortable looking couches. Behind a massive pane of bulletproof glass stood a U.S. Marine, his voice slightly distorted by a small grainy speaker.

"Good morning, Ma'am. Are you the intern for the DEA?" You nodded ashamedly, the tightness in your throat effectively choked back your words.

"Y-yes, Sergeant. First day." you tried to sound as confident as you could but the way your shoulders closed and shook was an instant giveaway.

"Wait by the seats. No electronics, no cameras. Your escort is coming down."

You sat on a stiff, tacky, navy-blue vinyl couch. To your right, a framed portrait of George Bush stared back at you. The lobby was hushed, save for the distant ringing of a landline phone.

Once again the regret started gnawing at you, doubting your skills and abilities. You were getting homesick, you missed the comfort of your duvet, the soft scent of your cat's fur, your parents' constant nagging, even caught yourself thinking that the misogynistic behaviour of your old workmates wasn't so bad...

Ten minutes later, a man in a rumpled linen suit and a holster visible beneath his jacket pushed through a heavy door. He looked like he hadn't slept since the last presidential election.

"Ma'am? I’m Mills. Follow me. Keep your badge visible at all times. If you lose it, the Marines will tackle you before you hit the exit. Is that clear?"

"Clear," you said, your heart hammering in your clenched ribcage.

As you padded behind the man through the plush, carpeted floors the first thing that hit you was the smell - tobacco and smoke. You never really minded the smell itself, hell, you used to buy pack after pack of yellow Camels in high school, however the concentration and intensity of the odour made your head spin.

Pushing through the thick door, your eyes took in the office. A dozen men sat by wooden desks - some were mumbling to themselves, while others were guffawing at some poor joke their coworker had made.

"That's your desk," Mills said, stopping in his tracks. "right beside the bullpen." he continued. "The boys already brought you some work. If you need anything, I'm just outside, first door on the left."

He gave you a gentle nod and started to walk off, only to pause as if a thought had just struck him. "Boss said he wanted to see you at 9:00 AM sharp. Which... If I'm not mistaken, happened to be almost an hour ago."

Yeah, rub it in, you son of a- Swallowing the thought, you thanked him politely. You took a second to try and freshen up a little, before heading toward the office at the back.

You stumbled upon a door bearing the words Special Agent in Charge. Your knuckles hit the hardwood door. Once. Twice.

"Get in," a grumble vibrated through the wood.

Your shaky hand wrapped around the knob, opening the door to your new world. The office was bathed in a heavy, orange light that clung to the plain furniture, making the dust motes create dreamlike illuminations. For a second, the ticking clock on the wall seemed to skip a beat, and Bogota didn't feel like such a mistake anymore.

Not when the man behind the desk looked like he’d been carved out of shadows and smoke.

You've been charmed by God himself.

He was hunched over a typewriter, a cigarette dangling carelessly from his lips. His hands moved with a rhythmic grace - tack, tack, tack... Ssssst-chunk! He ripped the paper from the machine with a sharp whoosh that made you jump.

"You always show up like this?" he asked. He didn't even look up, his eyes focused on the page he’d just finished.

"Excuse me, Sir?" your voice was barely a whisper.

"Late," he clarified, his voice dropping an octave as he finally looked up. He took a long drag of his cigarette, his eyes tracking you from behind a fringe of dark lashes. "Are you always this late?"

Gosh, they hated you, didn't they? The whole department knew that the dumb newbie girl was late on her day one.

"U-uh, no, Sir. I'm usually very punctual. I got lost. It's my first time in the capital, I-" you were tripping over your own tongue.

"Hundreds of candidates wanted this slot." he interrupted, tilting his head. A slow, mocking smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Yet here you are - standing in my office, taking up their space, and doing it forty minutes late. I could've got someone who really wanted that job."

The magic of the moment evaporated instantly. The arrogance in his tone made your blood simmer. You glanced down at the ID sitting on his desk...

Javier Peña was an absolute asshole.

[cursed-carmine]

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