⟠Ysl's Masterlist âŸ
Hereâs a masterlist to find all my fics! There isn't much for now, but it seemed easier :)
My blog is 18+! Each fic has its own warnings and tags, so please be mindful of them. Enjoy!
One Nice Bug Per Day
dirt enthusiast
I'd rather be in outer space đž

Love Begins
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

No title available
todays bird
noise dept.
Stranger Things

JVL

ç„æ„ / Permanent Vacation
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
i don't do bad sauce passes

@theartofmadeline
h
ojovivo
No title available
YOU ARE THE REASON

Origami Around
seen from Germany
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States
seen from Australia

seen from Bangladesh

seen from TĂŒrkiye
seen from Brazil

seen from TĂŒrkiye
seen from United States

seen from Australia
seen from Canada

seen from United States

seen from T1
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Argentina
seen from United Kingdom

seen from Argentina
@yslgreen
⟠Ysl's Masterlist âŸ
Hereâs a masterlist to find all my fics! There isn't much for now, but it seemed easier :)
My blog is 18+! Each fic has its own warnings and tags, so please be mindful of them. Enjoy!
JOEL MILLER : THE LAST OF US
Fucking Disappointment (dbf!Joel) [Oneshot (for now)]
Youâve always disliked Joel Miller, your dadâs grumpy friend and neighbor. Growing up, he was nothing but short responses and cold glares, never bothering to hide how little he cared to even speak to you. Rude. Dismissive. You never thought you could feel anything for him. But years later, everything feels different. And so does the way heâs looking at you now.
The Tides Between Us (dbf!Joel) [COMPLETED]
The Millersâ beach house was supposed to be a fun getaway : a week of sun, drinks, and celebration for Joelâs 40th birthday. But after that night with Joel, everythingâs suddenly⊠awkward. Joel is cold and distant, because Joel knows better. He wonât cross that lineânot with his best friendâs daughter, not when youâre half his age. Heâs made his share of mistakes, but this wonât be one of them. But Tommy? Tommyâs never been one for restraint, all too willing to take what Joel wonât.
Need Every Inch (no outbreak!Joel) [Oneshot]
Joel needs a last-minute suit for Tommyâs wedding. You happen to be a tailor, one Joel didnât expect to be so attracted to. Maybe those definitely-not-professional jokes you make mean you're not indifferent either?
FRANKIE MORALES: TRIPLE FRONTIER
You Make Loving Fun [ONGOING]
After a bad breakup, you find yourself moving into an apartment loft with three unknown men. You didnât expect them to become such an important part of your life⊠or the way you would feel for the one with the dreamiest set of brown eyes youâve ever seen. -or- The New Girl AU
Requests are open!
You Make Loving Fun
⣠series masterlist âŁ
[ONGOING]
PAIRING: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader
SUMMARY: After a bad breakup, you find yourself moving into an apartment loft with three unknown men. You didnât expect them to become such an important part of your life⊠or the way you would feel for the one with the dreamiest set of brown eyes youâve ever seen.
-or-
The New Girl AU
TAGS: 18+ MDNI, eventual SMUT, no use of y/n, roommates, angst and tension, forced proximity, strangers to friends to lovers, jealousy, idiots in love, falling in love, slow burn
Here on AO3
Chapters
⣠Chapter 1 ⣠Chapter 2 ⣠Chapter 3 ⣠Chapter 4 ⣠Chapter 5
⣠If you want to be tagged, please let me know! âŁ
You Make Loving Fun chapter 3
Masterlist
PAIRING: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader
SUMMARY: Life is starting to feel normal again!
TAGS: 18+ MDNI, eventual SMUT, no use of y/n, roommates, angst and tension, forced proximity, strangers to friends to lovers, jealousy, idiots in love, falling in love, slow burn
AN: HAPPY FRANKIE FRIDAY ! You guys are so sweet with your comments <3 (please don't stop)
Here on AO3 | Wc: 7.6k
Chapter 3: New Normal
âOkay, soâwhoâs the hottest?â
âPatrick!â you snap immediately. âWe havenât even sat down.â
Your friend ignores you completely and drops into the nearest chair in the coffee shop like he owns the place, setting his drink down with purpose. He rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt, then folds his hands together on the table, posture straight, gaze locked on you. You know that look. Itâs the same one he uses on his students; the one that makes teenagers confess to cheating or homework they haven't done. His piercing blue eyes donât waver, patient, unblinking. Waiting.
You roll your eyes, already annoyed. âYouâre unbelievable.â
He doesnât react.
âCome on, I want to know too,â Cate chimes in, sliding a chair out for you before sitting down herself. Her long locs fall over one shoulder in a thick, dark cascade, and she casually sweeps a few back with practised ease, already halfway through the pastry she just bought. She hums softly, clearly pleased with her choice, before looking back up at you with a grin.
âSit,â she insists. âWe havenât seen you since you moved in with those boys. Of course, we want the gossip.â
You sigh, but sit anyway, dropping into the chair and setting your drink down in front of you. You take a sip of your vanilla latte. Itâs⊠fine. Not great. Not like the one from the little cafĂ© near your old apartment. The one where they knew your order before you even spoke. You havenât found anything like it near your new place yet. Another thing to get used to, you guess.
âOkay, first of all,â you say, pointing between them, âyouâre both ridiculous.â
âAnswer the question,â Patrick replies instantly.
âYeah,â Cate adds. âWe deserve to know. You havenât even sent us one picture of them.â
âYeah, because Iâm not about to take secret pictures of my roommates like a fucking stalker just to satisfy you two,â you shoot back.
âA selfie, then?â
âIâm not close enough to them to just go, hey, letâs take a random selfie either,â you argue. âThatâs weird.â
âExcuses, excusesâŠâ Patrick mutters, unfazed. He leans forward slightly, eyes locked on you again. âSo. Are they hot or not?â
Both of them are staring at you now, expectant, relentless. You take another slow sip of your drink, just to annoy them. Patrickâs eye twitches, and Cate kicks your foot lightly under the table.
You sigh.
ââŠFucking hot,â you admit finally.
Cate slaps the table with a burst of laughter. âHell yes!â
A few people glance your way at the noise, and you wince slightly, but your friends donât care in the slightest.
âLikeâall three of them?â Patrick presses.
You nod without hesitation. âYeah. Youâd think at least one of them would be a little bit ugly, you know? Statistically. But no. Theyâre all⊠annoyingly good-looking.â
âWow,â Cate breathes, leaning back in her chair like sheâs processing life-changing information. âThe universe really said compensation.â
âLucky you,â Patrick adds. âAnd you said theyâre nice too, right?â
You nod again.
He scoffs, shaking his head. âDo you realise how rare that is? A girl moves in with three random guys and doesnât end up in a horror story? When you told us, I was this close to staging an intervention.â
Cate nods emphatically. âSame. Like, this never happensâbest case scenario? Weirdos. Worst case? Full-on creeps. So lucky.â
âI meanâŠâ You shrug, wrapping your hands around your cup. âI donât know how lucky I am, considering I only ended up there because my fiancĂ© cheated on me.â
The words come out lighter than they used to a few weeks ago, but they still land a bit too emotionally for your liking.
Patrickâs expression shifts immediately, his mouth tightening slightly. âFuck that guy,â he mutters. âLuke was never good enough for you anyway.â
Cate hums in agreement, her expression softening.
You let out a small breath, staring down into your drink. âYeah, yeah. I know. At least it happened before the wedding, right?â You repeat it easily now. Youâve said it enough times over the past few weeks that it almost sounds like you believe it.
Thereâs a small pause before Cate leans forward again, gently bumping your arm. âOkay, but seriously,â she says, tone lighter now, pulling you back up with her like she knows exactly where your mind went, âtell me everything. Names. Personalities. Whoâs the funniest, whoâs the weirdest, whoâs secretly in love with you alreadyââ
âNo one is secretly in love with me,â you snort.
âYet,â Patrick corrects immediately.
You donât even dignify that with an answer.
âSo,â you start instead, shifting in your seat, âIâve been there for⊠a week now? Weâre Thursday, so yeahâone week.â You take another sip, thinking it through. âAnd honestly? Theyâve been really good roommates so far. They all work during the day, and with my shifts at the bar, we havenât spent that much time together yet. But theyâre nice. The place is always cleanâwhich, I know, sounds stupid, but Iâve lived with a man for years, and he was messier than those three guys combined.â
âBecause Luke was a fucking child,â Patrick mutters.
You wave it off quickly, not wanting to go into it. âYeah, well. I think itâs mostly because of Will. I told you about him, right? The one who showed me the place? He cleans. A lot. Like⊠a lot. I try to do my part, but heâs always like âdonât worry about it, I donât mind.â I think he actually likes it. He just puts on his headphones and starts cleaning when heâs bored.â
âOh my god,â Cate breathes, leaning back dramatically. âA man who enjoys cleaning? Girl. Thatâs not a roommate, thatâs a miracle.â
âIt is,â you admit, âuntil you have to sprint to get your laundry the second itâs done, so he doesnât decide to fold it for you. And Iâm sure he wouldnât be weird about it, but I am not ready for any of them to accidentally handle my underwear. Absolutely not.â
Patrick and Cate both nod immediately.
âValid,â Patrick says.
âDeeply valid,â Cate agrees, raising a hand like sheâs in class. âOkay, but important questionâŠWhat does this Will look like?â
You huff a small laugh. âTall. I mean, theyâre all tall, honestly. But his brotherâBenâis the tallest. Theyâre both blond, short hair. Benâs is a bit longer, I think. And Will has a beard.â You pause, then add, almost as an afterthought, âAlso, random detail, but he has, like, insanely smooth skin. Like⊠suspiciously good. Iâm pretty sure he has a full skincare routine.â
Patrick smiles immediately. âSounds hot. Iâm still gonna need visual proof, though.â
âAnd the last one?â Cate presses. âThe one who helped you move in?â
âFrankie?â you say, a little too quickly, before taking a sip. âYeah. Heâs⊠good-looking too.â
Thereâs a beat of silence. You look up from your drink and find both of your friends staring at you.
âWhat?â you ask, already suspicious.
âThatâs it?â Cate says slowly.
âYeah?â
Cate and Patrick exchange the same look at the exact same time, like creepy twins would in a movie, and you already hate it.
âOh my god,â he says. âYou think heâs cute.â
âWhat? No.â
âYes, you do!â Cate jumps in. âYou totally do. Oh my god, you have a crush!â
âI donât,â you snap, too fast. âI barely know the guy!â
âSo what?â Patrick shrugs. âThatâs how it starts!â
âI donât, okay?!â The words come out sharper than you meant them to.Â
Itâs justâŠYou canât help but hate how they make it sound so easy. Like you could just⊠move on so quickly. Like your heart didnât get ripped out of your chest, what feels like five minutes ago. Thereâs still a part of you, stubborn and fucking humiliating, that hasnât caught up with reality yet. A part that still reaches for Luke in your mind like heâs still yours. Like he didnât choose someone else. Like he didnât make that choice in the most brutal, undeniable way possible. You still think about him when something funny happens. Still catch yourself wanting to text him before remembering you canât. Still miss the version of him that never really existed, or maybe did once, before he became someone you donât recognise. The idea of liking someone again, of trusting someone again, makes you want to curl up and die.Â
You exhale deeply, immediatly regretting your tone. âSorry.âÂ
Cateâs expression softens, and Patrick just gives you a small, knowing look. You donât need to say more for them to understand what you are feeling.Â
âI really donât,â you insist, quieter now. âAnd anyway,â you add, grasping for something more neutral, âhe has⊠someone. I think.â
âOh,â Cate blinks. âI thought they were all single.â
âFrankie has⊠something, I donât know,â you say, frowning slightly. âNot sure what it is exactly. And the brothers? Not sure⊠They havenât mentioned anything.â
Patrick straightens immediately. âOkay. Important follow-up.â
You already know. You sigh. âI can try to find out if they swing your way.â
âYes, please,â he says without hesitation.
Cate snorts into her drink.
You leave your friends an hour later with a smile still lingering on your lips. It had been a while since the three of you actually sat down together like that. Adult life has a way of complicating everything: work schedules, obligations, exhaustion. At this point, you practically need a shared calendar just to find a free slot that aligns for all three of you. Patrick is the easiest; his schedule as a teacher is predictable. But Cate is constantly on the move for work, chasing stories for article after article. And you⊠You live at night half the time.
So yeah. Today was nice. Even if they did spend a solid twenty minutes insisting you invite them over to the loft to âinspect the hot roommates,â which will definitely require military-level planning to organise at this point.
When you push open the apartment door, youâre greeted by the now familiar, comforting scent of the apartment, something clean, a faint hint of whatever detergent Will uses. Frankie is sprawled on the leather couch, one arm thrown over the backrest, a bag of chips resting next to him. The TV casts a soft glow across the room, some movie you donât recognise playing, but he pauses it the second he notices you.
For once, he isnât wearing his cap. His hair is slightly messy, pushed back in uneven strands like heâs run his hands through it one too many times, and somehow it suits him even more. Good-looking, your brain supplies, unhelpfully.
âOhâhey,â he says, giving you a small wave as he hurriedly swallows his mouthful of chips.
âHey, Frankie.â You drop your bag near the entrance, slipping off your shoes before heading toward the kitchen. âWhat are you watching?â
âOceanâs Twelve. Ever seen it?â
You shake your head as you open the fridge, the cool air washing over your skin. The shelves are packed, as usual, a constant reminder of how many people actually live here. Your own little section is slowly starting to fill up as you figure out what to buy and whatâs already shared in the kitchen. Will had made a point of telling you to help yourself to anything on his shelf until you got the hang of things, and the quiet kindness still makes you smile. You grab a fresh bottle of water, condensation already beading along the cold plastic, and close the door with your hip.
âDonât think so,â you say lightly as you make your way back to the living room, settling on the other end of the couch, careful to leave space between you.
âReally?â he says, a little surprised. âItâs fun. You should.â
âWhatâs it about?â you ask, taking a sip.
Just like that, Frankie lights up.
âOh, itâs a heist movie. Well, movies,â he corrects quickly. âThis oneâs the second. Probably my least favourite of the three, actually, but I still like it.â He gestures vaguely toward the screen, already getting into it. âItâs about this group of thieves who rob casinos and stuff. Thereâs action, comedyâit just works, you know? And the cast is huge, likeâGeorge Clooney, Julia Roberts⊠everyoneâs kind of got their own thing, their own skills, and it all comes together in a really cool way. You can tell the director really knew what he was doing.â
He glances over at you mid-sentence, checking if youâre still following, and finds you watching him with a faint, amused smile, eyes soft with interest. Frankie falters a little, his hands lowering as if he just realised how much he was talking. He looks back at the screen, a faint blush creeping up his neck.
âSorry,â he mutters. âDidnât mean to⊠rant.â
âDonât apologise,â you say quickly, âIt actually sounds really good. I should watch it sometime.â
He glances back at you, then at the paused screen.
âI barely started,â he says, a little hesitant. âWe could⊠watch it together?â
He says it so genuinely, you canât help the warmth that settles in your chest. And thatâs exactly why your smile turns a little apologetic.
âI wish I could,â you admit, âbut Iâve only got like forty minutes before I need to leave for work.â
âOhâyeah. Of course,â he replies easily. You catch the way his gaze drops back to the TV, the way he shifts slightly, like heâs pretending he isnât disappointed.
The last thing you want is for Frankie to think youâre using work as an excuse to avoid him. Because the truth is the opposite, you do want to stay. You want to learn more about the quiet, kind-eyed man you suddenly share a home with. You want to become friends with him. With all of them.Â
So you add quickly, offering a small smile: âAnd we should watch the first one first anyway, right?
Frankie looks back at you, surprised, and then he smiles. âYeah. Totally.â
âNext time then.â
âNext time,â he echoes, nodding once.
You take another sip of your water.âYouâre home early today. Finished early?â
âMy afternoon session got cancelled,â he explains. âToo much wind. What about you? Where are you coming from?âÂ
Frankie reaches for the crinkled bag of chips beside him. He grabs a few between his fingers before tilting the bag toward you in a silent offer. You glance at him, a small smile already forming as you lean in and take a few for yourself. Your eyebrows lift slightly in pleasant surprise as the familiar smoky-sweet flavour settles on your tongue. You nod to yourself, clearly pleased, reaching for another without even thinking about it.
âI just got coffee with friends.â
âOh, nice. Did you go to La Nougatine, down the block?â
You blink. âNo. Whatâs that?â
âItâs this little French cafĂ©-bakery,â he says, leaning forward slightly, as he takes a few more chips. âTheyâve got amazing pastries, and honestly, the coffeeâs even better. I go there all the time. You should try itâ
âI will, thanks. So,â you add, shifting a little more comfortably into the couch, âhappy to be home early?â
âVery. My last flight was with this couple of tourists⊠They come back every few months, always end up on my schedule somehow.â He grimaces. âThe husband thinks he knows how to fly. Keeps trying to âhelp,â like, commenting on everything I do. Total bullshit.â
âOh no.â
âOh yes,â Frankie continues. He drags a hand through his hair, and you canât help but follow the movement. âItâs painful, like, man, please just sit down and enjoy the view. Stop trying to impress your wife.â
You laugh at the image. âYou fly helicopters, right?â you ask.
âYeah. Mostly.â He nods. âI can fly civilian planes too, but thatâs not really my thing.â
âIs it very different from what you did in the army?â
He leans back slightly, thinking.
âA bit,â he says. âDifferent models, different purpose. Military helicopters are heavier, more⊠intense. Everythingâs louder. Thereâs more going on all the time. Civilian flying is calmer. Itâs⊠slower, I guess. Compared to the military.â
âI see⊠And you met the Millers in the army too, right?â
âYeah,â Frankie nods, shifting slightly on the couch. âPope and I met Will during basic, then a couple of years later, Ben joined.â
âI see. WaitâŠWhoâs Pope?âÂ
He blinks, like he needs a second to understand. âOhâPope. We told you about him, right? The guy who had your room before?â
You frown slightly. âThe one who moved in with his girlfriend? I thought his name was⊠Santiago?â
âYeah, it is.â Frankie lets out a small laugh. âSorry. Popeâs just⊠what we call him.â
âOh.â You tilt your head, thinking. âIs that like⊠the same thing as you guys calling each other Catfish and Ironhead?â
That gets a reaction. Frankie looks at you, surprised, and just a little embarrassed, like he hadnât realised how obvious the nicknames were.
âUh⊠yeah,â he admits, scratching lightly at his patchy beard.Â
You canât help but smile at his reaction. âI mean, you guys say it all the time. Hard to miss.â He huffs a quiet laugh, glancing away again. âSo whatâs the story there?â you press, curiosity soft in your tone. âCall signs or something?â
He hesitates. âKind of,â he says, eyes still not quite meeting yours. âJust⊠an old thing from basic. Nothing that interesting.â
âAnd Ben doesnât have one?â
âHe wasnât there yet,â Frankie shrugs. âSo⊠no.â
You raise an eyebrow. Thereâs a clear attempt to move on, to let the subject die, so you let it for now. âSo SantiagoâŠyou knew him before the army?â You try instead.
Frankie nods, shoulders relaxing just a little. âYeah. We grew up together. Same neighbourhood, same schools⊠everything. Been friends forâŠâ he trails off, counting under his breath, lips moving slightly. âTwenty-eight years. Damn.â
You let out a soft laugh. âWow. That friendship is older than me.â
Frankie turns his head fully toward you, eyebrows lifting in surprise. âWhat?â His brown eyes catch the warm light, and not for the first time, youâre struck by how nice they are. âHow old are you?â
âTwenty-seven,â you reply easily, tucking one leg under you on the couch. âYou?â
âThirty-five.â
Thereâs a small pause as that settles between you. Eight years separate you. You both seem to register it at the same time, though neither of you comments on it directly.
âAnd the brothers?â
âWillâs a year older than me and Pope,â Frankie says. âSo thirty-six. And BenâŠâ he frowns slightly, thinking, âBenâs turning thirty-two in, like, a monthâ He lets out a quiet breath, almost amused. âActually, I should warn you about that.â
âWarn me?â
âBen takes his birthday very seriously,â he says, a hint of a smile creeping in. âHeâs definitely going to want to throw a partyâ
âOkay. I donât mind, Iâll probably be working anyway. And if not, I can always find somewhere else to stay.â
Frankie straightens a little at that, brows pulling together. âWhy would you leave?â
You blink. âWellâI figuredââ
âNo, I meanâŠâ he shakes his head. âYou live here. You wouldnât have to go anywhere.â
âOh.â
âYou are definitely invited,â he continues, a little more firmly. âBen will make sure of it.â
You feel a small flicker of embarrassment at the misunderstanding, but you cover it with a smile.
âThen Iâll do my best to be there.â
âCool.â Frankie nods, looking satisfied, and leans back into the couch again, one arm stretching lazily along the backrest. âJust⊠donât mention it if you run into our neighbours across the hall, okay? Theyâre real assholes about us having people over.â
âThe old couple?â you ask, thinking back to the brief encounters youâve had with them in the hallway since you moved in. A quick hello, a tight polite smile, nothing more. You werenât planning on updating them on your social life anyway. âNoted.â
âAppreciate it,â he says, glancing at you with a grateful smile. âOhâspeaking of him, Popeâs back from vacation with his girlfriend on Saturday. We were thinking of inviting them over. Would that be okay?â
You blink, a bit surprised by the question. Your mind drifts back to your first night here, to the four of you gathered around the kitchen island, half-eaten pizza boxes spread out, the atmosphere still new but already warmer than you expected. You remember asking, a little hesitantly, about having people over. You had been thinking about Patrick or Cate, having friends over. You also remember Benâs immediate raised eyebrow, the grin he threw your way like he already had ten jokes lined up, and Will stepping in before he could say any of them.
Weâre all adults here, he had said simply. As long as everyone respects the space, itâs fine. If itâs multiple people, just give a heads-up.
Until now, you donât think thereâs been anyone else in the apartment besides the four of you, or at least, no one youâve noticed. Maybe they had people over and were just discreet about it. It wouldnât be surprising, considering how put-together everything here tends to be.
Still, you canât help the small flicker of surprise at the fact that Frankie actually checks with you. That he follows through on something that, from the way it was first explained, sounded more like a loose guideline than a real rule. And Santiago is one of their closest friends. The guy who used to live here. Logically, it shouldnât even be a question. And yet, he asks, makes sure to include you in the decision. You like that, even if youâve only been here a week, he treats you like your opinion matters as much.Â
âOf course.â Then you think about it again, your expression shifting into a small frown. âAh, fuck⊠Iâm working Saturday night. Thatâs too bad, I wouldâve liked to meet them.â
âShit, really?â
âYeahâŠâ you hesitate, then shrug. âUnless you guys wanna come to the bar? Could be nice. I could hook you up with a few drinks and everything.â
Youâre looking right at him when you say it, so you donât miss the slight tick in his jaw. Barely there, like something passed through his mind before he smoothed it over.
âSure, why not?â he says after a second, âIâll ask the guys.â
You nod, and almost offer to text them yourself, thinking about the group chat Ben createdâ3B Roomies đ€ đâmostly used to share grocery lists, or for Ben to drop random TikToks at three in the morning. But then you muse that they definitely have their own group chat and stop yourself.
âGreat, keep me updated,â you say instead, pushing yourself up from the couch. You grab one last chip on your way up, popping it into your mouth. âUgh, I need to go get ready for my shift.â
You stretch your arms over your head, back arching slightly as you work out the stiffness in your shoulders. Your shirt lifts just enough to reveal a strip of skin. You donât notice, but Frankie does. His eyes flick there instantly, then away just as fast.Â
âAnything fun planned for tonight?â you ask, already stepping toward the hallway.
âUhââ he clears his throat. âProbably gonna play something with Ben when he gets back.â He gestures toward the PS5 under the TV.
You grin. âBoysâ night at its finest.â
He huffs a quiet laugh as you disappear into your room.
When you come back fifteen minutes later, your makeup is fresh, your hair a little more put together, and you throw on a light jacket over your outfit for the cooler night air. Frankieâs still on the couch, phone in hand this time, thumb scrolling lazily. He looks up the second you step into the room.
âThe guys are totally up to come to the Crimson on Saturday,â he says, lifting his phone slightly like proof. âIf youâre sure weâre not gonna be a bother.â
âNot at all,â you smile, grabbing your keys. âItâll be great. Iâll make sure you guys get the best table.â
âOhâVIP treatment?â he grins.
âGotta make sure you leave me a great tip,â you shoot back. âOkay, I really need to go if I donât wanna be late. Bye, Frankie!â
âBye. Be safe,â he says, lifting a hand in a small wave. Then, just as youâre about to step outâ âEspecially with that car of yours.â
You burst out laughing immediately. You knew he had wanted to say something since he saw your car on that first day.
âI was wondering how long youâd hold that one in,â you call back, shaking your head as you open the door. You wave once more before stepping out, the door closing behind you with a soft click, his quiet laughter lingering in the apartment.
The bar is a bit crowded tonight, as it usually is on a Saturday night. The Crimson isnât exactly a dive bar, but itâs far from high-end either. It sits comfortably in that perfect middle ground, the kind of place where groups of friends meet for after-work drinks, where people pre-game before heading somewhere louder with worse lighting and fewer clothes. Warm wood lines the bar and tables, deep red leather covers the booths, and the music hums at just the right volume: loud enough to feel lively, but quiet enough that you can still hold a conversation. A dartboard on the far wall is almost always surrounded by a rowdy group, and the staff is reliable, fun, and easy to be with. Overall, itâs a nice place to work.Â
Youâve been on for a couple of hours already. You are finally finishing up with a group of middle-aged women who all insisted on individual margaritas, despite your polite suggestion that a pitcher would be cheaper and faster. They had been adamant about having their own fancy drinks, which meant more work: prepping each cocktail separately, garnishing every glass with lime wheels and salted rims just right. Still, you didnât mind. More drinks meant more money for the bar, and theyâd left a generous tip the moment you set the glasses down.
Once the group happily carried their drinks to their table and no one else was waiting at the bar, you finally pulled out your phone. A couple of new messages were waiting for you.
[3B Roomies đ€ đ] Will [8:32 PM]: Weâre on our way to the bar. ETA 10 mins. Ben [8:33 PM]: LETâS GOOOOO!!!! đ„
You smile and slip your phone back into your pocket. They should be here any minute. A small flutter of nerves settles in your stomach. Thereâs something vulnerable about letting people youâre still learning to know see you at work, like youâre sharing a new piece of yourself with these guys who have suddenly become part of your daily life.
Maybe itâs because Luke always made you feel like working in a bar was slightly embarrassing. He never said it outright, but the way heâd gently suggest you âdo something more with your business degreeâ always carried that undertone. As if being an accountant was somehow superior, even though it sounded like the most soul-crushing job on earth. You never told him that, of course. He seemed happy, and that was enough for you. He just never extended the same kindness to you. You shake your head, pushing the old memories away.
Right on cue, the door swings open. You look up to see your roommates walking in. Ben enters first, sporting a huge grin. The second he spots you, he waves enthusiastically, looking exactly like an excited golden retriever. You canât help but smile at the thought. Behind him, Will walks in with a beautiful woman beside him, dark brown hair, warm eyes, and a timid smile. The three of them head straight toward the bar.
âHey, beautiful,â Ben says immediately, leaning against the counter.
You roll your eyes, already getting used to his constant compliments. âHey, guys. Did you find the place okay?â
âYeah, no problem,â Will assures you, resting his forearms on the bar. He gestures to the woman next to him. âThis is Yovanna, Santiagoâs girlfriend.â
âPlease call me Yov,â she says kindly. âItâs so nice to meet you.â
âYou too!â you reply with a genuine smile. You glance toward the door. âDid you guys take separate cars?â
âSanti and Frankie are smoking outside,â Yov explains. âTheyâll be right in.â
âOh, I didnât know Frankie smoked.â
âHeâs discreet about it,â Ben chimes in, already flipping through the menu resting on the bar. âBecause Will would actually kill any of us if we smoked inside the loft.â
You remember Will asking if you smoked the day you signed the lease; you just hadnât realised how seriously he felt about it.
Will scrunches his nose. âHe usually goes up to the rooftop. That must be why.â
Your eyes widen. âThereâs a rooftop?â
Will and Ben exchange a quick glance.âDid we⊠not tell you?â Will asks, looking genuinely surprised.
âNo, you didnât!â You turn to Yov with an exaggerated can you believe these guys? look. She laughs softly, clearly amused.
âItâs shared by the building,â Will explains. âThe view isnât anything special, but itâs nice. We sometimes do barbecues up there.â
âThat loft is perfect,â you say, half in awe.
âIt would be even more perfect if the building would let me put a jacuzzi up there,â Ben grumbles.
You grin and point at Ben. âOh, yes.â
Will immediately shakes his head. âDonât encourage him.â
âEncourage what?â Frankie asks, appearing beside Will and clapping a hand on his shoulder. He gives you a soft, easy smile. âHey.â
âHey, Frankie,â you reply, smiling back just as naturally. Heâs wearing his usual cap and a jacket you know heâll have to shed soon; the bar is warm, your manager swears the heat makes people drink more. âWe were just talking about putting a jacuzzi on the rooftop.â
Frankie rolls his eyes, but thereâs no real annoyance behind it. âNot you too.â
Youâre about to tease him back when another man slides in next to Yov, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing a quick kiss to her hair. He turns toward you with an immediate, friendly smile. Heâs shorter than the others but solidly built, with broad shoulders that scream former military. Dark curls dusted with grey stand out against his warm olive skin. Of course, he is handsome too.Â
âHey there. Iâm Santi,â he says, grin widening. âBut Iâm sure you already know that.â You offer your name in return, and he nods, looking genuinely pleased. âNice to finally put a face to the name. Heard a lot about you.â
You raise an eyebrow, a little surprised. âOnly good things, I hope?â
âOf course,â Santi laughs. âThank you for having us. I donât know if these animals already said it.â
You wave him off with a smile. âItâs my pleasure, really. Thank you for coming.â You point toward the empty booth in the corner. âI saved you guys the best seat in the house.â
Ben lets out a low whistle. âOh, nice! Wasnât it hard to keep it free on a Saturday night?â
âPerks of being the best bartender here,â you say with a playful shrug. âMy manager loves me, so he was happy to.â
A customer waves from further down the bar, and you notice your coworker is still tied up in the back, so you excuse yourself with a quick âOne second, guys.â You make quick work of the two whiskeys the guy orders, sliding them over with a polite smile. By the time you circle back, Will and Ben are ready to choose their drinks. They both order beers, the older brother happily letting you pick an IPA for him. They head over to the booth to give you space next to the bar.Â
You turn back to Yov, whoâs still scanning the menu with a small, uncertain furrow between her brows.
âIf youâre not sure,â you say warmly, leaning a little closer over the bar, âmy personal favourite is the amaretto sour. Itâs light, a little sweet from the almond, and goes down way too easily.â
Yov looks up, her expression brightening with clear relief. The gratitude in her eyes isnât just for the recommendation, itâs for the fact that youâre talking to her, including her. She lights up the moment she takes her first sip, eyes widening.Â
âOh my god, this is delicious. You werenât kidding.â She gives Santiâs arm an excited little squeeze. âIâm stealing this as my new go-to.â
Santi chuckles and presses a quick kiss to her lips before she slips away to join Will and Ben at the booth. Santi leans in and murmurs something to Frankie that you canât quite hear. Frankie gives him a light, amused shove. Then he turns back to you, resting his forearms on the bar as you put away the ingredients.
âSo,â you say, âwhatâs it gonna be for you guys?â
âYou have wine?â Santi asks, and you flip the drinks menu around and slide it toward him so he can see the selection.Â
âPretentious bastard,â Frankie teases immediately.
Santi flips him off without even looking up from the menu, and you canât help but smile. The easy, brotherly affection between them is obvious. Youâve seen it with how Frankie acts with Will and Ben too, but thereâs something deeper between him and Santiago. A special kind of bond.
âSo Iâm guessing wineâs off the table for you,â you say, amused, glancing at Frankie as you reach for a wine glass. âYou strike me more as a beer guy.â
Frankie pauses for a beat. âNot really.â
âOh, cocktail guy then?â
He hesitates again, then says quietly, âNot really an alcohol guy, actually.â
His tone has shifted, more serious, a little guarded. You finally look up at him properly. Heâs watching you intently, brown eyes steady but careful.
âWhat do you mean?â you ask.
Frankieâs gaze doesnât waver. âWell⊠Iâm sober.â
The words land, and it takes your brain a second to catch up. You pause, processing. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Santiago has gone quiet, subtly watching the interaction without staring too obviously. Later, when you replay this moment in your head, youâll realise he was doing it on purpose, quietly supporting his friend, making sure the new person in their life didnât react badly to something this important.
Frankie is sober. You blink, the information finally settling in. A quiet wave of guilt hits you instantly. Youâd invited him to a bar, offered him drinks like it was the most normal thing in the world. God, you felt like an idiot.
âOhâŠâ you say softly, voice gentler now. âFuck, Frankie, Iâm sorry. I invited you here, and I didnât even realiseââ
He shakes his head before you can finish, offering you a small, reassuring smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.
âNo, itâs okay,â he says, calm and steady. âYou couldnât have known. Iâm fine being hereâ really. Iâve got no problem being around alcohol or in bars. It doesnât bother me.â
âReally?â
âPromise.â
You search his face for any sign of discomfort, but he looks genuinely relaxed, those warm brown eyes honest and kind. Santi stays quiet beside him, but you catch the subtle nod of approval he gives himselfâ like heâs quietly proud of how well youâre reacting.
âShit,â you realise, cheeks warming with embarrassment. âI feel bad. I literally said Iâd repay you for helping me move in with a drinkâŠâ
Frankie lets out a quiet chuckle, low and gentle. âSeriously, donât worry about it. You can find another way to repay me.â
You immediately raise an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. âThatâs quite forward of you, Morales.â
Santiago barks out a loud laugh while Frankieâs cheeks flush a deep red.
âWhat? No! No, thatâs not what I meantââ Frankie stammers.
âSheâs fucking with you, Catfish,â Santi laughs, clearly enjoying his friendâs embarrassment. âGet a grip, man.â
Frankie flips him off, but thereâs no heat behind it. You chuckle too, the tight knot of guilt in your chest finally loosening.
âWhat can I get you then?â you ask, already reaching for a glass. âWeâve got great sodas, mocktails, or just water if you want something simple.â
âA Coke would be perfect. Thanks.â Frankieâs cheeks are still a little pink, and you canât help but find his flustered reaction endearing. Cute, even.
You nod and quickly fix his drink. Santiago decides on a glass of red wine, and soon both men have their drinks in hand. You want to keep talking to them, but a new group of customers pushes through the door, signalling that the night is only just getting started.
âIâll come check on you guys soon,â you tell them. âAnd make sure you ask me for refills, okay? Not the other bartenders.â
They both nod, sending you a few encouraging words before heading over to join the rest of the group in the booth. Frankie gives you one last smile before walking away.Â
You wish you could go with them, but the thought quickly fades as more customers flood the bar. Soon youâre back in the familiar rhythm youâve come to know by heart: moving behind the counter with practised ease, grabbing bottles and ingredients, shaking cocktails, sliding glasses across the wood. Quick, friendly chit-chat with customers, most of them nice and easy to talk to. You and your coworkers have a silent system down; one glance is enough to know when someone needs to step in because a client is staring a little too long or acting a little too weird.Â
The group makes a point of coming up to the bar whenever thereâs a lull, even when their drinks are still half-full. Ben is ridiculously excited when he asks if you know any bartender moves, so you make a little show of it;Â flipping the shaker behind your back, rolling it down your arm, and catching it smoothly before pouring Yovâs next amaretto sour.
Both Ben and Yov are instantly impressed by the basic tricks, clapping like you just performed a magic show. You bow dramatically with a laugh, and you even hear a few claps and cheers from the booth where the rest of them are watching, too.
When things slow down again, you lean in and ask Yov about the vacation she and Santi just took. Her face lights up as she tells you they started in her hometown, visiting family, then turned the move across the country into a proper road trip. She happily pulls out her phone and shows you pictures; scenic stops, silly selfies, and shot after shot of her and Santi looking ridiculously in love. You canât help the small pang of hurt and jealousy that twists in your chest. You used to have memories like that too⊠but now theyâre all tainted by what he did. You shake the thought away quickly and when Yov mentions she doesnât really know anyone in the city outside of this little group, you donât even hesitate.
âWe should hang out sometime,â you say, smiling. âJust us girls.â
The way Yovâs whole face brightens makes your heart feel lighter. You might have just gained a new girlfriend tonight.
A little later, as you finish with a customer, you notice Santiago waiting at the bar with an easy smile.
âAnother glass of wine?â you ask.
âYes, please.â He slides his glass forward. âAnd another Coke for Catfish, if you donât mind.â
You glance toward the booth and notice Frankie is missing, while Yov and the brothers are deep in conversation. âAnother smoke break?â
âIf only,â Santi sighs, a touch weary. You raise an eyebrow, and he adds quietly, âFelicia called him.â
âAh.â Youâre not sure what youâre supposed to say to that, so you just focus on pouring the wine.Â
Santi watches you for a second, then tilts his head. âWait⊠do you know about Felicia?â
âNot really,â you admit, wiping down the bar. âI know theyâre not, like, officially in a relationship or anything, but weâve never really talked about it.â
âCalling whatever Frankie and Felicia have a ârelationshipâ is an insult to the word,â he says, voice dripping with sarcasm.
A small part of you wonders if Frankie would appreciate this conversation happening behind his back, but curiosity wins out. If Santiago is willing to talk, he clearly knows his friend well enough to decide whatâs okay to share.
âNot a fan of what they have, then?â you ask.
âNot a fan of her, actually,â he replies immediately. He catches your widened eyes and grins. âA bit rude, I know. I tried to like her for years, but I just canât.â He pauses. âDonât tell Frankie I said that. He already knows how I feel⊠he just doesnât like hearing it.â
You mime locking your lips and throwing away the key, then frown. âWait â you said years?â
Santi rolls his eyes. âYeah. Years of whatever the hell they call it⊠a situationship? They never want the same thing at the same time, but they also never fully cut it off.â
âThat soundsâŠâ
âBad. I know.â He groans. âBelieve me, Iâve had this conversation with Catfish more times than I can count. Sometimes the man is just a brick wall.â
Youâre not entirely sure why Santiago is telling you all of this. Maybe he just needed to vent, or maybe heâs subtly warning you about the complicated dynamics in the group. Either way, youâre the last person who should be giving relationship advice.
âSorry,â is all you manage.
âNah, Iâm sorry for ranting,â he says, waving it off. âIâm just bitter on his behalf. He deserves better.â
That, at least, you can agree with wholeheartedly. âHe does.â
Santiago takes a slow sip of his wine, the corner of his mouth lifting into a knowing little smile. âBut I have hope things will change soon.â
âOh?â
âCall it intuition,â he says, eyes glinting, âbut something tells me things are gonna change for my boy Catfish.â
Youâre not sure exactly what he means by that, but you raise your glass of water anyway. âWell⊠cheers to that.â
He clinks his glass against yours with a warm smile.
âOkay, I need to ask,â you say, leaning on the bar with a curious grin. âThe nicknames you guys have⊠I need to know where they come from. LikeâŠWhy âCatfishâ?â
Santiago immediately bursts out laughing, the sound loud and genuine enough that a couple of nearby customers glance over. He tries to stifle it with a hand over his mouth, but his shoulders are still shaking.
âOh man,â Santi says, wiping at his eyes. âYou had to go straight for the best one.â
You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. âThat bad, huh?â
âThat good, actually,â he confirms, still grinning like an idiot. âHe hates it. We love it.â
Before you can press for details, Frankie reappears at the bar, sliding in beside Santi with a curious tilt of his head. His eyes flick between the two of you, a subtle flicker of something crossing his face before it smooths into an easy smile.
âI could hear you howling from outside, man. Whatâs so funny?â he asks.
Santiâs grin only widens, pure mischief. âNothing, man. Just getting to know your new roommate. Sharing stories, all that good stuff.â
Frankie narrows his eyes at his friend, then looks at you, one eyebrow raised. âShould I be worried?â
âNot at all,â Santi says, looking like itâs the best day of his life. âI was just about to give her the beautiful explanation behind your sweet nickname.â
Frankieâs face immediately reddens. He shoves Santiâs shoulder, pushing him away from the bar. âHell no, you wonât,â he hisses, refusing to look at you. The tips of his ears are flushed bright red.
You pout, amused. âItâs not fair, I was about to find out.â
âYouâll have to find a way to get that story out of him somehow,â Santi laughs, eyes crinkling. âI promise itâs worth it.â
Frankie grabs his Coke, muttering a low âShut the fuck up, manâ as he practically herds Santi back toward the booth. You watch them go, Santiâs shoulders still shaking with laughter. The second they reach the table, Santi clearly starts explaining, because Ben and Will immediately burst out laughing too. Frankie can only drop into his seat and flip them all off, ears still burning, making you smile from afar.
Itâs near the end of your shift when Will comes up to the bar, sliding an empty glass toward you.
âSo⊠about the tab,â he starts.
You give him a quick rounded total, suspiciously low. He narrows his eyes.
âUnless the Crimson is the cheapest bar in North America, that doesnât even cover half of what we drank.â
You shrug with an easy smile. âI invited you guys. The rest is on me.â
âThatâs way too much,â Will insists, already pulling out his wallet.
You wave him off, spotting another customer waving for attention, the perfect excuse so he canât argue . âGotta run, duty calls.â
Later, when you finally check the receipt after heâs paid, you find a generous tip that more than covers everything they actually drank and then some. You donât get the chance to argue with them about it because the second your shift ends, the group descends. They pull you straight into the booth, roping you into the conversation before you can even think about protesting. Ben and Santi are in the middle of some loud, ridiculous story that has the whole table cracking up. Yov immediately slides over to make space for you and offers you a sip of her mocktail and Frankie⊠Frankie just gives you that soft, quiet smile across the table, warm brown eyes catching yours for a second longer than necessary. You can only smile back.
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You Make Loving Fun
⣠series masterlist âŁ
[ONGOING]
PAIRING: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader
SUMMARY: After a bad breakup, you find yourself moving into an apartment loft with three unknown men. You didnât expect them to become such an important part of your life⊠or the way you would feel for the one with the dreamiest set of brown eyes youâve ever seen.
-or-
The New Girl AU
TAGS: 18+ MDNI, eventual SMUT, no use of y/n, roommates, angst and tension, forced proximity, strangers to friends to lovers, jealousy, idiots in love, falling in love, slow burn
Here on AO3
Chapters
⣠Chapter 1 ⣠Chapter 2 ⣠Chapter 3
⣠If you want to be tagged, please let me know! âŁ
You Make Loving Fun chapter 2
Masterlist
PAIRING: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader
SUMMARY: It's time to move in!
TAGS: 18+ MDNI, eventual SMUT, no use of y/n, roommates, angst and tension, forced proximity, strangers to friends to lovers, jealousy, idiots in love, falling in love, slow burn
AN: HAPPY FRANKIE FRIDAY ! Thank you for all your sweet comments. I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Here on AO3 | Wc: 5.7k
Chapter 2: Moving in
There is nothing you hate more than moving.
Okay, maybe thatâs not entirely true. There are definitely things you hate more. Loud eaters. When your fitted sheet comes loose in the middle of the night. Men who use the word females unironically. A lot of things, actually. But moving is still high on the list.
Which is strange, because you love parts of it. You love the moment where everything goes into boxes, like a game of Tetris, deciding what fits where, how to organise things as efficiently as possible. You even love the end, opening those boxes in a new place, choosing where everything belongs, imagining how the space will slowly become yours.
Itâs the part in between that you hate. The part youâre in right now.
Youâre standing there, in front of the door of your new apartment, holding a box that is far too full of books, because of course, you didnât think to distribute them across multiple boxes. No, you had to stack all those heavy little bastards together. Your arms ache as you fumble with your keys using one hand, the other desperately keeping the box from tipping over. You could put it down, but the thought of picking it back up makes you want to cry. And this is only the first box. Your car is still filled to the brim.Â
The overly upbeat music blasting through your headphones does absolutely nothing to soothe the growing sense of dread as you think about how many back-and-forth trips youâre about to make. God, you should have accepted your parentsâ offer to help. But you were too proud. And maybe, you still canât quite look them in the eye after the incident. Childish, you know. But you need distance. You need time for the memory to fade.
Your friends offered to help, of course. Just not until a couple of days, and you wanted to move in as soon as possible. One of the downsides of working mostly nights is that your free time never seems to line up with anyone elseâs.
Will did offer to take the day off when you met yesterday to sign the lease and hand you the keys, but you couldnât accept. It felt like taking advantage of his kindness. He had already been nothing but efficient and considerate throughout the entire administrative process. What youâd seen on that first visit only proved true since: Will seems to be a truly good person, someone you might enjoy living with. But he isnât the one youâre worried about.
You finally manage to unlock the door, your arm protesting loudly under the weight of the box. A bead of sweat slips down the back of your neck, because of course itâs unbearably warm outside. You push the door closed with your hip and head straight for the bedroom. Your room. You are too focused to bother looking around. Youâll have time for that later.
You let the box drop onto the bare mattress with a heavy thud and an even heavier sigh of relief. Rolling your shoulders, you stretch out the ache as you take in the space. Still just as nice as you remembered. You canât help the smile that spreads across your lips. You canât wait to make this place your own cosy space. So busy admiring your future, you donât hear the voice behind you the first time. Or the second.
So itâs no surprise when you jumpâ almost catlikeâat the sudden tap on your shoulder.
âMotherfucker!â you yelp, spinning around on instinct, already halfway to swinging at whoever decided today was the day to murder you. Instead of an intruder, youâre met with brown eyes and a small, apologetic smile.
Oh. It doesnât take long to remember who those eyes belong to: the rude roommate.
âIâm sorry,â the man says quickly, lifting both hands in a universal sign of peace. âI didnât mean to scare you.â
Your arms drop as your heart slowly resumes something resembling a normal rhythm.
âNoâmy bad,â you manage, exhaling. âI justâŠI didnât expect anyone else to be here.â
âItâs my fault, I should have waited for you to notice me,â he insists. He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. âDidnât Will warn you Iâd be here?â
You pause, replaying the last conversation you had with the blond man in your head. Will said a lot of things. âHe mightâve mentioned it,â you admit. âIâm not sure. Sorry, if Iâd known, I wouldâve come to say hi. I swear Iâm not an asshole.â
âI think, between the two of us, Iâm the one who should apologise,â he says, his tone clearly embarrassed. âSorry about last time. It wasnât my best day.â
Your eyebrow quirks up slightly, surprised heâd bring it up at all. âIt happens,â you reply simply.
âStill, not a great first impression.â
âDonât worry,â you say lightly. âMeeting your bloodied friend right after you kind of normalised everything.â
He laughs, a deep, genuine sound that catches you off guard and pulls a smile from you in return. He looks the same as last time: same cap pulled low, same brown eyes. But somethingâs different. Softer. More open. Maybe itâs the light hitting his face. You decide you easily like this version of him better.
âYeah⊠Will told me about Ben's grand entrance.â He gives you a curious look. âYou surprised all of us when you said you wanted the room. Honestly, I donât think I wouldâve in your place.â
âAh. Comforting,â you tease, though thereâs no real bite to it. âThe place was too good to pass up.â
âWell, weâre glad you took it,â he adds, and he sounds sincere. âAnd, again, Iâm sorry about that day.â
You wave him off. âDonât worryââ
Oh no.
You stall for half a second too long, your brain scrambling. Will definitely told you his name. Definitely. Shit, you should have taken notes. Something with an F. Finn? Francis? You can practically feel the awkwardness creeping in.
âFrankie,â he supplies, a hint of amusement in his voice.
âFrankie,â you repeat, tasting the name as you say it. You offer him yours in return, even though youâre fairly sure he already knows it. If he does, heâs kind enough not to point it out. âSorryâtodayâs a little chaotic. But itâs nice to properly meet you, Frankie.â
âNice to meet you too.â Thereâs a brief pause. He shifts his weight, glancing past you at the box on the bed, then back at you. âAndâuhâthatâs actually why Iâm here,â he adds.Â
You frown slightly. âWhat do you mean?â
âTo help with your stuff or anything,â he nodded toward the bow on the bed, at the box waiting there. âIf you want, of course. I donât want to overstep.â
For a moment, youâre caught off guard. âNo, thatâs⊠really nice of you,â you say, genuinely appreciative. âVery nice.â
He smiles, and you canât help thinking it suits him.
âSo⊠where are the rest of your things?â
And thatâs how Frankie ends up helping you bring everything up.
He doesnât comment when he sees your beat-up car for the first timeâeven though you can clearly tell he wants to. Itâs there, in the way his mouth twitches, like heâs holding something back. The old sedan is a mess: paint faded and chipped, one taillight cracked and held together with duct tape, the bumper dented from years of minor accidents and neglect. The back seat and trunk are stuffed to the brim with your life in boxes, and one massive suitcase waits in the passenger seat. Instead, he just nods once and gets to work.
The two of you fall into a rhythm quickly, up and down, back and forth. Boxes, bags, awkwardly shaped things that should have been packed better. You lose count of the trips. Thereâs no way you couldâve done this alone.Â
Frankie is efficient in a way that makes it obvious that he knows what heâs doing. You remember Will mentioning the military, and yeah⊠that checks out. He moves with purpose, lifting box after box without slowing, muscles shifting under his shirt in a way that is very noticeable.
His arms, especially.
What? Itâs not like youâre blind. Or dead. Just because your ex ruined your life doesnât mean you suddenly stopped having eyes.
By the time the last box hits your bedroom floor, youâre both a little out of breath, a little (a lot) sweaty, arms aching in that satisfying way that comes from actually getting something done. You turn to Frankie. Heâs lingering in the hallway just outside your door, pushing a few damp strands of hair back under his cap.
âThank you so much,â you say, still catching your breath. âYou have no idea how much I was dreading that.â
âIâm glad I could help,â he replies, voice a little steadier now, though he still shifts slightly where he stands. âDo you⊠need help unpacking too?â
You let out a small laugh. âI think I need a shower first.â
You tug lightly at the collar of your shirt, trying to let some air in. It sticks to your skin, and you grimace.
Frankieâs gaze flickers for a second before he looks away. âYeah, of course.â
âUnless you were planning to go first?â you add, glancing at him.
âNo, no,â he says quickly. âGo ahead. IâllâuhâIâll show you how the shower works.â
âThanks.â You grab a towel and a change of clothes from your suitcase and follow him to the bathroom.
âOkay, so,â he starts, pointing toward the shower, âthe water takes a second to warm up. But when it does, it gets hot hot, so just be careful.â
You nod, stepping inside as he gestures to the shelves.
âHelp yourself to whatever you need,â he continues. âJust⊠not those ones.â He points to a rack filled with what looks like expensive products. âThatâs Willâs. HeâŠlets just say heâs a bit protective about his stuff.â
âNoted,â you say, setting your things on the counter. âThanks.â
âYeah. Sure.â He hesitates, like heâs trying to think if he forgot something, then nods to himself. âOkay, wellâŠâ
A beat.
âEnjoy?â he adds, immediately grimacing at his own choice of words.
You canât help but smile when he finally retreats from the bathroom, mumbling something under his breath as he closes the door behind him.
You donât wait another second to peel out of your clothes, desperate to get rid of the sticky, uncomfortable feeling of dried sweat against your skin. You turn on the shower, then linger for a moment, letting it heat up as you take in the space around you.
Near the sinks, three cups sit side by side, each holding a toothbrush and toothpaste. Next to them, slightly apart, is a fourthâempty, new. You donât want to assume itâs meant for you, but⊠it probably is.
You open one of the cabinets next, and find it packed with more products than you can countâbody sprays, extra shampoo bottles, shaving cream, hair products. Itâs a small chaos of options. But then you notice it: one section, empty. It makes you smile, realising itâs waiting for you.Â
You test the water, immediately pulling your hand back with a hiss as the heat hits your skin. Rightâhot hot. You adjust it a few times before finding the perfect balance, then step under the spray with a quiet sigh, shoulders dropping as the steady pressure washes the day off you. God, this shower is amazing. You close your eyes for a couple of minutes, just enjoying it.
You make sure to avoid Willâs clearly off-limits shelf, grabbing instead a shampoo that doesnât scream three-in-one. It smells faintly of almond, and you find a matching soap without much effort.
Dried and changed into oversized sweatpants and an old band t-shirt, you step back into the hallway. A small, anxious voice, one that sounds suspiciously like your mother, immediately pipes up in the back of your mind. It whispers that you should probably feel self-conscious, walking around like this in front of people you barely know. Of men you barely know! But you quickly shove the thought aside. You refuse to start your life here by pretending to be someone youâre not, worried about looking put-together every time you leave your room. If you want to feel truly comfortable in this loft, youâll have to let them see you like this: in your ratty pyjamas, messy hair, and zero makeup. Itâs better to rip the band-aid off early, before they start forming any expectations. Youâd rather they get used to the real you from the beginning.
Frankieâs door is closed, music drifting faintly from inside, so you donât bother knocking. He probably heard you come out anyway. You head back into your room, closing the door behind you. You take in the stack of boxes waiting for you, stacked and everywhere, and you can only smile.
Thereâs a jittery feeling in your chest, something you didnât expect. Everything with your ex still hurts. That hasnât gone anywhere yet. But underneath it, you can feel the excitement of this new beginning.Â
This is it. Your new home.
Thereâs a knock on your door about an hour later.
Youâre sitting on your bed, working through your boxes one by one. Not very efficiently, but you like it that way. Taking your time, deciding where things should go, only to change your mind five minutes later.
âYes?â you call out, folding another shirt into a loose pile beside you.
The door opens slowly. Frankie steps in, now in a different outfit, though the cap remains. He gives you a small tentative smile.
âHey. Howâs it going?â
âItâs⊠going,â you reply, gesturing vaguely to the few empty boxes folded against the wall.
âGood,â he says, nodding once. Then he hesitates, shifting his weight. âDo you want some help?â
This time, youâre the one who pauses. Frankie seems nice. Heâs been nothing but helpful so far. But heâs still a stranger, and the idea of someone you barely know going through your things makes you hesitate. At the same time, you donât want to seem ungrateful, or worse, rude.
You glance around, then gesture toward a stack near the door. âWell⊠those boxes are all books. If you want, you can put them on the shelves over there.â
Frankieâs face brightens slightly. âYeah, sure.â
He gets to work right away, careful to step around the scattered items on your floor. When he opens the first box, he lets out a low whistle.
âWow. You have a lot.â
You laugh softly. âYeah. Iâm kind of a book nerd.â
He picks one up, turning it over to read the back. âYouâve read all of these?â
âAbsolutely not,â you say without hesitation. âI firmly believe that buying books and reading them are two completely separate hobbies.â
He huffs out a small laugh, shaking his head as he starts lining them up on the shelves. âFair enough.â
âDo you? Read I mean?â
âNot much,â he admits, scratching the back of his neck. âI used to like detective stuff. Just⊠havenât really taken the time lately.â
âThatâs too bad,â you say. âI donât think I have any to lend you, though. Sorry.â
âItâs okay. Maybe Iâll readâŠâ he pauses, squinting slightly at the cover in his hand, âThe Fake Mate instead?â
Youâre on your feet before Frankie can even fully open the book. You snatch it from his hands so fast you nearly knock over the pile of clothes you are working on Thankfully, the cover is relatively harmless, just two doctors gazing intensely at each other. Classic romance novel stuff. But inside? Full omegaverse, with knots, slick, alpha-omega dynamics, the whole unholy package. There is no universe in which youâre explaining the concept of ârutâ and âclaiming bitesâ to your brand-new roommate right now.
Absolutely not. Hard pass. Nope.Â
âMaybe not this one,â you say quickly, clutching it to your chest. âI mostly read romance. I donât know if thatâs really your thing.â
Frankie raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but to his credit, he doesnât push. âProbably not,â he admits. âBut⊠who knows?â
You give him a look, not entirely convinced, but let it go. You join him by the boxes, and the two of you fall into an easy rhythm again, unpacking book after book. It doesnât take long before the shelves are completely full.
âWould it be okay if I added more later?â you ask, folding up an empty box. The last few books end up stacked on your desk. âI donât remember if there was anything in the lease about putting stuff on the walls.â
âYou can, no problem,â Frankie says. âWeâve got tools in the closet with the washing machine. Iâm pretty good at building things, soâif you need help.â
âIâll keep that in mind,â you reply, glancing at him. Then, after a small pause: âSo⊠Frankie, what do you do?â
âWhat do I do?â he echoes, leaning back against your desk.
âYeah, likeâyour job. If you have one,â you add quickly, words tripping over each other. âWhich is totally fine if you donât, I meanâthat would explain why youâre here todayââ
He lets out a surprised chuckle, cutting you off. âI have a job.â
You blink. âYou do? Thatâs great!â
âIâm a pilot.â
âA pilot? Oh. Wow.â
He shrugs, like itâs nothing. âItâs less cool than it sounds. I mostly fly tourists.â
âThatâs still pretty cool,â you say, a little impressed despite what he is saying..Â
âIf you say so. And Iâm here because I took the day off.â
âYou did?â
âYeah.â He shifts slightly, glancing at the now-empty boxes before looking back at you. âMe and the guysâŠwe didnât want you settling in alone. So I figured Iâd volunteer to help out.â He hesitates, then adds, a bit more quietly, âAnd⊠since I was kind of a jerk last time, I thought I should.â
â Thatâs⊠thatâs really nice of you. Thank you,â you say, genuinely surprised, and a little touched that they even thought of doing that. âBut really, donât beat yourself up about last time. Your girlfriend seemed to need you.â
âMyââ He blinks, clearly thrown. âFelicia? Sheâ weâre notâŠSheâs not my girlfriend.â
âOh.â You pause, processing. That sounds⊠complicated. For once, youâre not envious of someone elseâs relationship. âOkay.â
A brief silence settles before he clears his throat.
âWhat about you?â he asks, trying for casual, and missing it by just a bit. âAny⊠boyfriend? Girlfriend?â
You tense, just for a second. Instead of answering right away, you turn toward the closet, busying yourself with hanging a few clothes so you donât have to look at him.
âWell,â you start, a little too light, âI used to have a fiancĂ©. And now I donât.â You slide a hanger onto the rod with more force than necessary. âWhich is why Iâm currently moving in with three random men who could absolutely decide to murder me in my sleep and sell my organs. After all, one of you did come home covered in blood.â
Behind you, Frankie opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.
âIâm⊠sorry?â he settles on.
You wave a hand dismissively. âYeah. Itâsâyeah.â You shrug, like that explains everything. Then, after a second, âActually, what is up with that? Ben, I mean. Will just said it was because of his job, but I was signing the lease and kind of forgot to ask for more details.â
And you hadnât exactly mentioned the bloody roommate to your friends or family. Mostly because you know exactly what theyâd say. Donât move in are you crazy? And maybe theyâd have a point, but you needed this. Still⊠Itâs hard to just ignore.
âBenâs an MMA fighter,â Frankie explains.
You turn slightly back toward him. âMMA?â
âMixed martial arts,â he explains. âHeâs semi-pro. So he basically fights for a living.â He pauses, then adds, a bit apologetically, âWhich means that on fight days⊠yeah. He can come home a little roughed up.â
âA little?â you repeat, deadpan.
Frankie winces, just slightly. âWeâre⊠kind of used to it. But donât worry, Will made it very clear he canât just come home like that anymore.â
âGood,â you say with a small nod. âI mean, sorry to disrupt your usual routine.â
He smiles at that. âHonestly? Weâre glad for the change. Blood is a nightmare to clean off wooden floors.â
You laugh. âI bet.â
He looks at you for a second, like the sound of your laugh caught him off guard, something almost pleased flickering across his face, before he pushes himself off the desk.
âIâm thirsty,â he says. âDo you want something to drink?â
You glance back toward your room, where way too many boxes are still waiting for you. You really should keep unpacking if you want to be able to sleep tonight without the place looking like a total disaster. But Frankieâs offer reminds you that you havenât had anything to drink since lunch, and your throat feels dry and scratchy. âSure.â
The two of you head to the kitchen, and it feels even nicer now that youâre actually standing in it, sunlight still spilling through the large windows, catching on the clean countertops. A dish towel hangs off the oven handle, and a couple of plants by the window that look like theyâre actually being taken care of.Â
âWhat can I get you?â he asks, already opening the fridge. âWater, coffee⊠I think thereâs still some soda. YeahâSprite, if you like.â
âSprite sounds perfect, please.â
He grabs two cans, pops one open, then hands it to you. âHere.â
âThanks.â
You both take a sip, and thereâs a shared, quiet sigh of appreciation. Frankie leans his hip against the counter, turning slightly toward you. He doesnât let the silence settle for too long, probably to avoid any awkwardness, whether for your sake or his, youâre not sure.
âSo,â he starts, gesturing lightly around the kitchen, âquick tour. This is your space.â He points to a neatly cleared section in the fridge as he opens it. âWe all kind of stick to our own groceries, but basicsâlike milk, butter, that kind of stuffâwe share.â
You nod, stepping closer to look. His and Willâs shelves are neatly organised, everything in its place. Another section is⊠less structured.
Frankie follows your gaze and grimaces slightly. âYeah. Thatâs Ben. Heâsâuhâheâs not messy, exactly. Just⊠not very detail-oriented.â
You huff a quiet laugh.
âIf he starts putting his stuff everywhere, just tell him,â Frankie adds quickly. âHeâs a good roommate, I swear. Just sometimes in a rush and doesnât think.â
You nod, a little amused at how hard heâs trying to defend his friend.
âAny allergies? Anything we should keep in mind for shared stuff?â he asks.
âNo, Iâm good.â
âOkay, perfect.â He leans back against the counter. âAs for choresâweâve got a dishwasher, so we try not to leave dishes piling up. Clean as you go, basically.â
âThat sounds reasonable.â
âWillâs a bitâŠâ he hesitates, searching for the right word, âparticular about cleaning. But as long as you clean up after yourself, heâs happy. He actually deep-cleans the place when heâs bored.â
You blink. âA cleaning freak, then.â
âTotally.â
He continues, a bit more relaxed now, explaining how everyone handles their own rooms but keeps shared spaces tidy. It all sounds⊠surprisingly functional. Normal, even.
âI was a little worried about that,â you admit. âYou know⊠living with guys and all.â
Itâs his turn to let out a quiet laugh. âYeah, fair.â
âBut honestly,â you add, glancing around the kitchen again, âyou guys are way more organised than I expected.â
Frankie smiles at that, small but clearly pleased.
The sound of keys jingling in the front door cuts through the kitchen, and both you and Frankie glance toward the entrance at the same time. The door opens, and Will and Ben step inside.
âHey, guys!â Ben calls out immediately, his voice loud, already kicking off his shoes as he walks in. Will follows behind, quieter, offering a small wave as he sets his things down neatly by the door.
Ben makes a beeline for Frankie, pulling him into a quick, easy hug, clapping his back. âWhatâs up, man?â
Frankie smiles, evidently used to this energy. âHey.â
You brace, just slightly, half-expecting Ben to pull you into the same kind of greeting, but he doesnât. Instead, he stops a comfortable distance away, flashing you a bright, easy smile.
âHowâs it going?â he asks. âHowâs the move?â
âIâm good, thanks,â you reply, a little more relaxed than you expected. The fact that he is not covered in blood this time definitely helps. âSettling in okay.â
âGood, good.â He nods, satisfied. âSorry, I couldnât come help earlier. I had training all day.â
âThatâs okay,â you say quickly. âFrankie already helped a lot.â
Benâs grin widens instantly. âDid he now?â He shoots Frankie a look, then pats his shoulder with exaggerated approval. âWhat a nice guy, huh, Catfish?â
Frankie doesnât even answer him, just sends him a dark, warning glance that clearly says donât start.
You blink, curiosity sparking at the nickname, but before you can ask anything, Will joins the group, rolling his sleeves up slightly as he steps into the kitchen space.
âEverything went alright, then?â he asks, tone warm and genuine.
You nod with a small smile. âYeah, everythingâs been great.â
Willâs gaze shifts briefly to Frankie. âYouâve been a good host?â
âCome on, man,â Frankie groans, rubbing the back of his neck.
Will just laughs, patting his shoulder as he moves past him toward the fridge. He pulls out two beers, handing one to Ben before opening his own.
âWant one?â he asks you.
You lift your already open soda can in response. âIâm good, thanksâ
He nods, and you notice he doesnât ask Frankie as he settles onto one of the stools by the island, Ben hopping up beside him.
âSo,â Will says, looking back at you, âeverythingâs going okay? You have everything you need?â
âI think so,â you reply. âFrankie showed me the basics.â You glance at him briefly, offering a smile that he returns almost immediately. âIâm sure Iâll have questions later, but⊠yeah. Iâm good.â You shift your weight slightly, glancing toward the hallway. âI still have a lot of boxes to go through, actually. I should probably get back to it.âÂ
âReally?â Ben cuts in immediately, his expression shifting into an almost exaggerated pout. âAlready ditching us on your first night?â
You blink, caught off guard.
âWe were thinking of getting takeout,â he continues, leaning forward slightly, more animated now. âYou know, to celebrate. First day, new roommate, all that. Chinese, pizzaâwhatever you want.â
Thereâs something boyish in the way he says it, like heâs already decided itâs happening and just needs you to agree. ââYou hesitate. Your first instinct is to refuse, to retreat back to your room, eat something quick later from whatever place is still open, and keep to yourself. It would be easier. Safer. But then it hits you: they made space for you. Made room, literally and otherwise. Frankie took the day off to help you move. Will handled everything without making it stressful. And now this. You thought youâd just be⊠there. Another person in the apartment. Keep to your space, stay out of theirs. Not intrude on whatever dynamic they already have. But theyâre not acting like thatâs what they want. Theyâre including you, trying to get to know you. And maybe it shouldnât feel like such a big thing, but itâs been a while since someone simply wanted you around. So you move before you can overthink it, sliding onto the stool across from Will, setting your can down in front of you.
âPizza sounds really nice, actually,â you say, a small smile forming.
Ben lights up immediately. âYes!â He leans over and raises his hand, and you instinctively meet it in a quick high five before you can reconsider. Heâs already pulling his phone out. âAlright, what do you want? My treat.â
âOh, you donât have toââ you start, but he cuts you off with a slightly sheepish look.
âI kinda do,â he admits. âYou know. For the⊠blood situation.â
âHeâs right,â Will adds dryly, shooting his brother a look. âHe does.â
Ben at least has the decency to look a little embarrassed. You laugh, and it seems to ease something in the room instantly. Both brothers smile back, the tension dissolving into something lighter.
Ben launches into the menu with way too much enthusiasm, listing pizza after pizza like heâs personally invested in each oneâs success. âOkay, but the four cheese is insane. And the pepperoni? Classic. Canât go wrong. But alsoâlistenâthe barbecue chicken one? Life-changing.â
âNone of that matters if we donât get garlic bread,â Frankie cuts in from behind you.
Ben turns to him immediately. âWe are not getting garlic bread again.â
âWe are absolutely getting garlic bread.â
âNo! Thatâs how they get you! Itâs bread and garlic, Frankie. Itâs a scam.â
You glance over your shoulder just in time to see Frankie step forward and slide onto the stool next to you, close enough that your knees almost brush if either of you moved. The argument continues for another minute until Ben finally sighs dramatically. âFine. One garlic bread. But Iâm not paying for it.â
âYes, you are.â Frankie deadpans. âYou still owe me from last week.â
Ben mutters something under his breath as he finalises the order, while Will just shakes his head, amused, taking a slow sip of his beer.
Then Frankie turns slightly toward you. âI just realised,â he says, âI never askedâwhat do you do?â
âOh.â You straighten a little when everyoneâs attention turns to you. âI work at a bar downtown. The CrimsonâI donât know if youâve heard of it?â
âI think I know it,â Ben chimes in without looking up from his phone. âNever been, but Iâve heard the happy hourâs good.â
âIt is,â you say, the corners of your mouth lifting. âAnd if youâre into cocktails, Iâve got you covered.â You glance at Frankie. âEspecially you. I think I owe you a drink.â
Something flickers across his face, quick, almost unreadable, but itâs gone just as fast, replaced by a softer expression.
âYou donât have to,â he says. âBut⊠thanks. Thatâs nice of you.â
You hold his gaze for just a second longer than necessary, then smile. âMy pleasure.â You shift slightly, turning back toward Will. âAnd Will, you told me you were some kind of motivational speaker?â you ask, tilting your head. âWhat does that ââactually mean?â
Ben snorts immediately, looking up from his phone. âYeah, yeah. Big inspirational guy over here,â he says, jerking his thumb toward Will. âStands on stage, dim lights, dramatic pauseââBelieve in yourselves, gentlemen.ââ
Frankie huffs a laugh next to you, lowering his head slightly to hide it.
Will doesnât even look at Ben. âThatâs notââ he starts, already sounding tired.
Ben isnât done. Of course, he isnât. He straightens a little on his stool, putting on a mock-serious voice. ââYou are strong. You are capable. You are⊠paying me way too much for this speech.ââ
Will reaches over and smacks the back of his headânot hard, but enough to shut him up.
âIdiot.â Will exhales through his nose, then finally looks at you. âIgnore him.â
âI try,â you say, amused.
 âI work with former military,â he explains, tone more grounded now. âMostly guys whoâve just come back to civilian life. I help them⊠adjust, I guess.â
You tilt your head slightly, listening.
âItâs not always easy,â he continues. âYou spend years in a very structured environment, with a clear purpose, clear rules. Then suddenly, thatâs gone. And youâre supposed to just⊠figure things out again. So I meet with them. Talk things through. Help with routines, job transitions, sometimes just⊠being there while they get their footing back.â
You nod slowly, taking that in.
âThat actually sounds really important,â you say.
Will shrugs, but thereâs a faint softness in his expression. âItâs useful.â
âHeâs being modest. Heâs good at it,â Frankie adds quietly beside you.
Will shakes his head, but when he looks back at you, his expression is softer. âSo yeah. I do make speeches sometimes, but not exactly a motivational speaker.â
âGood to know,â you say, still smiling. âThough I have to admit, Iâm a little disappointed. I was ready to ask for life advice.â
âYou can ask me if you want,â Ben jumps in immediately. âI give great advice.â
Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Frankie shaking his head ever so slightly, and it makes your grin widen.
âCome on,â Ben insists, leaning forward like heâs pitching something important. âI promise you wonât regret it.â
This time, itâs Will who glances at you, and the look on his face says everything.
You donât even try to hold it in. A laugh bursts out of you, quick and bright, and itâs immediately followed by Frankieâs quieter one beside you. Will hides his smile behind his drink, shoulders shaking just a little.
Ben looks between the three of you, pointing accusingly at each in turn. âOh, hell no. No, no, noâthis is not how this is gonna go, okay? Donât start teaming up on me already.â Thereâs no real heat behind it, though. His own smile is creeping in despite himself. âI swear to God, Iâll cancel the pizza.â
âYou wonât,â Will says flatly, not even looking at him. âNow grab the plates and act like a decent roommate.â
âGneu gneu gneuâŠâ Ben mutters under his breath, making a face as he hops off the stool anyway, dragging his feet toward the cabinets.
Youâre still smiling when you feel Frankieâs gaze on you. You turn slightly, meeting his eyes. Thereâs something amused there, something lighter than before.
âNot already regretting moving in, are you?â he asks.
You glance over at Will and Ben, now bickering over something you canât hear, then back at Frankie.
Your smile grows, softer but sure. âI actually think itâs going to be pretty nice.â
For a second, he just looks at you, then he smiles tooâmirroring yours.
âYeah,â he says quietly. âI think so too.â
You donât open more boxes that night.
⣠Please tell me what you thought! Leave a comment, a reblog, or even an ask! It would mean a lot :) If you want to be tagged, please let me know! âŁ
Taglist : @speaktothehandpeasants @vickie5446 @millerdina @inept-the-magnificent @lizzie-cakes @beezusvreeland @jennfromthebayarea @kellybelly1978 @meveispunk
⟠Ysl's Masterlist âŸ
Hereâs a masterlist to find all my fics! There isn't much for now, but it seemed easier :)
My blog is 18+! Each fic has its own warnings and tags, so please be mindful of them. Enjoy!
JOEL MILLER : THE LAST OF US
Fucking Disappointment (dbf!Joel) [Oneshot (for now)]
Youâve always disliked Joel Miller, your dadâs grumpy friend and neighbor. Growing up, he was nothing but short responses and cold glares, never bothering to hide how little he cared to even speak to you. Rude. Dismissive. You never thought you could feel anything for him. But years later, everything feels different. And so does the way heâs looking at you now.
The Tides Between Us (dbf!Joel) [COMPLETED]
The Millersâ beach house was supposed to be a fun getaway : a week of sun, drinks, and celebration for Joelâs 40th birthday. But after that night with Joel, everythingâs suddenly⊠awkward. Joel is cold and distant, because Joel knows better. He wonât cross that lineânot with his best friendâs daughter, not when youâre half his age. Heâs made his share of mistakes, but this wonât be one of them. But Tommy? Tommyâs never been one for restraint, all too willing to take what Joel wonât.
Need Every Inch (no outbreak!Joel) [Oneshot]
Joel needs a last-minute suit for Tommyâs wedding. You happen to be a tailor, one Joel didnât expect to be so attracted to. Maybe those definitely-not-professional jokes you make mean you're not indifferent either?
FRANKIE MORALES: TRIPLE FRONTIER
You Make Loving Fun [ONGOING]
After a bad breakup, you find yourself moving into an apartment loft with three unknown men. You didnât expect them to become such an important part of your life⊠or the way you would feel for the one with the dreamiest set of brown eyes youâve ever seen. -or- The New Girl AU
Requests are open!
You Make Loving Fun
⣠series masterlist âŁ
[ONGOING]
PAIRING: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader
SUMMARY: After a bad breakup, you find yourself moving into an apartment loft with three unknown men. You didnât expect them to become such an important part of your life⊠or the way you would feel for the one with the dreamiest set of brown eyes youâve ever seen.
-or-
The New Girl AU
TAGS: 18+ MDNI, eventual SMUT, no use of y/n, roommates, angst and tension, forced proximity, strangers to friends to lovers, jealousy, idiots in love, falling in love, slow burn
Here on AO3
Chapters
⣠Chapter 1 ⣠Chapter 2 ⣠Chapter 3 ⣠Chapter 4 ⣠Chapter 5
⣠If you want to be tagged, please let me know! âŁ
You Make Loving Fun Chapter 1
Masterlist
PAIRING: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader
SUMMARY: After a bad breakup, you find yourself moving into an apartment loft with three unknown men. You didnât expect them to become such an important part of your life⊠or the way you would feel for the one with the dreamiest set of brown eyes youâve ever seen. -or- The New Girl AU
TAGS: 18+ MDNI, eventual SMUT, no use of y/n, roommates, angst and tension, forced proximity, strangers to friends to lovers, jealousy, idiots in love, falling in love, slow burn
AN: HAPPY FRANKIE FRIDAY !! A new fic for my golden boy Frankie! I really wanted to write a sitcom-kinda vibe fic with shorter chapters and plenty of silliness. Since I love this stupid friend group so much, I decided to go with a "new girl" AU where all the guys get to be important. Iâll be borrowing some plotlines from the show because⊠well, I can :) I also love the idea of this being an open, community fic, so please donât hesitate to drop ideas, prompts, or anything youâd like to see! It would genuinely make my day. Hope you enjoy!!
Here on AO3 | Wc : 4k
Chapter 1: No money, no prospect
Ever since the first time you watched Pride and Prejudice, you believed that one day you would live a love like Elizabeth Bennetâs. A once-in-a-lifetime kind of romance. The kind where the heart leaves you no other choice because you have found the one. Someone who would make you feel the way Elizabeth felt toward her infuriating, magnificent Mr Darcy: the yearning, the tension, the slow-burning love that could make you braver, sharper, better.
But you didnât end up with a beautiful, yearning lover. You ended up with an ugly, cheating bastard.
There is something profoundly unsettling about the realisation that you are less Elizabeth Bennet and far more Charlotte Lucas. Because here you are, twenty-seven, with far less money than you thought youâd have by now, and even fewer prospects. A burden to your parents? Almost certainly. A quiet embarrassment? Undeniably so. You had to move back into their house after your fiancĂ© decided his coworker was worth more than your five-year relationship. After you were forced to leave the apartment you shared because it became far too expensive for one broken heart and one income. So yes, you are quite frightened of your current situation.
At this point, if youâre being honest, you would absolutely consider Mr Collins, provided he came bearing stability and a tolerable income. Fuck your pride and fuck Darcy and all the impossible expectations that man planted in your heart.Â
âIf any young men come for Mary or Kitty, send them in, for I am quite at leisure,â says Mr Bennet, laughing softly on your screen.
Every time the line comes, despite knowing the film by heart, you feel the sting of tears gathering behind your eyes. You blink them away quickly, unsure whether itâs Donald Sutherlandâs tender performance as Mr Bennet or the sheer weight of your current life pressing down on your chest. Probably both.
So fuck your fiancĂ©âex-fiancĂ©âfor tainting this too! For somehow managing to ruin the one movie that was meant to always be safe and comforting. Of course, the asshole would find a way to take even that from you. Your heart, your time, your trust, and now your favourite romance? How dare he?! You close your laptop with more force than you should.
âFuck him,â you spat, immediately wincing as you remember how thin the walls are in this house.
You slip off your headphones and hold still, listening for any sign that your parents might be awake. The silence remains. You sigh, both in relief and annoyance. How pitiful it feels to sit frozen in place, afraid your parents might barge in and scold you for being up late, as if you were still sixteen instead of twenty-seven. Not that you arenât grateful. You truly are. After all, they let you move back home without hesitation after you found your fiancĂ© balls-deep in someone else in your bed. But itâs been two weeks, and already you can feel your patience thinning. You love them, your relationship with them is more than okay, but you know you wonât, canât, survive much more of their overbearing concern. They mean well, of course. But if they ask you to âtalk about what happenedâ one more time, you might actually commit a crime.
Against whom remains to be decided.
Thatâs why you turn back to your phone, scrolling through apartment-hunting websites, refreshing listings again and again. Youâre desperate to find something you could move into as soon as possible. Someplace you can call home again. But every price feels like a personal insult, towering well above your salary.
Fuck living in a big city. Fuck inflation. Fuck capitalism. And above everything else, fuck him.
You miss your place. You miss the coffee shop down the street where they knew your name and your order without asking. The park just five minutes away, where people walk their ugly dogs with too much pride. You even miss the loud-ass neighbours and their kids who never stopped running at every hour of the day (and night). It wasnât perfect. It was cramped and noisy, but it was yours.
You wipe at the tears that are trying to come back. You are so tired of crying, you feel like that's all you have done for the past two weeks. You settle back against your pillows, just about ready to give up for the night, unsuccessful in your search once again, when a new listing appears. You almost scroll past it, sleep calling to you, but the photos catch your eye immediately. What looks like the living room is flooded with light, thanks to wide windows that seem to drink in the day. The kitchen is fully equipped with more appliances than you could ever need. Itâs nothing like the single-room shoeboxes youâve been doom-scrolling through all evening, those places that resemble prison cells more than homes. You click to see more.
SEEKING ROOMMATE â Furnished room in a 4BR flat near the city center. Shared kitchen and bath. Available immediately.
Uh. The location is even better for your job than your precious old apartment, and miraculously, the rent actually falls within your budget. The place looks clean, and the more photos you scroll through, the nicer it seems. The room itself is bright, with windows and simple but functional furniture. Not having to buy anything new would make the move infinitely easier.
In a better world, you would have wanted your own place. But this isnât that world, and at this point, youâre getting desperate. You havenât had a roommate since college (your garbage ex doesnât count), and this would be a big change. Three other roommates would mean a serious adjustment. Still, you hear your dad snoring through the wall and imagine your mother, tomorrow morning, casually mentioning her friendâs son again. The one sheâs sure would âchange your mindâ. Or worse, managing a backhanded compliment about your outfit choice before coffee.
Well. Desperate times call for desperate measures. You respond to the listing before you can talk yourself out of it.Â
Hi! I would be interested in the room. Would it be possible to come visit? Have a great day.
You fall asleep not long after. A restless kind of sleep youâve grown used to since your heart broke.Â
When you wake up, youâre surprised to see a reply already waiting for you. Sent at exactly 6:00 a.m. So early, you briefly wonder if itâs automated. You brace yourself for rejection, for the polite sorry, the room has already been taken that youâve grown used to those past days.
You open the message as you walk downstairs.
Hello. I am available this afternoon. Would that work for you?
It only takes stepping into the kitchen, where your parents are already at the table, mid-breakfast, to decide for you. Before even a hello or asking about how you slept, your mother immediately comments on the late hour, even though it's barely after nine and you donât work until later that night. It's easy for you to reply that yes, it would absolutely work for you.
The response comes almost immediately: a time, then an address.
Itâs mid-afternoon when you park your car at the address you were given. You climb out of your loyal but beat-down car and glance around, pleasantly surprised. The neighbourhood is quiet but alive, with small shops lining the street, and what looks like a park just down the block if you ever decide to become a morning-walk kind of person. Which, admittedly, feels unlikely. You know there are a few nice restaurants nearby that youâve tried with friends before, and that familiarity brings a small sense of comfort.
Youâre a little early, so you send a quick text to say youâve arrived and lean against your car while you wait. The building itself is modern enough, softened by old brick that gives it a certain charm. You watch the passersby drift past, lost in their own afternoons.Â
Less than a minute later, the front door opens.
The man who steps out is tall, with short blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard to match. Well dressed too. Handsome, you think with a small smile. He pauses, scanning the street, until his eyes land on you.
âHi,â he says as he walks over. âYouâre here about the room, right?â
You nod, introducing yourself as he offers his hand. Big hands, you notice as you shake itâsofter than you would have expected.
âItâs nice to meet you.â He gives you a polite smile and holds the door to the building open, letting you go first. âIâm William, but everyone calls me Will.â
Heâs older than you anticipated for someone living with roommates. Mid-thirties, maybe. Youâd expected someone closer to your age, or even younger. You donât mind, if anything, youâre a little relieved that you wonât be the oldest one here.
âThe apartmentâs on the third floor,â Will explains once youâre in the lobby, pressing the button for the elevator. You try not to get excited at the thought of having one. No more dragging yourself up multiple flights of stairs after a long day. âIâm guessing that was your car outside,â he adds. âThereâs an underground garage for residents if you need it.â
âWith designated parking?â you ask as you step into the elevator.
For a brief second, you hesitate at being in a small, enclosed space with a stranger, but Will seems respectful, his attention steady on your face as he talks to you. You remember that you shared your location with your friend Cate before coming, and the tension eases as the doors slide shut.
âYes. There are multiple spots for the apartment. Youâd have your own.â
âOh. Wow.â You nod, genuinely impressed. Private parking is practically a myth these days. Not having to pay for it feels like a small miracle. âThat would be great, actually.âÂ
The elevator doors open on the third floor. The hallway is quiet, with only two doors facing each other. Will walks to the one on the left, 3B, and opens it, stepping aside.
âAfter you.â
You thank him politely as you step inside.
Immediately, youâre greeted by the living room you noticed in the listing, and it is even better in person. Sunlight pours in through the wide windows, bathing the space in a warm, inviting glow. The place is clean, but lived in. Near the door, a small cluster of jackets hangs on wall hooks, with a scattering of shoes neatly lined beneath them. A few plants are tucked into corners and windowsills, leaves catching the light, softening the space. Two couches face a TV mounted on the wall; beneath it sits a gaming console and an impressive collection of DVDs. You resist the urge to get closer and go through it. A large wooden dining table dominates one side of the room, easily big enough to host lively dinner parties, and just beyond it is an open kitchen.
The entire place feels warm. Homey. You can picture yourself here: friends crowded around the table, drinks in hand, laughing.
âThis is a really nice place,â you say, unable to keep it to yourself.
Will smiles more openly. âThanks. Do you cook?â
You nod and canât help letting out a low, appreciative whistle as he leads you farther into the kitchen. Itâs spacious, with generous counter space and even more appliances than you noticed in the photos. This isnât the chaotic mess you expected from shared living, but you remind yourself that itâs not a student flat held together by takeout boxes, but a space clearly shaped by functioning adults with taste.
âOh wow,â you murmur, fingers tracing the smooth surface of the center island. âThis is such a great kitchen. Is one of you a chef or something?â
âNo, not really.â You see Will scratch the back of his neck, his smile turning almost sheepish. âI just⊠really like to cook. A lot.â
You laugh softly. âI bet. This kitchen is beautiful.â
His smile widens. He gestures toward the largest fridge youâve ever seen. âWe all use the same fridge, but we donât usually eat together much. Everyone handles their own groceries. We just split the cost of necessities.â
You hum in agreement. It makes sense. Then you turn back to him, leaning lightly against the kitchen island.
âSo⊠when you say we,â you ask, âwho are the other roommates?â
Will mirrors you, resting against the counter across from you. âThe other two are my little brother and one of our best friends.â
âOh.â You hesitate. âSo⊠all guys?â
You canât quite hide the flicker of disappointment. Youâd been hoping for at least one other woman; partly because it would have made you feel safer, and partly because some quiet part of you is yearning for a new girlfriend to hang out with.
âYes.â Willâs tone stays open, unguarded. âWould you be comfortable with that?â
You consider lying. You donât. âIâm not going to lieâŠliving with three random men isnât exactly my ideal situation.â
You half-expect the familiar defensiveness you know too well. The not all men. The eye-roll. The lecture about your generation not trusting men and everything else. Instead, Will simply nods, thoughtful.
âI understand,â he says. âIf youâre interested in the room, I can give you any information that might help you feel safer. Whatever you need.â
The offer catches you off guard. You find yourself wondering why heâd bother. The place is clearly a catchâthe rent, the location, the apartment itself. He must have plenty of inquiries. Plenty of people who would say yes without hesitation, without question. Why go through the trouble?
âThank you,â you reply, not bothering to hide your surprise.
He smiles, easy and sincere. You find you like his smile, how genuine it feels. âOf course. Would you like me to show you the rest of the apartment?â
He leads you back toward the entryway and opens the first door. A small, clean, basic restroom.Â
âThereâs another toilet in the bathroom,â Will explains as he moves to the next door and opens it for you.
The bathroom is larger than you expected. An elegant Italian-style shower takes up one side, sleek and modern, and a double sink stretches along the opposite wall. Thereâs plenty of closet space, too. Once again, youâre surprised by how neat everything is. Every product is lined up, towels folded with precision. Even the mirror is spotless. Not exactly what you would have imagined from three men sharing a bathroom. Do they have a cleaning service or something?Â
âHow do you guys manage with just one bathroom?â you ask. âI imagine it can get⊠complicated sometimes.â
âHonestly? Not really.â Will pauses, then adds, âThe three of us are former military.â He watches your reaction as the information lands, in case it might cause some kind of discomfort. It doesn't. âWeâre used to quick showers. Well, most of us.â A hint of amusement creeps into his voice. âMy brother does have a habit of stealing all the hot water, but donât worry about him.â
You chuckle. Back in the hallway, Will gestures to the closed doors lining the wall.
âThis oneâs mine,â he says, pointing without opening it. Then the door across from it. âThatâs my brotherâs.â
Then, he gestures to the one next to it, the one closest to the end of the hall.
âAnd this would be yours.â
This time, he opens it.
The room has a large window, not unlike the ones in the living room, flooding the space with sunlight, a desk under it. A queen-sized bed sits neatly in the middle. Will gestures invitingly when you approach the closet, and you take the hint, sliding the door open. It isnât a walk-in, but itâs more than big enough for everything you own.Â
You turn back to the room, letting your eyes roam. You can see it already: a bookshelf over there, framed photos on the walls, trinkets scattered across surfaces. It could be cosy and nice. It could be yours.
You glance back at Will, who stands relaxed in the doorway, watching you with patience. Crossing your arms, you stand into the center of the room. âSo,â you say, âwhatâs the catch?â
âThe catch?â he repeats, tilting his head to the side a little.Â
âYeah. I meanâthis place is great.â You gesture vaguely around you. âLike, TV-show-apartment great. Itâs pretty. Itâs clean. Not to be mean, but I'm used to guys being way messier. Like, a lot more. Did you guys deep-clean just for visits?â
âOf course not,â he replies simply, and thereâs something almost offended in the way he says it.
âThatâs exactly my point,â you continue, far too serious. âItâs suspicious. The rent is more than reasonable for this kind of place and this neighbourhood. So there has to be a catch. Are you a serial killer? Is the apartment haunted? Was this room used to shoot porn? Is that why itâs so cheap?â
Will blinks. Then he laughs, half confused, half amused, clearly not expecting that particular line of questioning.
âI mean,â you add, pleased by his reaction, âthis room is genuinely beautiful. Why arenât you guys living in this one? Did someone die in here?â
âThis is actually the smallest bedroom,â he says, and you stare at him, searching his face for irony. There isnât any. You picture the other rooms, suddenly and wistfully, if this is the smallest one. âAnd this room is empty because our friend who lived here just moved in with his girlfriend. Promise, this room is as normal as they come.âÂ
âDamn,â you breathe. âOkay. Well⊠this place is great.â
âI take it youâre interested?â he asks as you both step back into the hallway.
âIâd be a fool not to be,â you reply. You give the room one last look as you walk away, already imagining, already planning. Yours.
Thereâs one final door across the hall from what could become your room, the final one he hasnât mentioned yet.
âAnd Iâm guessing this is your friendâs room?â you say, gesturing toward it.
Right on cue, as if staged, the door swings open. You startle, heart jumping. Next to you, Will flinches slightly, clearly also surprised.Â
âFor Godâs sake, Lucila, Iâm not your fucking dog!â The voice is deep and loud. Angry. The man it belongs to has his phone wedged between his shoulder and ear as he fumbles through his pockets. A cap pulled low blocks his face from view. âI know, IâlistenâLucila, just listen for once.â
Will turns fully toward him, crossing his arms before his chest. The movement catches the manâs attention, and he finally looks up at his friend, surprised. And then he notices you.
He straightens slightly. You notice his size immediately, almost as tall as Will, youâd say, but broader. Dark strands of hair slip out from beneath his cap, and when his eyes meet yours, theyâre an unmistakable brown. For a second, neither of you looks away.
Then he takes you in quickly, as if checking whether he is supposed to recognise you. You take the opportunity to do the sameâhis angular features, the facial hair and the rough line of stubble along his jaw, the aquiline nose. When you look back up, he is back to looking right at you.
The silence stretches for a second, two maybe. It feels longer. He looks like heâs about to say something, but the voice on the other end of the call cuts through it.
âYes, Iâm still here. Iâm coming. I said Iâm coming,â he snaps, his tone turning cold as he steps past you and Will.
He throws the two of you one last glance before leaving, the front door slamming shut behind him.
You stare at the door, bewildered. No hello. No nod. No acknowledgement at all for someone who might end up living with him.
Rude.
Will looks just as stunned as you feel, maybe even a little horrified by his friendâs behaviour. He turns toward you, embarrassment written plainly across his face, and opens his mouth to say somethingâ
When the front door swings open again.
âDamn!â a new voice announces cheerfully. âFish has a broom shoved up his ass today. Ran into him in the hallway, and the man is in a mooooood.â The last word drags out lazily as the speaker steps inside.
You turn to look at the new man, hoping you wonât get whiplash from snapping your attention back and forth so much. As if height were a requirement to live here, youâre now staring at yet another tall man, possibly the tallest one yet.
But it isnât his size that makes your eyes widen. Itâs the blood. A lot of it. Smeared across his face. Fresh enough that your brain short-circuits for a second.
What the actual fuck?
Behind you, Will lets out a long, weary sigh. âCome on, Ben. Couldnât you have cleaned yourself up first?â
Benâapparentlyâdoesnât seem bothered in the slightest by his brotherâs tone. His attention snaps to you the moment he notices you standing there in the hallway. He doesnât bother hiding the way his eyes travel over you, slow and unapologetic, from head to toe.
His smile widens when heâs done.
âYou didnât tell me we had company,â he says, grinning as he keeps looking at you.
Normally, youâd be annoyed by the blatant once-over. Right now, youâre too distracted by the blood. Youâre still trying to decide whether this is an ambulance situation. Or a cop situation.
âI did,â Will mutters, exasperated. âThis morning. Twice. I told you someone was coming to see the room.â
âDid you?â Ben lifts a hand in your direction, flashing a bright smile. If you werenât so thrown by the situation, you might notice how much he resembles his brother. Little brother, clearly. âHey. Iâm Ben, but you can call me Bennie. Nice to meet you.â
You would shake it if his hand werenât just as covered in blood as his face.
âYouâre bleeding,â you finally manage to say. Itâs the only thing your brain can focus on, as if this hasnât occurred to anyone else in the room.
Up close, you can see the damage more clearly: a small gash above his eyebrow, a split lip already swelling. Bloodied knuckles. He doesnât look bothered. Will doesnât look worried either, which somehow makes it worse.
âYou should see the other guy,â Ben jokes lightly.
You donât laugh. You hear Will sigh again next to you.Â
âLet me take a shower,â The younger man adds, shamelessly, already moving past you. âAnd maybe we can get to know each other after.â He winksâ fucking winksâas if this is a perfectly normal Tuesday, then disappears into the bathroom. Moments later, you hear him singing, carefree and off-key.
SoâŠThatâs the catch. The roommates.
You turn slowly toward Will. He has one hand over his face now, eyes closed, the posture of a man exhausted.
âThank you for taking the time to show me around,â you say as politely as you can.
Will inhales deeply, then opens his eyes and offers you a small, apologetic smile. âI promise they arenât always like that.â Whatever he sees on your face tells him enough. He gestures toward the door. âLet me walk you out.â
âItâs okay,â you reply, almost feeling bad for the man who was nice and kind to you. âI can find my way. I think you have⊠other things to deal with.â You glance toward the bathroom, where Ben is still singing without a care in the world.
Will sighs once more, defeated, but opens the door for you anyway. âYou know how to reach me if you change your mind.â
You donât think you will.
âThanks,â You tell him instead. It's too bad, you think you would have gone along with him. âHave a great day.â
And with that, you step back into the hallway, certain of one thing: You are not that desperate.
The drive back to your parentsâ house is heavy with crushed hope. You liked the damn place. Goddamn it. Why did those men have to be rude, unhinged, weirdos? Now you understand why Will is the one who shows the apartment. He seems like a normal, even genuinely nice human being, clearly assigned as the groupâs public-facing representative. Goodbye beautiful kitchen, and goodbye elevator. Goodbye free parking. Oh god, free parking. Life is unfair.Â
As you park in the driveway of your childhood home, you groan at the thought of starting over. Back to square one. Scrolling through listings again, you already know wonât come close to what you just saw. Nothing that good ever does.
The front door closes behind you, and you head toward the living room, desperate to collapse onto the couch and let the TV numb you for a while. Perhaps order in and rot and drown in self-pity for the rest of the night. You push the door open andâ
âOh my God!â
Youâre not the only one screaming.
Your parents scramble apart in a blur of limbs and panic. Your mother reacts first, diving to grab a blanket and cover everythingâfar too late, but points for effort. You know what you just saw will haunt you for the rest of your life. You spin around instantly, already regretting every decision that led you here.Â
âNope. Nope. Nope,â you chant, fleeing up the stairs toward your childhood bedroom like your life depends on it.
Behind you, your mother shouts, âWe thought youâd be gone longer!â
âYou thought wrong!â
You slam the door shut and lean against it, breathless from taking the stairs two at a time, fighting the wave of nausea threatening to take you out at the knees. How dare your parents have sex in the living room, on your favourite couch? Oh my god, you will never be able to sit on it ever again.Â
The realisation hits you then and there: you cannot stay here any longer.
Youâre actually that desperate.
Before you can overthink it, you pull your phone from your pocket and type:
Hey Will. If the room is still available, Iâll take it. How soon can I move in?
⣠Please tell me what you thought! Leave a comment, a reblog, or even an ask! It would mean a lot :) If you want to be tagged, please let me know! âŁ
I have yet to read the last chapter of TTBU but I am obsessed with your writing! Do you have any more fics you are currently working on? Any more projects we can look forward too? âșïž
OMG thank you!!! I really hope youâll enjoy it (or that you already did)! Donât hesitate to tell me what you thought â„
I have so many WIPs right now! Iâm currently working on a few blurbs for The Pitt because Iâm completely obsessed with the show, but those will probably only go up on AO3 since this blog is more focused on Pedro characters.
I also have several Joel WIPs going: one fake-dating set in Jackson, one slow-burn also in Jackson, and an AU as well. Some already have their first chapter written, while others are still in the âthinking about them way more than actually writingâ stage.
BUT I can officially say: my next work here will be a Frankie fic!! Finally writing for my boy ℠The first chapter should be posted very soon⊠See you on Frankie Friday!!
The Tides Between Us part 6
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 |
Pairing: dbf!Joel x fem!Reader | dbf!Tommy x fem!Reader
SUMMARY: The last day at the Millersâ beach house. Just you and Joel.
WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, SMUT, dry humping, unprotected PinV, oral, no outbreak au, no ellie, dbf!joel, dbf!tommy, age gap, no use of y/n, angst and tension, forced proximity, idiots in love (finally)
A/N : Final chapter of this fic! Thank you so much for sticking with me and this silly story. These two were really fun to write, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Hope to see you in another fic, maybe? And as always, let me know what you think, your comments mean the world â„
Here on AO3 | Wc : 16 k
A gentle hand on your shoulder pulls you from sleep the next morning. Itâs barely there, more a suggestion than a touch, and for a few seconds, you donât even realise itâs real. Youâre still tangled in the last threads of your dreams, warm and comfortable beneath the covers.
Then the mattress dips beside you as someone sits carefully on the edge of the bed, as if afraid to disturb you too much. A moment later, you hear your name, spoken softly, in that familiar tone meant for half-asleep mornings. You recognise your dadâs voice instantly.
âIâm leaving soon,â he says.
You mumble something into your pillow in response, might be a word, might not. Your brain is still slow, fuzzy around the edges, reluctant to wake up.
âI know, I know, itâs early,â he says gently. You can hear the smile in his voice. âYou donât have to get up. I just wanted to let you know Tommy and I are heading out.â
That gets through the fog. Your mind stirs, slowly piecing things together. Leaving. Goodbyes. People you love about to go somewhere you are not.
Your eyelids flutter open. Your dad is sitting beside you, still in his jacket, keys probably already in his pocket. The room is dim, the sun hasnât fully risen yet, and youâre grateful for it. It makes waking up easier. You blink a few times, trying to focus on his face.
âWhat time is it?â you ask quietly, your voice hoarse with sleep.
âJust before six,â he says quietly. âFigured Iâd leave at the same time as Tommy. Beat the traffic.â He gives your shoulder one last squeeze. âTake your time. Weâll be downstairs.â
He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head before standing. The gesture is so achingly familiar, like when you were little, and he used to wake you for school, patient and gentle even when you grumbled. Just like back then, he leaves the door cracked open. A thin strip of hallway light spills across the floor, enough to keep you from drifting right back to sleep the way you used to.
You sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes, trying to calculate how much sleep you actually got. Surprisingly, you fell asleep quicker than you thought you would last night. Youâd expected to toss and turn, your skin still buzzing from everything that happened yesterday. From Joelâs hands. His voice. His promises.
But youâd fallen asleep almost immediately. Like your body and your heart had both agreed to be merciful. Like they were just as eager as you to get to the tomorrow he promised. The thought makes a slow smile spread across your face. Suddenly, getting out of bed doesnât feel so hard.
You finally get out of bed and head downstairs, following the murmur of voices toward the entryway. The early morning air sneaks in through the open front door, cool and crisp. Your dad is outside by his car, lifting his bag into the trunk, while Tommy stands nearby, talking about traffic, highways and the best route out of town.
It takes them a moment to notice you standing in the doorway. Tommyâs face lights up the second he sees you. He breaks away from the car and heads toward you with an easy grin.
âHey, you,â he says. âDidnât think Iâd actually see you this morninâ.â
You lift your chin proudly. âTold you Iâd be here to see you off, didnât I?â
âYeah, yeah, you did,â he admits with a chuckle. âReal nice of you to sacrifice your precious sleep for us.â
âOh, please,â you snort. âIâm going straight back to bed the second you guys are gone.â
âOf course you are,â he laughs.
From by the car, your dad calls your name, glancing over as he shuts the trunk. âYouâre gonna get sick dressed like that.â
You look down at yourself. Cotton shorts. An old T-shirt. Bare legs. You hadnât thought twice about it when you padded downstairs, still half-asleep. Now the early morning breeze slips over your skin and makes you shiver.
When you glance back up, you catch Tommyâs eyes trailing, almost absentmindedly, up your bare legs before snapping back to your face. Itâs subtle, but not subtle enough. He realises you noticed and gives you a sheepish little smile. âWant me to grab you a jacket?â
Before you can answer, something warm settles over your shoulders.
You recognise the flannel instantly from the faint scent of detergent and something distinctly him. When you turn your head, Joel is there, standing close behind you. He must have come out without you noticing. His expression is calm, but thereâs a firmness in the way he looks at his brother, something wordless and unmistakable.
Then his gaze shifts to you, and the sternness disappears as quickly as it came. His eyes soften, warmth replacing whatever edge had been there.Â
You pull the flannel tighter around yourself, fighting the smile that threatens to spread across your face. âThanks.â
âDidnât even see you come out,â Tommy says, a grin tugging at his mouth. âYou move quiet for a big guy.â His eyes flick between the flannel around you and Joelâs now empty shoulders. âReally generous of you.â
Joel shrugs, unfazed on the surface. âShe looked cold.â
âShe did. And you just happened to notice that from the kitchen?â He gestures vaguely toward you. âThatâs some impressive awareness, brother.â
âDo you want your coffee or not?â Without waiting for an answer, he pushes the travel tumbler into Tommyâs hand with a little more force than necessary before turning toward your dad to hand him the second cup.Â
Tommy canât quite hide the quiet snicker that slips out as he follows his brother back toward the cars, coffee in hand. When their backs are turned, you instinctively pull the flannel tighter around yourself. The fabric is still warm from him, carrying that scent thatâs unmistakably Joel. It settles around you, and the shiver you feel has less to do with the early morning chill now and more to do with the way your chest feels. You almost want to chastise yourself for reacting like this; itâs just a flannel. Just a simple gesture. But you canât even find it in yourself to care. After a second, you walk over to join them.
âWell, I think Iâve got everything,â your dad says, glancing around the driveway one last time before turning to the brothers. âThanks for the invite, guys. I had a great time.â
âIt was really nice having you,â Joel replies, sincerity woven easily into his voice. âThanks for making the trip.â
Your dad waves a hand like it was never a question. âLike I wouldnât have. Weâll have to do this again soon, alright? I just love this place.â
Joel nods with a small smile. âAnytime.â
Your dadâs gaze shifts between you and Joel. âIâll see you two tomorrow then?â
Joelâs eyes flick to you briefly before he nods. âYeah. Iâll drop her off in the afternoon.â
âGreat.â Your dad turns back to you. âJust text me when youâre leaving, okay?â
âWill do.â He pulls you into a hug, as if you will be gone for more than one day.âSee you tomorrow, Dad.â
âEnjoy your extra day for me,â he murmurs. âAnd donât send me too many pictures or Iâll burst with jealousy.â
You smile against his jacket. âCanât promise anything.â
He laughs softly and squeezes you a little tighter before letting you go. Then he steps toward Joel to say his goodbyes, clapping him on the shoulder in that appreciative way he always does.
Tommy nudges you gently. âWell⊠I guess this is goodbye for us too.â
You groan, dramatic. âTerrible. I honestly think no one should ever leave the beach house. Ever.â
âIndeed.â His smile softens, sincere. âI had a really great time with you. Itâs always fun when youâre around.â
âYou too, Tommy,â you reply, meaning it.
âYou should come hang out in Arlington one of these days. Weâd have fun.â
âIâd like that,â you say honestly. Even after everything thatâs happened, or what didnât end up happening, between the two of you, you know how genuine he is, how good of a person heâs always been, and how well you connectâeven if itâs just as friends.
He wraps his arms around you in a quick, warm hug. âTake care, pretty girl.â
You canât help the little laugh that escapes at the nickname, knowing it will stick for a while. âBye, Tommy.â
He hesitates just for a heartbeat, and then leans in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. âTry not to break his heart, okay?â
You freeze, lips slightly parted, caught off guard by his words. Is he saying what you think he is? How? Does he know? Since when? Is everyone noticing? Sarah first, now him⊠What about your dad? Your mind races.
âIâŠâ you start, searching for a response, any words to deflect, but thereâs no hiding it. Tommyâs tilt of the head is patient, almost teasing, urging you to be honest. And you canât find it in yourself to lie. âOkay,â you whisper finally.
He nods, satisfied, and gives a small wave. You can only watch in quiet disbelief as he turns to your father, pulling him into a quick side hug before they both head to their cars.Â
Joel comes to stay by your side as the engines turn over, both cars rumbling to life. He keeps a careful, polite distance between you, just enough to be proper, just enough that anyone watching would see nothing at all.
And yet every inch of that space feels unbearable.
Youâre suddenly hyper-aware of him beside you; the warmth radiating from his body, the steadiness of his presence. You want to close that gap. To lean into him. To rest your head against his shoulder and breathe him in without having to think about who might be watching.
You lift your hand and wave, your heart heavy but full, until the cars roll past the trees and disappear down the long stretch of road. You keep your gaze fixed there for a few seconds longer, almost irrationally convinced they might come back. That someone might reappear and catch you in something you havenât even done yet.
But the road stays empty. The quiet settles in slowly, wrapping around the two of you. No engines. No voices. No witnesses.
Youâre alone.
You hesitate before turning your head, and when you finally look at Joel, you find heâs already looking at you. His eyes are warm, brighter than usual in the morning light, and thereâs something open there, something unguarded that makes your breath hitch just slightly. It pulls a smile from you before you can stop it.
One whole day. Just the two of you.
His mouth curves too, slow and knowing, like heâs been thinking the exact same thing. Like heâs been waiting for this moment just as much as you have.
All the worry about Tommyâs whisper, about who might suspect what, fades into the background. None of it matters right now. Not when heâs looking at you like that. Not when itâs just the two of you standing there. When it comes to your heart, itâs always been him. It narrows down to him so easily, so completely, that sometimes it scares you.
A yawn slips out before you can stop it. You lift your hand to cover your mouth, cheeks warming slightly. âSorry,â you mumble.
Joelâs expression softens even more. ââS still early,â he says gently. Then he holds out his hand to you. âWanna go back to bed?â
His hand is warm when you slip your fingers into his, and he leads you back inside without a word. The door closes softly behind you, sealing the two of you away from the outside world. You follow him up the stairs in silence, painfully aware of how loud your heart seems in your chest. You wonder if he can hear it too, if he knows how fast itâs beating just from the way your grip tightens around his hand.
When you pass Sarahâs door, Joel slows slightly. You instinctively prepare yourself to speak, but he doesnât stop like you thought. He simply walks past it, then glances back at you over his shoulder. The look in his eyes steals the words from your mouth. It makes your stomach flutter and your lips part without you even realising it. You follow him without hesitation. You pass the other empty rooms until he finally stops in front of his bedroom door. He opens it and guides you inside, still not letting go of your hand. You pretend not to notice, but inside youâre clinging to that small contact like itâs proof this is real. That he isnât going to change his mind.Â
You take in the room slowly; youâve barely been in here before, only once or twice, always on some errand for Sarah. Youâd never lingered, never dared to look too closely, too afraid of crossing an invisible line. Now, standing here, it feels different. Like youâre being allowed into a part of him youâve never seen.
Itâs simple, just like you imagined it would be. A few clothes folded neatly, others draped over a chair. His suitcase sits in the corner near the door. A bit messy, like him. And then thereâs the bed, perfectly made, smooth and inviting. The sight of it makes something warm bloom in your chest. You canât help wondering if he made it this morning before leaving his room. If he did it knowing you might end up here. Knowing he wanted you here. The thought makes you feel light and dizzy and impossibly giddy.
Joel lifts his free hand to the flannel still wrapped around your shoulders. His fingers brush lightly against your arm as he slides it off, slow and careful, as if heâs afraid of moving too fast. He holds it for a second, hesitating, eyes searching your face.
âIs that okay?â he asks quietly..
You meet his gaze, your heart pounding, warmth spreading through you at the tenderness in his expression. You nod, your voice soft but certain when you answer.
âYes.â
He lets the flannel slip from his fingers, and it falls softly to the floor between you. For a moment, he doesnât say anything. His gaze drifts over you slowly, unhurried, as if youâre wearing something far more beautiful than an old T-shirt and cotton shorts. The way he looks at you makes your skin warm, makes your pulse jump. You expect him to close the distance, to pull you closer, take off the rest of your clothes and make up for everything you both held back the night before.
But he doesnât.
Instead, he keeps smiling, that soft, almost shy smile youâve come to recognise, and gently guides you toward the bed. You glance at him, confused, searching his face for answers. He only nods, tilting his head slightly, silently encouraging you.
You slip under the covers, heart racing, and before you can even overthink it, he follows you. The mattress dips beside you, and then he shifts closer, pulling you back against his chest. His arms wrap around you firmly, protectively, like heâs afraid you might disappear if he loosens his hold. You fit against him perfectly, your back resting against his warmth, his breath brushing lightly over your hair.
He exhales slowly, a sound of pure contentment, as if this simple closeness is everything heâs been wanting.
For a moment, the intensity of it all almost overwhelms you. The feel of him behind you, solid and steady, his heartbeat faintly beneath your ear. You wonder if he feels your breath quicken, if he senses the questions swirling in your mind. Why isnât he doing more? Why isnât he fucking you into the mattress? He must, because he leans forward and presses a soft kiss to your neck, more affectionate than demanding.
âJust let me hold you,â he murmurs against your skin.
His voice is low and sincere, and somehow, it quiets every restless thought in your head. Your breathing slowly falls into rhythm with his. You remember that you have all day, just with him, and finally, you let yourself relax completely, settling deeper into his arms.
Youâve dreamed of this before. Of lying in his bed, wrapped up in him, feeling safe and wanted and cherished all at once. Now that itâs real, you donât want to rush it. You want to savour it. So you close your eyes, and sleep comes easily.Â
Youâre not sure how long itâs been when you wake again. Maybe twenty minutes, maybe hours. The only clue is the pale sunlight slipping through the curtains, painting warm lines across the room. Youâre still in his arms, still held just as tightly, as if he never once thought about letting you go.
Joel is still pressed close against you, so close thereâs barely any space between your back and his chest. You try to move a little, just enough to turn and see his face, but then your hips brush against his, making you pause immediately. Your stomach flips, heat rushing through you as you realise that Joel is hard against you. You shift again, just to make sure, you tell yourself. Your ass brushes against him this time just a little bit harder. Yes, definitely hard.Â
You stay still for a moment, unsure what to do. You should let it go, ignore what is an obvious natural reaction. But youâre already wet, embarrassingly so, just from the feel of him. You remember the feeling of his cock inside you, how good he filled you. You are so turned on, you canât help but try to feel him once more.Â
Immediately, a large hand comes to rest on your hip, stopping you before you can move any further.
âWhatâre you doinâ?â he groans against your neck.
Instead of answering with words, you grind back once more. You feel him twitch, somehow even harder now. Thank god for soft sweatpants. The thin layers do almost nothing to hide how thick he is, how much heâs straining.
âBe good.â His voice is rough with sleep, so low it only makes you want to be bad.
You tilt your head just enough to catch the corner of his eye over your shoulder. âPlease.â
âCanât you wait?â His fingers flex, tightening on your hip, but he doesnât push you away.
âJoelâŠâ Your voice cracks into something embarrassingly needy. âPlease.â
The sound of you begging must break something in him because this time, heâs the one who pulls you back, grinding himself against you in one long, slow drag that makes your breath hitch.
âThat's what you want?â Joel murmurs right against your ear, sending another violent shiver racing down your spine. He rolls his hips again, grinding the thick of his cock against your ass. âIs that what my baby canât wait for?â
Fuck, his mouth is filthy so early. You bite down hard on a moan, teeth sinking into your lip as he keeps you pinned tight against him. He groans with every drag of his hips, the sound vibrating through your back and straight to your core, making you soak through your underwear even faster.
âLet me hear you,â he rasps, broad palm sliding under your shirt to splay hot and possessive across your stomach. He presses you back harder against his body, eliminating every last inch of space. âDonât hide those pretty sounds from me.â
You donât even realise the small, needy whimpers are escaping until theyâre already out; soft at first, then louder, bolder with every open-mouthed kiss he drags down the side of your neck. His hand keeps travelling higher under your shirt until rough fingertips find the soft swell of your breast. He cups it fully, thumb brushing your nipple once, and you feel his cock jerk hard behind you.
âSo fuckinâ soft for me, baby,â he growls against your skin, rolling the stiff peak between his fingers until your moaning louder for him. âLove those little noises you make. Does that feel good?â
âYes,â you gasp, eyes fluttering shut, completely lost in the heat of his palm and the relentless pressure of his body grinding into yours. Your hand flies up, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer. âDonât stopâplease donât stop.â
He kisses you then, messy and devouring. Tongue sliding against yours, chasing every moan straight from your mouth like he wants to drink them. Itâs just dry humping, just clothes and desperation, and it shouldnât be this devastating, but it is. Your whole body is trembling, clit throbbing with every slow, filthy roll of his hips.
Right now, youâre convinced Joel could do anything to youâanything at allâand youâd beg for more. The thought should scare you. Itâs too soon, too much, too dangerous. And yet, you canât bring yourself to care.
Suddenly, Joel shifts. In one fluid motion, he rolls you beneath him, pinning you to the mattress with his broad frame. Your breaths come in harsh pants, chests heaving in sync. Even in the dim glow of the outside world, you can see how blown his pupils are, dark and hungry, like heâs trying to memorise every inch of your face to make sure this is real; you, here, in his bed, wrecked and wanting him.
He crashes his mouth back to yours before either of you can speak, kissing you like heâs starving, like being apart for those few seconds was unbearable. You nip at his bottom lip, making him growl low in his throat. Emboldened, you tilt your head and attack the line of his jaw, lips brushing over the coarse scratch of his beard. He braces himself on his forearms, careful not to crush you under his weight, even though you can feel how badly he wants to press every hard inch of himself flush against you.
You trail open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat until you find that perfect spot where neck meets shoulder. You bite gently at first, then firmer, and Joelâs hips jerk involuntarily, a rough sound tearing out of him. You smile against his skin and do it again: bite, suck, lick your tongue over the mark youâre leaving. His big hand starts roaming your body like heâs trying to commit every curve and dip to memory. Fingers trace your ribs, the soft dip of your waist, the swell of your hip.
Finally, his palm settles at the hem of your shorts. He pauses there, thumb brushing lazy circles over the sensitive skin just above the waistband.
âCan I taste you, baby?â His voice is wrecked, soft and gravelly and so fucking sinful it makes your thighs clench. âPlease.â
âTaste me?â you echo, half-dazed, like you need him to say it again just to be sure you heard right.
He toys with the elastic of your shorts now, fingertips dipping just under the edge, teasing but never quite committing. His eyes lock on yours, dark and pleading.
âYeah,â he rasps. âCan I eat your pretty pussy? Please, sweetheart.â
Jesus. Yes, you're pretty sure you could come from his voice alone. Who knew the quiet, grumpy Joel Miller was hiding this? A mouth that could ruin you with a few sentences. You want to discover everything he doesnât show the world.Â
âYou donât have to,â you manage, even as the mental image of his head between your thighs makes your whole body melt.Â
Joelâs lips curve into something dangerously close to a smirk. He leans down until his mouth brushes the shell of your ear.
âI want to,â he murmurs, already hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and underwear. âFuck, you have no idea how much I want to.â
âTell me,â you urge, voice trembling as you lift your hips to help him peel the fabric down your legs. The cool air hits your skin for only a second before his warm mouth is there instead.
He starts slow, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, tracing the soft line down to your navel. Every brush of his beard sends sparks skittering across your skin.
âThought about doinâ so many things to you,â he murmurs between kisses, voice low and wrecked. âThought about this⊠a lot.â His lips settle at the sensitive dip where hip meets thigh. âThought about how youâd taste when I finally got my tongue inside you. How youâd sound when I made you come on my mouth.â
Your hips arch instinctively when he kisses just above your mound, so close and yet not close enough. âFuck, Joelââ
âSo will you let me, sweetheart?â He finally looks up at you from between your thighs, pupils blown wide. The sight of him there, broad shoulders spreading your legs, should make you self-conscious. Instead, it only makes you feel powerful, desired, fucking worshipped. âWill you let me take my time with this pretty cunt?â
âYes,â you breathe, too wound up, too desperate to pretend otherwise.
That slow smile of his undoes something deep inside you, but itâs nothing compared to what happens next. Joel doesnât tease anymore. He simply lowers his head and disappears between your thighs.
The first drag of his tongue is devastating, licking a slow, deep stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. You gasp sharply, back bowing off the mattress. Then his mouth closes over your clit, and his tongue starts flicking, circling. Precise, like heâs already mapped out exactly what makes you shake.
âAhâ!â The sound rips out of you, shockwaves ripping straight to your core.
One hand flies to his hair on instinct, fingers twisting into the soft, salt-and-pepper strands, holding him right there. Joel hums in approval, the low, satisfied vibration rolling through your clit and straight up your spine. Your thighs tremble around his head.
He doesnât let up. His tongue dives deeper, parting your folds, lapping at your slick with raw, shameless hunger, like heâs been starving for this taste and canât get enough. He groans into you, the sound muffled against your cunt, and the rumble only makes you clench harder around nothing.
One thick forearm bands across your hips, pinning you down so you canât squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure. His free hand slides up your inner thigh, thumb brushing the sensitive crease where leg meets body, spreading you open just a little wider for his mouth.
He pulls back for half a secondâjust long enough to rasp against your soaked skin, voice thick with want:
âYou taste even better than I thought,â Joel murmurs, voice muffled against you as he laps at you like heâll never get enough.
âOhâfuckâfuck, Joelââ Your voice is completely wrecked, and the sound of it only spurs him on harder. He dives back in with zero hesitation, abandoning every last bit of restraint, burying his face between your thighs like itâs the only place he wants to be.
His big hands clamp down on your thighs, fingers digging in just enough to keep you pinned while you writhe and buck against his mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut, overwhelmed by the rising intensity. Every flick of his tongue, every hungry pull of his lips sends white-hot sparks racing through you.
You donât see the way his hips grind down into the mattress in helpless little thrusts, chasing friction for his aching cock while he devours you. Heâs just as wrecked as you are, fueled entirely by the sounds youâre making, the way your body responds to him.
âYouâre dripping for me, baby,â he breathes out, pausing only long enough to drag his tongue in one long, slow stripe up to your clit. Then his focus narrows around that swollen bundle of nerves while two thick fingers slide down to your entrance. He pushes in slowly, curling them just right, hitting that spot inside you that makes your whole body jolt.
âIâoh my godââ
He pumps steadily, curling deeper with every thrust, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. Combined with the constant, perfect pressure on your clit, itâs too much and exactly enough all at once. Youâre climbing fast, thighs trembling, breath hitching.
âAre you close, baby?â Joel rasps, feeling you flutter and tighten around his fingers. âYeah? Gonna come for me?â
You didnât think he could push you higher, but then he does; his tongue circling your clit in tight, relentless loops while his free hand slides up your body, rough palm finding your breast. He rolls your nipple between thumb and forefinger, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp.
You feel him everywhere; his mouth, fingers, hands, the low rumble of his groans vibrating against your core. Itâs overwhelming, perfect, too good. You try to tell himâmumbling broken praise, half-formed âso goodâ and âdonât stopâ and âJoel, pleaseââeven as your body starts to unravel.
âYes, come on, sweetheart. Please, baby, let me see you come like this. Please.â
The way he begs, almost desperate, like your pleasure is the only thing that matters, snaps the last thread inside you. You shatter.
Your legs shake violently, hips lifting off the bed as white-hot bliss explodes through you. Your vision whites out, every muscle locking and releasing in waves while you tremble and gasp against his unrelenting mouth. Joel doesnât let up; he works you through it, fingers stroking slow and deep, tongue lapping gently now, drawing out every aftershock until youâre a boneless, shuddering mess.
When the world finally steadies, you manage to crack your eyes open.
Joelâs looking up at you from between your thighs, lips and beard glistening with your release, a wide, almost boyish grin splitting his face. His eyes are bright, shining with something close to awe, like heâs never been happier than right here, covered in you, wrecked by you.
âThat wasâŠâ You start, voice hoarse.
âGood?â he supplies, teasing, but his smile is soft.
You laughâbreathless, giddy. âGood doesnât even begin to cover it. Fuck, Joel. That was⊠amazing.â
He presses one last gentle kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh, humming low and content in the back of his throat. His tongue darts out to catch the last traces of you on his lips, and when he finally looks up, thereâs a smug, proud little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He wipes his beard with the back of his hand like heâs savouring every second of having wrecked you so thoroughly.
You reach for him, fingers curling into his shirt to pull him back up your body. He comes willingly, settling over you just enough to let you kiss him deep and grateful. You taste yourself on his tongue, and fuck, you donât think youâve ever liked that as much as you do right now.
âCan I return the favour?â you murmur against the corner of his mouth, already sliding your hand down toward the waistband of his sweatpants.
âItâs okay,â he says quickly.
âReally, I want toââ Your fingers brush the elastic, but he catches your wrist before you can slip inside, just firm enough to stop you.
You pull back slightly, searching his face, suddenly worried youâve crossed some invisible line. But what you find isnât rejection. His cheeks are flushed a deep, embarrassed red, eyes flicking away from yours like he canât quite meet them.
âI mean⊠IâŠâ He swallows hard, Adamâs apple bobbing. âYou were a sight⊠fuck, when you came, I alsoâŠâ
Your gaze drops automatically. There, darkening the front of his grey sweatpants, is a noticeable wet patch right where the thick outline of his cock had been straining moments ago.
Oh.
Your eyes snap back to his face. Joelâs looking off to the side now, jaw tight. The big, gruff man who just ate you out like it was his last meal came in his pants just from feeling you fall apart on his tongue.
You cup his face with both hands, thumbs brushing over the hot flush of his cheeks, and pull him into a fierce, messy kiss, trying to pour every bit of how okay this is, how much you love it, straight into his mouth.
When you finally break apart, youâre both breathing hard.
âIs it bad that I find that⊠really fucking flattering?â you whisper.
He scoffs, a short, disbelieving sound, like he thinks youâre just being nice.
âIâm serious, Joel.â You drag your thumb along his bottom lip. âItâs hot. Likeâreally hot. Knowing I did that to you? Just from your mouth on me? Fuck.â You laugh softly, a little breathless. âIâm only sad I didnât get to feel you come in my mouth instead.â
He groans low against your shoulder, half in embarrassment, half from the image of it, and buries his face in the crook of your neck for a second, like he needs to hide from how much your words affect him.
âLet me go clean up real quick,â he mutters, pressing one last kiss to your collarbone before rolling off the bed.
He disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes. You use the time to catch your breath, limbs still heavy and loose from one of the best orgasms of your life. The sheets are a tangled mess around you; your clothes are god-knows-where across the room. You donât bother looking for them.
When he comes back, heâs swapped the ruined sweatpants for soft black boxers and thrown on a faded T-shirt. He looks softer like this, his hair still mussed from your fingers, cheeks still faintly pink, and it makes your chest ache in the best way.
He slides back under the covers without a word, pulling you backagainst his side like itâs the most natural thing in the world. You curl into him instantly, head on his chest, one of his thick thighs slipping between yours. You fit together like pieces that were always meant to slot this way, no awkward fumbling, no second-guessing.Â
âFeelinâ okay?â he asks as he nuzzles closer.
âFeeling great,â you murmur, tracing lazy circles on his chest through the soft cotton. âThanks to you.â
He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound vibrating through you, and hooks his leg a little higher, pressing you even closer. You sigh happily into his neck.
He glances toward the window. Sunlight is pouring in now, golden and bright, painting long stripes across the bed.
âLooks nice out there today,â he says softly. âPerfect day for the beach later, huh?â
âYeah,â you breathe against his skin, smiling like an idiot. âPerfect day.â
Youâre not sure when you fell asleep again, somewhere between the hazy aftermath of your orgasm and the steady comfort of Joelâs body next to you. When you wake, your eyes stay closed at first. Instinctively, you reach for him, already missing the way he held you. Your hand meets nothing but cool sheets.
You open your eyes, and for a moment, you just stare at the empty space beside you, blinking away the last traces of sleep. The room is flooded with sunlight now, bright and golden, spilling across the walls and the bed. Definitely no longer early morning.
You sit up slowly, pushing the covers aside and listening. The bedroom door is slightly ajar, and faint sounds drift up from downstairs. Enough to tell you where Joel probably is.
You stretch lazily, muscles loose and relaxed in a way you havenât felt in a long time. The bed isnât much different from Sarahâs, the same mattress, the same kind of sheets, but somehow, being here makes it better. Being in his room. Waking up where he sleeps. You smile to yourself.Â
You pad toward the bathroom, still half-dreaming, and catch your reflection in the mirror. A soft laugh escapes you. You look⊠ridiculously happy. Thereâs no point trying to hide it, even from yourself.
You turn on the shower and wait for the water to warm, leaning against the counter as steam begins to fill the small space. The bathroom is simple and practical. Very Joel. His toothbrush sits in its holder, his razor nearby, clearly untouched for a few days. Your eyes linger on your reflection in the mirror, on the thought of his scruff against your skin. You think you like his facial hair that way.
When the water is warm enough, you step in, letting it cascade over you. It washes away the last of your sleep, leaving you fully awake and strangely light. The heat feels good, even if it does nothing to stop the shiver that runs through you when your mind wanders back to earlier. You shake your head with a quiet laugh and reach for his shampoo. Three-in-one. Of course. You roll your eyes as you squeeze some into your hand, already planning to tease him about it later. But when the familiar scent fills the air, you hesitate. It smells like him. Maybe he doesnât need to change it after all. Itâs not like his hair is not perfectly soft when you let your fingers play with it.Â
You finish up quickly, wrap yourself in what you assume is one of his towels, and head back into the bedroom. Standing in the middle of the floor, you glance down at your t-shirt in your hand, then around the room.
Your shorts and underwear are nowhere in sight, lost where Joel threw them over his shoulder earlier. You consider walking to Sarahâs room to grab some of your clothes, but before you do, your gaze drifts to the suitcase sitting near the door.
When you step into the kitchen, Joelâs back is to you. Heâs wearing the same clothes as earlier, fabric stretched across his shoulders as he moves around the counter, completely focused on whatever heâs doing. For a moment, you just stand there and watch him, quietly taking in the familiar sight.
You tiptoe closer, careful not to make a sound, peeking around his side to make sure he isnât handling anything dangerous. Satisfied, you slip your arms around his waist and press yourself against his back.
He startles instantly, letting out a small, surprised yelp as he jerks forward. You canât help but giggle.
âShould put a bell on you,â he mutters with a sigh, already relaxing into your touch.Â
He sets whatever he was holding aside and turns, pulling you properly against his chest. His hands settle on your back. He looks down at you, and his expression softens immediately. A smile spreads across his face as his eyes search yours. He leans in and presses a quick, gentle kiss to your lips.
âHi,â he murmurs.
You smile against his mouth. âHi.â
Then his gaze drifts downward, slowly taking in what youâre wearingâhis clothes. The soft, worn T-shirt hangs loose on you, slipping slightly off one shoulder, and the boxers sit low on your hips, far too big and somehow perfect anyway. If the way his eyes darken as he looks at you is any indication, he thinks so too.
âCouldnât find my clothes,â you say with an innocent little shrug.
âSuch a shame,â he replies smoothly, fully aware that you couldâve gone to Sarahâs room if you really wanted to. His eyes trail down your bare legs, unhurried, thoughtful, and you know exactly what heâs remembering, because youâre thinking about it too.
He takes a slow breath, like heâs grounding himself, then finally steps back and gestures toward the stove. A large pan sits there, bacon sizzling gently beside fluffy scrambled eggs, filling the kitchen with a warm, comforting smell.
âHungry?â he asks.
Your stomach answers before you do, and you smile.
âDefinitely.â
Joel gestures for you to sit as he finishes up at the stove. A moment later, he sets a mug down in front of you, the familiar scent of coffee rising with the steam.
âCould you pass meââ
âAlready put cream and sugar in it,â he interrupts.
You raise an eyebrow before taking a sip. Itâs perfect. Exactly the way you like it.
You look up at him, surprised, and he chuckles at your expression. âBroke my heart to do that to a perfectly good black coffee.â
âAnd yet you did it flawlessly,â you reply with a smile. âThank you.â
He sets two plates on the table next, adding a few slices of golden French toast beside the eggs and bacon, then finally sits across from you. The two of you dig in, everything cooked just right.
âSarah is right,â you say between bites. âYou make a mean breakfast.â
âThank you,â he replies, pointing his fork at you playfully. âBut I assure you, I know how to cook other things too.â
âOh yeah?â you tease. âLike what?â
He pauses, takes a sip of his coffee, then looks at you more seriously. âIâll make you dinner when we get back. A proper one. Then youâll see.â
Thereâs a softness in his expression, that familiar hint of shyness when he isnât quite sure how youâll react.
âJust the two of us?â you ask, wanting to be certain.
âYes,â he says. âIs that okay?â
You nod quicklyâprobably a little too quickly. âIâd really like that.â
His hand reaches across the table and finds yours, and he gives your fingers a gentle squeeze as he smiles. He keeps his hand in yours as you both continue eating, his thumb occasionally brushing against your knuckles without thinking. The meaning behind his words slowly settles in. Itâs not like youâve never eaten alone together before. Youâve shared late-night takeout, rushed sandwiches, quiet movie nights where food was barely an afterthought. Those moments had been special too.Â
When both your plates are empty, a comfortable silence falls between you. You lean back slightly, lifting your mug, and thatâs when you notice it; Joel keeps glancing at you. Or more specifically, at the shirt youâre wearing. His. Youâre grateful itâs loose enough to hide how warm his attention makes you feel, how sensitive you suddenly are under the soft fabric.
You take another sip and smile faintly. âLiking my clothes?â you tease.
âAmong other things,â he replies, almost absentmindedly, like the words slip out before he can stop them.
âLike what?â
He hesitates, looking down at your joined hands. âNothing,â he mutters. âItâs stupid.â
âCome on, tell me,â you say softly, leaning forward and resting your arms on the table.
You know exactly what youâre doing. The loose collar of his shirt falls open just enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of cleavage, and you pretend not to notice. You are not above a cheap trick. You watch him instead.
His eyes betray him immediately, like a moth to a flame. They flick down, just for a second, like he didnât mean to look at all. Then he snaps his gaze back up to your face, his cheeks already tinged pink.Â
After a moment, he sighs in surrender. His hand drags down his face before he finally says, quietly, âI was just⊠thinkinâ you look better in my clothes than in Tommyâs.â
Oh. That was definitely not what you expected.
Your shoulders sink a little in surprise, your mouth parting as you stare at him, unsure of what youâre supposed to say. Your mind jumps immediately to that moment just a few nights ago, when he caught you in Tommyâs shirt outside his room. Of the way it looked. Â
Joel watches your expression shift. His jaw tightens, lips pressing together.
âAh, fuck,â he mutters. He stands abruptly, gathering the empty plates and walking to the sink. âI shouldnât have said that. Forget it.â
Youâre on your feet right away.
âNo, Joel. Wait.â
He sets the dishes down with a little too much force, but he doesnât turn around. His shoulders are tense, drawn tight with frustration, at himself more than anything. You step closer and gently place your hand on his arm.
âI thinkâŠâ You begin softly. You wait until heâs really looking at you. âI think we should⊠talk about it. Properly. Donât you?â
He exhales slowly, conflicted. âWe donât have to,â he says, though he clearly doesnât sound convinced.
âI think we do,â you reply quietly. âWeâve been⊠really good at leaving things unsaid. At pretending stuff doesnât matter when it does.â You swallow. âAnd I donât want that. Not with you.â
You take his wrist gently and guide him toward the living room. He follows without resistance, letting you lead him to the couch. You sit beside him, your thumb absentmindedly rubbing over the inside of his wrist.
âIf weâre going toâŠâ You hesitate, searching for the right words. âIf weâre going to be something⊠I want us to be honest with each other. About everything. No more guessing.â You look up at him, nervous but determined. âIs that okay?â
He studies you for a moment, taking in the seriousness in your eyes, the way youâre searching his eyes as much as he searches yours. He lifts your hand and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.
âYes. Yes, of course. Iâmâ yes. Letâs talk.â
Thereâs a moment of silence between you, both of you unsure where to begin, how to open something like that. Joel is the one who finally breaks it. His hand is still wrapped around yours, thumb brushing softly over your skin.
âI shouldnât care,â he admits quietly. âI know I shouldnât ask, I know that, butâŠâ He exhales through his nose, looking at you.âWhat happened with Tommy?â
âYou can. Ask, I mean,â you say gently. âYou can ask me anything.â Your gaze drifts to his hand, so much bigger than yours. You notice the fine hair on his forearm, the streaks of grey mixed in, all the little details youâve memorised without meaning to. âI told you we kissed,â you continue softly. âAnd that nothing happened.â He nods, eyes fixed on you, waiting. âItâs true. Nothing did. But⊠it could have.â
You hear his breath hitch, just slightly. When you look up, heâs still calm, still listening, even though thereâs a faint tension in his brow.
âTell me.â
âThat night,â you continue, âwhen you guys were at the bar⊠Iâd spent the whole day telling myself I needed to get over you.â
His eyebrows knit together in surprise. âGet over me?â
âYeah,â you admit with a small, nervous laugh. âFrom my point of view, youâd⊠rejected me. You werenât mad at me anymore, but that was it. And I didnât want to keep hoping for something that might never happen. I was scared Iâd lose you completely if I did.â
He looks like he wants to interrupt, to say something, but he holds himself back. So you keep going.
âSo when Tommy came back early, and I was already in that headspace⊠all I could think was that I needed to move on. That I had to. And when he flirted with me, I just⊠it felt right. Like it was what I was supposed to do. Like maybe it would help me stop wanting you so much.â
Thereâs a stretch of silence where Joel simply looks at you, taking in every word youâve said. His jaw tightens, then relaxes. He opens his mouth, closes it again, clearly searching for the right way to ask whatâs been weighing on him.
âDo youâŠâ He hesitates. âDo you like Tommy?â
You donât look away.
âI do,â you answer honestly.
You see him flinch, just barely, like he wasnât prepared for that. Before he can retreat into himself, you reach out and brush your fingers over his arm, grounding him.
âTommy is great,â you continue softly. âHeâs fun. Heâs kind. And heâs uncomplicated. It was easy to understand what he wanted. Easy to read. And youâŠâ You shake your head with a small, almost self-conscious laugh. âGod, this is going to sound so stupid. But, Joel, I donât think you realise how much I liked you. I was going crazy over you. Completely.â
His eyes lift to yours, surprised. It makes you want to smile. As if those past days hadnât been enough for him to see that.Â
âSo when Tommy flirted with me, I flirted back,â you go on. âBecause I never thought there could be anything with you. I thought⊠maybe if I let myself like someone else, it would finally make it stop. Maybe it would help me move on.â
Your voice grows quieter.
âSo I let him take me back to his room. And we almostââ You pause. âAlmost. But we didnât,â you finish. âI just⊠fell asleep there. Thatâs all. Nothing else happened.â
Joel squeezes his eyes shut, like heâs trying to erase the picture forming in his head. His brow furrows, and for a second, you have to fight the urge to smooth it away with your thumb.
After a moment, he exhales and looks down. âWhy didnât you?â
You hesitate for a second, wondering if you should tell him it was because of him. Because you couldnât. Because your heart wouldnât let you. But that wouldnât be the whole truth. And you donât want to soften it just to protect him. If being honest is enough to make him pull away, then maybe he shouldnât have you at all.
âWe didnât have protection,â you admit quietly.
He looks up at that, surprised. You can see the wheels turning in his head.
âBut weâŠâ He frowns slightly. âWe didnât either.â
You nod. âI know.â
âBut you let meââ
âFill me up?â you finish for him without thinking.
Joel groans under his breath. âJesus, woman.â
You canât help laughing. He was murmuring filthy things to you just hours ago, and yet now heâs blushing like you caught him swearing in church. Southern man through and through.
âLike I told you,â you continue softly, âIâm on the pill. And Iâm clean. Iâve never⊠Iâve never not used protection. Not until you.â
He goes still.
âWhy?â he asks quietly.
You tilt your head, studying him. âCome on, Joel. You know why.â He doesnât interrupt. He needs to hear it. âBecause itâs you. Because Tommy wasnât you. Because once I finally had you, I didnât want half of it. I wanted all of you. I wantedâ I want everything. Iâve never felt that way before. Fuck, Joel⊠no one compares to you. Not for me. No one ever has.â
Your cheeks warm at the admission, heat spreading all the way to your ears. Sometimes what you feel for Joel seems too big to fit inside you, too big for your chest, for your thoughts, for your words. It takes up so much space in your heart, in your mind, in every quiet moment when you arenât distracting yourself. Saying it out loud feels terrifying, like no sentence could ever really capture how your heart stumbles every time you look at him.
Joel stays quiet, really looking at you now, as if heâs trying to memorise every word you just said. You can almost see him replaying it in his head. The silence stretches, filled with everything you just confessed. His eyes shift with too many emotions for you to name, fleeting too fast to properly catch one.Â
âAre you mad?â you finally ask, when it becomes too much to bear.
He blinks, as if realising how his silence must look. He clears his throat softly and squeezes your hand.
âIâm not mad at you,â he says gently. âOf course Iâm not.â
His other hand rises to your cheek, thumb brushing your skin in a slow, grounding touch.
âAm I jealous?â he admits quietly. âYeah. I am. Do I wish my brother hadnât touched you? Yeah, I do. ButâŠâ He exhales. âI canât blame him for wantinâ you. Not when I know how much I do. How long Iâve been wantinâ you.â His voice softens. âI can only blame myself for not tellinâ you sooner.â
Before you can respond, he leans in and kisses you, like heâs making up for every moment he held back, every word he swallowed. Like heâs reclaiming something he thought he wasnât allowed to want. You melt into it immediately, hands curling into his shirt, heart racing. His fingers slide into your hair, anchoring you there, holding you close like heâs afraid you might disappear.
When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.
âThank you for tellinâ me, sweetheart,â he murmurs.
He draws you in, settling you against his side on the couch, your body fitting easily into his. You tuck yourself close, your head against his chest. He breathes in slowly, burying his face in your hair for a moment, as if grounding himself in you.
You like how it feels to have lifted that weight from your chest. Like you and Joel have finally leveled the ground between you, made it steadier, easier to stand on together. A better starting point. Youâre not naĂŻve enough to think one conversation fixes everything. You know it wonât magically make what comes next simple. But the road ahead, whatever it leads to, feels less fragile now. Less like it might crack beneath your feet at any moment. Still, the question lingers. What comes next? It circles in your mind as you rest against him, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. This, this is what being with Joel could be like. Sitting close.Talking things through. Feeling his warmth, his presence, his quiet reassurance.
But tomorrow, youâll leave the beach house. Tomorrow, real life will be waiting. Austin. Responsibilities. Other people.Â
ââYou think about how this will affect everything. His relationship with your dad. Your relationship with Sarah. Most of all, Sarah and Joel. You and your dad. All those carefully balanced connections, shifting because of you. Because of this.
Itâs scary. Scary to want him this much. Scary to wonder if something that feels this good could also make things harder. Scary to risk turning this perfect, gentle warmth into something tangled and messy.
You tilt your head up to look at him, and you shouldnât be surprised to see him already watching you. His eyes soften when they meet yours, a small, tender smile curving his lips. Something in your chest loosens at the sight. Somehow, despite all the fear, you realise youâre willing to face whatever comes, as long as he keeps looking at you like that.
âWhat do you wanna do now?â he asks quietly.
For a second, you almost say the obvious answer: Stay like this. Stay with me. Donât move. Donât change anything.
âGo to the beach,â you say instead. âAnd just⊠enjoy the day.â
âSounds perfect,â he replies before he clears his throat, and you notice the faint flush rising in his cheeks as he gathers his next words. âI was thinkinâ⊠Would you let me take you out tonight? Thereâs a nice place in town. And I wanna do this proper. Like I shouldâve done a while ago.â
He tilts your chin gently, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.
âWhat do you say?â he murmurs. âWill you let me take you on a real date? I realise I donât wanna wait till weâre back home.â
âYou want to court me, Joel Miller?â you tease, even though your heart is practically trying to leap out of your chest.
âHave I not made that clear enough?â he says with a grin, leaning in to kiss you again, longer this time, just enough to make you breathless. âSo. Can I take you out tonight?â
âItâs a date,â you answer before chasing his lips again.
Joel Miller blushes. A lot.
Itâs a realisation you canât help but make now that youâre really watching him. Now that you know youâre allowed to. Now that he lets himself truly look at you. Now that you can do things that make him blush. Itâs wildly endearing, seeing this forty-year-old manâs cheeks warm with colour so easily.
When you kiss him breathless on the couch, leaving him flushed all the way up his neck and ears. When the two of you get ready for the beach, and he sees you in your bikini, and lets himself take you in like its the the first time, a small, appreciative sound escaping him as pink dusts his cheeks. When you do the same to him, letting your hand trail over the grey in his chest hair, making you want to press kisses right there. When he tries to joke, self-deprecating, about the softness of his stomach, how it isnât what it was twenty years ago, and you tell him how ridiculous how has no idea how attractive he is. How gorgeous. When he stumbles over his words, when you let your nails drag lightly down to his happy trail, making you seriously consider staying inside instead. Yeah. The blush definitely deepens then, especially when he cleared his throat and adjusted himself, pretending heâs perfectly fine.
You wonder how many times you missed this before. How many times have you might have made him blush like this and never noticed? Or noticed, but never realised it was because of you. The thought makes your skin buzz. Leaves you restless. Wanting. Wanting to keep drawing this out of him. Your sweet, rough man. So strong, and somehow so easily flustered. You donât say any of it out loud. You know heâd get self-conscious immediately. Try to hide it. Fail, obviously. So you keep it to yourself. Your little secret.
At least at the beach, Joel could pretend that the color in his cheeks came from the high sun in the sky, warming his skin, rather than from you sitting so close to him. He watched you intently as you put sunscreen on, turning it into a quiet gameâtracking every movement, every slow pass of your handsâhis jaw twitching slightly each time you rubbed it into your skin.
He only seemed able to look away when people passed by not far from you. Sadly, the beach wasnât as deserted as youâd hoped. Others were out enjoying the weather, and you even recognised the older couple youâd seen a few days earlier.
You were a little surprised that Joel didnât pull away when you arrived and realized you werenât alone. Youâd thought that, with people around, he might put some distance between you. Instead, his hand stayed right on your waist, steady and warm, as if it belonged there.
Not for the first time, you find yourself wondering how the two of you must look to everyone else. For the first time, you think the answer is obvious: you look like youâre together. Thereâs no mistaking the way you watch each other, heated and unguarded. The closeness of your bodies as you let the sun soak into you. The way his fingers trace slow, absent lines along your spine while you talk about nothing and everything at once.
When the sun starts to feel like too much, you suggest finally going into the water. Joel tells you to go ahead, and youâre not sure if itâs because heâs enjoying the view of you walking away, or because heâs waiting for the slight tent in his swim trunks to calm down. Either way, you leave him on the towel with a small smile, eager to let the cool water soothe your overheated skin. You can feel his gaze on you the entire way.
The water is perfect, just like everything else seems to be today. You let yourself enjoy it, smiling at a few other people nearby as you wade in deeper. Once youâre far enough, you dive under, letting the world go quiet for a moment. When you resurface, you turn to see if Joel has finally joined you, only to find him still back on the beach.
Youâre too far away to call out to him, so you consider going back to drag him in yourself. The water feels too good, and you want him here with you.
âHey,â a voice says from your right.
You turn, only to find a man floating nearby, treading water easily, wearing a wide smile.
âHi?â you reply.
âHi,â he says again, his eyes openly following the water as it slides down your body without any attempt to hide it. âIâm Luc. Whatâs your name?â
You brush the water droplets from your eyes and take a better look at him. He looks to be around your age, with short blond hair cut in a style that reminds you of something militaryânever your favouriteâand a flirtatious smile pasted confidently on his face. You hesitate for a second before giving him your name.
âCan I help you?â you ask.
âI was over there playing with my brother,â he says, gesturing toward a kid nearby, floating in snorkelling gear, his bright yellow tube bobbing in the water as his feet kick lazily. âAnd I couldnât help but notice you. I think youâre very pretty.â
He lets his eyes roam over you again as he says it.
âThanks?â you reply, keeping your tone neutral as you cross your arms over your chest, hoping your body language will be enough to signal your lack of interest. Instead, he seems far more focused on the way the movement presses your breasts together.
âSo, whatâs a beautiful girl like you doing out here all alone?â he asks, lowering his voice in what he clearly thinks is a seductive way. You have to fight the urge to wrinkle your nose in distaste.
âIâm not alone,â you answer, starting to turn to look for Joel.
Before you can, he takes a small step toward you. You immediately step back.
He raises his hands in front of him, at least looking a little apologetic. âHey, my bad. Didnât mean to scare you. Iâm not trying to be a creep, promise. Just wanted to shoot my shot. Iâm here for the week, and I was wondering if I could get your Insta or something. Maybe we could hang out⊠or something.â
He lets the last words linger, as if you might somehow miss the implication.
Youâre about to politely but firmly turn him down when you hear your name.
âYou good?â Joel calls, moving toward you through the water with quick, determined strides, his eyes already fixed suspiciously on the guy beside you.
âYeah, yeah, donât worry,â you reply quickly, and you canât stop the smile that spreads across your face at the sight of him.
âAnd whoâs that?â Joel asks as he comes to stand beside you, and you immediately feel yourself relax at his presence.
âNo one,â you reply lightly. âHe was just leaving.â You let your hand trail to Joelâs forearm, already ready to walk away with him.
âWaitâyou didnât give me your Insta,â the guy calls after you, and you canât help wondering why some men are so terrible at reading the room.
You feel Joel tense beside you.
âI think sheâs not interested, boy,â he says evenly.
The guy looks at Joel and laughs. âSeriously? You got your old man scaring off guys for you? You couldâve just said you werenât interested.â
You roll your eyes, about to tell him that youâd made that clear from the start, when Joel suddenly tilts your chin up and presses his mouth to yours.
The kiss is immediate and confident. He captures the small gasp you let out, deepening it without hesitation, leaving no room for doubt.
âOh,â you hear the guy mutter. âRight. Not your old man. Got it.â
âGood talk,â Joel replies simply.
His hand slides to the small of your back, fingers brushing deliberately against the hem of your bikini in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination. He guides you away, moving you farther into the water until he seems satisfied youâre well out of earshot.
You hear him mutter something under his breath, his voice tight with annoyance, and you canât help but smile at the stern set of his jaw.
âI had it handled, you know,â you tease softly.
âI know,â he replies, though the way he says it makes you laugh.
You press closer to him. âYou were jealous,â you poke.
He looks away immediately. âI was not.â
âYes. Yes, you were.â
You wrap your legs around his waist, and his hands instinctively catch the back of your thighs, holding you securely. He looks at you then, a faint smile tugging at his lips. You lean in and press a kiss to his neck, feeling the way he shudders slightly under your mouth.
âMy jealous old man,â you murmur.
âWhatever,â he huffs, but he pulls you even closer as he wades a little deeper, until the water reaches your shoulders. He presses a kiss there, just below your ear. âI donât like him thinking he could have whatâs mine.â
Your breath catches.
âAm I?âÂ
âWhat?â He brushes your hair aside, giving himself better access to your neck.
âYours?â you repeat, your voice softer than you meant it to be.
He pulls back just enough to look at you properly, studying your face for a moment. Then he smiles, the one you love, a bit cocky and yet so sincere.Â
âI sure hope so,â he murmurs, leaning close to your ear. ââCause Iâm definitely yours.â
The two of you stay in the water until your skin feels pruny, kissing and laughing when you try, unsuccessfully, to pull him under. You discover heâs weirdly ticklish in one spot, just under his ribs and nowhere else, and you keep attacking it until he tries to get you back. You shriek and try to escape, but he doesnât let you get far, far too happy to pull you back against his chest, trailing kisses along your back while you laugh.
Itâs so easy, so good, that you barely notice time passing.
When you finally head back to your towels, you realise someone couldâve stolen your things, and you wouldnât have noticed, as youâd been far too focused on the man beside you. Thankfully, everything is still there, and the two of you walk home the same way you arrived, hand in hand.
When the sun starts to sink low, youâre stretched out on the couch together. A movie plays in the background, mostly ignored, while you half-doze against his shoulder. Eventually, you decide itâs time to shower and get ready. You start to stand, but Joel catches your hand before you can go far.
You turn to him, noticing the hesitation in his expression.
âWhat?â you ask gently.
He pauses, looking you up and down. âNothing.â
âYou sure?â
He waves it off. âYeah. No. Itâs stupid.â
âYou know you canât say that,â you reply immediately, smiling. âNow I want to know even more.â
âReally, it doesnât matter. Go on.â
âJoel.â You tilt his chin until he looks at you, until those beautiful brown eyes meet yours, filled with so much fondness it almost steals your breath. âTell me. Come on. Be selfish, Miller.â
The word seems to hit exactly where itâs meant to. His pupils widen slightly, and he takes a slow breath, as if gathering his courage.
âSweetheart,â he murmurs, his voice low, âwill you wear the blue dress tonight? Please?â
Holy shit. A shiver runs down your spine at his words. For once, youâre the one left speechless. For a moment, you just stare at him, completely at a loss.
He wants you to wear that dress. The same one you wore when you kissed him. The one youâd put on the other day just to rile him up, clearly with more success than youâd realised. The fact that heâs asking for it now, quietly and almost shyly, is⊠unexpectedly hot.
You nod, watching the way his pupils widen slightly. Itâs intoxicating, the way you can affect him like that. You lean in to press a quick kiss to his lips, stepping back before he can deepen it.
âSee you in a bit, Joel.â
You leave before he can give you that look, the one that makes you want to climb into his lap, kiss him for hours. You head upstairs quickly, smiling when you hear his soft scoff behind you. You grin all the way upstairs.
In the shower, you take your time, letting the warm water run over you as your thoughts drift. About this past week. About how much has changed. About how you and he, together, used to feel like something that only existed in your fantasies, and now, somehow, itâs real.
You find the dress in your bag and hold it up for a moment, smiling to yourself. Slipping it on, you feel your confidence rise instantly. You smooth the fabric over your hips, already imagining his hands there later. You do your hair and makeup just the way you like, all the while thinking about him getting ready a few doors down. About him standing in front of the mirror, probably tugging at his shirt, wondering if he looks okay. About him checking his watch for the tenth time. About him telling himself to calm down. Sweet, sweet Joel.
By the time you head back downstairs, you feel strangely shy, suddenly aware of how official all of this feels. A proper date. Joel is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, hands in his pockets, shifting his weight slightly. He looks up when he hears you, and for a second, he just stares in a quiet, stunned way. His jaw works once, twice, before he exhales hard through his nose.
âYou look beautiful,â he says finally. Your smile comes instantly.Â
He holds out his hand, as if you need it. You take it anyway, your cheeks warming under the intensity of his gaze. The moment your fingers lace with his, he tightens his grip just a little, grounding himself.
His thumb brushes softly over your knuckles.
âReady?â he asks quietly.
You look up at him, at the warmth in his eyes, at the nervous hope there, at the way heâs trying so hard to do this right. You rise on your toes and press a soft kiss to his cheek, savoring the way color immediately blooms there.
You squeeze his hand. âYes.â
Joel takes you to a small restaurant in town, the kind of place with warm lighting that makes it intimate without trying too hard. When the host greets you and leads you past a few quiet couples to a nice table, you realize he made a reservation. You glance at him as you walk in behind the host, curiosity tugging at you. When did he do that? You spent most of the day together. Did he call yesterday, before he even asked you? Had he already known what your answer would be?
The thought sends a warm flutter through your chest.
He guides you to the table with his palm warm at the small of your back, a gentlemanâs touch that feels both old-fashioned and achingly tender. He pulls your chair out, waits until youâre settled, then takes his own seat across from you.
For a moment, he just looks at you. Then he exhales softly through his nose, shaking his head a little, like heâs still slightly stunned by the sight of you. You wonder if itâs the dress. Or if heâs feeling the same quiet amazement you are, that this is happening. That the two of you are here. Together.
Youâd been braced for awkward silences, for the sudden weight of âdateâ turning everything stiff. But it never comes. The conversation flows easily, just like it always has. You order a few dishes to share between the two of you, laughing as you debate which ones sound best.
When the server asks about drinks, you order a glass of wine. Joel hesitates for a second, and you catch the brief flicker of uncertainty on his face before he orders a beer instead.
âScared of a little merlot, Miller?â
He snorts, the corner of his mouth lifting.
âYou donât want me pretending i know anything about wine swheatheart. would be embarrassing for both of us.â
You laugh, and he leans forward just enough to nudge your foot under the table.
You let your gaze linger on him. The black dress shirt stretched across his shoulders, sleeves rolled to his forearms. The dark pants that fit just right. He clearly tried to tame his hair, but itâs already falling back into its usual glorious mess, silver threading through the dark strands. You wouldnât change a single thing. He looks so handsome, like right out of one of your dreams. a very nice one. You tell him as much, and he ducks his head for a second, that bashful half-smile breaking across his face. And suddenly you have the overwhelming urge to stand up, walk around the table, and kiss him right there in front of everyone.
But then you catch it the insistent gaze of an older couple a few tables away. Their eyes move from Joel to you and back again, brows furrowed, lips pressed together in a way that makes their thoughts painfully obvious. Thereâs no question what they think theyâre seeing. You can almost hear the judgment forming in their minds as they take in the years between you. Without really meaning to, you straighten slightly in your chair.
Joel must notice something shift in your expression, because his hand moves across the table and settles over yours.
âYou good?âÂ
âYeah, itâs justâŠâ You gesture vaguely, trying not to point directly at them even though theyâre still looking far too obviously. âYou know.â
Joel doesnât hesitate. He turns his head and looks directly at the couple. Caught staring, they both look immediately embarrassed, turning back to their menus with exaggerated focus.
When Joel turns back to you, his hand starts to pull away from yours, like maybe he shouldnât have been holding it so openly, like maybe it was his fault.
âDonât,â you say quickly, turning your hand so your palm slides properly into his.
He doesnât hesitate this time, his fingers closing around yours again, warm and firm.
âItâs justâŠâ you sigh, searching for the right words. âThis. Us. It feels so right. But other people might not see it that way.â
Joel watches you carefully. âIâm sorry,â he murmurs.
âNo. No.â You shake your head immediately. âWhy would you apologise?â You squeeze his hand gently. âI just⊠I forget sometimes that not everyoneâs going to understand.â
You donât have to say anything about your dad. Or Sarah. Joel understands immediately. He says your name quietly.
âWill you be okay?â he asks gently. âWith this?â
âJoel, Iâm not ashamed. Itâs just⊠new. And believe meâif being with you means I get a few stares, Iâll gladly take them.â
Something in his face softens at that. Without caring who might be watching, he lifts your hand and presses a slow kiss to the back of it. With his eyes so focused on you, so warm and steady, the rest of the room fades away again.
âGood,â he murmurs. âBecause I donât want to hide us.â
Your heart skips.
âI want to do this when we get back,â he continues. âTake you on dates. Real ones. I donât want to make this relationship a secret.â He pauses.âOf course weâll take all the time you need. But I want people to know how I feel about you.â
You blink at him, a little stunned. âReally?â
âYes,â he says immediately. âOf course, sweetheart.â His voice softens. âI told you. I want this to be serious. I want Sarah to know. I want your dad to know. I want to take you out, hold your hand, kiss you without feeling like weâre hidinâ somethinâ.â
His gaze doesnât waver.
âI wonât hide you,â he adds quietly. âOr us.â
You wonder sometimes how Joel Millerâa man who can struggle so much with saying what he feelsâcan also, somehow, find exactly the right words when it matters most.
Emotion rises suddenly in your chest, thick in your throat, stinging faintly behind your eyes.
âThatâs what I want too, Joel,â you admit. âI want to tell people.â
His smile grows, warm and relieved.
âThen we will.â
For a moment, the two of you just look at each other, smiling a little foolishly, a little giddy with the promise of it.
The server arrives with your plates, and Joel reluctantly lets go of your hand, though the smile on his face doesnât fade. The two of you start eating, the conversation flowing easily, comfortable and warm.
At some point, something crosses your mind and you laugh quietly to yourself.
Joel lifts an amused eyebrow. âWhat?â
âYou remember Dina? My friendâyou saw her at the Fourth of July thing, I think.â
Joel nods slowly.
âShe is going to completely lose her shit when I tell her about us.â
âWhyâs that?â he asks, taking a sip of his beer.
âBecause sheâs been listening to me talk about my crush on you for⊠a while.â
He pauses, lowering the bottle with a small smirk. âYou got a crush on me, sweetheart?â
You stretch one leg under the table and nudge his chin lightly with your foot.
âI think weâre past that point, Joel.â
He hums in quiet satisfaction, clearly pleased with himself, and the two of you keep eating. But your foot doesnât move away. Instead, it lingers against his calf, brushing there lazily while you keep talking.
You watch him carefully as you do it; the way his shoulders tense slightly, the way he clears his throat mid-sentence. The faint colour creeping up his neck again. Itâs far too entertaining to stop. Your foot trace a slow path higher along his leg as the conversation continues, and Joelâs words start to stumble just a little. Finally, when you push your luck a bit too far, your foot sliding higher than it probably should, his hand shoots out and catches your ankle before you can move again. His fingers wrap firmly around your calf. Joel fixes you with a stern look across the table⊠though the effect is slightly ruined by the clear flush coloring his cheeks.
âEnough,â he says quietly.
His hand doesnât let go.
âSorry,â you reply sweetly, even though youâre very obviously not.
Right then, the server returns to clear your plates.
âWas everything alright? Can I get you anything elseâmaybe dessert?â
Joel doesnât answer immediately, looking at you. His gaze drops briefly to where your leg is still trapped in his hand, then returns to your face. Thereâs something darker in his eyes now, something warm and dangerous that sends a little thrill down your spine. You meet his stare without backing down.Â
âWeâll take the check,â he says immediately.
All you remember from the drive back is Joel pinning you against the car as soon as your are out of the restaurant, mouth crashing into yours like heâd been starving for it. His low, ragged âyouâre gonna fucking kill meâ vibrating against your lips before he wrenched the door open.
Then his hand sliding up your thigh as he drove you back, the same way it had yesterday, only this time every slow inch promising something you were done waiting for. His fingers slipped just beneath the hem of your dress, teasing the sensitive skin there, and when you glanced over he shot you a look so dark and impatient it made your pulse hammer between your legs.Â
The second the front door clicks shut heâs on you again, back slammed against the wood, his body caging yours. His mouth finds yours instantly, uncoordinated, like he canât decide whether to devour you or breathe. Your head thumps the door; he mutters a rough âsorryâ against your lips but doesnât stop, and honestly you barely register the sting. Youâre too busy chasing the taste of him.
His hands map you greedily, your waist, your hips, the dip of your lower back, before they settle at the hem of your dress, fingertips playing with the fabric like heâs debating ripping it off.
âYou really like this dress, Miller?â you breathe.
He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, pupils blown. âYou kissed me in this dress. Course I fuckinâ like it.â
You drag your lips along his jaw, stubble scraping your tongue, and slide your hands under his shirt to pull him impossibly closer. âGood thing I packed it then. Didnât realise it made such an⊠impression.â
His laugh is low, wrecked. âBaby.â That word in that gravel tone always undoes you. âI fucked my fist thinkinâ about you in this dress. More than once.â
The image slams into your mind before he even finishes the sentence; Joel alone, hand working himself, your name probably bitten off between curses, imagining the exact way the fabric clings to your thighs. Heat coils tight and sudden low in your belly. You press your legs together on instinct, trying to ease the ache.
âFuck, Joelââ
âYeah?â His voice drops darker, smug. âYou like knowinâ that?â
Before you can answer, his hand dives under your dress. Thick fingers trace the edge of your underwear, then his thumb brushes right over the damp center of you. He feels how soaked you already are and lets out a quiet, mocking sound that makes your knees threaten to give.
âOh, you do.â
You have to clench your jaw to keep from begging him to take you right here.
âBedroom.â You say instead. âNow.â
He doesnât need to be told twice. You barely make it down the hallway without breaking apart. His mouth on yours, your fingers fumbling at the top two buttons of his shirt, his hands gripping your hips like heâs afraid youâll vanish if he lets go. The bedroom door bangs open; he pushes you inside with just enough force to make you stumble back a step, laughing breathlessly at how wrecked he already looks.
The sound barely leaves your lips before he catches it with another kiss, smiling against your mouth like he canât help himself. He trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, across your shoulder, while his hands slide the straps of your dress down your arms. His breath snags audibly when he sees whatâs underneath: the pretty matching set youâd thrown in your bag on a whim. A girl could dream. Turns out she was right to.
Joelâs gaze drags over you, lighting something fierce and confident in your chest. You stand a little taller, letting him look. He steps in close again, one hand sliding to the small of your back, pressing your bare skin to his clothed chest as he kisses you. The other hand fumbles at the clasp of your bra, until he swears under his breath, frustrated, making you laugh softly. He spins you around so he can see what heâs doing, muttering, âShut up,â against the side of your neck before he finally gets it right. The bra joins the dress on the floor.
Immediately, his chest is flush to your back. His hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they pebble under his touch. You sigh, head tipping back against his shoulder as he rolls them gently, then a little harder, drawing a soft whimper out of you.
He keeps kissing everywhere he can until youâre squirming against him, restless. You can feel how hard he is, thick through his jeans, pressed right against your ass. The friction makes your thighs clench.
He walks you forward until your knees hit the edge of the bed, then turns you so you can sink down onto the mattress. You settle on your back, propped up on your elbows, watching him through heavy lids as he finishes the last buttons of his shirt. The way he looks at you, spread out on his bed just for him, waiting, wanting, makes heat lick low in your belly.
âGod, youâre gorgeous,â he says, like he canât help it, like a truth he simply has to face.Â
Heat floods your cheeks. Youâre still not used to the way he looks at you You donât think you ever will be. From where you are, Joel looks devastating: the messy curls, lips swollen and flushed, the dark eyes locked on you, the faint sheen of sweat already gathering at his collarbone. You want to drag your nails down his chest, mark him up, pull him down until thereâs nothing left between you.
âTake off your pants, Joel.â
He huffs a low, amused sound. âEager much?â
âYes,â you admit without hesitation. You see the flicker of surprise in his eyes; heâd expected you to play coy. âNow take them off and fuck me. Please.â
âYeah, yeah, okay,â he mutters, already moving. His hands make quick work of the belt, pants and boxers shoved down and kicked off in one impatient motion, faster than you thought possible.Â
Then heâs climbing onto the bed, looming over you, broad shoulders blocking out the dim light from the hallway. The sheer size of him hits you again in the best way. How great it feels to be under him like that.Â
You pull him down for another kiss while your hand slips between your bodies. His breath hitches the second your fingers brush him, tracing the thick length of him, feeling him twitch under your touch. Then you wrap your hand around his cock, and his eyes flutter shut, a rough sound catching in his throat.
âLike that?â you whisper against his mouth.
âJusââmmphâlittle tighter? Yeah⊠yeah, fuck, like that.â
He drops his forehead to the hollow of your clavicle, hiding there as if the sight of your face might undo him completely. Soft grunts and broken moans spill against your skin with every slow stroke of your hand. Your beautiful, wrecked Joel, coming apart because of you, because of the way you touch him. One of his arms braces beside your head, muscles flexing to keep his weight from crushing you. The other hand roams your thigh, calloused palm dragging up the inside, higher, until his fingertips hook the edge of your underwear. Heâs trembling just enough for you to feel it.
âCan I take these off?â he manages, voice gravel-rough between the gasps he canât quite control.
You nod, even though the thought of him just shoving the lace aside doesnât bother you in the least. But Joel wants it done right.You release him so he can hook his fingers under the waistband and drag the underwear down your legs, peeling it away until thereâs nothing left between you.
For the first time, youâre both completely bare. No fumbling in the dark of the car, no sleepy touches in the grey morning light. Just skin on skin, breath held, eyes drinking each other.
Your gaze drops to where his cock stands flushed and heavy, the head glistening with precum from your earlier touch. He lets you look, even though you feel the involuntary twitch under your stare, the way his hips shift like heâs fighting not to thrust into your hand again.
His palm cups your cheek, thumb tracing the swell of your lower lip. You part for him without thinking, letting it slip inside. You suck lightly, tongue curling around the rough pad, and watch his pupils blow wide, dark and helpless.
Almost shy, voice barely above a whisper when you ask: âCan I go down on you?â
He groans low in his chest, forehead dropping to yours. âGod, sweetheart⊠youâre killing me here.â A rough, honest laugh escapes him. âIâd really fuckinâ like that. But if you do, Iâm not gonna last long enough to give you what Iâve been dyinâ to.â
You smile against his mouth. âAnother time, then.â
He nods, kissing you eagerly. âYeah. Another time. Please.â
The kiss deepens fast. The simple knowledge that there will be more times lights something fierce between you: his real bed back in Austin, the worn leather of his couch, maybe the kitchen table youâve always thought was exactly the right height forâ
Your thoughts scatter the second his fingers slide between your legs.
He exhales a shaky breath when he feels how wet you are, how ready. A cocky little smile tugs at his lips as his thumb finds your clit and circles it. The gasp that rips out of you is involuntary, and it only makes that smile deepen.
Then two of his fingers slide inside you, curling just right while his thumb stays devoted to your clit, relentless circles that drag the most shameless sounds out of your throat. Youâre too far gone to feel embarrassed by it. When the ache becomes unbearable, when all you can think about is him filling you completely, you grab his wrist, voice wrecked. âJoel⊠need you inside me. Now.â
Heâs just as wrecked. His breath stutters as he pulls his fingers free, leaving you clenching around nothing, already aching at the loss. He settles properly between your thighs, the head of his cock brushing your clit.
âDo you want me to get a condom?â he asks even as his hips twitch with restraint.
Your hand finds his forearm, stroking gently. The fact that he still asks, even now after all you talked about, makes something tender bloom in your chest. âNo,â you whisper. âWanna feel you, Joel. Just you.â You wrap your fingers around him again making him hisses softly at the contact, and guide him to your entrance. âNeed you.â
One of his hands settles on your hip, steadying you both. He pushes in slowly, eyes flicking between your face and the place where he disappears inside you inch by inch. When his hips finally press flush to yours, buried to the hilt, you both let out long, shuddering sighs against each otherâs mouths.
Itâs only been two days, but god, youâd missed this: the perfect stretch of him, the way he fills you until thereâs nothing left but him.
He doesnât rush. He starts with shallow, languid rolls of his hips,pulling out just enough to make you feel the drag, then sinking back in deep. Every movement is measured, controlled, like heâs savoring every second. âPerfect,â he mutters against your lips, voice rough with awe. âFucking perfect.â
He keeps that steady, unhurried rhythm, slow enough that he can kiss you properly; your mouth, your jaw, the sensitive spot under your ear, murmuring praise the whole time. âSo good for me⊠feel so fuckinâ good⊠thatâs it, babyâŠâ
You canât look away from each other. Smiles break through between moans, soft and dazed, like youâre sharing a secret no one else gets to know. Every thrust pulls a new sound from you; every sound makes his eyes darken further.
At some point he hooks his hands under your knees, tilting your legs toward your chest. The new angle lets him sink even deeper, hitting that spot that makes white sparks burst behind your eyes.
âJoelâfuckââ
âYeah? Right there?â He grinds in again, watching your face. âBaby, talk to me.â
âYesâyes, donât stopââ
âNot stoppinâ. Fuck, you feel amazinâ.â
You try to rock up into him, chasing more, harder, but his hands pin your hips gently but firmly to the mattress.
âWeâre not in a rush,â he murmurs, voice gravel-low.
âJoel,â you whine.
He chuckles and rolls his hips in a slow, filthy circle just to prove his point. âWeâve got all the time in the world,â he grunts, eyes locked on yours. âLet me feel how good you are around me⊠just like this.â
You feel it building slowly at first, a warm, tingling heat that spreads through every inch of you with every measured thrust. His praise lands like sparks against your skin, each whispered word making your body flutter and clench around him.
âAre you gettinâ close?â You nod, nails digging into his back as he drives deep. âFuck you areâ I can feel it.â
âAre you?â you manage to gasp.
âIâve been close since the second you touched me, baby,â Joel groans, hips stuttering. âJust⊠trying not to end up like this morninâ.â
âI likedââ You cut off with a sharp cry as he thrusts forward again. ââthis morning.â
The shared confession pulls a breathless smile from both of you. He leans down for a messy kiss. Your words dissolve into broken sounds after that,nothing coherent except his name, over and over. His rhythm starts to fracture, thrusts turning harder, deeper, chasing both your peaks with the same hunger. His hand slips between your bodies again, two thick fingers finding your clit with perfect pressure.
âCan you come on my cock, sweetheart? Please â fuck, I need to feel you.â You must nod frantically, because he continues. âOf course you can. Youâre my perfect girl.â
And because you are, it only takes a few more punishing thrusts and the relentless circle of his thumb before the edge rips through you. Your orgasm crashes over, legs shaking, back arching, walls pulsing tight around him as you cry out.
âJoelâ Ah! Joelââ
Above you, Joel growls something filthy about how tight you are, how perfect, how good, but the words blur under the roar of your release. His face drops to your neck, hips snapping only a few moments, then burying deep as he follows you over. You feel the hot rush of him spilling inside you, his groan vibrating against your throat while his body trembles with the force of it.
He stays still for a minute, braced on forearms so he doesnât crush you, both of you panting hard. When he can finally focus again, he brushes a sweat-soaked strand of hair from your forehead. Then he kisses you, soft presses to your flushed cheeks, your closed eyelids, your swollen lips, until a helpless giggle bubbles out of you.
Only then does he ease out, eyes immediately dropping between your legs. He watches, transfixed, as his release starts to slip from you. After a beat, two of his fingers push it back inside with gentle insistence. You squirm, still oversensitive, and his cheeks flush darker at the sight. He settles beside you on his side, skin gleaming with sweat, and finally meets your eyes. Both of you are smiling, sated, a little dazed. He pulls you into a deep kiss, the kind that says everything words canât: how much he liked this, and you kiss him back just as hungrily, completely lost in him.
When you start to pull away after a minute, trying to sit up, Joel immediately tightens his arms around you and pulls you back down against the mattress.
âWhere do you think youâre going?â he murmurs.
âJust to the bathroom,â you laugh as he wraps you closer against him.
âDonât,â he mutters against your neck.
The realization makes you giggle againt his chest. Joel Miller is a cuddler after sex. âI need to clean up,â you tell him, amused. âAnd pee.â
He lets out a quiet huff of reluctant acceptance, pressing a slow kiss to the top of your head, lingering there. âFive minutes,â he bargains.
You canât help smiling at this unexpected clingy side of him, and for a moment you stay where you are. You nuzzle a little closer into him before pressing a light kiss to his Adamâs apple, feeling the way it shifts under your lips as he exhales. He eventually lets you go, though it takes closer to ten minutes than five, and you hurry into his bathroom. You donât want to be away from him for long either.
When you catch your reflection in the mirror, you pause. Your hair is messy, your lips swollen, your cheeks flushed. You look thoroughly, unmistakably well-fucked. And happy. Stupidly, stupidly happy.
You bite your lip to hide the grin and grab the first shirt you can find before leaving the en suite. Back in the bedroom, Joel is lying on the bed scrolling through his phone. The moment he sees you, he sets it aside, his eyes immediately moving over you.
âPutting some alarms for tomorrow,â he explains casually, though his gaze lingers a little as he takes in the sight of you in his shirt.
âWhat time do we need to leave?â you ask.
âNot early, donât worry.â He lifts the sheet slightly in invitation. âWe are sleepinâ in.â
âPerfect.â
You slide back into the bed, and the moment you settle, Joel pulls you into his arms again , chest to chest, your head tucked under his chin, one big hand splayed possessively over your lower back, like itâs the most natural thing in the world
âHow you feelinâ?â he asks quietly, lips brushing your temple.
âAmazing,â you whisper, tracing lazy circles over his heart. âYou?â
He just hums contentedly into your hair, a sound of quiet satisfaction that vibrates through his chest where youâre pressed against him. You tilt your head up, catching those soft brown eyes watching you in the low light. Theyâre so open, so fond, it steals the air from your lungs.
âWhat?â he asks.
For one dizzy second, the words are right there on your tongue. Those three little words people are so eager to say and so afraid of. You almost tell him. Maybe itâs the warmth still humming through your body, the quiet bliss of the moment, the feeling of being wrapped in his arms like this. But you swallow them down. Not yet. Itâs too soon. Too big. The thought might scare him and truthfully⊠it scares you a little too. Maybe itâs just the endorphins talking. Though it doesnât feel untrue.
âNothing,â you say instead.
Joel studies your face for a heartbeat longer, like he can almost hear the unsaid words anyway. Then leans down and kisses you softly before settling back against the pillow. Within minutes, his breathing deepens, steady and calm. You lie there listening to it, a small smile forming as you relax against his chest.
Itâs okay, you think, curling closer. You have time. So much time. After everything, you know youâll tell him someday. After all, this is only the beginning for the two of you.
Joel turns the key in the lock and pushes the door closed behind him. Out of habit, he twists the doorknob once more, testing it to make sure itâs properly shut. Only when heâs satisfied does he turn around.
And of course, youâre the first thing he sees.Â
Youâre leaning against the truck with that smile heâs pretty sure heâd follow anywhere. The morning sun catches in your hair, the ocean breeze tugging at the hem of your shirt, and for a second he has to remind his lungs how to work. Itâs been like that for a while now: you walk into his line of sight and the rest of the world quietly fades to background noise.
He crosses the gravel, boots crunching, and stops just close enough that your knees brush his.
âGot everything?â he asks.
You glance into the backseat where both your bags are tucked together. âThink so!â
He leans in and presses a slow kiss to your cheek, then opens the passenger door for you with an exaggerated little flourish.
You laugh, and the sound hits him square in the chest. He decides right then that heâs going to keep doing stupid chivalrous shit for the rest of his life if it keeps making you laugh like that. You deserve doors opened, seats pulled out, every small thing.
He rounds the hood, slides behind the wheel, and slots the key into the ignition. Before he turns it, he catches you staring back at the house through the window, something soft and a little wistful in your eyes.
You feel his gaze and turn to him. âYou know Iâve always loved this place,â you say quietly. âItâs always been full of so many memories.â Your eyes drop to his mouth, then lift again. âAnd now I love it even more. Iâm already missing it.â
Joel reaches over, curls a hand around the back of your neck, and kisses you. âWeâll come back soon,â he murmurs against your lips. âThatâs a promise.â
âIâd love that.â
He starts the engine. The radio hums to life when you twist the knob, some old country song drifting through the cab like it was waiting for you two. As the truck rolls down the driveway, you watch the house shrink in the side mirror until it disappears behind the dunes. Soon you will be back to Austin. Back to real life. Back to figuring out what âthemâ looks like when the world isnât paused in those stolen days. Joel feels the same small tug in his chest, leaving this little pocket of peace, but itâs quieter than the excitement buzzing under his skin. If anything, he feels something closer to anticipation.
He reaches across the console without thinking and threads his fingers through yours. You squeeze back immediately, and when he glances over, youâre already smiling at him like he hung the damn moon. He mirrors it without even meaning to.
You tip your head back against the seat, eyes half-closed, breathing in the sharp, clean scent of the sea one last time.Â
Joel doesnât let go of your hand.
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a fic where reader finally pees after sex, uti freeeeeeeee!!!
đđđ
Most of times if it isnât written, I just assume they do. But also itâs fiction, so unsafe sex is just more fuuunn sometimes
The Tides Between Us
đŒ series masterlist đŒ
[COMPLETED]
PAIRING: dbf!Joel x fem!Reader | dbf!Tommy x fem!Reader
SUMMARY: The Millersâ beach house was supposed to be a fun getaway : a week of sun, drinks, and celebration for Joelâs 40th birthday. But after that night with Joel, everythingâs suddenly⊠awkward. Joel is cold and distant, because Joel knows better. He wonât cross that lineânot with his best friendâs daughter, not when youâre half his age. Heâs made his share of mistakes, but this wonât be one of them.
But Tommy? Tommyâs never been one for restraint, all too willing to take what Joel wonât.
WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, SMUT, no outbreak au, no ellie, dbf!joel, dbf!tommy, age gap, no use of y/n, angst and tension, forced proximity
Here on AO3
Chapters
đŒ Part I đŒ Part II đŒ Part III đŒ Part IV đŒ Part V đŒ Part VI
đŒ If you want to be tagged, please let me know ! đŒ
Chapter 6, the final one for this story, is up !
The Tides Between Us is officially COMPLETED yayyyy !!
Hope you guys enjoy, thank you for reading :)
The Tides Between Us part 6
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 |
Pairing: dbf!Joel x fem!Reader | dbf!Tommy x fem!Reader
SUMMARY: The last day at the Millersâ beach house. Just you and Joel.
WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, SMUT, dry humping, unprotected PinV, oral, no outbreak au, no ellie, dbf!joel, dbf!tommy, age gap, no use of y/n, angst and tension, forced proximity, idiots in love (finally)
A/N : Final chapter of this fic! Thank you so much for sticking with me and this silly story. These two were really fun to write, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Hope to see you in another fic, maybe? And as always, let me know what you think, your comments mean the world â„
Here on AO3 | Wc : 16 k
A gentle hand on your shoulder pulls you from sleep the next morning. Itâs barely there, more a suggestion than a touch, and for a few seconds, you donât even realise itâs real. Youâre still tangled in the last threads of your dreams, warm and comfortable beneath the covers.
Then the mattress dips beside you as someone sits carefully on the edge of the bed, as if afraid to disturb you too much. A moment later, you hear your name, spoken softly, in that familiar tone meant for half-asleep mornings. You recognise your dadâs voice instantly.
âIâm leaving soon,â he says.
You mumble something into your pillow in response, might be a word, might not. Your brain is still slow, fuzzy around the edges, reluctant to wake up.
âI know, I know, itâs early,â he says gently. You can hear the smile in his voice. âYou donât have to get up. I just wanted to let you know Tommy and I are heading out.â
That gets through the fog. Your mind stirs, slowly piecing things together. Leaving. Goodbyes. People you love about to go somewhere you are not.
Your eyelids flutter open. Your dad is sitting beside you, still in his jacket, keys probably already in his pocket. The room is dim, the sun hasnât fully risen yet, and youâre grateful for it. It makes waking up easier. You blink a few times, trying to focus on his face.
âWhat time is it?â you ask quietly, your voice hoarse with sleep.
âJust before six,â he says quietly. âFigured Iâd leave at the same time as Tommy. Beat the traffic.â He gives your shoulder one last squeeze. âTake your time. Weâll be downstairs.â
He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head before standing. The gesture is so achingly familiar, like when you were little, and he used to wake you for school, patient and gentle even when you grumbled. Just like back then, he leaves the door cracked open. A thin strip of hallway light spills across the floor, enough to keep you from drifting right back to sleep the way you used to.
You sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes, trying to calculate how much sleep you actually got. Surprisingly, you fell asleep quicker than you thought you would last night. Youâd expected to toss and turn, your skin still buzzing from everything that happened yesterday. From Joelâs hands. His voice. His promises.
But youâd fallen asleep almost immediately. Like your body and your heart had both agreed to be merciful. Like they were just as eager as you to get to the tomorrow he promised. The thought makes a slow smile spread across your face. Suddenly, getting out of bed doesnât feel so hard.
You finally get out of bed and head downstairs, following the murmur of voices toward the entryway. The early morning air sneaks in through the open front door, cool and crisp. Your dad is outside by his car, lifting his bag into the trunk, while Tommy stands nearby, talking about traffic, highways and the best route out of town.
It takes them a moment to notice you standing in the doorway. Tommyâs face lights up the second he sees you. He breaks away from the car and heads toward you with an easy grin.
âHey, you,â he says. âDidnât think Iâd actually see you this morninâ.â
You lift your chin proudly. âTold you Iâd be here to see you off, didnât I?â
âYeah, yeah, you did,â he admits with a chuckle. âReal nice of you to sacrifice your precious sleep for us.â
âOh, please,â you snort. âIâm going straight back to bed the second you guys are gone.â
âOf course you are,â he laughs.
From by the car, your dad calls your name, glancing over as he shuts the trunk. âYouâre gonna get sick dressed like that.â
You look down at yourself. Cotton shorts. An old T-shirt. Bare legs. You hadnât thought twice about it when you padded downstairs, still half-asleep. Now the early morning breeze slips over your skin and makes you shiver.
When you glance back up, you catch Tommyâs eyes trailing, almost absentmindedly, up your bare legs before snapping back to your face. Itâs subtle, but not subtle enough. He realises you noticed and gives you a sheepish little smile. âWant me to grab you a jacket?â
Before you can answer, something warm settles over your shoulders.
You recognise the flannel instantly from the faint scent of detergent and something distinctly him. When you turn your head, Joel is there, standing close behind you. He must have come out without you noticing. His expression is calm, but thereâs a firmness in the way he looks at his brother, something wordless and unmistakable.
Then his gaze shifts to you, and the sternness disappears as quickly as it came. His eyes soften, warmth replacing whatever edge had been there.Â
You pull the flannel tighter around yourself, fighting the smile that threatens to spread across your face. âThanks.â
âDidnât even see you come out,â Tommy says, a grin tugging at his mouth. âYou move quiet for a big guy.â His eyes flick between the flannel around you and Joelâs now empty shoulders. âReally generous of you.â
Joel shrugs, unfazed on the surface. âShe looked cold.â
âShe did. And you just happened to notice that from the kitchen?â He gestures vaguely toward you. âThatâs some impressive awareness, brother.â
âDo you want your coffee or not?â Without waiting for an answer, he pushes the travel tumbler into Tommyâs hand with a little more force than necessary before turning toward your dad to hand him the second cup.Â
Tommy canât quite hide the quiet snicker that slips out as he follows his brother back toward the cars, coffee in hand. When their backs are turned, you instinctively pull the flannel tighter around yourself. The fabric is still warm from him, carrying that scent thatâs unmistakably Joel. It settles around you, and the shiver you feel has less to do with the early morning chill now and more to do with the way your chest feels. You almost want to chastise yourself for reacting like this; itâs just a flannel. Just a simple gesture. But you canât even find it in yourself to care. After a second, you walk over to join them.
âWell, I think Iâve got everything,â your dad says, glancing around the driveway one last time before turning to the brothers. âThanks for the invite, guys. I had a great time.â
âIt was really nice having you,â Joel replies, sincerity woven easily into his voice. âThanks for making the trip.â
Your dad waves a hand like it was never a question. âLike I wouldnât have. Weâll have to do this again soon, alright? I just love this place.â
Joel nods with a small smile. âAnytime.â
Your dadâs gaze shifts between you and Joel. âIâll see you two tomorrow then?â
Joelâs eyes flick to you briefly before he nods. âYeah. Iâll drop her off in the afternoon.â
âGreat.â Your dad turns back to you. âJust text me when youâre leaving, okay?â
âWill do.â He pulls you into a hug, as if you will be gone for more than one day.âSee you tomorrow, Dad.â
âEnjoy your extra day for me,â he murmurs. âAnd donât send me too many pictures or Iâll burst with jealousy.â
You smile against his jacket. âCanât promise anything.â
He laughs softly and squeezes you a little tighter before letting you go. Then he steps toward Joel to say his goodbyes, clapping him on the shoulder in that appreciative way he always does.
Tommy nudges you gently. âWell⊠I guess this is goodbye for us too.â
You groan, dramatic. âTerrible. I honestly think no one should ever leave the beach house. Ever.â
âIndeed.â His smile softens, sincere. âI had a really great time with you. Itâs always fun when youâre around.â
âYou too, Tommy,â you reply, meaning it.
âYou should come hang out in Arlington one of these days. Weâd have fun.â
âIâd like that,â you say honestly. Even after everything thatâs happened, or what didnât end up happening, between the two of you, you know how genuine he is, how good of a person heâs always been, and how well you connectâeven if itâs just as friends.
He wraps his arms around you in a quick, warm hug. âTake care, pretty girl.â
You canât help the little laugh that escapes at the nickname, knowing it will stick for a while. âBye, Tommy.â
He hesitates just for a heartbeat, and then leans in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. âTry not to break his heart, okay?â
You freeze, lips slightly parted, caught off guard by his words. Is he saying what you think he is? How? Does he know? Since when? Is everyone noticing? Sarah first, now him⊠What about your dad? Your mind races.
âIâŠâ you start, searching for a response, any words to deflect, but thereâs no hiding it. Tommyâs tilt of the head is patient, almost teasing, urging you to be honest. And you canât find it in yourself to lie. âOkay,â you whisper finally.
He nods, satisfied, and gives a small wave. You can only watch in quiet disbelief as he turns to your father, pulling him into a quick side hug before they both head to their cars.Â
Joel comes to stay by your side as the engines turn over, both cars rumbling to life. He keeps a careful, polite distance between you, just enough to be proper, just enough that anyone watching would see nothing at all.
And yet every inch of that space feels unbearable.
Youâre suddenly hyper-aware of him beside you; the warmth radiating from his body, the steadiness of his presence. You want to close that gap. To lean into him. To rest your head against his shoulder and breathe him in without having to think about who might be watching.
You lift your hand and wave, your heart heavy but full, until the cars roll past the trees and disappear down the long stretch of road. You keep your gaze fixed there for a few seconds longer, almost irrationally convinced they might come back. That someone might reappear and catch you in something you havenât even done yet.
But the road stays empty. The quiet settles in slowly, wrapping around the two of you. No engines. No voices. No witnesses.
Youâre alone.
You hesitate before turning your head, and when you finally look at Joel, you find heâs already looking at you. His eyes are warm, brighter than usual in the morning light, and thereâs something open there, something unguarded that makes your breath hitch just slightly. It pulls a smile from you before you can stop it.
One whole day. Just the two of you.
His mouth curves too, slow and knowing, like heâs been thinking the exact same thing. Like heâs been waiting for this moment just as much as you have.
All the worry about Tommyâs whisper, about who might suspect what, fades into the background. None of it matters right now. Not when heâs looking at you like that. Not when itâs just the two of you standing there. When it comes to your heart, itâs always been him. It narrows down to him so easily, so completely, that sometimes it scares you.
A yawn slips out before you can stop it. You lift your hand to cover your mouth, cheeks warming slightly. âSorry,â you mumble.
Joelâs expression softens even more. ââS still early,â he says gently. Then he holds out his hand to you. âWanna go back to bed?â
His hand is warm when you slip your fingers into his, and he leads you back inside without a word. The door closes softly behind you, sealing the two of you away from the outside world. You follow him up the stairs in silence, painfully aware of how loud your heart seems in your chest. You wonder if he can hear it too, if he knows how fast itâs beating just from the way your grip tightens around his hand.
When you pass Sarahâs door, Joel slows slightly. You instinctively prepare yourself to speak, but he doesnât stop like you thought. He simply walks past it, then glances back at you over his shoulder. The look in his eyes steals the words from your mouth. It makes your stomach flutter and your lips part without you even realising it. You follow him without hesitation. You pass the other empty rooms until he finally stops in front of his bedroom door. He opens it and guides you inside, still not letting go of your hand. You pretend not to notice, but inside youâre clinging to that small contact like itâs proof this is real. That he isnât going to change his mind.Â
You take in the room slowly; youâve barely been in here before, only once or twice, always on some errand for Sarah. Youâd never lingered, never dared to look too closely, too afraid of crossing an invisible line. Now, standing here, it feels different. Like youâre being allowed into a part of him youâve never seen.
Itâs simple, just like you imagined it would be. A few clothes folded neatly, others draped over a chair. His suitcase sits in the corner near the door. A bit messy, like him. And then thereâs the bed, perfectly made, smooth and inviting. The sight of it makes something warm bloom in your chest. You canât help wondering if he made it this morning before leaving his room. If he did it knowing you might end up here. Knowing he wanted you here. The thought makes you feel light and dizzy and impossibly giddy.
Joel lifts his free hand to the flannel still wrapped around your shoulders. His fingers brush lightly against your arm as he slides it off, slow and careful, as if heâs afraid of moving too fast. He holds it for a second, hesitating, eyes searching your face.
âIs that okay?â he asks quietly..
You meet his gaze, your heart pounding, warmth spreading through you at the tenderness in his expression. You nod, your voice soft but certain when you answer.
âYes.â
He lets the flannel slip from his fingers, and it falls softly to the floor between you. For a moment, he doesnât say anything. His gaze drifts over you slowly, unhurried, as if youâre wearing something far more beautiful than an old T-shirt and cotton shorts. The way he looks at you makes your skin warm, makes your pulse jump. You expect him to close the distance, to pull you closer, take off the rest of your clothes and make up for everything you both held back the night before.
But he doesnât.
Instead, he keeps smiling, that soft, almost shy smile youâve come to recognise, and gently guides you toward the bed. You glance at him, confused, searching his face for answers. He only nods, tilting his head slightly, silently encouraging you.
You slip under the covers, heart racing, and before you can even overthink it, he follows you. The mattress dips beside you, and then he shifts closer, pulling you back against his chest. His arms wrap around you firmly, protectively, like heâs afraid you might disappear if he loosens his hold. You fit against him perfectly, your back resting against his warmth, his breath brushing lightly over your hair.
He exhales slowly, a sound of pure contentment, as if this simple closeness is everything heâs been wanting.
For a moment, the intensity of it all almost overwhelms you. The feel of him behind you, solid and steady, his heartbeat faintly beneath your ear. You wonder if he feels your breath quicken, if he senses the questions swirling in your mind. Why isnât he doing more? Why isnât he fucking you into the mattress? He must, because he leans forward and presses a soft kiss to your neck, more affectionate than demanding.
âJust let me hold you,â he murmurs against your skin.
His voice is low and sincere, and somehow, it quiets every restless thought in your head. Your breathing slowly falls into rhythm with his. You remember that you have all day, just with him, and finally, you let yourself relax completely, settling deeper into his arms.
Youâve dreamed of this before. Of lying in his bed, wrapped up in him, feeling safe and wanted and cherished all at once. Now that itâs real, you donât want to rush it. You want to savour it. So you close your eyes, and sleep comes easily.Â
Youâre not sure how long itâs been when you wake again. Maybe twenty minutes, maybe hours. The only clue is the pale sunlight slipping through the curtains, painting warm lines across the room. Youâre still in his arms, still held just as tightly, as if he never once thought about letting you go.
Joel is still pressed close against you, so close thereâs barely any space between your back and his chest. You try to move a little, just enough to turn and see his face, but then your hips brush against his, making you pause immediately. Your stomach flips, heat rushing through you as you realise that Joel is hard against you. You shift again, just to make sure, you tell yourself. Your ass brushes against him this time just a little bit harder. Yes, definitely hard.Â
You stay still for a moment, unsure what to do. You should let it go, ignore what is an obvious natural reaction. But youâre already wet, embarrassingly so, just from the feel of him. You remember the feeling of his cock inside you, how good he filled you. You are so turned on, you canât help but try to feel him once more.Â
Immediately, a large hand comes to rest on your hip, stopping you before you can move any further.
âWhatâre you doinâ?â he groans against your neck.
Instead of answering with words, you grind back once more. You feel him twitch, somehow even harder now. Thank god for soft sweatpants. The thin layers do almost nothing to hide how thick he is, how much heâs straining.
âBe good.â His voice is rough with sleep, so low it only makes you want to be bad.
You tilt your head just enough to catch the corner of his eye over your shoulder. âPlease.â
âCanât you wait?â His fingers flex, tightening on your hip, but he doesnât push you away.
âJoelâŠâ Your voice cracks into something embarrassingly needy. âPlease.â
The sound of you begging must break something in him because this time, heâs the one who pulls you back, grinding himself against you in one long, slow drag that makes your breath hitch.
âThat's what you want?â Joel murmurs right against your ear, sending another violent shiver racing down your spine. He rolls his hips again, grinding the thick of his cock against your ass. âIs that what my baby canât wait for?â
Fuck, his mouth is filthy so early. You bite down hard on a moan, teeth sinking into your lip as he keeps you pinned tight against him. He groans with every drag of his hips, the sound vibrating through your back and straight to your core, making you soak through your underwear even faster.
âLet me hear you,â he rasps, broad palm sliding under your shirt to splay hot and possessive across your stomach. He presses you back harder against his body, eliminating every last inch of space. âDonât hide those pretty sounds from me.â
You donât even realise the small, needy whimpers are escaping until theyâre already out; soft at first, then louder, bolder with every open-mouthed kiss he drags down the side of your neck. His hand keeps travelling higher under your shirt until rough fingertips find the soft swell of your breast. He cups it fully, thumb brushing your nipple once, and you feel his cock jerk hard behind you.
âSo fuckinâ soft for me, baby,â he growls against your skin, rolling the stiff peak between his fingers until your moaning louder for him. âLove those little noises you make. Does that feel good?â
âYes,â you gasp, eyes fluttering shut, completely lost in the heat of his palm and the relentless pressure of his body grinding into yours. Your hand flies up, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer. âDonât stopâplease donât stop.â
He kisses you then, messy and devouring. Tongue sliding against yours, chasing every moan straight from your mouth like he wants to drink them. Itâs just dry humping, just clothes and desperation, and it shouldnât be this devastating, but it is. Your whole body is trembling, clit throbbing with every slow, filthy roll of his hips.
Right now, youâre convinced Joel could do anything to youâanything at allâand youâd beg for more. The thought should scare you. Itâs too soon, too much, too dangerous. And yet, you canât bring yourself to care.
Suddenly, Joel shifts. In one fluid motion, he rolls you beneath him, pinning you to the mattress with his broad frame. Your breaths come in harsh pants, chests heaving in sync. Even in the dim glow of the outside world, you can see how blown his pupils are, dark and hungry, like heâs trying to memorise every inch of your face to make sure this is real; you, here, in his bed, wrecked and wanting him.
He crashes his mouth back to yours before either of you can speak, kissing you like heâs starving, like being apart for those few seconds was unbearable. You nip at his bottom lip, making him growl low in his throat. Emboldened, you tilt your head and attack the line of his jaw, lips brushing over the coarse scratch of his beard. He braces himself on his forearms, careful not to crush you under his weight, even though you can feel how badly he wants to press every hard inch of himself flush against you.
You trail open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat until you find that perfect spot where neck meets shoulder. You bite gently at first, then firmer, and Joelâs hips jerk involuntarily, a rough sound tearing out of him. You smile against his skin and do it again: bite, suck, lick your tongue over the mark youâre leaving. His big hand starts roaming your body like heâs trying to commit every curve and dip to memory. Fingers trace your ribs, the soft dip of your waist, the swell of your hip.
Finally, his palm settles at the hem of your shorts. He pauses there, thumb brushing lazy circles over the sensitive skin just above the waistband.
âCan I taste you, baby?â His voice is wrecked, soft and gravelly and so fucking sinful it makes your thighs clench. âPlease.â
âTaste me?â you echo, half-dazed, like you need him to say it again just to be sure you heard right.
He toys with the elastic of your shorts now, fingertips dipping just under the edge, teasing but never quite committing. His eyes lock on yours, dark and pleading.
âYeah,â he rasps. âCan I eat your pretty pussy? Please, sweetheart.â
Jesus. Yes, you're pretty sure you could come from his voice alone. Who knew the quiet, grumpy Joel Miller was hiding this? A mouth that could ruin you with a few sentences. You want to discover everything he doesnât show the world.Â
âYou donât have to,â you manage, even as the mental image of his head between your thighs makes your whole body melt.Â
Joelâs lips curve into something dangerously close to a smirk. He leans down until his mouth brushes the shell of your ear.
âI want to,â he murmurs, already hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and underwear. âFuck, you have no idea how much I want to.â
âTell me,â you urge, voice trembling as you lift your hips to help him peel the fabric down your legs. The cool air hits your skin for only a second before his warm mouth is there instead.
He starts slow, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, tracing the soft line down to your navel. Every brush of his beard sends sparks skittering across your skin.
âThought about doinâ so many things to you,â he murmurs between kisses, voice low and wrecked. âThought about this⊠a lot.â His lips settle at the sensitive dip where hip meets thigh. âThought about how youâd taste when I finally got my tongue inside you. How youâd sound when I made you come on my mouth.â
Your hips arch instinctively when he kisses just above your mound, so close and yet not close enough. âFuck, Joelââ
âSo will you let me, sweetheart?â He finally looks up at you from between your thighs, pupils blown wide. The sight of him there, broad shoulders spreading your legs, should make you self-conscious. Instead, it only makes you feel powerful, desired, fucking worshipped. âWill you let me take my time with this pretty cunt?â
âYes,â you breathe, too wound up, too desperate to pretend otherwise.
That slow smile of his undoes something deep inside you, but itâs nothing compared to what happens next. Joel doesnât tease anymore. He simply lowers his head and disappears between your thighs.
The first drag of his tongue is devastating, licking a slow, deep stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. You gasp sharply, back bowing off the mattress. Then his mouth closes over your clit, and his tongue starts flicking, circling. Precise, like heâs already mapped out exactly what makes you shake.
âAhâ!â The sound rips out of you, shockwaves ripping straight to your core.
One hand flies to his hair on instinct, fingers twisting into the soft, salt-and-pepper strands, holding him right there. Joel hums in approval, the low, satisfied vibration rolling through your clit and straight up your spine. Your thighs tremble around his head.
He doesnât let up. His tongue dives deeper, parting your folds, lapping at your slick with raw, shameless hunger, like heâs been starving for this taste and canât get enough. He groans into you, the sound muffled against your cunt, and the rumble only makes you clench harder around nothing.
One thick forearm bands across your hips, pinning you down so you canât squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure. His free hand slides up your inner thigh, thumb brushing the sensitive crease where leg meets body, spreading you open just a little wider for his mouth.
He pulls back for half a secondâjust long enough to rasp against your soaked skin, voice thick with want:
âYou taste even better than I thought,â Joel murmurs, voice muffled against you as he laps at you like heâll never get enough.
âOhâfuckâfuck, Joelââ Your voice is completely wrecked, and the sound of it only spurs him on harder. He dives back in with zero hesitation, abandoning every last bit of restraint, burying his face between your thighs like itâs the only place he wants to be.
His big hands clamp down on your thighs, fingers digging in just enough to keep you pinned while you writhe and buck against his mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut, overwhelmed by the rising intensity. Every flick of his tongue, every hungry pull of his lips sends white-hot sparks racing through you.
You donât see the way his hips grind down into the mattress in helpless little thrusts, chasing friction for his aching cock while he devours you. Heâs just as wrecked as you are, fueled entirely by the sounds youâre making, the way your body responds to him.
âYouâre dripping for me, baby,â he breathes out, pausing only long enough to drag his tongue in one long, slow stripe up to your clit. Then his focus narrows around that swollen bundle of nerves while two thick fingers slide down to your entrance. He pushes in slowly, curling them just right, hitting that spot inside you that makes your whole body jolt.
âIâoh my godââ
He pumps steadily, curling deeper with every thrust, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. Combined with the constant, perfect pressure on your clit, itâs too much and exactly enough all at once. Youâre climbing fast, thighs trembling, breath hitching.
âAre you close, baby?â Joel rasps, feeling you flutter and tighten around his fingers. âYeah? Gonna come for me?â
You didnât think he could push you higher, but then he does; his tongue circling your clit in tight, relentless loops while his free hand slides up your body, rough palm finding your breast. He rolls your nipple between thumb and forefinger, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp.
You feel him everywhere; his mouth, fingers, hands, the low rumble of his groans vibrating against your core. Itâs overwhelming, perfect, too good. You try to tell himâmumbling broken praise, half-formed âso goodâ and âdonât stopâ and âJoel, pleaseââeven as your body starts to unravel.
âYes, come on, sweetheart. Please, baby, let me see you come like this. Please.â
The way he begs, almost desperate, like your pleasure is the only thing that matters, snaps the last thread inside you. You shatter.
Your legs shake violently, hips lifting off the bed as white-hot bliss explodes through you. Your vision whites out, every muscle locking and releasing in waves while you tremble and gasp against his unrelenting mouth. Joel doesnât let up; he works you through it, fingers stroking slow and deep, tongue lapping gently now, drawing out every aftershock until youâre a boneless, shuddering mess.
When the world finally steadies, you manage to crack your eyes open.
Joelâs looking up at you from between your thighs, lips and beard glistening with your release, a wide, almost boyish grin splitting his face. His eyes are bright, shining with something close to awe, like heâs never been happier than right here, covered in you, wrecked by you.
âThat wasâŠâ You start, voice hoarse.
âGood?â he supplies, teasing, but his smile is soft.
You laughâbreathless, giddy. âGood doesnât even begin to cover it. Fuck, Joel. That was⊠amazing.â
He presses one last gentle kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh, humming low and content in the back of his throat. His tongue darts out to catch the last traces of you on his lips, and when he finally looks up, thereâs a smug, proud little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He wipes his beard with the back of his hand like heâs savouring every second of having wrecked you so thoroughly.
You reach for him, fingers curling into his shirt to pull him back up your body. He comes willingly, settling over you just enough to let you kiss him deep and grateful. You taste yourself on his tongue, and fuck, you donât think youâve ever liked that as much as you do right now.
âCan I return the favour?â you murmur against the corner of his mouth, already sliding your hand down toward the waistband of his sweatpants.
âItâs okay,â he says quickly.
âReally, I want toââ Your fingers brush the elastic, but he catches your wrist before you can slip inside, just firm enough to stop you.
You pull back slightly, searching his face, suddenly worried youâve crossed some invisible line. But what you find isnât rejection. His cheeks are flushed a deep, embarrassed red, eyes flicking away from yours like he canât quite meet them.
âI mean⊠IâŠâ He swallows hard, Adamâs apple bobbing. âYou were a sight⊠fuck, when you came, I alsoâŠâ
Your gaze drops automatically. There, darkening the front of his grey sweatpants, is a noticeable wet patch right where the thick outline of his cock had been straining moments ago.
Oh.
Your eyes snap back to his face. Joelâs looking off to the side now, jaw tight. The big, gruff man who just ate you out like it was his last meal came in his pants just from feeling you fall apart on his tongue.
You cup his face with both hands, thumbs brushing over the hot flush of his cheeks, and pull him into a fierce, messy kiss, trying to pour every bit of how okay this is, how much you love it, straight into his mouth.
When you finally break apart, youâre both breathing hard.
âIs it bad that I find that⊠really fucking flattering?â you whisper.
He scoffs, a short, disbelieving sound, like he thinks youâre just being nice.
âIâm serious, Joel.â You drag your thumb along his bottom lip. âItâs hot. Likeâreally hot. Knowing I did that to you? Just from your mouth on me? Fuck.â You laugh softly, a little breathless. âIâm only sad I didnât get to feel you come in my mouth instead.â
He groans low against your shoulder, half in embarrassment, half from the image of it, and buries his face in the crook of your neck for a second, like he needs to hide from how much your words affect him.
âLet me go clean up real quick,â he mutters, pressing one last kiss to your collarbone before rolling off the bed.
He disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes. You use the time to catch your breath, limbs still heavy and loose from one of the best orgasms of your life. The sheets are a tangled mess around you; your clothes are god-knows-where across the room. You donât bother looking for them.
When he comes back, heâs swapped the ruined sweatpants for soft black boxers and thrown on a faded T-shirt. He looks softer like this, his hair still mussed from your fingers, cheeks still faintly pink, and it makes your chest ache in the best way.
He slides back under the covers without a word, pulling you backagainst his side like itâs the most natural thing in the world. You curl into him instantly, head on his chest, one of his thick thighs slipping between yours. You fit together like pieces that were always meant to slot this way, no awkward fumbling, no second-guessing.Â
âFeelinâ okay?â he asks as he nuzzles closer.
âFeeling great,â you murmur, tracing lazy circles on his chest through the soft cotton. âThanks to you.â
He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound vibrating through you, and hooks his leg a little higher, pressing you even closer. You sigh happily into his neck.
He glances toward the window. Sunlight is pouring in now, golden and bright, painting long stripes across the bed.
âLooks nice out there today,â he says softly. âPerfect day for the beach later, huh?â
âYeah,â you breathe against his skin, smiling like an idiot. âPerfect day.â
Youâre not sure when you fell asleep again, somewhere between the hazy aftermath of your orgasm and the steady comfort of Joelâs body next to you. When you wake, your eyes stay closed at first. Instinctively, you reach for him, already missing the way he held you. Your hand meets nothing but cool sheets.
You open your eyes, and for a moment, you just stare at the empty space beside you, blinking away the last traces of sleep. The room is flooded with sunlight now, bright and golden, spilling across the walls and the bed. Definitely no longer early morning.
You sit up slowly, pushing the covers aside and listening. The bedroom door is slightly ajar, and faint sounds drift up from downstairs. Enough to tell you where Joel probably is.
You stretch lazily, muscles loose and relaxed in a way you havenât felt in a long time. The bed isnât much different from Sarahâs, the same mattress, the same kind of sheets, but somehow, being here makes it better. Being in his room. Waking up where he sleeps. You smile to yourself.Â
You pad toward the bathroom, still half-dreaming, and catch your reflection in the mirror. A soft laugh escapes you. You look⊠ridiculously happy. Thereâs no point trying to hide it, even from yourself.
You turn on the shower and wait for the water to warm, leaning against the counter as steam begins to fill the small space. The bathroom is simple and practical. Very Joel. His toothbrush sits in its holder, his razor nearby, clearly untouched for a few days. Your eyes linger on your reflection in the mirror, on the thought of his scruff against your skin. You think you like his facial hair that way.
When the water is warm enough, you step in, letting it cascade over you. It washes away the last of your sleep, leaving you fully awake and strangely light. The heat feels good, even if it does nothing to stop the shiver that runs through you when your mind wanders back to earlier. You shake your head with a quiet laugh and reach for his shampoo. Three-in-one. Of course. You roll your eyes as you squeeze some into your hand, already planning to tease him about it later. But when the familiar scent fills the air, you hesitate. It smells like him. Maybe he doesnât need to change it after all. Itâs not like his hair is not perfectly soft when you let your fingers play with it.Â
You finish up quickly, wrap yourself in what you assume is one of his towels, and head back into the bedroom. Standing in the middle of the floor, you glance down at your t-shirt in your hand, then around the room.
Your shorts and underwear are nowhere in sight, lost where Joel threw them over his shoulder earlier. You consider walking to Sarahâs room to grab some of your clothes, but before you do, your gaze drifts to the suitcase sitting near the door.
When you step into the kitchen, Joelâs back is to you. Heâs wearing the same clothes as earlier, fabric stretched across his shoulders as he moves around the counter, completely focused on whatever heâs doing. For a moment, you just stand there and watch him, quietly taking in the familiar sight.
You tiptoe closer, careful not to make a sound, peeking around his side to make sure he isnât handling anything dangerous. Satisfied, you slip your arms around his waist and press yourself against his back.
He startles instantly, letting out a small, surprised yelp as he jerks forward. You canât help but giggle.
âShould put a bell on you,â he mutters with a sigh, already relaxing into your touch.Â
He sets whatever he was holding aside and turns, pulling you properly against his chest. His hands settle on your back. He looks down at you, and his expression softens immediately. A smile spreads across his face as his eyes search yours. He leans in and presses a quick, gentle kiss to your lips.
âHi,â he murmurs.
You smile against his mouth. âHi.â
Then his gaze drifts downward, slowly taking in what youâre wearingâhis clothes. The soft, worn T-shirt hangs loose on you, slipping slightly off one shoulder, and the boxers sit low on your hips, far too big and somehow perfect anyway. If the way his eyes darken as he looks at you is any indication, he thinks so too.
âCouldnât find my clothes,â you say with an innocent little shrug.
âSuch a shame,â he replies smoothly, fully aware that you couldâve gone to Sarahâs room if you really wanted to. His eyes trail down your bare legs, unhurried, thoughtful, and you know exactly what heâs remembering, because youâre thinking about it too.
He takes a slow breath, like heâs grounding himself, then finally steps back and gestures toward the stove. A large pan sits there, bacon sizzling gently beside fluffy scrambled eggs, filling the kitchen with a warm, comforting smell.
âHungry?â he asks.
Your stomach answers before you do, and you smile.
âDefinitely.â
Joel gestures for you to sit as he finishes up at the stove. A moment later, he sets a mug down in front of you, the familiar scent of coffee rising with the steam.
âCould you pass meââ
âAlready put cream and sugar in it,â he interrupts.
You raise an eyebrow before taking a sip. Itâs perfect. Exactly the way you like it.
You look up at him, surprised, and he chuckles at your expression. âBroke my heart to do that to a perfectly good black coffee.â
âAnd yet you did it flawlessly,â you reply with a smile. âThank you.â
He sets two plates on the table next, adding a few slices of golden French toast beside the eggs and bacon, then finally sits across from you. The two of you dig in, everything cooked just right.
âSarah is right,â you say between bites. âYou make a mean breakfast.â
âThank you,â he replies, pointing his fork at you playfully. âBut I assure you, I know how to cook other things too.â
âOh yeah?â you tease. âLike what?â
He pauses, takes a sip of his coffee, then looks at you more seriously. âIâll make you dinner when we get back. A proper one. Then youâll see.â
Thereâs a softness in his expression, that familiar hint of shyness when he isnât quite sure how youâll react.
âJust the two of us?â you ask, wanting to be certain.
âYes,â he says. âIs that okay?â
You nod quicklyâprobably a little too quickly. âIâd really like that.â
His hand reaches across the table and finds yours, and he gives your fingers a gentle squeeze as he smiles. He keeps his hand in yours as you both continue eating, his thumb occasionally brushing against your knuckles without thinking. The meaning behind his words slowly settles in. Itâs not like youâve never eaten alone together before. Youâve shared late-night takeout, rushed sandwiches, quiet movie nights where food was barely an afterthought. Those moments had been special too.Â
When both your plates are empty, a comfortable silence falls between you. You lean back slightly, lifting your mug, and thatâs when you notice it; Joel keeps glancing at you. Or more specifically, at the shirt youâre wearing. His. Youâre grateful itâs loose enough to hide how warm his attention makes you feel, how sensitive you suddenly are under the soft fabric.
You take another sip and smile faintly. âLiking my clothes?â you tease.
âAmong other things,â he replies, almost absentmindedly, like the words slip out before he can stop them.
âLike what?â
He hesitates, looking down at your joined hands. âNothing,â he mutters. âItâs stupid.â
âCome on, tell me,â you say softly, leaning forward and resting your arms on the table.
You know exactly what youâre doing. The loose collar of his shirt falls open just enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of cleavage, and you pretend not to notice. You are not above a cheap trick. You watch him instead.
His eyes betray him immediately, like a moth to a flame. They flick down, just for a second, like he didnât mean to look at all. Then he snaps his gaze back up to your face, his cheeks already tinged pink.Â
After a moment, he sighs in surrender. His hand drags down his face before he finally says, quietly, âI was just⊠thinkinâ you look better in my clothes than in Tommyâs.â
Oh. That was definitely not what you expected.
Your shoulders sink a little in surprise, your mouth parting as you stare at him, unsure of what youâre supposed to say. Your mind jumps immediately to that moment just a few nights ago, when he caught you in Tommyâs shirt outside his room. Of the way it looked. Â
Joel watches your expression shift. His jaw tightens, lips pressing together.
âAh, fuck,â he mutters. He stands abruptly, gathering the empty plates and walking to the sink. âI shouldnât have said that. Forget it.â
Youâre on your feet right away.
âNo, Joel. Wait.â
He sets the dishes down with a little too much force, but he doesnât turn around. His shoulders are tense, drawn tight with frustration, at himself more than anything. You step closer and gently place your hand on his arm.
âI thinkâŠâ You begin softly. You wait until heâs really looking at you. âI think we should⊠talk about it. Properly. Donât you?â
He exhales slowly, conflicted. âWe donât have to,â he says, though he clearly doesnât sound convinced.
âI think we do,â you reply quietly. âWeâve been⊠really good at leaving things unsaid. At pretending stuff doesnât matter when it does.â You swallow. âAnd I donât want that. Not with you.â
You take his wrist gently and guide him toward the living room. He follows without resistance, letting you lead him to the couch. You sit beside him, your thumb absentmindedly rubbing over the inside of his wrist.
âIf weâre going toâŠâ You hesitate, searching for the right words. âIf weâre going to be something⊠I want us to be honest with each other. About everything. No more guessing.â You look up at him, nervous but determined. âIs that okay?â
He studies you for a moment, taking in the seriousness in your eyes, the way youâre searching his eyes as much as he searches yours. He lifts your hand and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.
âYes. Yes, of course. Iâmâ yes. Letâs talk.â
Thereâs a moment of silence between you, both of you unsure where to begin, how to open something like that. Joel is the one who finally breaks it. His hand is still wrapped around yours, thumb brushing softly over your skin.
âI shouldnât care,â he admits quietly. âI know I shouldnât ask, I know that, butâŠâ He exhales through his nose, looking at you.âWhat happened with Tommy?â
âYou can. Ask, I mean,â you say gently. âYou can ask me anything.â Your gaze drifts to his hand, so much bigger than yours. You notice the fine hair on his forearm, the streaks of grey mixed in, all the little details youâve memorised without meaning to. âI told you we kissed,â you continue softly. âAnd that nothing happened.â He nods, eyes fixed on you, waiting. âItâs true. Nothing did. But⊠it could have.â
You hear his breath hitch, just slightly. When you look up, heâs still calm, still listening, even though thereâs a faint tension in his brow.
âTell me.â
âThat night,â you continue, âwhen you guys were at the bar⊠Iâd spent the whole day telling myself I needed to get over you.â
His eyebrows knit together in surprise. âGet over me?â
âYeah,â you admit with a small, nervous laugh. âFrom my point of view, youâd⊠rejected me. You werenât mad at me anymore, but that was it. And I didnât want to keep hoping for something that might never happen. I was scared Iâd lose you completely if I did.â
He looks like he wants to interrupt, to say something, but he holds himself back. So you keep going.
âSo when Tommy came back early, and I was already in that headspace⊠all I could think was that I needed to move on. That I had to. And when he flirted with me, I just⊠it felt right. Like it was what I was supposed to do. Like maybe it would help me stop wanting you so much.â
Thereâs a stretch of silence where Joel simply looks at you, taking in every word youâve said. His jaw tightens, then relaxes. He opens his mouth, closes it again, clearly searching for the right way to ask whatâs been weighing on him.
âDo youâŠâ He hesitates. âDo you like Tommy?â
You donât look away.
âI do,â you answer honestly.
You see him flinch, just barely, like he wasnât prepared for that. Before he can retreat into himself, you reach out and brush your fingers over his arm, grounding him.
âTommy is great,â you continue softly. âHeâs fun. Heâs kind. And heâs uncomplicated. It was easy to understand what he wanted. Easy to read. And youâŠâ You shake your head with a small, almost self-conscious laugh. âGod, this is going to sound so stupid. But, Joel, I donât think you realise how much I liked you. I was going crazy over you. Completely.â
His eyes lift to yours, surprised. It makes you want to smile. As if those past days hadnât been enough for him to see that.Â
âSo when Tommy flirted with me, I flirted back,â you go on. âBecause I never thought there could be anything with you. I thought⊠maybe if I let myself like someone else, it would finally make it stop. Maybe it would help me move on.â
Your voice grows quieter.
âSo I let him take me back to his room. And we almostââ You pause. âAlmost. But we didnât,â you finish. âI just⊠fell asleep there. Thatâs all. Nothing else happened.â
Joel squeezes his eyes shut, like heâs trying to erase the picture forming in his head. His brow furrows, and for a second, you have to fight the urge to smooth it away with your thumb.
After a moment, he exhales and looks down. âWhy didnât you?â
You hesitate for a second, wondering if you should tell him it was because of him. Because you couldnât. Because your heart wouldnât let you. But that wouldnât be the whole truth. And you donât want to soften it just to protect him. If being honest is enough to make him pull away, then maybe he shouldnât have you at all.
âWe didnât have protection,â you admit quietly.
He looks up at that, surprised. You can see the wheels turning in his head.
âBut weâŠâ He frowns slightly. âWe didnât either.â
You nod. âI know.â
âBut you let meââ
âFill me up?â you finish for him without thinking.
Joel groans under his breath. âJesus, woman.â
You canât help laughing. He was murmuring filthy things to you just hours ago, and yet now heâs blushing like you caught him swearing in church. Southern man through and through.
âLike I told you,â you continue softly, âIâm on the pill. And Iâm clean. Iâve never⊠Iâve never not used protection. Not until you.â
He goes still.
âWhy?â he asks quietly.
You tilt your head, studying him. âCome on, Joel. You know why.â He doesnât interrupt. He needs to hear it. âBecause itâs you. Because Tommy wasnât you. Because once I finally had you, I didnât want half of it. I wanted all of you. I wantedâ I want everything. Iâve never felt that way before. Fuck, Joel⊠no one compares to you. Not for me. No one ever has.â
Your cheeks warm at the admission, heat spreading all the way to your ears. Sometimes what you feel for Joel seems too big to fit inside you, too big for your chest, for your thoughts, for your words. It takes up so much space in your heart, in your mind, in every quiet moment when you arenât distracting yourself. Saying it out loud feels terrifying, like no sentence could ever really capture how your heart stumbles every time you look at him.
Joel stays quiet, really looking at you now, as if heâs trying to memorise every word you just said. You can almost see him replaying it in his head. The silence stretches, filled with everything you just confessed. His eyes shift with too many emotions for you to name, fleeting too fast to properly catch one.Â
âAre you mad?â you finally ask, when it becomes too much to bear.
He blinks, as if realising how his silence must look. He clears his throat softly and squeezes your hand.
âIâm not mad at you,â he says gently. âOf course Iâm not.â
His other hand rises to your cheek, thumb brushing your skin in a slow, grounding touch.
âAm I jealous?â he admits quietly. âYeah. I am. Do I wish my brother hadnât touched you? Yeah, I do. ButâŠâ He exhales. âI canât blame him for wantinâ you. Not when I know how much I do. How long Iâve been wantinâ you.â His voice softens. âI can only blame myself for not tellinâ you sooner.â
Before you can respond, he leans in and kisses you, like heâs making up for every moment he held back, every word he swallowed. Like heâs reclaiming something he thought he wasnât allowed to want. You melt into it immediately, hands curling into his shirt, heart racing. His fingers slide into your hair, anchoring you there, holding you close like heâs afraid you might disappear.
When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.
âThank you for tellinâ me, sweetheart,â he murmurs.
He draws you in, settling you against his side on the couch, your body fitting easily into his. You tuck yourself close, your head against his chest. He breathes in slowly, burying his face in your hair for a moment, as if grounding himself in you.
You like how it feels to have lifted that weight from your chest. Like you and Joel have finally leveled the ground between you, made it steadier, easier to stand on together. A better starting point. Youâre not naĂŻve enough to think one conversation fixes everything. You know it wonât magically make what comes next simple. But the road ahead, whatever it leads to, feels less fragile now. Less like it might crack beneath your feet at any moment. Still, the question lingers. What comes next? It circles in your mind as you rest against him, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. This, this is what being with Joel could be like. Sitting close.Talking things through. Feeling his warmth, his presence, his quiet reassurance.
But tomorrow, youâll leave the beach house. Tomorrow, real life will be waiting. Austin. Responsibilities. Other people.Â
ââYou think about how this will affect everything. His relationship with your dad. Your relationship with Sarah. Most of all, Sarah and Joel. You and your dad. All those carefully balanced connections, shifting because of you. Because of this.
Itâs scary. Scary to want him this much. Scary to wonder if something that feels this good could also make things harder. Scary to risk turning this perfect, gentle warmth into something tangled and messy.
You tilt your head up to look at him, and you shouldnât be surprised to see him already watching you. His eyes soften when they meet yours, a small, tender smile curving his lips. Something in your chest loosens at the sight. Somehow, despite all the fear, you realise youâre willing to face whatever comes, as long as he keeps looking at you like that.
âWhat do you wanna do now?â he asks quietly.
For a second, you almost say the obvious answer: Stay like this. Stay with me. Donât move. Donât change anything.
âGo to the beach,â you say instead. âAnd just⊠enjoy the day.â
âSounds perfect,â he replies before he clears his throat, and you notice the faint flush rising in his cheeks as he gathers his next words. âI was thinkinâ⊠Would you let me take you out tonight? Thereâs a nice place in town. And I wanna do this proper. Like I shouldâve done a while ago.â
He tilts your chin gently, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.
âWhat do you say?â he murmurs. âWill you let me take you on a real date? I realise I donât wanna wait till weâre back home.â
âYou want to court me, Joel Miller?â you tease, even though your heart is practically trying to leap out of your chest.
âHave I not made that clear enough?â he says with a grin, leaning in to kiss you again, longer this time, just enough to make you breathless. âSo. Can I take you out tonight?â
âItâs a date,â you answer before chasing his lips again.
Joel Miller blushes. A lot.
Itâs a realisation you canât help but make now that youâre really watching him. Now that you know youâre allowed to. Now that he lets himself truly look at you. Now that you can do things that make him blush. Itâs wildly endearing, seeing this forty-year-old manâs cheeks warm with colour so easily.
When you kiss him breathless on the couch, leaving him flushed all the way up his neck and ears. When the two of you get ready for the beach, and he sees you in your bikini, and lets himself take you in like its the the first time, a small, appreciative sound escaping him as pink dusts his cheeks. When you do the same to him, letting your hand trail over the grey in his chest hair, making you want to press kisses right there. When he tries to joke, self-deprecating, about the softness of his stomach, how it isnât what it was twenty years ago, and you tell him how ridiculous how has no idea how attractive he is. How gorgeous. When he stumbles over his words, when you let your nails drag lightly down to his happy trail, making you seriously consider staying inside instead. Yeah. The blush definitely deepens then, especially when he cleared his throat and adjusted himself, pretending heâs perfectly fine.
You wonder how many times you missed this before. How many times have you might have made him blush like this and never noticed? Or noticed, but never realised it was because of you. The thought makes your skin buzz. Leaves you restless. Wanting. Wanting to keep drawing this out of him. Your sweet, rough man. So strong, and somehow so easily flustered. You donât say any of it out loud. You know heâd get self-conscious immediately. Try to hide it. Fail, obviously. So you keep it to yourself. Your little secret.
At least at the beach, Joel could pretend that the color in his cheeks came from the high sun in the sky, warming his skin, rather than from you sitting so close to him. He watched you intently as you put sunscreen on, turning it into a quiet gameâtracking every movement, every slow pass of your handsâhis jaw twitching slightly each time you rubbed it into your skin.
He only seemed able to look away when people passed by not far from you. Sadly, the beach wasnât as deserted as youâd hoped. Others were out enjoying the weather, and you even recognised the older couple youâd seen a few days earlier.
You were a little surprised that Joel didnât pull away when you arrived and realized you werenât alone. Youâd thought that, with people around, he might put some distance between you. Instead, his hand stayed right on your waist, steady and warm, as if it belonged there.
Not for the first time, you find yourself wondering how the two of you must look to everyone else. For the first time, you think the answer is obvious: you look like youâre together. Thereâs no mistaking the way you watch each other, heated and unguarded. The closeness of your bodies as you let the sun soak into you. The way his fingers trace slow, absent lines along your spine while you talk about nothing and everything at once.
When the sun starts to feel like too much, you suggest finally going into the water. Joel tells you to go ahead, and youâre not sure if itâs because heâs enjoying the view of you walking away, or because heâs waiting for the slight tent in his swim trunks to calm down. Either way, you leave him on the towel with a small smile, eager to let the cool water soothe your overheated skin. You can feel his gaze on you the entire way.
The water is perfect, just like everything else seems to be today. You let yourself enjoy it, smiling at a few other people nearby as you wade in deeper. Once youâre far enough, you dive under, letting the world go quiet for a moment. When you resurface, you turn to see if Joel has finally joined you, only to find him still back on the beach.
Youâre too far away to call out to him, so you consider going back to drag him in yourself. The water feels too good, and you want him here with you.
âHey,â a voice says from your right.
You turn, only to find a man floating nearby, treading water easily, wearing a wide smile.
âHi?â you reply.
âHi,â he says again, his eyes openly following the water as it slides down your body without any attempt to hide it. âIâm Luc. Whatâs your name?â
You brush the water droplets from your eyes and take a better look at him. He looks to be around your age, with short blond hair cut in a style that reminds you of something militaryânever your favouriteâand a flirtatious smile pasted confidently on his face. You hesitate for a second before giving him your name.
âCan I help you?â you ask.
âI was over there playing with my brother,â he says, gesturing toward a kid nearby, floating in snorkelling gear, his bright yellow tube bobbing in the water as his feet kick lazily. âAnd I couldnât help but notice you. I think youâre very pretty.â
He lets his eyes roam over you again as he says it.
âThanks?â you reply, keeping your tone neutral as you cross your arms over your chest, hoping your body language will be enough to signal your lack of interest. Instead, he seems far more focused on the way the movement presses your breasts together.
âSo, whatâs a beautiful girl like you doing out here all alone?â he asks, lowering his voice in what he clearly thinks is a seductive way. You have to fight the urge to wrinkle your nose in distaste.
âIâm not alone,â you answer, starting to turn to look for Joel.
Before you can, he takes a small step toward you. You immediately step back.
He raises his hands in front of him, at least looking a little apologetic. âHey, my bad. Didnât mean to scare you. Iâm not trying to be a creep, promise. Just wanted to shoot my shot. Iâm here for the week, and I was wondering if I could get your Insta or something. Maybe we could hang out⊠or something.â
He lets the last words linger, as if you might somehow miss the implication.
Youâre about to politely but firmly turn him down when you hear your name.
âYou good?â Joel calls, moving toward you through the water with quick, determined strides, his eyes already fixed suspiciously on the guy beside you.
âYeah, yeah, donât worry,â you reply quickly, and you canât stop the smile that spreads across your face at the sight of him.
âAnd whoâs that?â Joel asks as he comes to stand beside you, and you immediately feel yourself relax at his presence.
âNo one,â you reply lightly. âHe was just leaving.â You let your hand trail to Joelâs forearm, already ready to walk away with him.
âWaitâyou didnât give me your Insta,â the guy calls after you, and you canât help wondering why some men are so terrible at reading the room.
You feel Joel tense beside you.
âI think sheâs not interested, boy,â he says evenly.
The guy looks at Joel and laughs. âSeriously? You got your old man scaring off guys for you? You couldâve just said you werenât interested.â
You roll your eyes, about to tell him that youâd made that clear from the start, when Joel suddenly tilts your chin up and presses his mouth to yours.
The kiss is immediate and confident. He captures the small gasp you let out, deepening it without hesitation, leaving no room for doubt.
âOh,â you hear the guy mutter. âRight. Not your old man. Got it.â
âGood talk,â Joel replies simply.
His hand slides to the small of your back, fingers brushing deliberately against the hem of your bikini in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination. He guides you away, moving you farther into the water until he seems satisfied youâre well out of earshot.
You hear him mutter something under his breath, his voice tight with annoyance, and you canât help but smile at the stern set of his jaw.
âI had it handled, you know,â you tease softly.
âI know,â he replies, though the way he says it makes you laugh.
You press closer to him. âYou were jealous,â you poke.
He looks away immediately. âI was not.â
âYes. Yes, you were.â
You wrap your legs around his waist, and his hands instinctively catch the back of your thighs, holding you securely. He looks at you then, a faint smile tugging at his lips. You lean in and press a kiss to his neck, feeling the way he shudders slightly under your mouth.
âMy jealous old man,â you murmur.
âWhatever,â he huffs, but he pulls you even closer as he wades a little deeper, until the water reaches your shoulders. He presses a kiss there, just below your ear. âI donât like him thinking he could have whatâs mine.â
Your breath catches.
âAm I?âÂ
âWhat?â He brushes your hair aside, giving himself better access to your neck.
âYours?â you repeat, your voice softer than you meant it to be.
He pulls back just enough to look at you properly, studying your face for a moment. Then he smiles, the one you love, a bit cocky and yet so sincere.Â
âI sure hope so,â he murmurs, leaning close to your ear. ââCause Iâm definitely yours.â
The two of you stay in the water until your skin feels pruny, kissing and laughing when you try, unsuccessfully, to pull him under. You discover heâs weirdly ticklish in one spot, just under his ribs and nowhere else, and you keep attacking it until he tries to get you back. You shriek and try to escape, but he doesnât let you get far, far too happy to pull you back against his chest, trailing kisses along your back while you laugh.
Itâs so easy, so good, that you barely notice time passing.
When you finally head back to your towels, you realise someone couldâve stolen your things, and you wouldnât have noticed, as youâd been far too focused on the man beside you. Thankfully, everything is still there, and the two of you walk home the same way you arrived, hand in hand.
When the sun starts to sink low, youâre stretched out on the couch together. A movie plays in the background, mostly ignored, while you half-doze against his shoulder. Eventually, you decide itâs time to shower and get ready. You start to stand, but Joel catches your hand before you can go far.
You turn to him, noticing the hesitation in his expression.
âWhat?â you ask gently.
He pauses, looking you up and down. âNothing.â
âYou sure?â
He waves it off. âYeah. No. Itâs stupid.â
âYou know you canât say that,â you reply immediately, smiling. âNow I want to know even more.â
âReally, it doesnât matter. Go on.â
âJoel.â You tilt his chin until he looks at you, until those beautiful brown eyes meet yours, filled with so much fondness it almost steals your breath. âTell me. Come on. Be selfish, Miller.â
The word seems to hit exactly where itâs meant to. His pupils widen slightly, and he takes a slow breath, as if gathering his courage.
âSweetheart,â he murmurs, his voice low, âwill you wear the blue dress tonight? Please?â
Holy shit. A shiver runs down your spine at his words. For once, youâre the one left speechless. For a moment, you just stare at him, completely at a loss.
He wants you to wear that dress. The same one you wore when you kissed him. The one youâd put on the other day just to rile him up, clearly with more success than youâd realised. The fact that heâs asking for it now, quietly and almost shyly, is⊠unexpectedly hot.
You nod, watching the way his pupils widen slightly. Itâs intoxicating, the way you can affect him like that. You lean in to press a quick kiss to his lips, stepping back before he can deepen it.
âSee you in a bit, Joel.â
You leave before he can give you that look, the one that makes you want to climb into his lap, kiss him for hours. You head upstairs quickly, smiling when you hear his soft scoff behind you. You grin all the way upstairs.
In the shower, you take your time, letting the warm water run over you as your thoughts drift. About this past week. About how much has changed. About how you and he, together, used to feel like something that only existed in your fantasies, and now, somehow, itâs real.
You find the dress in your bag and hold it up for a moment, smiling to yourself. Slipping it on, you feel your confidence rise instantly. You smooth the fabric over your hips, already imagining his hands there later. You do your hair and makeup just the way you like, all the while thinking about him getting ready a few doors down. About him standing in front of the mirror, probably tugging at his shirt, wondering if he looks okay. About him checking his watch for the tenth time. About him telling himself to calm down. Sweet, sweet Joel.
By the time you head back downstairs, you feel strangely shy, suddenly aware of how official all of this feels. A proper date. Joel is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, hands in his pockets, shifting his weight slightly. He looks up when he hears you, and for a second, he just stares in a quiet, stunned way. His jaw works once, twice, before he exhales hard through his nose.
âYou look beautiful,â he says finally. Your smile comes instantly.Â
He holds out his hand, as if you need it. You take it anyway, your cheeks warming under the intensity of his gaze. The moment your fingers lace with his, he tightens his grip just a little, grounding himself.
His thumb brushes softly over your knuckles.
âReady?â he asks quietly.
You look up at him, at the warmth in his eyes, at the nervous hope there, at the way heâs trying so hard to do this right. You rise on your toes and press a soft kiss to his cheek, savoring the way color immediately blooms there.
You squeeze his hand. âYes.â
Joel takes you to a small restaurant in town, the kind of place with warm lighting that makes it intimate without trying too hard. When the host greets you and leads you past a few quiet couples to a nice table, you realize he made a reservation. You glance at him as you walk in behind the host, curiosity tugging at you. When did he do that? You spent most of the day together. Did he call yesterday, before he even asked you? Had he already known what your answer would be?
The thought sends a warm flutter through your chest.
He guides you to the table with his palm warm at the small of your back, a gentlemanâs touch that feels both old-fashioned and achingly tender. He pulls your chair out, waits until youâre settled, then takes his own seat across from you.
For a moment, he just looks at you. Then he exhales softly through his nose, shaking his head a little, like heâs still slightly stunned by the sight of you. You wonder if itâs the dress. Or if heâs feeling the same quiet amazement you are, that this is happening. That the two of you are here. Together.
Youâd been braced for awkward silences, for the sudden weight of âdateâ turning everything stiff. But it never comes. The conversation flows easily, just like it always has. You order a few dishes to share between the two of you, laughing as you debate which ones sound best.
When the server asks about drinks, you order a glass of wine. Joel hesitates for a second, and you catch the brief flicker of uncertainty on his face before he orders a beer instead.
âScared of a little merlot, Miller?â
He snorts, the corner of his mouth lifting.
âYou donât want me pretending i know anything about wine swheatheart. would be embarrassing for both of us.â
You laugh, and he leans forward just enough to nudge your foot under the table.
You let your gaze linger on him. The black dress shirt stretched across his shoulders, sleeves rolled to his forearms. The dark pants that fit just right. He clearly tried to tame his hair, but itâs already falling back into its usual glorious mess, silver threading through the dark strands. You wouldnât change a single thing. He looks so handsome, like right out of one of your dreams. a very nice one. You tell him as much, and he ducks his head for a second, that bashful half-smile breaking across his face. And suddenly you have the overwhelming urge to stand up, walk around the table, and kiss him right there in front of everyone.
But then you catch it the insistent gaze of an older couple a few tables away. Their eyes move from Joel to you and back again, brows furrowed, lips pressed together in a way that makes their thoughts painfully obvious. Thereâs no question what they think theyâre seeing. You can almost hear the judgment forming in their minds as they take in the years between you. Without really meaning to, you straighten slightly in your chair.
Joel must notice something shift in your expression, because his hand moves across the table and settles over yours.
âYou good?âÂ
âYeah, itâs justâŠâ You gesture vaguely, trying not to point directly at them even though theyâre still looking far too obviously. âYou know.â
Joel doesnât hesitate. He turns his head and looks directly at the couple. Caught staring, they both look immediately embarrassed, turning back to their menus with exaggerated focus.
When Joel turns back to you, his hand starts to pull away from yours, like maybe he shouldnât have been holding it so openly, like maybe it was his fault.
âDonât,â you say quickly, turning your hand so your palm slides properly into his.
He doesnât hesitate this time, his fingers closing around yours again, warm and firm.
âItâs justâŠâ you sigh, searching for the right words. âThis. Us. It feels so right. But other people might not see it that way.â
Joel watches you carefully. âIâm sorry,â he murmurs.
âNo. No.â You shake your head immediately. âWhy would you apologise?â You squeeze his hand gently. âI just⊠I forget sometimes that not everyoneâs going to understand.â
You donât have to say anything about your dad. Or Sarah. Joel understands immediately. He says your name quietly.
âWill you be okay?â he asks gently. âWith this?â
âJoel, Iâm not ashamed. Itâs just⊠new. And believe meâif being with you means I get a few stares, Iâll gladly take them.â
Something in his face softens at that. Without caring who might be watching, he lifts your hand and presses a slow kiss to the back of it. With his eyes so focused on you, so warm and steady, the rest of the room fades away again.
âGood,â he murmurs. âBecause I donât want to hide us.â
Your heart skips.
âI want to do this when we get back,â he continues. âTake you on dates. Real ones. I donât want to make this relationship a secret.â He pauses.âOf course weâll take all the time you need. But I want people to know how I feel about you.â
You blink at him, a little stunned. âReally?â
âYes,â he says immediately. âOf course, sweetheart.â His voice softens. âI told you. I want this to be serious. I want Sarah to know. I want your dad to know. I want to take you out, hold your hand, kiss you without feeling like weâre hidinâ somethinâ.â
His gaze doesnât waver.
âI wonât hide you,â he adds quietly. âOr us.â
You wonder sometimes how Joel Millerâa man who can struggle so much with saying what he feelsâcan also, somehow, find exactly the right words when it matters most.
Emotion rises suddenly in your chest, thick in your throat, stinging faintly behind your eyes.
âThatâs what I want too, Joel,â you admit. âI want to tell people.â
His smile grows, warm and relieved.
âThen we will.â
For a moment, the two of you just look at each other, smiling a little foolishly, a little giddy with the promise of it.
The server arrives with your plates, and Joel reluctantly lets go of your hand, though the smile on his face doesnât fade. The two of you start eating, the conversation flowing easily, comfortable and warm.
At some point, something crosses your mind and you laugh quietly to yourself.
Joel lifts an amused eyebrow. âWhat?â
âYou remember Dina? My friendâyou saw her at the Fourth of July thing, I think.â
Joel nods slowly.
âShe is going to completely lose her shit when I tell her about us.â
âWhyâs that?â he asks, taking a sip of his beer.
âBecause sheâs been listening to me talk about my crush on you for⊠a while.â
He pauses, lowering the bottle with a small smirk. âYou got a crush on me, sweetheart?â
You stretch one leg under the table and nudge his chin lightly with your foot.
âI think weâre past that point, Joel.â
He hums in quiet satisfaction, clearly pleased with himself, and the two of you keep eating. But your foot doesnât move away. Instead, it lingers against his calf, brushing there lazily while you keep talking.
You watch him carefully as you do it; the way his shoulders tense slightly, the way he clears his throat mid-sentence. The faint colour creeping up his neck again. Itâs far too entertaining to stop. Your foot trace a slow path higher along his leg as the conversation continues, and Joelâs words start to stumble just a little. Finally, when you push your luck a bit too far, your foot sliding higher than it probably should, his hand shoots out and catches your ankle before you can move again. His fingers wrap firmly around your calf. Joel fixes you with a stern look across the table⊠though the effect is slightly ruined by the clear flush coloring his cheeks.
âEnough,â he says quietly.
His hand doesnât let go.
âSorry,â you reply sweetly, even though youâre very obviously not.
Right then, the server returns to clear your plates.
âWas everything alright? Can I get you anything elseâmaybe dessert?â
Joel doesnât answer immediately, looking at you. His gaze drops briefly to where your leg is still trapped in his hand, then returns to your face. Thereâs something darker in his eyes now, something warm and dangerous that sends a little thrill down your spine. You meet his stare without backing down.Â
âWeâll take the check,â he says immediately.
All you remember from the drive back is Joel pinning you against the car as soon as your are out of the restaurant, mouth crashing into yours like heâd been starving for it. His low, ragged âyouâre gonna fucking kill meâ vibrating against your lips before he wrenched the door open.
Then his hand sliding up your thigh as he drove you back, the same way it had yesterday, only this time every slow inch promising something you were done waiting for. His fingers slipped just beneath the hem of your dress, teasing the sensitive skin there, and when you glanced over he shot you a look so dark and impatient it made your pulse hammer between your legs.Â
The second the front door clicks shut heâs on you again, back slammed against the wood, his body caging yours. His mouth finds yours instantly, uncoordinated, like he canât decide whether to devour you or breathe. Your head thumps the door; he mutters a rough âsorryâ against your lips but doesnât stop, and honestly you barely register the sting. Youâre too busy chasing the taste of him.
His hands map you greedily, your waist, your hips, the dip of your lower back, before they settle at the hem of your dress, fingertips playing with the fabric like heâs debating ripping it off.
âYou really like this dress, Miller?â you breathe.
He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, pupils blown. âYou kissed me in this dress. Course I fuckinâ like it.â
You drag your lips along his jaw, stubble scraping your tongue, and slide your hands under his shirt to pull him impossibly closer. âGood thing I packed it then. Didnât realise it made such an⊠impression.â
His laugh is low, wrecked. âBaby.â That word in that gravel tone always undoes you. âI fucked my fist thinkinâ about you in this dress. More than once.â
The image slams into your mind before he even finishes the sentence; Joel alone, hand working himself, your name probably bitten off between curses, imagining the exact way the fabric clings to your thighs. Heat coils tight and sudden low in your belly. You press your legs together on instinct, trying to ease the ache.
âFuck, Joelââ
âYeah?â His voice drops darker, smug. âYou like knowinâ that?â
Before you can answer, his hand dives under your dress. Thick fingers trace the edge of your underwear, then his thumb brushes right over the damp center of you. He feels how soaked you already are and lets out a quiet, mocking sound that makes your knees threaten to give.
âOh, you do.â
You have to clench your jaw to keep from begging him to take you right here.
âBedroom.â You say instead. âNow.â
He doesnât need to be told twice. You barely make it down the hallway without breaking apart. His mouth on yours, your fingers fumbling at the top two buttons of his shirt, his hands gripping your hips like heâs afraid youâll vanish if he lets go. The bedroom door bangs open; he pushes you inside with just enough force to make you stumble back a step, laughing breathlessly at how wrecked he already looks.
The sound barely leaves your lips before he catches it with another kiss, smiling against your mouth like he canât help himself. He trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, across your shoulder, while his hands slide the straps of your dress down your arms. His breath snags audibly when he sees whatâs underneath: the pretty matching set youâd thrown in your bag on a whim. A girl could dream. Turns out she was right to.
Joelâs gaze drags over you, lighting something fierce and confident in your chest. You stand a little taller, letting him look. He steps in close again, one hand sliding to the small of your back, pressing your bare skin to his clothed chest as he kisses you. The other hand fumbles at the clasp of your bra, until he swears under his breath, frustrated, making you laugh softly. He spins you around so he can see what heâs doing, muttering, âShut up,â against the side of your neck before he finally gets it right. The bra joins the dress on the floor.
Immediately, his chest is flush to your back. His hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they pebble under his touch. You sigh, head tipping back against his shoulder as he rolls them gently, then a little harder, drawing a soft whimper out of you.
He keeps kissing everywhere he can until youâre squirming against him, restless. You can feel how hard he is, thick through his jeans, pressed right against your ass. The friction makes your thighs clench.
He walks you forward until your knees hit the edge of the bed, then turns you so you can sink down onto the mattress. You settle on your back, propped up on your elbows, watching him through heavy lids as he finishes the last buttons of his shirt. The way he looks at you, spread out on his bed just for him, waiting, wanting, makes heat lick low in your belly.
âGod, youâre gorgeous,â he says, like he canât help it, like a truth he simply has to face.Â
Heat floods your cheeks. Youâre still not used to the way he looks at you You donât think you ever will be. From where you are, Joel looks devastating: the messy curls, lips swollen and flushed, the dark eyes locked on you, the faint sheen of sweat already gathering at his collarbone. You want to drag your nails down his chest, mark him up, pull him down until thereâs nothing left between you.
âTake off your pants, Joel.â
He huffs a low, amused sound. âEager much?â
âYes,â you admit without hesitation. You see the flicker of surprise in his eyes; heâd expected you to play coy. âNow take them off and fuck me. Please.â
âYeah, yeah, okay,â he mutters, already moving. His hands make quick work of the belt, pants and boxers shoved down and kicked off in one impatient motion, faster than you thought possible.Â
Then heâs climbing onto the bed, looming over you, broad shoulders blocking out the dim light from the hallway. The sheer size of him hits you again in the best way. How great it feels to be under him like that.Â
You pull him down for another kiss while your hand slips between your bodies. His breath hitches the second your fingers brush him, tracing the thick length of him, feeling him twitch under your touch. Then you wrap your hand around his cock, and his eyes flutter shut, a rough sound catching in his throat.
âLike that?â you whisper against his mouth.
âJusââmmphâlittle tighter? Yeah⊠yeah, fuck, like that.â
He drops his forehead to the hollow of your clavicle, hiding there as if the sight of your face might undo him completely. Soft grunts and broken moans spill against your skin with every slow stroke of your hand. Your beautiful, wrecked Joel, coming apart because of you, because of the way you touch him. One of his arms braces beside your head, muscles flexing to keep his weight from crushing you. The other hand roams your thigh, calloused palm dragging up the inside, higher, until his fingertips hook the edge of your underwear. Heâs trembling just enough for you to feel it.
âCan I take these off?â he manages, voice gravel-rough between the gasps he canât quite control.
You nod, even though the thought of him just shoving the lace aside doesnât bother you in the least. But Joel wants it done right.You release him so he can hook his fingers under the waistband and drag the underwear down your legs, peeling it away until thereâs nothing left between you.
For the first time, youâre both completely bare. No fumbling in the dark of the car, no sleepy touches in the grey morning light. Just skin on skin, breath held, eyes drinking each other.
Your gaze drops to where his cock stands flushed and heavy, the head glistening with precum from your earlier touch. He lets you look, even though you feel the involuntary twitch under your stare, the way his hips shift like heâs fighting not to thrust into your hand again.
His palm cups your cheek, thumb tracing the swell of your lower lip. You part for him without thinking, letting it slip inside. You suck lightly, tongue curling around the rough pad, and watch his pupils blow wide, dark and helpless.
Almost shy, voice barely above a whisper when you ask: âCan I go down on you?â
He groans low in his chest, forehead dropping to yours. âGod, sweetheart⊠youâre killing me here.â A rough, honest laugh escapes him. âIâd really fuckinâ like that. But if you do, Iâm not gonna last long enough to give you what Iâve been dyinâ to.â
You smile against his mouth. âAnother time, then.â
He nods, kissing you eagerly. âYeah. Another time. Please.â
The kiss deepens fast. The simple knowledge that there will be more times lights something fierce between you: his real bed back in Austin, the worn leather of his couch, maybe the kitchen table youâve always thought was exactly the right height forâ
Your thoughts scatter the second his fingers slide between your legs.
He exhales a shaky breath when he feels how wet you are, how ready. A cocky little smile tugs at his lips as his thumb finds your clit and circles it. The gasp that rips out of you is involuntary, and it only makes that smile deepen.
Then two of his fingers slide inside you, curling just right while his thumb stays devoted to your clit, relentless circles that drag the most shameless sounds out of your throat. Youâre too far gone to feel embarrassed by it. When the ache becomes unbearable, when all you can think about is him filling you completely, you grab his wrist, voice wrecked. âJoel⊠need you inside me. Now.â
Heâs just as wrecked. His breath stutters as he pulls his fingers free, leaving you clenching around nothing, already aching at the loss. He settles properly between your thighs, the head of his cock brushing your clit.
âDo you want me to get a condom?â he asks even as his hips twitch with restraint.
Your hand finds his forearm, stroking gently. The fact that he still asks, even now after all you talked about, makes something tender bloom in your chest. âNo,â you whisper. âWanna feel you, Joel. Just you.â You wrap your fingers around him again making him hisses softly at the contact, and guide him to your entrance. âNeed you.â
One of his hands settles on your hip, steadying you both. He pushes in slowly, eyes flicking between your face and the place where he disappears inside you inch by inch. When his hips finally press flush to yours, buried to the hilt, you both let out long, shuddering sighs against each otherâs mouths.
Itâs only been two days, but god, youâd missed this: the perfect stretch of him, the way he fills you until thereâs nothing left but him.
He doesnât rush. He starts with shallow, languid rolls of his hips,pulling out just enough to make you feel the drag, then sinking back in deep. Every movement is measured, controlled, like heâs savoring every second. âPerfect,â he mutters against your lips, voice rough with awe. âFucking perfect.â
He keeps that steady, unhurried rhythm, slow enough that he can kiss you properly; your mouth, your jaw, the sensitive spot under your ear, murmuring praise the whole time. âSo good for me⊠feel so fuckinâ good⊠thatâs it, babyâŠâ
You canât look away from each other. Smiles break through between moans, soft and dazed, like youâre sharing a secret no one else gets to know. Every thrust pulls a new sound from you; every sound makes his eyes darken further.
At some point he hooks his hands under your knees, tilting your legs toward your chest. The new angle lets him sink even deeper, hitting that spot that makes white sparks burst behind your eyes.
âJoelâfuckââ
âYeah? Right there?â He grinds in again, watching your face. âBaby, talk to me.â
âYesâyes, donât stopââ
âNot stoppinâ. Fuck, you feel amazinâ.â
You try to rock up into him, chasing more, harder, but his hands pin your hips gently but firmly to the mattress.
âWeâre not in a rush,â he murmurs, voice gravel-low.
âJoel,â you whine.
He chuckles and rolls his hips in a slow, filthy circle just to prove his point. âWeâve got all the time in the world,â he grunts, eyes locked on yours. âLet me feel how good you are around me⊠just like this.â
You feel it building slowly at first, a warm, tingling heat that spreads through every inch of you with every measured thrust. His praise lands like sparks against your skin, each whispered word making your body flutter and clench around him.
âAre you gettinâ close?â You nod, nails digging into his back as he drives deep. âFuck you areâ I can feel it.â
âAre you?â you manage to gasp.
âIâve been close since the second you touched me, baby,â Joel groans, hips stuttering. âJust⊠trying not to end up like this morninâ.â
âI likedââ You cut off with a sharp cry as he thrusts forward again. ââthis morning.â
The shared confession pulls a breathless smile from both of you. He leans down for a messy kiss. Your words dissolve into broken sounds after that,nothing coherent except his name, over and over. His rhythm starts to fracture, thrusts turning harder, deeper, chasing both your peaks with the same hunger. His hand slips between your bodies again, two thick fingers finding your clit with perfect pressure.
âCan you come on my cock, sweetheart? Please â fuck, I need to feel you.â You must nod frantically, because he continues. âOf course you can. Youâre my perfect girl.â
And because you are, it only takes a few more punishing thrusts and the relentless circle of his thumb before the edge rips through you. Your orgasm crashes over, legs shaking, back arching, walls pulsing tight around him as you cry out.
âJoelâ Ah! Joelââ
Above you, Joel growls something filthy about how tight you are, how perfect, how good, but the words blur under the roar of your release. His face drops to your neck, hips snapping only a few moments, then burying deep as he follows you over. You feel the hot rush of him spilling inside you, his groan vibrating against your throat while his body trembles with the force of it.
He stays still for a minute, braced on forearms so he doesnât crush you, both of you panting hard. When he can finally focus again, he brushes a sweat-soaked strand of hair from your forehead. Then he kisses you, soft presses to your flushed cheeks, your closed eyelids, your swollen lips, until a helpless giggle bubbles out of you.
Only then does he ease out, eyes immediately dropping between your legs. He watches, transfixed, as his release starts to slip from you. After a beat, two of his fingers push it back inside with gentle insistence. You squirm, still oversensitive, and his cheeks flush darker at the sight. He settles beside you on his side, skin gleaming with sweat, and finally meets your eyes. Both of you are smiling, sated, a little dazed. He pulls you into a deep kiss, the kind that says everything words canât: how much he liked this, and you kiss him back just as hungrily, completely lost in him.
When you start to pull away after a minute, trying to sit up, Joel immediately tightens his arms around you and pulls you back down against the mattress.
âWhere do you think youâre going?â he murmurs.
âJust to the bathroom,â you laugh as he wraps you closer against him.
âDonât,â he mutters against your neck.
The realization makes you giggle againt his chest. Joel Miller is a cuddler after sex. âI need to clean up,â you tell him, amused. âAnd pee.â
He lets out a quiet huff of reluctant acceptance, pressing a slow kiss to the top of your head, lingering there. âFive minutes,â he bargains.
You canât help smiling at this unexpected clingy side of him, and for a moment you stay where you are. You nuzzle a little closer into him before pressing a light kiss to his Adamâs apple, feeling the way it shifts under your lips as he exhales. He eventually lets you go, though it takes closer to ten minutes than five, and you hurry into his bathroom. You donât want to be away from him for long either.
When you catch your reflection in the mirror, you pause. Your hair is messy, your lips swollen, your cheeks flushed. You look thoroughly, unmistakably well-fucked. And happy. Stupidly, stupidly happy.
You bite your lip to hide the grin and grab the first shirt you can find before leaving the en suite. Back in the bedroom, Joel is lying on the bed scrolling through his phone. The moment he sees you, he sets it aside, his eyes immediately moving over you.
âPutting some alarms for tomorrow,â he explains casually, though his gaze lingers a little as he takes in the sight of you in his shirt.
âWhat time do we need to leave?â you ask.
âNot early, donât worry.â He lifts the sheet slightly in invitation. âWe are sleepinâ in.â
âPerfect.â
You slide back into the bed, and the moment you settle, Joel pulls you into his arms again , chest to chest, your head tucked under his chin, one big hand splayed possessively over your lower back, like itâs the most natural thing in the world
âHow you feelinâ?â he asks quietly, lips brushing your temple.
âAmazing,â you whisper, tracing lazy circles over his heart. âYou?â
He just hums contentedly into your hair, a sound of quiet satisfaction that vibrates through his chest where youâre pressed against him. You tilt your head up, catching those soft brown eyes watching you in the low light. Theyâre so open, so fond, it steals the air from your lungs.
âWhat?â he asks.
For one dizzy second, the words are right there on your tongue. Those three little words people are so eager to say and so afraid of. You almost tell him. Maybe itâs the warmth still humming through your body, the quiet bliss of the moment, the feeling of being wrapped in his arms like this. But you swallow them down. Not yet. Itâs too soon. Too big. The thought might scare him and truthfully⊠it scares you a little too. Maybe itâs just the endorphins talking. Though it doesnât feel untrue.
âNothing,â you say instead.
Joel studies your face for a heartbeat longer, like he can almost hear the unsaid words anyway. Then leans down and kisses you softly before settling back against the pillow. Within minutes, his breathing deepens, steady and calm. You lie there listening to it, a small smile forming as you relax against his chest.
Itâs okay, you think, curling closer. You have time. So much time. After everything, you know youâll tell him someday. After all, this is only the beginning for the two of you.
Joel turns the key in the lock and pushes the door closed behind him. Out of habit, he twists the doorknob once more, testing it to make sure itâs properly shut. Only when heâs satisfied does he turn around.
And of course, youâre the first thing he sees.Â
Youâre leaning against the truck with that smile heâs pretty sure heâd follow anywhere. The morning sun catches in your hair, the ocean breeze tugging at the hem of your shirt, and for a second he has to remind his lungs how to work. Itâs been like that for a while now: you walk into his line of sight and the rest of the world quietly fades to background noise.
He crosses the gravel, boots crunching, and stops just close enough that your knees brush his.
âGot everything?â he asks.
You glance into the backseat where both your bags are tucked together. âThink so!â
He leans in and presses a slow kiss to your cheek, then opens the passenger door for you with an exaggerated little flourish.
You laugh, and the sound hits him square in the chest. He decides right then that heâs going to keep doing stupid chivalrous shit for the rest of his life if it keeps making you laugh like that. You deserve doors opened, seats pulled out, every small thing.
He rounds the hood, slides behind the wheel, and slots the key into the ignition. Before he turns it, he catches you staring back at the house through the window, something soft and a little wistful in your eyes.
You feel his gaze and turn to him. âYou know Iâve always loved this place,â you say quietly. âItâs always been full of so many memories.â Your eyes drop to his mouth, then lift again. âAnd now I love it even more. Iâm already missing it.â
Joel reaches over, curls a hand around the back of your neck, and kisses you. âWeâll come back soon,â he murmurs against your lips. âThatâs a promise.â
âIâd love that.â
He starts the engine. The radio hums to life when you twist the knob, some old country song drifting through the cab like it was waiting for you two. As the truck rolls down the driveway, you watch the house shrink in the side mirror until it disappears behind the dunes. Soon you will be back to Austin. Back to real life. Back to figuring out what âthemâ looks like when the world isnât paused in those stolen days. Joel feels the same small tug in his chest, leaving this little pocket of peace, but itâs quieter than the excitement buzzing under his skin. If anything, he feels something closer to anticipation.
He reaches across the console without thinking and threads his fingers through yours. You squeeze back immediately, and when he glances over, youâre already smiling at him like he hung the damn moon. He mirrors it without even meaning to.
You tip your head back against the seat, eyes half-closed, breathing in the sharp, clean scent of the sea one last time.Â
Joel doesnât let go of your hand.
đŒ Thank you for reading this story! Please tell me what you thought! Leave a comment, a reblog, or even an ask! It would mean a lot :) đŒ
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Iâm SO glad thereâs still one more chapter left for The Tides Between Us, Iâve been craving more of it since you last updated it. đ„č
Iâm genuinely addicted to the way you write Joel!!! Heâs so tender and perfect. Iâll be thinking about this story (and him) forever. đđđ
Omg, this is so so sweet of you !!! I'm posting part 6 soon, so I hope you enjoy it as much!
I loved writing this Joel, and I think him in the last chapter is maybe my fav :))
Thank you for reaching out and being so nice! Means a lot âĄ
Part 5??? Everything I could have imagined after the what if of part 4!!
I'm so happy you liked it !! <3
Hope you enjoy part 6 :)
The Tides Between Us
đŒ series masterlist đŒ
[ONGOING]
PAIRING: dbf!Joel x fem!Reader | dbf!Tommy x fem!Reader
SUMMARY: The Millersâ beach house was supposed to be a fun getaway : a week of sun, drinks, and celebration for Joelâs 40th birthday. But after that night with Joel, everythingâs suddenly⊠awkward. Joel is cold and distant, because Joel knows better. He wonât cross that lineânot with his best friendâs daughter, not when youâre half his age. Heâs made his share of mistakes, but this wonât be one of them.
But Tommy? Tommyâs never been one for restraint, all too willing to take what Joel wonât.
WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, SMUT, no outbreak au, no ellie, dbf!joel, dbf!tommy, age gap, no use of y/n, angst and tension, forced proximity
Here on AO3
Chapters
đŒ Part I đŒ Part II đŒ Part III đŒ Part IV đŒ Part V đŒ Part VI
đŒ If you want to be tagged, please let me know ! đŒ
Part five is up :)
The Tides Between Us part 5
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 |
Pairing: dbf!Joel x fem!Reader | dbf!Tommy x fem!Reader
SUMMARY: Day five at the Millersâ beach house. After what happened last night, how are you supposed to act around Joel now?
WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, SMUT, dry humping, no outbreak au, no ellie, dbf!joel, dbf!tommy, age gap, no use of y/n, angst and tension, forced proximity.
A/N : I apologise every time, but Iâm sorry for taking so long and thank you for sticking with this story!! :) hope you all enjoy it, and as always, let me know what you think. Your comments mean the world â„
Here on AO3 | Wc : 12 k
âWhat about him?â
You follow Sarahâs not-so-subtle stare. A man is running along the shoreline not far from where the two of you are stretched out on your towels, propped up on your elbows, openly watching him pass. You couldnât look more clichĂ© if you tried. You love it.
âNot my style,â you say simply.
âYou barely even looked at him. Come on, he seems athletic. Tall. Nice hair, too.â She turns slightly toward you, fixing you with a pointed look. âDo you know how rare a nice hairline is these days?â You chuckle, but she barrels on. âNo, no, donât laugh. Donât you want someone with hair you can actually play with?â
A flash of salt-and-pepper hair is the first thing that comes to mind.
âNo, but like,â she continues, undeterred, âitâs getting rare. Iâm a freshman in college, and half the guys in my class are already balding. Iâm telling you, itâs becoming a scarcity.â She pauses, then adds quickly, âObviously, no hate to guys without hair. Itâs not like they can help it, and some of them pull it off. Some even look better bald. But I like a nice haircut. I want to run my hands through it, you know?â
The sound he made when you tugged at his hair. The way he reacted when your nails scraped gently against his scalp.
âYeah,â you say, after a beat too long. âI agree.â
âSo you should run after him and ask for his number while his hair is still hanging on. Wouldnât that be fun?â
You shake your head, laughing softly at her persistence. âI am not doing that.â
âWhyyy?â
âBecause,â you say patiently, âIâm not asking a guy out just because he has nice hair, no matter how nice it is. He probably lives around here, and Iâm leaving tomorrow. And I am definitely not running after a man.â You wish you could say you would never run after any man, but you know that isnât true. âAlso, he looks younger than me. Not my style.â
She watches the runner for another second, as if reassessing his age. âTrue, trueâŠâ Then her attention snaps back to you. You wish she werenât wearing her sunglasses because youâd like to know exactly what that look means. âSo⊠are you planning on seeing the guy from the gym again?â
âMichael?â You pause, as if genuinely considering it. âNo. I donât think I will.â
âAww. Come on. I was hoping for more gossip.â
Oh, Sarah. If only you knew.
You both keep watching as the runnerâs silhouette grows smaller, fading farther and farther down the shore.
âDamn,â Sarah hums appreciatively. âNice ass, too. Your loss.â
You laugh with her, and the two of you keep watching the people around you. Itâs approaching late morning now, but the weather is perfect, the kind that makes everyone want to squeeze every last drop out of the weekend. You try to quiet your mind; too many thoughts have been crawling around since last night. You focus on the rhythm of the waves instead, but a familiar pang of guilt slips in as you glance at Sarah beside you.
âYou know I love you, right?â
âWhere the fuck is that coming from?â she snorts, turning to look at you.
âWhat? We said the exact same thing last night,â you point out.
âI was drunk,â she shoots back. âWhatâs your excuse? This is so out of the blue.â She grumbles, but you both know the irritation is just embarrassment in disguise.
âI just need you to know,â you say softly. âAnd I wanted to say it back when youâre not drunk as fuck.â You nudge her shoulder, and she shoves you right back. âAlso,â you add, âhow are you not hungover right now? It honestly baffles me.â
âIâm a college student now,â she says proudly. âIt takes more than that to defeat me.â
âYou were dead the second you hit the mattress last night.â
And you were glad she was. Because she was still fast asleep when you finally made it back to the room afterâ
âIâm hungry,â Sarah announces suddenly. âShould we head back?â
âSure,â you say, standing up and gathering your things, a flush of anxiety creeping in before you can stop it.
Because going back to the house means seeing Joel. It means facing what happened last night. Youâd been lucky this morning, Sarah dragging you out of bed and straight to the beach, determined to enjoy it at least once before heading back to college. And who were you to argue? Joel hadnât seemed to be up when you left.
Either way, you werenât sure you were ready to face him. To face whatever emotion might be waiting in his eyes. What if the night had sobered him up in the worst way, clarity hitting hard, turning everything into a mistake? What if it had only been a spur-of-the-moment thing for him? What if he didnât want to talk about it at all? And what if he did?
Last night, when youâd finally caught your breath again and realised you couldnât stay in the car forever, it hadnât been awkward exactly, but something adjacent to it. The two of you fumbling quietly with your clothes, neither quite looking at the other.
When you stepped out of the car, youâd been surprised to feel Joelâs hand searching for yours, threading his fingers through it like it was the most natural thing in the world. He held on as you walked back toward the house quietly, as if you were wrapped in some fragile bubble. Words would have burst it, and neither of you wanted to be the first to do that.
Inside, the two of you stopped at the foot of the staircase. You hesitated, then finally looked up at him, half-expecting him to say something. He didnât. He just looked at you for a beat, an expression so soft on his face it almost undid you. He squeezed your hand gently before letting go, then nodded toward the stairs. You missed the warmth of his hand immediately.
As you walked up, you glanced over your shoulder. He was still watching you, his eyes soft in a way you couldnât quite explain. After a quick trip to the bathroom, you slipped back into Sarahâs bedroom. You were relieved to see her still asleep, sprawled across the bed, blissfully unaware of you coming and going. You slid back under the covers and closed your eyes, trying to will yourself into sleep. But your thoughts wouldnât slow, spiralling back to Joel, much like they were now.
You try to focus on what Sarah is saying as the two of you walk back to the house, but with every step, your heart seems to beat louder, heavier. Your breath hitches when Sarah opens the door and steps inside.
Joel is in the kitchen, his back to you.
God, heâs beautifulâyour first, unhelpful thought. The same one you always have, only sharpened now, intensified by last night. You let yourself take him in for just a second: the broad line of his shoulders, the familiar fall of his hair, all the places your hands were lucky enough to touch hours ago.
âMorning, Dad,â Sarah calls as you walk in.
Joel turns around, coffee mug in hand, and something tightens painfully in your chest. Butterflies, mixed with apprehension and the lingering heat of memory.
His eyes find you. And thenâ
He looks away.
Oh.
Your stomach drops instantly. Youâd dreaded this, rehearsed it in your head all morning, but facing it hurts more than you thought it would. Your fear transforms into something sharp and ugly. He regrets it. He canât even look at you.
You want to disappear. To crawl out of the room. But you canât, Sarahâs right there, oblivious, so you pull your cover-up tighter around yourself and grab a mug, turning toward the coffee machine as if you belong there.Â
You force yourself to breathe. Itâs okay, you tell yourself. You knew this was a possibility. You spent half the night preparing for it. Youâll be fine. Itâs not the first man to break your heart. But itâs Joel, and your heart has never followed the usual rules when it comes to him.
You hear Joel and Sarah talking behind you while you silently beg the machine to hurry up. They move easily through logistics for Sarahâs flight tonight, and what time theyâll need to leave for the airport As if your chest wasnât tight enough already, the reminder lands heavy that Sarah is already leaving.
Your coffee is only halfway done when Sarah announces sheâs taking the first shower. She disappears down the hall, her footsteps fading toward the stairs, leaving you alone in the kitchen with Joel.
The silence is deafening.
You keep your back to him, watching the last drops of coffee fill the pot, willing your face to stay neutral. You focus on the sound of Sarahâs footsteps overhead, clinging to it like an anchor while your emotions bubble dangerously close to the surface. You refuse to be that girl, the one who cries because she misread something, because she didnât understand what it was. What was it, anyway? Youâre still not sure.
You take a steadying breath. Then you turn around.
Joel is right there in front of you.
You donât have time to say anything before his hands cup your face, eager and yet impossibly gentle, and his lips press to yours.
You barely manage to set your mug down on the counter before your hand slides into his shirt, gripping the fabric to pull him closer. If last nightâs kisses had been rushed, all heat and want, this one is different. He kisses you like he has nowhere else to be. His lips linger, tasting, his tongue brushing your lower lip without pushing further, as if heâs giving you time to breathe, to set the pace if you wanted to.
Then he pulls back, just slightly and steals one last, brief kiss before letting you go. His hands come to rest on the counter on either side of you, caging you in without touching, and he smiles.
âHi.â
Heâs looking at you like this is normal. Like this, being close to you, kissing you, is the most natural thing in the world.
âHi,â you breathe back. Your mouth opens to say more, to ask something, to say anything, but the words donât come.
Joel notices immediately. âYou okay?â
You canât stop the small hitch of breath that escapes you. Instead of answering, you let your forehead fall against his chest, hiding your face where he canât see the tears threatening to spill.
âHeyâhey,â he murmurs, one hand coming up to soothe your back in slow, grounding strokes. âTalk to me, sweetheart.â
âIâm sorry,â you mumble into his shirt, too embarrassed to look up. âIâI thought you were going to say it was a mistake.â
âWhat?â His hand stills slightly. âWhy would you think that?â
âYou looked away when I came in,â you admit quietly. âAnd I thought it was because you were⊠I donât know. About to let me down.â
He says your name softly, the sound of it alone enough to steady you. His fingers slide under your chin, gently coaxing you to look up at him. When you do, your breath catches. His eyes are fixed on you, intent and warm, like he canât help but take you in.
âBaby,â he says, and the nickname makes you melt instantly. âI looked away because I was tryinâ to be a gentleman and not show you exactly what the sight of you in that bikini is doinâ to me.â A small, self-aware smile tugs at his mouth as his cheeks redden slightly. âDo you have any idea how beautiful you are? How hard itâs been not to look at you these past few days? I feel like a damn teenager all over again.â
Heat rushes to your face at his words.
âOh,â you breathe. âSo⊠you donât regret it?â
âIââ He pauses, just long enough for your heart to tighten. He must see it, because his thumb immediately begins to stroke your jaw, slow and reassuring. âIâm not going to pretend what happened is⊠ideal.â He waits until youâre really looking at him. âBut no,â he says firmly. âI donât regret it.â
He presses a quick kiss to your lips, as if to prove his point. Itâs over too fast, and you instinctively lean after him, chasing the warmth. He smiles at that, keeping his mouth just out of reach for a second before finally giving in and kissing you again.
âAre you okay?â he asks softly. âDo you need me toââ He hesitates, clearly unsure, a hint of embarrassment creeping in. âI mean⊠do you need me to run to the pharmacy or somethinâ?â
It takes you a second to understand what he means. He is asking if you need the morning-after pill. Because he came inside you. Because you asked him to. Heat coils low in your stomach at the memory.
You shake your head. âIâm on the pill.â
âOkay,â he nods quickly. âOkay.â Then, more seriously, âStill, I shouldnât haveâ It was irresponsible toââ
âI asked you to,â you interrupt gently, a bit flushed.
He exhales slowly. âI know. Still, we should have talked about itânot that I didnât like it. I did.â His eyes dip down your body for just a second, darkening before he pulls in a steadying breath, visibly forcing himself back onto firmer ground. When he looks at you again, his expression is serious. âLike I said last nightâbefore we⊠we need to have a real conversation. About this. About us.â He hesitates, then adds more quietly, âIâm not goinâ to pretend it didnât happen. I donât want to.â He gestures loosely between the two of you. âBut I think we both know this isnât simple.â
You let your hand rest on his chest, feeling his heartbeat; quick, but steady beneath your palm. His words are calming, grounding, and youâd be lying if you said that was what you expected. After the past few days, you hadnât known what version of Joel youâd get.Â
You tell him as much, a smile tugging at your lips. âJoel Miller, communicating?â you tease. âWhatâs happening? Who are you?â
âShut up,â he mutters, pinching you lightly and making you laugh. His hand settles at your waist, thumb tracing slow circles against your skin, and the shiver it pulls from you doesnât go unnoticed. âIâm trying to do things right, okay?â He says quietly. âFor you.âÂ
He looks at you with soft eyes, and the warmth that blooms in your chest should surprise you, but it doesnât. Your body has always known how to react to Joel Miller.
You rise onto your toes and kiss him, less gentle than before, nipping at his lower lip until he gives in. You press him closer, welcoming the weight of him, the counter cool against your back. It feels good. It feels right.
âWe shouldââ Joel murmurs between kisses. âStop.â Another kiss, lingering. âAnyone could come downstairs.âÂ
You feel his restraint as much as you feel the hard line of him against your hips, and youâre grateful when he finally forces himself to step back, because the way he feels against you is dangerously intoxicating. You know, that if heâd asked, you wouldâve let him bend you over the counter without hesitation. His thoughts canât be far from yours; his eyes trail slowly over your body, and you find yourself developing a renewed appreciation for this green bikini.Â
âSweetheartâŠâ He scrubs a hand down his face and exhales. âGo take a shower before we do somethinâ stupid.â
âAll by myself?â you canât help but ask, wiggling your eyebrows.
He scoffs, but you catch the faint blush creeping up his neck, and the sight of it sends a thrill straight through you. You did that. âGo,â he says, giving your ass a light slap, and you have to fight the instinctive moan that rises at the sensation. Joel definitely notices; you see it in the way his eyes darken before he reins himself back in.
You leave the kitchen with a smile, your skin buzzing, alive with the weight of his words and everything left unsaid. When you reach the staircase, you canât resist one last look over your shoulder. You half expect to catch him staring at your assâyou know how good it looks in that bikiniâbut instead you find his eyes already on yours, like he knew youâd turn back. He lifts his chin slightly, mouths go, and you disappear up the stairs, your heart swelling in your chest.
Twenty minutes and a shower later, you and Sarah are sprawled in her room, half-dressed and still finishing getting ready, her laptop balanced between the two of you. Some letâs-play of a horror game is playing from one of her favourite creators. Youâre not really watching, only reacting when the girl cracks a good joke or shrieks at a perfectly timed jump scare. Your mind keeps circling back to Joel; to his voice, his hands, the way he looked at you in the kitchen. You catch yourself smiling at nothing. Eventually, Sarah flops backwards onto the bed with a dramatic groan.
âI donât wanna go back,â she whines. âItâs not fair. I donât even get a full weekend with you guys.â She punches the mattress beside her, then throws an arm over her eyes, fully committing to the tantrum. âI hate college.â
âNo, you donât,â you say fondly, shifting to sit on the bed next to her.
âI do,â she insists. âI donât wanna go back to that fuckass roommate. I wanna stay here forever.â She drops her arm and looks at you with sudden seriousness. âYou should enrol in college again and become my new roommate.â
You snort. âAs sweet as that sounds, I donât think Iâd survive dorm life a second time. Iâm way too old for shared rooms and communal bathrooms.â The thought that you might also be getting too old to still live with your dad lingers.
Sarah groans into her pillow, muffling her frustration. You reach out and gently rub her back. âYour flightâs at nine, right?â
âYeah,â she says, lifting her head just enough to look at you. âDad said weâll leave after an early dinner. God, Iâm gonna get back to campus so late.â
âWhat timeâs your first class tomorrow?â you ask. âAre you even going to get enough sleep?â
She grins, already guilty. âThere is no way in hell Iâm going to class tomorrow. Iâll be too tired. Too sad. Tomorrow is a date between me and my bed.â Then she fixes you with a pointed look. âDonât tell my dad.â
You lift your hands in surrender, laughing. âHey, Iâm not snitching.â Even if you know Joel would absolutely want her rested more than anything.
âStill, weâve got time before tonight,â you remind her. âWhat do you wanna do?â
Thereâs a brief pause, then she suddenly jumps to her feet and bolts for the door.
âSarah?â you call, hurrying after her as she flies down the stairs.
Sheâs already in the living room by the time you catch up. Joel and your dad are mid-conversation, both of them lifting their heads when she bursts in. You catch the briefest flicker of Joelâs gaze on you before he shifts his attention back to his daughter.
âCan we go out for lunch?â she asks him immediately. âLike, outside outside. The sandwich place near the beach, the one we used to go to?â
âOh, I love that place,â Tommy pipes up from the kitchen doorwayâyou hadnât even noticed him there. âHey, girls.â He gives Sarahâs arm a quick squeeze, then does the same to you before flopping onto the couch with his coffee like he owns the place.
âWe have leftovers,â Joel says firmly, shooting his brother a look. âThat was the plan for lunch.â
âOh, come on, Dad,â Sarah protests immediately. âHave you seen the sun outside? We need to get out.â
âIt is beautiful weather,â Tommy agrees easily.
âAnd itâs my last day,â Sarah adds, piling it on. âYou wouldnât deny your only child joy in her final hours of freedom, would you? You know I love that place.â
âThey make Italian paninis that are to die for,â Tommy tells you and your dad, ignoring his brother.
âDad,â Sarah presses. âDonât you want a nice panini? You loved them.â
âI donât even know if that place is still open,â Joel counters.
âIt is,â Tommy says without hesitation. âI passed it on the way to the bakery yesterday.â
Joel turns to your dad, clearly searching for backup.
Your dad shrugs. âI mean⊠I could absolutely go for a panini.â
Joel sighs, long and dramatic, and then his eyes find yours again. Those soft brown eyes you like far too much.
âPlease, Joel?â you add, smiling sweetly.
He doesnât even try to fight it. Just exhales, shaking his head like a man accepting his fate. âIâm surrounded by traitors.â
Sarah lets out a victorious cheer. âAnd we should get ice cream after!â
Sarah is nothing if not persuasive. After a delicious lunch, the five of you somehow end up at an ice cream shop near the beach, standing in line with sand in your shoes and the sun warm on your backs. Sarah is beaming by the time she gets her cone, cookies and cream piled dangerously high, already starting to melt down her fingers. She doesnât even care.
When itâs Joelâs turn, he takes his time. Studies the board. Reads the flavours once. Then again, like heâs making a life-altering decision. Everyone already knows his choice.
âCoffee please,â he finally tells the vendor.
Thereâs a collective chuckle around him.
He frowns, looking between all of you. âWhat? Itâs a great flavour.â
âNo, itâs boring, Dad,â Sarah says, licking her ice cream pointedly.
âYou only say that because you wonât be able to steal any of mine,â he shoots back.
âMe?â she gasps, clutching her cone like sheâs been gravely insulted. âI would never.â She takes another exaggerated lick. âCoffee is just boring. And disgusting.â
âItâs an acquired taste,â you interject. âYou just have the taste buds of a five-year-old.â
âSays the girl who hates mushrooms,â Joel shoots back immediately, unable to resist teasing you like he always did.
âIâm trying to be on your side, old man,â you say, laughing as you make a half-hearted attempt to shove him.
He catches your wrist before you can, fingers closing around it easily. The contact sends a small, traitorous shiver up your spine. His thumb shifts, sliding just slightly along the inside of your arm. The touch lingers a fraction too long, before you rememberânot alone. You step back just as Joel clears his throat and turns to the counter, accepting his cone, thanking the vendor, and paying as if nothing happened. Thankfully, no one seems to notice.
âItâs not my fault, I donât like it,â Sarah continues, utterly unfazed. âItâs just how I am, okay? I was born this way.â
âDonât bring Lady Gaga into this,â Tommy says, a little too seriously, his mint chocolate chip cone already halfway gone. âYou just have poor taste, my dear niece.â He pauses, studying Sarah like heâs had a sudden, terrible realisation. âWait.â His eyes narrow. âYouâre a grown-up now. And a Miller. Youâre supposed to like coffee.â He turns slowly to his brother. âAre you sure sheâs yours?â
Sarah spins toward her father, utterly affronted, clearly waiting for him to defend her honour.
Joel straightens, putting on his most solemn expression. âSarah⊠Itâs time I tell you somethinâ.â
âShut up,â she snaps instantly, elbowing him before he can finish. Sheâs always been quicker than him. Joel laughs as he tries and fails to grab her and steal her ice cream, and the rest of you break into laughter along with them.
As if Sarah could be anyone else. Itâs funny, really, how much she looks like her dad. The same dimples when she smiles. The same expressive brown eyes that can say so much without a word. The same mouth, too. Watching them together, itâs impossible to miss it.
Sarah turns to your dad, whoâs been far too busy eating his ice cream to get involved. âI think you should become my new dad,â she declares solemnly. âMine is being mean. You up for it?â
Your dad doesnât hesitate for a second and swings an arm around Sarahâs shoulders like itâs a done deal. âSure,â he says easily. âBut I donât think itâs fair that I get two amazing daughters while the poor guy gets none.â He points at you, then at Joel. âWanna trade?â he asks.
Joel freezes mid-biteâbecause of course he bites his ice cream. You try very hard not to let your thoughts wander to all the other things he could bite. He looks from your dad⊠to you. His mouth opens like heâs about to say something, then he hesitates. If you werenât so focused on him, you might notice Tommyâs barely contained smirk, or the look he shares with Sarah behind your back.
âIâd rather not,â Joel finally says, turning back to your dad. âI think Iâm okay with Sarah.â
Your dad gasps dramatically. âAre you saying my baby isnât great?â
âOh, sheâs great,â Joel replies without missing a beat. âI just donât want her as a daughter.â
Your dad laughs, then ruffles your hair affectionately. âSorry, kiddo. Joel doesnât want you.â
You put on an exaggerated pout, and everyone laughs. You join in until your eyes meet Joelâs. The look he gives you says the exact opposite. He does want you. Just not in a way he can say out loud.
You lift your ice cream and take a slow lick, mostly just to cool off, but you notice immediately the way Joelâs eyes follow the movement of your tongue. His jaw tightens ever so slightly before he looks away and starts walking down the beach, Sarah trailing beside him, still ranting passionately about how coffee shouldnât disqualify her as a Miller. Tommy falls into step next to her, attempting to steal a bite of her ice cream when sheâs distracted. She shoves him away with a loud protest, and he laughs, entirely unapologetic.
You and your dad follow a few steps behind them. The sun is high now, the beach far busier than the quiet stretch near the house, but it feels good; warm sand under your feet, salt in the air, laughter all around. Your gaze drifts to Joelâs back, and a smile pulls at your lips before you even realise itâs there.
Your dad notices.
âWhatâs got you smiling?â he asks lightly.
You quickly turn your head toward him, hoping he didnât catch exactly whereâor rather whoâyour attention had been lingering on.
âJust had a really great weekend,â you say lightly. âThatâs all.â
He smiles, biting into his cone, which somehow already looks like itâs lost an entire scoop. He eats ice cream like itâs on borrowed time. âYouâre right,â he says around the bite. âItâs been great.â He breathes in deeply, eyes drifting toward the water. âGod, I love the sea breeze.â A contented sigh escapes him. âI could actually see myself getting old here.â
You smile at that. âI could see it too. You always seem more at peace near the ocean.â
âRetired by the seaâŠâ he nods thoughtfully. âYeah. I see it. I really do.â
Thereâs a small pause, the sound of waves filling the space between you.
âI have been thinking,â you start, and his eyebrow lifts immediately.
âUh-oh,â he says. âDangerous territory.â
You snort. âHa. Very funny.â Then you slow, turning serious as you look at him. âYou know I love living with you, right?â
âYes?â he says, cautious now, sensing the shift.
âI really do. I love spending time with you, butâŠâ You hesitate, choosing your words. âI think it might be time for the next step. Would you be okay if I moved out? Likeâgot my own place?â
He says your name softly. âWhy wouldnât I be?â
You swallow. âI just⊠I know you felt lonely when I left for college. And I donât want you to feel like that again.â
He stops walking and turns fully toward you, expression warm and impossibly gentle. âOh, my baby,â he says, cutting you off. âYou are so sweet.â He reaches out, squeezing your shoulder. âOf course, Iâll feel lonely if you leave. Thatâs normal. How could I not, when I have such an amazing daughter?â He smiles, eyes shining just a little. âIf you wanted to stay home with me for years and years, Iâd be delighted. Truly.â Then his tone shifts, still loving, but steady. âBut we both know thatâs not how life works. I love living with you. Itâs a gift getting to see your beautiful face every day. But you shouldnât stay just for my sake.â He meets your eyes. âIf you feel like itâs time, then itâs time. Thatâs how you feel, isnât it?â
âRight,â you say, your voice catching despite yourself.
âAnd I wonât pretend I wonât miss you,â he continues, pulling you into a hug thatâs warm and familiar, the kind that instantly steadies you. âIâll miss your cooking. Iâll miss having to kill spiders for you.â He chuckles softly, then sighs. âIâll miss you like crazy. But itâs not like youâre moving hours away.â He leans back just enough to look down at you, suddenly serious again. âYouâre not, right? Weâre talking Austin?â You nod, and the relief on his face is immediate. âGood,â he says. âSee? Same city. And youâll still come see your old manâI know you.â A smile tugs at his mouth. âWe can make it a thing. Dinner once a week, maybe. Standing date.â
âThat sounds perfect, Dad,â you say, meaning every word.
He squeezes you once more before letting go. âSo. Have you started looking at listings yet?â
âNot yet,â you admit. âI just⊠realised it might be time, and I wanted to talk to you first.â
âWell,â he says easily, âIâd be more than happy to help you find somewhere nice.â
Your face lights up at that, excitement blooming in your chest. With a steady job and a couple of years of saving thanks to living at home, you could actually afford a cute little place. Maybe closer to work. Something cosy, where you could finally adopt the cat your dad never wanted because of his allergies. The thought makes you smile even wider. Apartment hunting with him will be fun.
âAnd weâll have Joel if we need help,â your dad adds, already thinking ten steps ahead, about leaky faucets, busted locks, furniture that refuses to cooperate.
âI donât want to be a bother,â you say quickly, waving it off, even if the idea of Joel in your own place sends an entirely different kind of warmth through you. Because Joel wants to talk. Because he doesnât want to pretend. And that has to mean something, a future maybe? Still, this isnât about him. This is a step youâre taking for yourself. If heâs there too⊠well. Thatâs just a bonus. A very good one.
âA bother? To Joel?â your dad laughs. âHoney, Joel likes to pretend he is a grump, but we both know heâs got a soft spot for you.â Heat creeps up your neck, and you hope the sun is bright enough to blame. âSometimes I think the man hangs out with me just to see you.â
You stop short. âWhat? No. Dad. Heâs your friend.â
âIâm joking,â he says gently. âMostly. Joelâs a great friendâIâve never doubted that. Iâm just saying I know he enjoys spending time with you. And that matters to me.â He glances at you, softer now. âA man who cares about my daughter only earns more respect in my book.â
âI care about him too,â you admit, watching his face carefully.
His smile widens, unsurprised. âI know.â He gestures ahead, where Joel, Tommy, and Sarah are walking, laughter carrying on the breeze. âThatâs what makes moments like this so good, donât you think? All this love, crossing back and forth. Thatâs all I ever wantedâfor you to know there are people whoâll be there for you, even when I canât.â
He pulls you into a hug, ice cream be damned, holding you close like he always has. You sniff, laughing softly. âYouâll still come over if thereâs a spider at my place, right?â
He kisses your forehead without hesitation. âI will kill spiders for you forever.â
The clock seems to tick louder as Sarahâs departure creeps closer, the end of the weekend hovering over all of you like a shared, unspoken thought. Maybe thatâs why no one wants to be alone. You end up piled into the living room for the rest of the afternoon, just like years ago, when Sarah digs through the cabinet under the TV and triumphantly pulls out board games and a battered deck of cards. She talks everyone into playing with such ease that you briefly consider telling her that with that power of persuasion she should look into law school.
After several evenly matched rounds, your dad declares himself retired from active duty and takes up the far more important role of observer and provider, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with coffee and snacksâtea for Sarah, obviously.Â
That leaves you and Sarah teaming up against the older Millers, a decision made less out of strategy and more out of instinct. Together, youâre ruthless. You beat Tommy and Joel again and again, and with every loss, Tommyâs swearing grows more creative, while Joel just groans deeper into the couch. Each sound makes you shift in your seat despite yourself, your thoughts traitorously flashing back to similar sounds he made against you last night. You keep your eyes carefully on the cards, determined not to stare, but every time you glance up, Joel is already looking at you. Thereâs always that faint, knowing smile on his lips, like he can read you too easily. You look away first every time, heart thudding, forcing your attention back to the game.
Thatâs when you catch Tommy trying to sneak a card up his sleeve. You call him out immediately, and Sarah piles on with dramatic accusations, demanding a full confession. Joel, meanwhile, only shrugs, all innocent, like he has no idea whatâs going on. You narrow your eyes at him, suddenly wondering if a few of his cards didnât mysteriously vanish under his leg earlierâhe has been winning more than before. He meets your stare without flinching, grin turning downright smug, daring you to say something. And for one dangerous second, all you want is to lean across the table and wipe that look right off his face with a kiss.
Itâs dangerous, knowing that if you were alone, Joel would let you kiss him and would kiss you right back without hesitation. Just the certainty of it makes your heart pick up speed. Itâs been harder than you expected, spending the entire afternoon not touching him, barely even speaking to him, stealing moments instead of taking them. There hasnât been space yet for the conversation you both know needs to happen, not when youâre both trying to soak up every remaining second with Sarah. You tell yourself itâs okay. There will be time in Austin, just the two of you. The thought of having him to yourself sends a quiet thrill through you. You push down the small, insecure voice that wonders if this only exists because youâre away, wrapped up in the softness of a vacation that feels different from real life. Instead, you cling to Joelâs words, to the steadiness of them, reminding yourself that spiralling wonât help.Â
A little later, when the living room has slowly filled with the warm, comforting smell of the early dinner your father is cooking in the kitchen, another game comes to an end, with Tommy losing again. He grumbles under his breath and reaches for his phone, scrolling absently, until his expression shifts, the joking ease fading into something more focused.
âEverything okay?â Sarah asks, immediately catching the change.
He looks up and smiles, quick and reassuring. âYeah. Just work.â He leans toward Joel, turning the screen so he can see. âCastillo finally accepted the latest terms.â
Joel squints at the phone, reading carefully. âReally? He ain't askinâ for any more changes?â
âLooks like it. Iâve been waiting on this contract for weeks.â
âItâs a big one,â Joel says, his tone turning serious.
âYeah.â Tommy leans back in his chair, running a hand over his face. âIâll start on it right away. Bring the guys in Tuesday morning, figure out what kind of timeline weâre dealinâ with.â He sighs, sinking deeper into the cushion.
âIsnât that a good thing?â you ask, genuinely curious.
âIt is,â Tommy admits. âGreat money. But also back-breaking. I was kind of hopinâ for a few more quiet days before I had to work myself into the ground again.â You offer him a sympathetic smile just as he tilts his head toward you. âWhat about you? When are you headinâ back to work?â
âWednesday,â you reply. âI took the whole week off, actually.â
âSweet,â Sarah says immediately. âSo how are you gonna spend your last few days?â
You grin. âIâm gonna sleep. Binge-watch my shows. Eat every single thing in the cupboard.â
âI heard that,â your dad calls from the kitchen, and you snicker. A moment later, he appears in the doorway, wiping his hands on a towel. âDinnerâll be ready soon. Set the table, please.â
You stand, Sarah popping up right beside you without hesitation. As you head out of the living room, you feel it again. You glance back just in time to catch Joel watching you, his expression different from earlier. It makes your stomach flip, but you force yourself to look away and focus on plates and cutlery instead of whatever that look meant.
A few minutes later, everyoneâs seated, eating with enthusiasm.Â
âThis is so fuckinâ good,â Tommy says around a full mouth. âHow are you such a good cook?â
Your dad shrugs. âHad a kid to feed something other than frozen meals. Comes with the job.â
Tommy smirks. âThen how come Joel doesnât know how to cook anythinâ except barbecue?â
It earns him a quick smack to the back of the head for that one. âHeyâshut up. I can cook.â Joel looks to his daughter for backup. âRight?â
Sarah hesitates, tilting her head. âI mean⊠you make a great breakfast?â
Joel huffs. âThatâs the most important meal of the day anyway.â
You laugh, hiding it behind your hand. Joel shoots you a look, mock-offended, and you answer with your most innocent smile. Heâs sitting next to you this timeâclose enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that every small movement makes you painfully aware of how badly you want to touch him.
Then he glances at his watch, his expression shifting, and turns to his daughter. âWeâll have to leave in about thirty minutes. Your bag ready?â
âYep.â She turns to her uncle. âYou coming with us to the airport?â
Tommy sighs. âWish I could, kiddo. Gotta get to bed earlyâleavinâ even earlier tomorrow.â
âThatâs okay.â She nods, understanding, then looks at you. âWhat about you?â
âUhâyeah, Iâd love to,â you say, then add, a little softer, âif Joel doesnât mind.â
She scoffs. âOf course he wonât.â
You look at Joel. He just smiles, easy and warm, and it hits you all at once that the ride back will just be the two of you. The thought alone makes your pulse jump. You clear your throat and turn to your dad. âAnd us? When are we leaving?â
âTomorrow morning,â he says. âNot as early as Tommy, but maybe eight or nine?â He catches your face. âI know. But I need to be back in the afternoon. Office stuff.â
âThat's fineââ
âYou could stay one more day.â
Everyone turns to Joel. He keeps his expression casual, unbothered, taking another bite of his food.Â
âIâm heading back to Austin Tuesday morninâ,â he adds easily. âI could drive you back then.â
When he finally looks at you, his hand slides under the table, brushing lightly against your thigh. Itâs brief, nothing anyone could notice, but intentional. Itâs an invitation.Â
âOh. Yeah. That would actually be great,â you say, hoping your tone sounds steadier than your pulse feels. You turn to your dad. âWould that be okay?â
He raises an eyebrow, amused. âYou sure, Joel? She can be a handful. Donât you want one calm day to yourself?â
Joel huffs a quiet laugh. âIâm sure. House feels better when there are people in it anyway.â
âWell,â your dad says with a grin, âguess Iâll try not to be too jealous while Iâm stuck at the office, knowing my daughterâs still enjoying the beach.â
âSorry,â you say, though youâre not sorry at all. You canât stop the smile spreading across your face, your mind already racing ahead. One more day. Just you and Joel. You donât notice the knowing look Tommy shoots you from across the table, the corner of his mouth tugging up.Â
Once dinnerâs done, Sarah disappears upstairs to grab her bag while you start stacking plates. Your dad waves you off, insisting he and Tommy will handle the cleanup. You grab a jacket and meet everyone by the front door. Tommy has Sarah pulled into his chest, one arm wrapped around her as he tells her that he will come to her campus and drive them back for Thanksgiving, make it a road trip, just the two of us. From the way Sarahâs face lights up, itâs clearly the best idea sheâs heard all day. After a loud kiss to the top of her head, he finally lets her go. Sarah turns to your dad, hugging him tight, thanking him for the food, the drinks, everything.
Tommy shifts to stand beside you. âSo,â he says casually, âguess this is goodbye for us too.â
You blink. âWait, why?â
âIâm heading out early tomorrow,â he explains with a shrug. âFigured Iâd say it now. Wouldnât want to wake your sleepy head and all.âÂ
You shove him lightly. âIdiot. Iâll be up before you leave.â
He lifts his hands in surrender. âAlright, alright. Just sayinââitâs okay if youâre not.â
âOf course I will,â you say, softer now. âSee you tomorrow, Tommy.â
He nods, satisfied, then grabs Sarahâs bag. The group drifts toward Joelâs car, the night air cool and calm. Tommy tosses the bag into the trunk, Sarah hops into the passenger seat, and you slide into the back.
Joel turns the ignition, then glances at you in the rearview mirror, offering a quick, easy smile before pulling away. Sarah waves wildly out the window at Tommy and your dad, and soon the beach house grows smaller, then blurrier, until itâs just a shape in the distance. You catch Sarah watching it in the side mirror for as long as she can, her smile slowly fading. She sighs when it finally disappears from view.
âWeâll come back in the summer,â Joel says gently.
âPlease, yes,â she brightens immediately, then twists in her seat to look at him. âYou think I could invite some friends?â
Joel chuckles. âSure. As long as you still let your old man be here.â
She laughs. âObviously.â Then she turns fully toward you. âAnd youâll come too. Thatâs not a question. Right, Dad?â
âObviously,â he echoes, catching your eyes in the mirror again. You grin back at him, something warm settling again in your chest.
Sarah turns back around, already launching into an enthusiastic pitch about spring break plans and why those friends would be perfect, her voice filling the car as the road stretches ahead.
The drive to the airport flies by, the three of you talking over one another, laughing, filling the car with noise. Joel mostly listens, chiming in now and then, but you catch him smiling at you in the rearview mirror more times than you can count. Each one makes your stomach flip, that light, giddy feeling settling in your chest. You hadnât realised how much youâd missed this, being the three of you, until you were right back in it. In a way, when the airport finally comes into view, it feels unfair. Like the drive was far too short.
Joel parks, and for a brief moment, the car goes quiet. Then Sarah opens her door, plastering on a smile thatâs just a little too bright. You follow her out as Joel grabs her bag from the trunk. She doesnât hesitate before wrapping her arms around you.
âIt was so nice to hang out with you,â she says into your shoulder.
âSame,â you reply, hugging her back. âGood luck with college. And pleaseâkeep me updated about the TA.â
âWho?â Joel asks immediately.
You and Sarah ignore him completely.
âAnd if you need to murder that roommate,â you add solemnly, âyou know Iâm only a phone call away.â
âDid I hear murder?â
âDad, shush,â Sarah says, tightening her grip on you. Then, softer, âThank you. AndâŠTake care of him, please.â
You donât need to ask who she means. You just nod, pressing a quick kiss into her hair before letting her go.
Joel hands you his car keys. âIâll walk her in,â he says gently.
You slide into the passenger seat, tucking your feet underneath you, watching through the windshield as they head toward the terminal together. Just before disappearing inside, Sarah turns around and cups her hands around her mouth.
âI love you!â she yells, grinning like a kid.
You laugh, waving until sheâs gone.
Alone in the car, you pull out your phone to pass the time. You answer a few messages, brainstorm gift ideas for Dina, then open an apartment listing app. You scroll, imagining each place as your own: the light, the space, where youâd put a couch⊠until you see the rent and immediately swipe to the next one.
Almost twenty minutes later, you lift your head when you spot Joel walking back toward the car. Youâre not surprised it took that long. You can picture it easily: him soaking up every last minute with Sarah, talking with her, holding her close until there was no choice but to let go. Watching her disappear through security, lingering even after she was gone, like she might turn around and come back if he waited long enough.
When he catches you looking at him, he gives you a small, tired smile.
âShould have locked the car,â Joel says gently as he opens the driverâs door. âCouldâve been anyone.â
âBut youâre not.â
He hums noncommittally and settles into his seat. His hands rest on the steering wheel, but he doesnât start the car. Instead, he stares ahead at the terminal for a long moment. You let him have it.
âSheâs gonna be okay,â you say softly.
He finally looks away, meeting your eyes with a smile thatâs warm but edged with ache. âI know. Doesnât mean I wonât miss her.â
It feels natural to reach for his hand, to draw it into the space between you. He watches the movement, eyes following your fingers, only looking back up when you squeeze gently. The silence that settles isnât awkward; itâs a pause, a quiet pocket where everything else fades away. His thumb starts tracing slow patterns across the back of your hand, absent and tender, and you wonder if the contact steadies him the way it does you.
Eventually, he lets go and clears his throat. âAlright,â he says, turning the key in the ignition. âLetâs head back.â
You nod, and as he pulls back onto the road, you reach for the radio, flicking through stations until something fits the mood. Joel lets you, watching you with that same amused, fond look he always gets when you take over his dashboard like itâs second nature. Soon enough, music fills the truck, and the silence between you turns easy instead of heavy.
You watch the glow of the airport fade in the side mirror, the lights thinning the farther you get. You donât want to be the one to break the quiet, aware that Joelâs thoughts are probably still with Sarah. Thankfully, you donât have to. His hand drifts over, grazing your arm just enough to pull your attention back to him.
âI saw a milkshake place on the way earlier,â he says. âYou wanna stop?â
Thereâs something tentative in his smile, something almost shy, and itâs disarming. Itâs easier to read him like this, when heâs not trying so hard to keep everything tucked away. You recognise the offer for what it is: a pause, a soft landing before heading back.
âYeah,â you say, smiling. âThat sounds great.â
A few minutes later, youâre at the drive-through, placing your order. You expect him to pull into the lot afterwards, but instead, Joel keeps driving, a few extra miles slipping by until he turns down a quieter road. The city lights are dimmer there, the sky opening up above you, stars brighter out here. He cuts the engine and climbs out of the truck.
You blink at him, milkshake still untouched in your hands.
âYou cominâ?â he asks, nodding toward the back of the truck as he grabs his own shake.
You follow him to the back of the truck and sit as soon as he drops the tailgate. Joel stays standing beside you at first, leaning against it, head tipped back as he looks up at the night sky. The air is cooler here, quieter. You finally take the first sip of your milkshake, caramel and sugar and something indulgent that feels perfect. You hum without meaning to. That makes Joel smile.
âGood?â he asks.
âPerfect.â You watch him try his, the way he nods in approval. You canât help it. âJoel Miller, ice cream and a milkshake in the same day?â you tease softly. âSo much for not having a sweet tooth.â
He scoffs. âYeah, well. You know, what happens on vacationââ
Your breath catches weirdly. You look away, fixing your eyes on nothing in particular.
He realises his words a second too late. You see it in the way his shoulders tense, the way he turns toward you fully. âNoâhey. Not like that.â
âItâs okay,â you say quickly. Your chest aches.
âNo, itâs not.â He sets his milkshake down beside him with a quiet thunk. âThatâs not what I meant. Shit.â He steps closer, close enough that you can feel his warmth again. âSweetheart,â he says gently, âlook at me.â
You try to smile when you do, but it feels brittle, wrong. Joel sees it instantly, and his expression tightens, as if it hurts him to see you like this.
âReally, Joel,â you say, forcing the words out. âYou donât owe me anything. If this is just⊠a vacation thing, itâsââ
âItâs not a vacation fling for me.â The words come out fast, rough, like he couldnât stop them if he tried. Like the idea itself bruised him. He searches your face, eyes dark and earnest. âIs that⊠is that what this is to you?â
You shake your head immediately. âNo.â
His hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing gently along your jaw as he looks at you like heâs trying to make sure you understand just how serious he is.
âOkay then,â he whispers.
A relieved breath leaves both of you at the same time, and youâre not even sure who started it. A slow smile spreads across his face, soft and a little amazed, and you feel yourself mirror it without thinking. He leans in and presses a quick, tender kiss to your lips.
âThatâs why I wanted us to talk,â Joel murmurs as he pulls back slightly, his hands sliding down to rest on your arms. âI donât want you thinkinâ this is just⊠somethinâ casual to me. Youâre not.â His voice firms. âYouâre not somethinâ that happens and then fades when we leave this place.â
âItâs just⊠I could understand if you didnât want it to be anything else. We kind of⊠acted on impulse last night.â
âWe did,â he admits.
âAnd like you said this morning, itâs not simple. So if this was just something that happened here, Iâd understand. Itâs not what I want,â you confess, âbut I would understand.â
He studies you for a moment. âAnd what is it that you want?â
You donât look away. âYou, Joel.â
The way he exhales your name is almost reverent. âYou have me,â he says quietly.
A shiver runs through you, nothing to do with the cool night air. âReally?â
âYes.â He leans closer, forehead nearly touching yours. âIf you want me⊠You have me. Please.â
This time, youâre the one who pulls him back in for another kiss. Your lips meet easily, slipping into a rhythm that already feels so familiar, like something youâve always known how to do. Neither of you tries to deepen it, to turn it into something more. It isnât about that. Itâs about the closeness, the reassurance, the certainty of being here, together.
When you finally pull away, his eyes stay closed a second longer than yours, as if heâs trying to hold on to the feeling. Your hand rests at his neck, thumb tracing softly along his jaw. When Joel opens his eyes, heâs smiling.
âI do,â you say quietly. âJoel, you have no idea how much.â You smile back at him, then hesitate. âBut what aboutâŠ?â
âEverythinâ else?â he finishes.
You nod. You almost donât want to say it out loud, afraid that naming it will make it more real: the age difference, the complicated relationships, the ways this could affect everyone around you, all the ways it could go wrong.
Heâs quiet for a moment. Then he steps back slightly, creating a little space between you, rubbing at his chin as he thinks.
âI think Sarah knows,â he says slowly.
âWhat?!â
âIâm not sure,â he admits quickly. âNot exactly. But she said somethinâ earlier. About how I seem to be⊠better. Like Iâm doinâ okay. And that sheâd been worried about me, about her leavinâ and me beinâ alone.â His voice carries a hint of frustration, mostly at himself. At the idea that his daughter has been carrying that worry. âShe said this weekend made her feel better. I thought she just meant⊠in general. You and your dad being around. Us spendinâ time together.â He pauses. âBut then she said somethinâ about me being allowed to be selfish.â
âSelfish?â you repeat softly.
âThis kidâŠâ He lets out a quiet breath, shaking his head. âShe knows me better than I realise sometimes. Because I do. I meanâI wanna be selfish.â His eyes lift to yours, open and vulnerable. âBecause I want you.â
âHow⊠how is that selfish?â you ask.
Joel lets out a short, incredulous laugh. âBecause wantinâ you is selfish.â He looks away from you, jaw tightening, eyes fixed somewhere in the distance as if saying it out loud has stirred up too much all at once. âBecause I should know better. Because I was supposed to be content with what we had. With those moments we shared. With that being enough. Thatâs all I was supposed to want. All I was supposed to have.â
He pauses, jaw tightening. His shoulders rise with a slow breath, then fall again, like heâs trying to steady himself.Â
âTo want more⊠the rest of it was justâfantasy. Something I only let myself think about when I was being weak.â His voice drops. âAnd I was so weak around you. ThenâŠthen you kissed me. And you let me feel what it would be like if I stopped pretendinâ I didnât want it. If I stopped doinâ what Iâm âsupposedâ to do. Iâm selfish because I always want more with you,â he continues quietly. âItâs never enough. No matter how much time I get, I always want more. And that scares me.â
His gaze travels over you before he meets your eyes again. You swallow hard, chest tight, as he keeps going.
âBecause if it was just attractionâif it was just me thinkinâ youâre beautifulâI could get over it. I could move past it. But itâs not. Itâs me wantinâ to see you every single day. Itâs me findinâ excuses to hang out with your dad when I know youâre home. Itâs me waitinâ for movie night all week, especially now that Sarahâs gone.â
You barely realise youâve stopped breathing. Your heart is pounding too loudly in your chest as you see the way his hands flex at his sides.
âItâs selfish because I want you to call me when you go out,â Joel admits. âI want to be the first person you think of. The first person you call. I want to be your first choice. And those nights you donât ask me to come get youâŠâ His voice roughens. âDo you know how much restraint it takes not to call you? Just to make sure youâre safe? I lose sleep wonderinâ if you made it home okay. OrâŠâ His eyes flicker with something raw. âIf youâre at someone elseâs place. With someone who gets to be there when I canât. Iâm selfish because I get jealous when Iâm not allowed to be. Because Iâm not supposed to feel that way.âÂ
Itâs overwhelmingâthe way everything crashes into you. The weight of his words. The raw honesty in his voice. The way his eyes reflect the sincerity of all those feelings. All this time, while youâve been fighting the urge to cross that invisible line⊠Joel has been standing on the other side of it, doing the exact same thing. Struggling. Holding himself back. Wanting you just as badly. He takes back the step that had been separating you, closing the distance until heâs standing right in front of you. You have to tilt your head up to keep his gaze; neither of you willing to look away.
Joel exhales sharply before he continues. âHell, sweetheart⊠youâre all I think about. Iâm out there on my couch like some lovesick teenager, waiting for you to text me. Just so I know youâre safe. Just so I can hear your voice. Just so I can have that little moment where itâs just usâand you smile at me like that. But I donât want just little moments. I want all of them. So yeah,â he finishes softly. âIâm selfish.â
You grab his collar before you can even think about it. Itâs like your body, your heart, acts on its own, tugging him toward you as if being apart from him for another second is impossible. Maybe you should be answering him with words, but right now, you need to feel him against you.
Your lips meet his without hesitation, and Joel responds instantly. One hand cups the back of your neck, the other settles at your waist, pulling you closer. His mouth moves against yours with purpose, chasing every taste, every breath, nipping softly at your lower lip until you part for him without even realising it. This kiss isnât gentle or tentative this time. Itâs full of everything youâve both been holding back, everything you donât know how to say out loud. You kiss him for every moment youâve wanted him, and he kisses you like heâs been waiting his whole life to finally be allowed to.
You shift closer, instinctively parting your legs for him, and he steps between them like itâs exactly where he belongs. His hands slide from your waist to your hips, and you hum softly, melting into his touch. You feel his smile against your lips when you press even closer. When his hand drifts lower, skimming the outside of your thigh, you inhale sharply and open yourself to him even more, a silent invitation to go further.
But he doesnât.
âJoelâŠâ you whimper, barely louder than a breath, opening your eyes when he still doesnât move.
You need to understand why heâs holding himself back when everything in you is begging him not to. His gaze is dark when you meet it, heavy with want, with emotion, with something that almost looks like awe. Heâs looking at you like youâre something unreal, like he canât quite believe youâre here, in his arms, wanting him just as much as he wants you.
Joel just smiles, soft and utterly undone. Then he leans in and kisses his name from your lips. His hand remains on your thigh, warm and possessive, but unmoving.
You rock your hips against his without thinking, chasing friction, chasing relief. The reaction is immediate; you feel how hard he is, feel the proof of everything heâs been trying to control. The knowledge sends a rush straight through you, intoxicating, and you canât help the quiet sound of satisfaction that slips from your throat. You revel in it.
A rough sound leaves his chest, a bit helpless, and his hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging in just enough to betray him. For a moment, you think youâve won. That heâs about to give in. So you try again, but before you can, he pulls back just enough to steal the contact away.
âHeyââ you protest, breathless.
Joel doesnât let you finish and leans in, pressing slow, gentle kisses along your jaw, your cheek, your neck; anywhere he can reach without losing control completely.
âSweetheart,â he murmurs against your skin, his voice strained, âIâm not gonna fuck you here.â
âWhy not?â you whine immediately, need spilling into your voice without shame. Any other time, youâd be mortified by how desperate you sound.
He exhales against your neck, a shaky, heated breath that makes your toes curl. When he speaks again, itâs even lower, rougher, soaked in restraint.
âBecause you deserve better than that baby,â he says quietly. âBetter than a damn truck again.â He nips gently at your skin, âNext time I have you, itâs gonna be in a bed.â He soothes the same spot with his tongue. âWhere I can take my time.â
Youâre pretty sure youâve never been this turned on in your life. Does he know what he does to you? Does he know how powerful he is when he looks at you like this, touches you like this, speaks to you like this? Youâre convinced you could fall apart right here just from listening to him talk like that. You want to test it.
So you try to move again, subtly, trying to bring his hips back against yours, trying to feel the way his cock strains his pants again.Â
Itâs not fucking if itâs dry humping, right?
âUh-uh,â he murmurs, stepping back just enough to ruin it.
You groan softly in protest. When you look at him, heâs breathing just as hard as you are. His jaw is tight. His chest rises and falls too fast. A slow, smug smile curves his lips, devastating and far too pleased with how badly you want him.
âWe should go back,â he says at last, not even trying to hide the amusement in his voice.
You let out a frustrated huff. Part of you wants to curse him out, to tease him mercilessly. To be dramatic and prove a point by touching yourself right there, just to show him what heâs missing.
But you donât because you know that anything you could do to yourself would be nothing compared to what he can do to you. And now that you know exactly what heâs capable of⊠the memory alone is enough to make your stomach flutter. You watch him subtly shift in his place, trying to rearrange himself in his jeans, and your thoughts immediately drift to last night. To the way he filled you so perfectly. To the way he held you like he never wanted to let you go.
Yeah, the wait will be worth it.
He catches you staring, and a quiet chuckle escapes him, but you notice the faint blush spreading across his cheeks. He leans in and presses a quick, soft kiss to your lips. Too brief to satisfy you, but sweet enough to make your chest ache. Then he places something cold in your hand.
Your milkshake. You blink at it in surprise, having completely forgotten it existed. You are surprised it didn't tip over at some point.Â
âCome on,â Joel says, already rounding the truck with his own drink in hand.
You follow him, letting out a dramatic sigh of frustration that makes him laugh under his breath. Once youâre back in the passenger seat and the engine starts, you immediately begin squirming. No position feels right. After a few minutes, Joel reaches over and rests his hand on your knee. Instantly, you still. When you look at him, he gives you a look that clearly says behave. But his hand doesnât stay still. It slides just a little. Barely an inch, just enough to be maddening, not enough to do anything useful. Only enough to tease you. You bite back a smile.
Bastard.
Itâs obvious he has no intention of taking things further, but you still part your legs slightly, just in case. With a soft groan, you turn your attention to your milkshake instead, grateful for the cold. It helps a little against the heat still trapped in your body.
You take a slow sip. Then another. Unaware, at first, of the way Joel keeps glancing at you from the corner of his eye. The way he watches your lips close around the straw. The way your tongue brushes over your bottom lip when you pull away. You notice his grip tighten slightly on the steering wheel. His breathing grows just a bit heavier. Thatâs when you realise. Youâre not even trying to rile him up, but apparently, youâre doing a fantastic job anyway.
You smile to yourself. At least two can play this game.
A moment later, he removes his hand from your leg, as if physically restraining himself. He clears his throat and focuses stubbornly on the road ahead, but his smile never leaves his lips.
The drive settles into a comfortable quiet, filled with soft music from the radio. Joel hums along absentmindedly, completely unaware of how much you love hearing him like this. You turn your head toward him, resting it against the seat. Passing headlights and streetlamps paint his profile in shifting light and shadow. And you just⊠stare.
The way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. At his patchy beard, streaked with the same salt-and-pepper grey as his hair. At his mouth, at those beautiful lips youâve spent far too long thinking about, fantasising about, dreaming about. Lips you now know well. The thought still feels unreal, like some kind of dream you havenât quite woken up from.
âSoâŠâ you start, trying to distract yourself from the simmering need that refuses to fade, your voice sounding far too casual even to your own ears. âWeâll have the whole day to ourselves tomorrow,â
Joel glances at you, his gaze lingering just a beat too long before he returns his eyes to the road. âYes.â
âCool⊠cool⊠anything you wanna do?â
âIâm sure Iâll think of a couple thingsâŠâ he says, a teasing lilt in his voice. His gaze flicks across you again before drifting back to the road. âWhat about you?â
âMe?â
âYes. Anythinâ particular in mind?â
You both know thereâs only one answer, so instead you say, âI want to go to the beach.â
He frowns, amused. âYou say that as if you havenât gone already.â
âNot just with you.â
 âOh,â he pauses. âYeah⊠okay. Weâll go to the beach.â
Your grin spreads uncontrollably. âPerfect. I wanna make my father crawl with jealousy.â You wonder for a fraction of a second if mentioning your dadâor anyone elseâwill change the tension in the air, make Joel stiffen, but he just laughs.
âOh, believe me, your old man is already seething. He needs to leave Austin more often.â
âYouâre saying that? Mister âI never leave Austinâ?â
âI leave Austin,â he counters, shooting you a look.
âJoel, the neighbouring town to work or go see Tommy doesnât count.â
âIt does!â He pauses, then add. âAnd what about when I took Sarah to college?â
âDoesnât count either. Whenâs the last time you went somewhere⊠for yourself?â
âWell⊠Iâm here,â he says, as if that alone proves the point.
âWhat about somewhere new?â
âDonât need that,â he answers, and his eyes find yours. âGot everythinâ I need here.â
You tilt your head, teasing. âThereâs nowhere you actually want to go?â
âDonât know. Ainât really thought about it much, honestly. What about you?â he asks suddenly. âAnywhere youâve been dyinâ to see?â
âSo many places,â you admit, smiling at the thought. âIâve had this thing for Vermont for a while. I know, itâs like⊠an old rich people clichĂ©, but I saw pictures of it during autumn, and itâs gorgeous. I actually applied to the university in Burlington.â
âDid you not get accepted?â
âOh, I did,â you clarify quickly, âbut they didnât have the exact program I was interested in. Have you ever been?â
âNope. Never travelled that far north.â
âNever wanted to?â you press gently.
âItâs not that,â he continues quietly. âI love Austin. I love Texas. You know, Tommy and I grew up here.â You nod, listening closely. âBut I always wanted to see other places too,â he goes on. âJust⊠never really had the time. First, it was looking out for Tommy. Then it was Sarah.â Thereâs no bitterness in his voice. No regret. Like heâs stating facts heâs made peace with a long time ago.
âWellâŠâ you hesitate, unsure if you should say it. Then you do anyway. âYou kinda have more time now.â
âI do,â he admits after a second, like the thought is only just sinking in. He taps the steering wheel lightly, thoughtful. Then his expression shifts. âDid I ever tell you about that time Tommy and I did a cross-country ride for his birthday?â
You straighten in your seat immediately. âWhat? No! How have I never heard about that?â
Joel laughs at your outrage, the sound warm and easy, and starts telling you about it: about their two Harley-Davidson motorcycles, cheap motels they stayed in, and the time they almost ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere. You listen to every word like itâs something precious, storing it away in that quiet place in your heart where all your favourite things about him already live.
You interrupt him with questions, and he answers every single one, smiling. You tease him, and he fires back without hesitation. The conversation flows so naturally, you barely notice how close you are to home.
By the time he pulls into the driveway next to your fatherâs car, youâre still laughing at something heâs just said. You expect the moment he parks to bring silence, maybe awkwardness, but it doesnât. He keeps talking as he shuts off the engine, and you keep answering as you both step out of the truck.
For a second, it almost feels like before, before everything changed. Then he glances at the house. All the lights are off. Everyoneâs asleep. Without a word, he takes your hand. You look down at where your fingers are laced together, then up at him. Heâs smiling softly, like this is the most natural thing in the world. He doesnât even let go when he reaches into his pocket for his keys.
Inside, you both go quiet, listening. No voices. No movement. Just the faint hum of the house settling for the night. He slips your jacket off your shoulders and hangs it up beside his. The second heâs done, his hand finds yours again, like he doesnât even think about it.
You climb the stairs together quietly. Your heart is pounding so loudly youâre half-convinced he must hear it.
When he stops, you expect it to be in front of his bedroom. Instead, itâs Sarahâs door, and you canât stop the small, disappointed sound that escapes you.Â
âReally?â you whisper.
âReally.â Joel opens the door for you with a fond, amused smile. âGo. Get some sleep.â
âI could sleep in your bed,â you try weakly.
He shakes his head, brushing his thumb once over your knuckles before letting go.
âTomorrow,â he murmurs, like a promise.
Then he leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. When he pulls back, he stays close, his forehead almost touching yours. His eyes are full of too many emotions to name.
âTomorrow,â he repeats quietly, âyouâre all mine.â
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