Eek so cute!!!!!
What am I gonna do with you? Idk keep me!!!!! Ahhh that was such a clever line đŤ
â¨Can You Please Be Mine? Part 2: Slip Into Meâ¨
Series Masterlist
A/N: Iâm so so excited to share this little piece Iâve been writing! I really love this story, the chemistry Joel and reader have, and how flirty and fun this chapter ended up being. I want to hear all your thoughts on this one 𼰠Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, I want to converse with you guys đŠˇ
Chapter Summary: Joel takes you on a date to the fair
Word Count: 11.2k (I had a lot to say! I couldnât stop writing their cute little love story unfolding)
Rating: Explicit (18+ Only MDNI)
Pairing: Joel x fem! reader
Chapter Tags: So much flirting, teasing, Joel takes reader on a date to the fair, kissing, chemistry, more flirting, holding hands, heavy making out, grinding on Joelâs lap, switching POV, reader has hair and is tan, allusions to smut, cute nicknames
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
Joel Miller is a complete mess the rest of the day at the fair. He canât think straight, not with the way the folded piece of paper is scorching his fingertips that sit in the pit of his pocket, calling out to him like a damn temptress that purrs his name to slip the digits into his phone.
He bites the inside of his cheek, furrowing his eyebrows every single time he thinks of those fucking long, tan legs. Those gorgeous eyes that seem to burn holes in the back of his eyes, and those short denim shorts that he wants so badly to rip off your thick thighs that scream his name. He thinks youâd look so fucking perfect completely naked, splayed across the soft sheets of his bed. Long, tan legs, the perfect curves, probably glistening with sticky slick waiting for him to lick clean. Fuck.
   He canât help the way he scans his eyes over the thick crowd of people that floods the fair, hoping heâll snag a peek of your sweet smile that he wants so badly to sink his lips against. He thinks youâd taste so good, maybe cherry flavored lip gloss, a soft tongue that heâll let lap against his own, sucking him dry as you take the soul right out of him. He thinks he wants to take you on a date so he can see that pretty face, that soft, flirtatious enigma he wants to twist his mind around as he wraps you completely around his index finger. He has to have you, he just has to.Â
   He should be enjoying the fair with his daughter, should be paying attention to her as she picks at the stack of French fries he just bought her as she rambles on about upcoming volleyball summer camp and her friendâs pool party, but he canât. He just canât. His mind is focused solely on you. The prettiest flower in the crowd he ever did see. And youâd be his. At least he hoped.Â
   âDad?â
   The word comes out in a fog, he almost misses it as he mindlessly searches through the bustling crowd. He needs to see your face, that gorgeous, radiant, perfectâŚ
   âDad, are you even listening to me?â Sarah asks as she chews on the end of a golden French fry and stares up at her distracted father.Â
   âHmm? Oh yeah, kid. I heard ya,â he murmurs as his brown eyes become focused on his daughter as her long curls blow gently through the hot Texas breeze.Â
   âYou just seem a little distracted is all,â she mumbles as she rolls her eyes and finishes off the French fry in her hand.Â
   Joel rakes a hand through his dark scruff and sighs in frustration. âIâm fine, Sarah. Ainât distracted âbout nothinâ,â he huffs. But he knows itâs a lie, a damn good lie. Because he is distracted. Distracted by the beautiful girl with the vanilla ice cream cone that teased him till he about came completely undone in line. He was in for the ride of his life.Â
   After he gets home that night, he stares hard at the creased piece of paper as he reads your name over and over and over again. He memorizes it, studies the jumble of numbers until he can repeat them with his eyes closed. He grips the paper so tight that he thinks heâll tear it in half, his mind caving in just like that of a mad man whoâs lovesick from a stupid crush.
   He finally comes to his senses and pulls his phone out of his pocket as he types out your name and number into his contacts list. After pressing save, he stares at the screen, his eyes burning into your name as he hovers over the call button. His mind starts racing a million miles an hour as his eyes go cross eyed from looking so hard at your name on the screen.Â
   What if you donât answer? What if youâre not really interested? What if it was all a game as a way to tease him? Surely not. No. Not with the way you were looking at him, your eyes burning into his like sparkling fireworks as you smirked his way, lapping up ice cream as you teased your tongue around the cold edges as he nearly collapsed to the ground. You were a feisty little firecracker, and he knew it. He wanted to taste those sparks, see just how far he could push you.Â
   Without waiting another minute, he presses the call button as sweat pools on his forehead, tousled curls sticking to his tanned skin as he paces mindlessly in his room just waiting for you to answer. Heâs about to give up after five repeated rings until he hears you pick up the phone on the next ring.Â
   âHello?â
   His eyes go wide as his pupils expand, fingers digging deep into the denim of his jean pockets as his throat runs dry. That voice. That melodious, sweet lilt of your voice. Itâs the most beautiful thing heâs ever heard in his entire life.Â
   You hear some rustling on the end of the line and then finally a voice comes through the end of the speaker. âUmmm, hi.â
   A deep, baritone voice seeps through the phone. Slow, a slurred Southern drawl, charming, and so sexy. It makes you gulp down nerves as slick automatically pools in your lace. Itâs him. The man you couldnât keep your eyes off at the fair. He called.Â
   âIs this⌠ahh. Youâre the one from the fair, arenât you?â you ask smiling, a stupid grin spreading wide across your face as you bite your lower lip, your free hand gripping the pink sheets tightly as you grasp anything thatâll stop the excitement from taking you on a ride.Â
   âMhm. Howâd you guess?â he asks as you hear a deep chuckle come alive on the other end of the phone.Â
   God his laugh sounds like complete music to your ears. A bravado sound you could put on repeat like a favorite song youâd never get tired of. You already had it bad.Â
   âOh, I donât know. A number I didnât know and no text? Funny. Why didnât you just text me? Most people just text nowadays,â you laugh as you tease him through the phone.Â
   Another deep chuckle and his smooth voice is carrying through the line. âGuess Iâm jusâ old fashioned, darlinâ. Maybe I jusâ wanted to hear what you sounded like. Kinda like this better than a text.â
   âOh, I see,â you blush as you curl your fingers through the pink silk, feet pressing against one another as you repeat the word he just called you over the phone. Darlinâ. You loved the sound of that.Â
   âSo, whatâs your name, cowboy?â you giggle as you feel heat course through your chest.Â
   âCowboy, huh? That my new nickname or somethinâ?â he asks with a laugh as you hear that sweet Southern drawl drag through the phone. Oh, this one already has you on a tight string, and youâre ready to never let go.Â
   âMmm, it fits you well, I think,â you giggle as you twirl a piece of hair around your finger nervously.Â
   âWhatever you say, darlinâ,â he laughs as you imagine him raking a hand through those gorgeous curls of his. Something you want to do. You bet itâs so soft, lush, velvet-likeâŚ
   âJoel,â he says through the phone, bringing you out of your lovesick daydream of running your fingers through his soft hair.Â
   âHmm?â you ask confused, your mind focusing back on that deep baritone voice that you just canât get enough of.Â
   âThe nameâs Joel. Joel Miller.â
   âJoel MillerâŚâ you repeat, your smile widening on your face as you stare up at the ceiling filled with hanging fairy lights that make the room sparkle.Â
   âThatâs right, darlinâ.â
   âI like it,â you answer as you twist in the sheets, your soft skin rolling over silk as you see yourself through the long mirror that hangs on the wall. Your cheeks bright red, a Cheshire cat grin splayed wide on your face as you nearly pant out with glee. You look like a puppy. A stupid lovesick puppy.Â
   âGlad ya do,â he chuckles as he takes a couple more seconds before he says anything else. âSo, ummm. I was wonderinâ if maybe youâre not busy tomorrow night, would you maybe wanna go to the fair with me?â
   Your jaw drops open, your mind dizzy with possibilities as you push yourself to the edge of the bed and clench your thighs together. âLike a date?â you ask wide-eyed, your heart pounding impossibly fast in your chest as you hope it is a date.Â
   âMhm. A date. If thatâs what you want, that is.â His voice is low, fluctuating as you can picture his hand deep in his pocket, his fingers flexing with nerves as he waits for your answer. He has it as bad as you do, you think.Â
   âA dateâŚâ you repeat steadily, your words lingering as you smile into the phone. âOkay, cowboy. Itâs a date.â
   âAlright,â he chuckles as his laugh echoes through the glowing room. âHow does six oâclock sound? I could pick you up. Jusâ text me your address.â
   âSix sounds perfect,â you purr, your eyes lighting up like a damn sparkler as you kick your legs in a frenzy underneath you.Â
   âSix it is. Well, guess Iâll see you tomorrow, darlinâ.â Darlinâ. His words drip down you like sweet honey, a taste you want to devour down. You bet he tastes so sweet.Â
   âMkay. See ya tomorrow, Joel. Bye.â
   âBye, sweetheart.â
   The call clicks to an end, the line going dead as you fall back into the silky sheets and scream into your hands. Youâre going on a date tomorrow with the hottest Southern gentleman alive. You have to find something to wear!
   You stand in the glow of the bathroom mirror and twirl around in your light green summer dress that grazes just a little above the middle of your thighs. The perfect length to tease Joel just a little and show off your tanned legs. You brush out your soft curls and dab some shiny lip gloss over your pink lips as you take one more good look at yourself. Youâre more than ready. You spray a spritz of vanilla perfume on your neck and call it good as you sit the glass bottle back down on the edge of the sink.
   When you turn around, you hear a couple of loud knocks echo across the hall from the front door. Joel. Heâs here. You grab your light blue over the shoulder purse and wrap it around yourself as you pad toward the door in your white slip-on Vans. Your heart is galloping in your chest like a thousand race horses colliding their heavy hooves against a racetrack, your cheeks burning from nerves as you make your way to the front solid wooden door. Please like me, please like me, please like me. Â
   When you twist the doorknob and open the door, your eyes go wide as you take in the sight that stands in front of you. Joel stands with his large arms crossed over his broad chest, his rolled up dark green flannel clinging to the thick muscles of his arms as he smirks flirtatiously down at you. His tousled curls are slicked back, and he smells like fresh cologne and mahogany. A kind of scent that could pull you in just by the way he smells. Intoxicating.Â
   âHi,â you say nervously as you shut the door closed behind you, your fingers behind your back digging into the soft material of your dress as you fight off nerves that pull at your insides.Â
   âHi,â he repeats softly as his eyes drag down your summer dress and your tanned legs slowly. He gulps as he looks back up into your eyes and smiles, making his eyes crinkle at the sides as your heart flutters in your chest.Â
   Heâs so handsome.Â
   âMy, donât you look pretty,â he says with the warmth of his deep voice which seems to surround you, encase you in nothing but comfort. You could listen to him talk all day long if he sounded like that. Warm, deep baritone voice, slow, syrupy, exactly how you pictured it. Perfection.Â
   You feel your cheeks burn bright red as you giggle like a little school girl and flutter your eyelashes up at him. âThanks,â you say nervously.Â
   âYou ready to go?â he asks as he pushes off the brick wall.Â
   âMhm.â
   âWell, câmon then,â he laughs as he leads you to his red Chevy truck. He opens the passenger door for you and helps you up. His calloused hand seems to burn inside yours, a wildfire that simmers all the way down to your core the longer his fingers are on your skin. When he releases, he slams the door shut and makes his way over to the driverâs side.Â
   When he hops in and starts the truck up, the engine rumbles to life exactly like your nerves do. You feel like a livewire thatâs ready to explode. Youâre in his truck, going on a date with him. You still canât believe this is happening.Â
   When the radio springs to life, you hear âCherry Wavesâ by Deftones play softly against the hum of the speakers. Your eyes widen as a smile creeps up against your shiny lips. âDeftones, huh?â
   Joel looks over at you as he furrows his eyebrows together. âYou know Deftones?â he asks surprised, his grip on the leather steering wheel tightening as he takes you in.Â
   âYeah! Doesnât everyone?â you laugh as you buckle your seatbelt and look back up at him. Heâs still looking at you in awe as if heâs just now seeing you for the first time. The sight makes your stomach flip circles as he continues to look at you, the orbs of his honey eyes seeming to glow as you stare into those pits of pure warmth.Â
   âNot exactly,â he chuckles as he pulls out of the quiet apartment complex and into the busy streets of Austin. âYou like rock music?âÂ
   âWhat do you think?â you giggle as you turn the volume up one notch and lean your head back against the soft brown seat.Â
   Joel turns his head toward you and cocks up a thick eyebrow as he smirks over at you. âOkay, smart alec. Whatâs your favorite song by them then?âÂ
   âHmm, let me think,â you hum as you pick apart your brain, âprobably Change.â
   âMmm. Guess you are a fan,â he smiles as he drives down the busy street full of speeding cars and hovering beam lights.Â
   âAnd yours?â you ask with the hint of a smirk on your face.Â
   âRosemary.â
   âAhh. A classic. One of my favorites.â
   âYeah?âÂ
   âMhm,â you hum as you look out the glass window. You can see his reflection vaguely as he looks wondrously at you, and it makes butterflies flit through your stomach.Â
   After a minute of silence, with only the hum of the radio playing, Joel clears his throat as you turn back to him. âSo, slippinâ me your number in line, huh? Ainât you a bold girl.â
   You raise your eyebrow at him and lean a little closer as you inhale his mahogany scent as it makes your head a little dizzy. âI mean, I was just trying to get your attention.â
   He chuckles as he shakes his head. âSweetheart, you had my attention the moment I saw you up on that carousel. You didnât even have to try.â
   You feel your cheeks flush pink as you twist your fingers in your lap, your skirt barely covering your thighs as you find Joelâs eyes flit down to them. You pull nervously at your cotton dress and look back up at him shyly. âMaybe I just wanted to see you again.âÂ
   âWell, darlinâ, Iâm glad you slipped me your number or I wouldnât have got to take out the prettiest girl in Austin.â
   You bite your lip and slide back into the seat, your nerves buzzing through your body as you try to relax and enjoy the ride. âPrettiest girl in Austin?â
   âThatâs right, darlinâ. Prettiest girl.â
   You turn your head to look at the sun slowly slipping under fluffy clouds as sunset draws close. You let the music flow through your eardrums as you bask in the large presence of the man that was made of dreams. Joel Miller.Â
   In just a few short minutes, Joelâs parking the truck in the parking lot and walking you up to the shiny entry gates to the fair. He pulls his leather wallet out and purchases two tickets and then leads you through the metal gates. When you get inside, the glow of spinning rides and lit up food stands cover the entirety of the fair, the thick crowd sprawled every which way as you walk through the bustling crowd of people.Â
   âYou must like the fair,â you say as you pass a little girl with a clump of blue cotton candy in her hands.Â
   âWhy do you say that?â Joel asks as he walks side by side with you.Â
   âWell, you were just here yesterday,â you laugh as you look up at him. He looks nervous as he rakes a hand through his salt-and-pepper scruff and nonchalantly shakes his slicked back curls. âSo, whyâd you come back?â
   âBecause,â he starts as he turns his body to you, âI wanted to take ya out. And I figured dinner would be nice and all, but thought maybe this would be more fun. A better way to get to know you. Maybe make you feel more comfortable,â he shrugs as he laughs nervously next to you.Â
   âOh.â Heâs so⌠thoughtful. He really took the time to think that through to do what he thought would make you more comfortable. He was so⌠good.Â
   âHope thatâs alright. You didnât have to come back if you didnât want toâŚâ
   âNo.â You cut him off and put your hand around his wrist as you turn to stand in front of him. âI wanted to come with you. This is perfect.â
   âYou sure? Youâre not just pullinâ my leg?â he asks with knit together eyebrows, his jaw tense as you see his eyes burn like fire into yours.
   You step closer to him and nod your head up and down, flexing your fingers around his soft flannel shirt as you respond just loud enough for only him to hear over the buzz of the crowd. âJoel, I wouldnât be here if I was just pulling your leg. Whyâd you think I slipped you my number, hmm? I thought you were the hottest man Iâve ever seen in my life. Didnât want to miss the opportunity to pass me by to not get a chance to make a move on you,â you gush as you watch him relax against your touch.Â
   âDarlinâ, Iâm gonna have to ask you to stop sweet talkinâ me or youâre gonna have me turninâ this whole damn fair red,â he chuckles low as he slips his fingers behind your back, just above your hip as you feel warm heat slide down your spine.Â
   âYou mean I can make a big, strong, handsome man blush?â you giggle as he shakes his head again.Â
   âYouâre a little firecracker, ainât ya?â
   âGuess so. Wanna see how many colors I can paint your face?â you laugh flirtatiously as he rolls his eyes.
   âCâmon, trouble. Such a little flirt.â He smirks and pulls you along the row of lit up games and lets his hand linger over your dress as you feel the tinge of red fill your cheeks.
   âSo, umm. How old are ya, sweetheart?â he asks nervously as you walk past a group of teenagers gathering around a basketball game.Â
   âTwenty-six,â you say cautiously as you look up under your long eyelashes, blinking away any doubts you have that heâll think youâre too young.Â
   âTwenty-six, yeah? Wow,â he laughs as he scratches the back of his head, making his bicep cling tight to the green flannel shirt, âI can remember when I was that young. Was a long time ago.â
   You scrunch your nose up at him and look curiously at him. âYouâre making yourself sound like youâre ancient or something,â you laugh as you pass a little boy playing a ring toss game.Â
   âI am ancient,â he responds as he looks the other way, shying away from you.Â
   You pull on his flannel until his face is turned back toward you, making sure his brown eyes snap back down to you. âHow old are you?â you ask with a raised brow.
   âToo old to be with a pretty young thing like you,â he scoffs as he tries to look away again.Â
   You pull a little on the fabric of his collar until he has no choice but to look straight at you. âHow old?â You donât give him a chance to shy away again, heâs locked in, he has to answer you.Â
   âForty-seven,â he mumbles as you see a flash of panic through those big doe eyes of his. You smile up at him, and he just looks at you with his mouth parted open, like he canât believe youâre smiling at him. âWhat? Why are you smilinâ?â
   âBecause,â you laugh as you drop your hand from his soft collar, âyouâre not old, Joel. Youâre just right.âÂ
   His features soften up, and you swear you see him sigh as relief seems to wash over him. He thought he was too old for you? âJusâ right, huh?â he smirks as the corners of his mouth tilt up to be the most gorgeous smile youâve ever seen in your life. Heâs so pretty. Especially in the colorful swirling lights of the fair.
   âJust right,â you confirm as you walk by a booth of various shapes of balloons.
   âHey, mister! Why donât you come play a round of darts and win your girl a prize?â The game worker shouts across the way as Joel turns his head and furrows his eyebrows as he looks back and forth between you and the game stand awkwardly.Â
   When he takes another glance at you, he gives you a soft smile as the glow of his eyes turn lighter. âWanna play a round?â he asks as he nods his head to the game stand.
   You turn your head and take in the row of balloons that paint the wall purple, red, yellow, green, and pink. All shapes and sizes of stuffed animals sit against the back wall, and you smirk up his way. âThink you can take out more balloons than me?â you ask playfully as you flick your hair behind your shoulder.Â
   âOnly one way to find out, darlinâ.â He narrows his eyes mischievously and grabs your wrist as he pulls you to the edge of the stand.
   Joel hands five dollars to the worker, and he gives him ten black pointed darts. He hands you five of them and holds his arm toward the board filled with balloons. âLadies first.â
   You smile and walk up to the line of white tape and carefully assess your movements. You decide to go for the middle row first. That should be safest. You line up your first dart and shoot. The pointy end barely grazes the edge of a yellow balloon and falls with a bang to the ground.Â
   âShit,â you mutter under your breath. You try again, but you miss again. Why canât you just get one fucking balloon?
   You huff out and purse your lips together as you feel your thighs rub together in the heat of the warm summerâs night. You see Joel out of the corner of your eye, maybe a hint of empathy on his face as he takes in your pouting lips. You feel the weight of his eyes on you, and you try your best not to look too upset as you twirl the smooth dart in your hand.
   âWell, keep going!â The worker practically screams at you as you almost jump out of your skin. As you look down at the dart and weigh your options, something happens that you didnât expect to. Joel slides up behind you and puts one hand on your waist as he angles you perpendicular to the board of balloons while his hand wraps around yours with the dart between your fingers.Â
   You gasp as he guides your arm. âLet me help ya, sweetheart,â he smiles as his lips graze the shell of your ear, making a bead of sweat stick to the side of your forehead as nerves course through your veins.
   âYou wanna keep your eyes right on the center of the balloon. Imagine it has a big target in the middle that you want to reach. You wanna close one eye, aim right for the center, and throw hard.â The words whisk through you at an impossibly fast rate as his hot breath breathes down your neck. You think you might pass out at how hot your skin feels with him this close, with him touching you. Itâs like heâs branding you as his own.Â
   âLike this?â you whisper out hoarsely as you bring your arm up as his hand never leaves yours.
   âYeah, there ya go. Right for the middle of the yellow one. Go on now,â he encourages as he takes you through the motions, his gravelly voice breathing down the side of your neck as his broad body hovers over yours.
   You hold your breath and throw the dart, keeping one eye closed as you focus solely on the blown up balloon and not on the gorgeous man thatâs clinging to your skin. The dart soars through the air and lands right in the center of the yellow balloon as you hear a loud pop and see scattered shreds fall to the ground.
   âYes! I got it,â you say excitedly as Joel chuckles lightly and nods his head.Â
   âAttagirl.â
   The word makes you gulp as you feel your skin flush from the praise. He was basically calling you a good girl, and that was the hottest thing a man has ever said to you. Attagirl. Something so sexy about the way he said it to you in a deep, Southern drawl. Attagirl.Â
   He steps back and lets you take your turn for your last two darts. You go over every step he told you to do and follow what he instructed you to do. You did exactly that and popped two more balloons as they fell broken to the floor.
   âNice shot,â he winks as he takes your place and steps up to the white line.Â
   âAlright, cowboy. Letâs see what you got,â you say playfully as you see his lips curl up into a huge grin.Â
   Itâs almost too easy for him. He takes down two at a time with only one dart, his aim impeccable as he takes down balloon after balloon. When his five darts are gone, he dusts off his hands on his dark jeans and smiles your way. âSo, howâd I do?â
   âYouâre too good, Joel. A master of balloons,â you tease as you playfully push at his solid chest.Â
   âMaster of balloons, not master of puppets?â he smirks as you roll your eyes at him.
   âMetallica fan I see,â you say with a raised brow as you cross your arms over your chest.Â
   âGood guess.âÂ
   Before you walk away, the game worker tells Joel he can pick out any stuffed animal he wants. Joel looks over at you with a wandering gaze as he reaches out his hand and pulls you over to the edge of the stand.Â
   âWhat do ya want?â Joel asks as your eyes scan the wall. Thereâs a variety of stuffed animals. Monkeys, teddy bears, all the way to jellyfish. Your eyes wander the wall until they land on a light blue dolphin. Thatâs the one.
   âThat one.â You point to the dolphin, and the worker gets it down for you.Â
   âHere you go,â the worker nods as you take the plush dolphin and smile down at it, âIâm sure your girl is happy now.â
   Joel looks down at the stuffed dolphin in your hand and smiles as his warm brown eyes meet yours. âYeah, think she is.â You blush and walk down the row of busy games as Joel walks next to you with his hand hovering over the small of your back.
   âThanks for that back there,â you murmur as you set your pace a little slower.
   âFor what?â he asks as his hand presses deeper into the fabric of your dress.Â
   âFor showing me how to throw the darts probably and winning me this dolphin,â you say as you hold the plushie stuffed animal up and poke him playfully in the bicep with it.Â
   âAnytime, darlinâ. Anytime,â he chuckles as he walks along the flurries of crowds.
   You walk along the outside of the crowd as you pass an area full of a variety of food trucks. âSo. Was that your daughter yesterday with you in line?âÂ
   âOh, yeah. That was Sarah. My little girl. Well, not so little anymore. Sheâll be eighteen next year, and sheâs about to start her senior year of high school, but sheâll always be my little girl.â
   You watch the gleam in his chocolate eyes as you take in his expression. A little sadness but also so very proud. He looks like he loves her a lot, and that makes your heart beat for him even more. âIs that your only one?â
   âMy only kid?â he asks as he turns his head toward you, âyeah, sheâs my only one.â
   You ask the next question carefully, walking on thin ice. You didnât see a ring, so you assume he isnât taken. âAnd thereâs no Mrs. Miller in the picture?â
   He scratches the bottom of his scruff as he stretches his neck, assessing the question before he answers. âNo. Itâs jusâ me, darlinâ. No one else in the picture.â
   Your eyebrows knit together as you turn to face him, your head cocking to the side as you look him up and down carefully. âYou mean to tell me that a man like you is single?â
   He just shrugs his shoulders and blatantly answers. âWhatâs so hard to understand âbout that?â
   You put one hand on each hip and roll your eyes sarcastically. âI mean, hello? Youâre ridiculously hot and nice and I donât know, sweet?â
   Joel chuckles and raises one eyebrow up. âGot me blushinâ again, darlinâ,â he responds as he rakes a hand slowly down his jawline while his cheeks turn a deep red.
   You laugh and admire how absolutely beautiful the man looks when heâs full of embarrassment. Heâs so freaking cute that you could just squish him. Soft, the man is so soft. You might just fall head over heels for him.
   âAnd thatâs you, sweetheart. Sweet, flirty, adorable, absolutely drop dead gorgeous,â he gushes as he looks at you with glittering honey eyes. Now itâs you thatâs the one blushing. âCanât believe youâre at the fair with me. Of all the men you could be with, you went with me. What ever made you do that?â he asks unbelievably as he shakes his head.Â
   âBecause I saw more than a handsome face in that crowd when I saw you standing in line. I saw a man I wanted to get to know, wondered if you felt the same way. You looked like magic, and I wanted to taste it,â you smirk as his cheeks turn bright red again.Â
   âChrist,â he chuckles as he grabs your arm and pulls you through the blinding crowd, âcâmon you sweet talker. Magic, huh? Youâre the one that looks like magic.â You just giggle silently as you let him take you on the ride of your life.Â
   The sun slowly dips beneath the clouds as the last clashes of mixed shades of purple and orange colors turn to darkness. The fair lights up every which way as glowing lights from the amusement rides and food trucks light the way on the warm pavement. You pass a stand with blowing bubbles and light up toys and look over to see Joel eyeing you, a curious glint in his chocolate eyes as he assesses you closely.Â
   Before you wait to see what heâs about to ask you, you chime in first. âSo, cowboy, what do you do for work?âÂ
   You hear him chuckle and mutter something about cowboy under his breath as he runs calloused fingers smoothly through his slicked back curls. âIâm a contractor. Me and my brother, Tommy, run a business together.â
   You lift an eyebrow and smirk his way. âA contractor, huh?â
   Joel just chuckles and nods his head. âSâright, sweetheart. We keep pretty busy, thatâs for sure.â
   You eye his green flannel, dark denim jeans, and leather boots and nod. Of course he was a contractor. He definitely looked the part. âSo youâre strong and handsome? And you know how to build things? My, my, Mr. Miller. Youâre quite the package, arenât you?â You tease as you push him playfully in the arm and flash him a ridiculously huge grin that you can barely keep to yourself.Â
   âA package, huh? Canât say that anyoneâs ever called me quite a package before,â he responds as his hand grazes yours carefully. You taste the flames as they lick against your skin, you want to dance in them as they burn you alive.Â
   âWell, I called you one so thereâs that if that means anything.â You shrug your shoulders absentmindedly and look back ahead as you hear Joel laugh under his breath.Â
   âMmm definitely means somethinâ, darlinâ.â You look back to see heâs giving you this crooked smile, and his chocolate eyes are scorching into yours as you see just how soft he is. Heâs like a little puppy dog with those big eyes of his, and you just want to take him home and make him yours forever.Â
   You almost reach out to lace your arm in his until he asks you a question. âWhat about you, sweetheart? What do you do?â
   You smile warmly up at him and answer. âIâm actually studying to get my masterâs in art at the University of Texas. And I work at this little art shop off Hollowâs Drive. Itâs called Autumnâs Art Gallery.â
   You watch the way he shifts his honey eyes over to you as he gives you a once over. âAn artist, you say? Impressive. You draw or paint?â
   âBoth, actually. I find myself with a charcoal pencil in my hand more than a paint brush. But I love them both equally,â you shrug as your shoes scuff against the cement.Â
   âYou draw people?â he asks thoughtfully as you meet his simmering gaze.Â
   âAll the time. Why?â
   He laughs as you see the crowâs feet pull at the corners of his eyes. âYou gonna draw me like one of your French girls?âÂ
   âJoel Miller throwing Titanic quotes at me?â you laugh as you shake your head at him in disbelief.Â
   âCouldnât resist that joke, darlinâ. Was the perfect opportunity,â he chuckles as you roll your eyes at him.Â
   âSure, just let me go conjure up a butterfly robe and an old parlor couch while I find you a red wig.â
   You watch him crinkle his eyes up as he holds his stomach and chuckles loudly as he throws his head back. You join in on his laughter and almost burst into tears from how hard the two of you are laughing. When he finally catches a breath after a few moments, he wipes his eyes and places a firm hand on your shoulder. âSweetheart, I canât remember the last time I laughed that hard. Youâve got a gift,â he smiles as you see nothing but warm brown eyes swarm your vision.Â
   âGlad I could make you laugh,â you giggle.
   âSo, art. What got ya interested in art?â he asks with a cocked up brow as he presses his palm into the middle of your shoulder blades. His hand burns like fire, but you love it.Â
   âWell, Iâve always had a love for painting. I told my mom when I was in kindergarten that I was going to grow up to be an artist and look at me now! I made it,â you beam as the glow of the Ferris wheel lights your way forward.Â
   âIâd love to see your work sometime,â Joel responds as his fingers slide down to right above your hips, right at that dangerous level of being too close but not close enough.Â
   âReally?â you ask surprised as you see him nod his head.Â
   âReally.â
   You bite your lower lip and cross your arms as you turn to look at him, your eyes sliding along his beautiful face. âWould you⌠do you think youâd let me draw you sometime?â you ask shyly as you play with the skirt of your green dress, your cheeks flushing pink as you flutter your eyelashes at him.Â
   He laughs out loud as his eyes widen. âSweetheart, what would you wanna draw me for? Ainât nothinâ worth drawinâ,â he says amused as he adjusts the sleeve of his flannel shirt.Â
   You shrug your shoulders and sway your hips as you respond. âI dunno. I think youâve got such a handsome face. Itâd be worth it to me.â
   His lips part open as his eyes stare intimately down into yours as he takes in what you just told him. He looks conflicted, surprised even that youâd say that. But his eyes soften and a crooked smile splays across his mouth, and you think heâs the prettiest man youâve ever seen in your entire life.Â
   âDarlinâ, if youâre gonna sweet talk me like that then âcourse you can draw me. Jusâ donât let me look bad.â
   âI could never make you look bad, Joel.â He smiles and cups his hand underneath your chin and grazes it affectionately before he takes your hand and pulls you along the street.Â
   He slowly slips his hand into yours as he entwines his fingers around yours, the callouses grazing along your skin as you feel warmth cover your insides as he takes a hold of you. It feels so right, makes you a little dizzy if youâre being honest. How can you like a man so much that you only just met? You donât know what it is, but he feels like complete magic. The perfect man thatâll indulge all your fantasies.Â
   He pulls you along the busy crowd, hand in hand as he looks back every few seconds and flashes you with the most dreamy smile youâve ever seen, ending with a flirty wink that almost makes you choke on your own saliva. He grasps your fingers tighter as he slides his calloused thumb gently over the top of your hand. Right before he passes the Ferris wheel thatâs spinning slowly in the mix of all the different fair rides, Joel stops just a few feet from the entrance and looks back at you, one eyebrow cocking up as he takes in your curious expression.Â
   âWhat?â you ask with a small laugh as you take in his coffee colored eyes that narrow just a tad, the look of a man with an agenda up his sleeve.Â
   âWanna go for a ride?â he asks as he nods his head toward the lit up Ferris wheel, his eyes never leaving yours.��
   You flick your eyes carefully over the spinning ride and then look back at him as you turn your hips closer to him. âA ride?â you ask flirtatiously as you smirk up at him, âJoel Miller wants to take me for a ride?â
   His eyes slightly darken, his nail beds scratching along your skin as he leans in closer so you can hear that deep Southern drawl that clings to your insides. âPromise to take it slow,â he whispers menacingly. You gulp at his double meaning, his wicked smirk clawing at your insides as you feel the sweat bead down your skin.Â
   Promise to take it slow. The words are harmless yet heated. He means the ride will be slow, but thereâs also that other meaning. The one where it involves his lap, his cock, his slow motions as you gently slide up and down on his slick covered cock. Thatâs what those words really mean to you, and fuck do you want that. Badly.
   âOkay,â you breathe out slowly as he smiles and leads you to the small ticket booth ahead. He pulls out his leather wallet and hands the attendant three dollars in exchange for two small pink tickets. Joel leads you to the front of the line and hands the tickets off as he lets you climb into one of the carts first. You sit down on the white plastic seat and get situated, fanning your green skirt across your thighs as Joel takes his place across from you.Â
   After a few seconds, the ride starts up and you slowly ascend into the summer nightâs air. The fair looks so different up in the sky, glowing lights encased in a blur as you see different shades of pinks, blues, reds, and yellows paint the fair. Soft bubbles float in the background, and bright stars twinkle in the night sky. Itâs all so very whimsical.Â
   âWow. Itâs really beautiful up here,â you say in awe as you take in all the colorful scenery of the fair.Â
   âYeah, it sure is,â Joel says quietly across from you. When you turn to look at him, heâs not looking at the loud crowds or the different colored bumper cars across the way. No. Heâs looking at you.Â
   Oh.Â
   Your knees brush against his jeans, and his hand grazes gently against your inner thigh, his rough fingertips resting just behind your kneecap as his thumb brushes back and forth gently. Slow, meticulous, heated. His eyes bore into yours, chocolate irises that simmer warmly into yours. He just sits there staring, lips halfway parted as heâs mesmerized in place, his eyes only on you.Â
   Another brush of his fingertips and suddenly the air is too hot, too much as you fight every bone in your body to jump right off your seat and straddle his lap. His lips look so inviting, plush, big. Lips that were made just for you to kiss. His eyes trail down to your lips, dark eyes smoldering as he gulps and takes another breath.Â
   The tension is heavy, weighing down on your insides that scream for you to move. Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him. You bet heâs a great kisser, bet he has an experienced tongue, bet he can swallow you down and devour you whole when he licks into your mouth. Warm, inviting, blissful.Â
   Suddenly your body is leaning forward, slowly reaching out as your right hand comes down on his denim clad knee. He does the same, cautiously bending forward, eyes locked with yours as he reaches, reaches, reaches until his calloused fingers are brushing against your jawline, eyes swallowing you whole as he leans forward more, almost to your lips, almostâŚ
   The Ferris wheel abruptly starts again and jolts both of you back in your seats, interrupting the almost kiss that couldâve happened. You internally grunt inside. Why the fuck did that have to happen? You just sigh as Joel reaches behind his head to scratch his neck, eyebrows furrowed as he blows out a breath and then looks back up at you with an amused expression on his face. Then the two of you burst out laughing, a harmonious melody that reaches through the dim night sky and catches on the bright lights of the fair. You keep laughing until both of you are gasping for breath, a silly moment that turned into a mutual joke.Â
   âSo much for a slow ride,â Joel chuckles as he runs a hand through his thick locks of curls, sighing again as you see the crowâs feet wrinkling at the edges of his golden eyes. And my oh my does he look pretty.Â
   âSo much for that,â you laugh and stare off into the blurring crowd on the ground.Â
   After a couple more spins on the Ferris wheel, the ride comes to a halt at the bottom and Joel takes your hand and helps you out of the little cart. âYou hungry?â he asks as he keeps your hand locked tightly in his.Â
   âMmm whatâd you have in mind? Something sweet, maybe?â you smile with one eyebrow raised in question.Â
   Joel shakes his head and laughs, warm and deep. âFigured youâd have a sweet tooth.â
   âOh? Whyâs that?â
   ââCause youâre the sweetest thing Iâve ever seen,â he smiles, eyes lit up like Christmas lights as you stare back at him in awe. He called you sweet. He thinks youâre sweet. You donât say anything, you just smile and follow him down the row of lit up food trucks that are swarmed with lines. You think youâd follow him anywhere. As long as heâd keep you locked in his arms.
   He pulls you into a short line of one of the funnel cake stands as you look at the decorative funnel cakes on display. Thatâs not all there is. Thereâs also blue and pink bags of cotton candy, Caramel apples, cinnamon rolls, and pink lemonade.Â
   âYou want a funnel cake?â Joel asks as your eyes scan the powdered sugar treats.Â
   âMhm,â you nod as his hand squeezes gently around yours.Â
   âYou want one of those fancy ones or just a plain one?â
   âJust a plain one is good with me.â
   âAnythinâ else?â he asks as he looks over his shoulder and down at you. Your eyes keep going back to the pink colored cotton candy, your mouth watering as you can almost taste the fluffy goodness melt in your mouth. He seems to notice as he speaks again. âI see you keep lookinâ at that cotton candy. Wanna get some?â
   âPlease,â you respond eagerly as you almost bounce at the mention of cotton candy. Joel chuckles to himself when he sees your eyes light up. He thinks youâre just the sweetest thing heâs ever laid eyes on.Â
   When itâs your turn at the window, Joel orders the funnel cake and cotton candy and hands the worker some cash as she takes it from him. âGive us a few minutes with the funnel cake. Weâll have it out in about five minutes,â the worker says as she hands Joel a large bag of fluffy cotton candy.Â
   âHere ya go, darlinâ,â he drawls as he hands you the clear bag of cotton candy and grazes his fingers lightly over yours.Â
   âThanks, Joel.â You open the twisted bag carefully and tear off a piece of pink cotton candy with your thumb and index finger. When you pop a fluffy piece into your mouth, you swallow the cherry flavor and groan from the delicious cotton candy as you lick your glossy lips clean. âSo good,â you sigh as you take another bite and lick your thumb clean of the sticky mess.Â
   âYeah? Let me have a bite then.â He reaches for the open bag of cotton candy, but you snatch it from him before he can grab a piece and hold it high in the air.Â
   âOnly if you can catch me,â you tease as you smirk over at him, snickering under your breath as his eyebrows knit together.Â
   âNow, sweetheart. Jusâ what do ya think youâre doinâ, hmm?â he asks as he extends his fingers and stares your way.Â
   âHaving some fun,â you giggle as he reaches once more for the bag, but you take another step back.Â
   âYouâre walking on mighty thin ice, darlinâ,â he murmurs as his eyes darken slightly, almost like he wants to chase you.Â
   âOh yeah? What are you gonna do about it then? You gonna just stand there or are you gonna come get me?â you taunt as you rustle the bag and toss it back and forth in your hands.Â
   âOh, Iâm gonna come get you, donât you worry your pretty little head,â he smirks as he takes one step forward.Â
   You lick your bottom lip and place one hand on your hip as you taunt him. âCome get me then, cowboy.â
   He twitches his jaw and narrows his eyes playfully as a smug smirk covers his plush lips. Before you know it, heâs lunging at you as you squeak and try to run from him. You donât make it far until you feel his thick arms wrap around your waist, and then heâs picking you up as you squeal while he spins you around.Â
   âCâmere you little tease,â he chuckles as he places you back on the ground and leans forward, biting off a piece of cotton candy as almond eyes stare straight into yours. âDelicious,â he smiles as he grabs another handful and pops it into his mouth, smirking down at you as you stare wide-eyed at him.Â
   âWhat am I gonna do with you?â he chuckles as he shakes his head slowly at you.Â
   âI dunno,â you smile bashfully and sway your hips as your green summer dress blows in the gentle breeze of the night. âGuess you could keep me,â you say shyly, fluttering your eyelashes at him as you look carefully at his calm features.Â
   âKeep you, huh?â he asks with a crooked smile splayed on his face.Â
   âMhm,â you hum shyly.Â
   âMaybe I will, darlinâ. Maybe I will.â He reaches out and cups your chin as he tilts it up so he can have a better look into your shimmering eyes. Just when you think he might kiss you, they call your order from the side window of the food truck. Joel grabs the paper plate of the powdered dessert and grabs up two forks and napkins as he leads you over to an empty picnic style table. You take a seat on the old, rickety seat, and Joel slides in next to you, the side of his thigh pressed firmly against your bare leg. And it burns, hot.Â
   As the two of you pick at the savory funnel cake, you and Joel bond over interests and likes. You learn his favorite color is blue, the same as yours, he plays guitar, he likes fishing, camping, building and making things, but mostly he loves spending precious time with his daughter, Sarah. And you love that, love that heâs a good father. Heâs not just a good father, heâs the perfect father. The way he talks about her is, well, wonderful. You could sit and listen to him talk all night long if you could. And you also wonder who the hell would be so stupid as to leave him? Heâs literally perfect. Sweet, funny, handsome, a menace. But that just leaves more for you.Â
   âHowâs the funnel cake, darlinâ? Sweet enough?â Joel laughs as he takes another bite out of the fried goodness.Â
   âDefinitely sweet enough, itâs just right.â You swallow another mouthful of powdered sugar and just when youâre about to reach for another forkful, Joel nods to the side of your face.Â
   âYou got a little somethinâ on your face, sweetheart.â
   Grabbing up a clean napkin, you dab at your face embarrassed and find thereâs nothing there. âWhere? I donât feel anything.â
   âOh, you missed. Right here.â He swipes his finger in a pile of powdered sugar and wipes it clear across the side of your face as you feel powdered sugar stick to your shiny skin.
   Your eyes grow wide as you push him playfully against his strong chest. âJoel!â
   He erupts into a fit of laughter as he throws back his head and holds a firm hand across his chest. âSorry, darlinâ. Couldnât resist,â he chuckles as he plants his thick fingers against the denim of his broad thighs.Â
   You lean forward, challenging him and smirk. âOkay then. If you think itâs so funny then why donât you clean up the mess you made. Hmm?âÂ
   He eyes you carefully, his thick eyebrows knitting together as he studies you, flicking his eyes between your mouth and your playfully narrowed eyes. He runs a hand nervously down the side of his jaw, right through the greying scruff as he waits and waits and waits. Then heâs moving, leaning forward, brushing his calloused fingers against the edge of your thigh until his tongue is flat against the corner of your mouth.Â
   His tongue is warm, long, wet as he laps up the powdered sugar. You feel a jolt of electricity shoot through you, a meer tinge of bravery slipping through your nerves. After heâs done lapping up the mess he made, just as heâs starting to pull back, you feel that spark of bravery shoot through you again at the speed of lightning, so you move, fast. Before he can turn his face away, you lean forward and plant your lips firmly over his, giving him a quick kiss on the lips as warmth runs like honey down your insides.Â
   You break the kiss fast, your cheeks burning red as you feel sort of dizzy from the quick actions. Just when you almost apologize for diving in, Joel cups your chin and brings you back in. His lips are on you in a second. Hot, burning, electric, he seems to be everywhere. Crowding your space, slipping through your lips, burning you from the inside out. The kiss deepens as he cradles the side of your face, fingers brushing through thick locks of your wind blown hair. You seem to get lost in time as you wrap your hands around his neck and pull him closer to your body, until heâs flush against your chest. Â
   You part your lips and allow his tongue to enter your vicinity, feeling it collide with your own as it dances around yours in a slow, steady rhythm. He tastes like powdered sugar, coffee, warm summer nights as his tongue glides against yours. Itâs like all the busy movements and loud noises in the fair stop, itâs only you and Joel, just two people getting lost in a first kiss. Itâs almost like youâre in a movie, camera slowly spinning around the two of you as you get tangled up together in a slow, romantic kiss. And itâs like fireworks go off in the sky, colorful swirls painting the way each time your lips move in sync. Itâs unlike any other kiss youâve ever had before. Itâs slow, easy, just right, perfect. And you know then youâre a goner. Youâve fallen for the man with dreamy brown eyes and a Southern drawl you could hear for hours on end. You truly had it bad for the sweet cowboy that swept you off your feet.Â
   After a couple of minutes go by, Joel pushes himself back, but keeps one hand lingering on your jaw, his thumb trailing gently against your flushed cheek. âI knew it,â he smiles, a warm, honey-like tone slipping off his tongue as he looks at you with warm, brown eyes.Â
   âKnew what?â you whisper out, still catching your breath from that amazing first kiss.Â
   âI knew you were sweeter than pie,â he smiles as you catch a gleam in those pretty honey colored eyes.Â
   âSweeter than pie?âÂ
   âDarlinâ, youâre the sweetest thing Iâve ever tasted.â
   Your lips part open, a stupid grin spreading across your glossy mouth as you stare incredulously at the sweetest man that took your breath away.Â
   You spend the next couple hours locked hand in hand, exploring every square inch of the fair, sharing cherry lemonade with each other, bonding over movies and shared interests, just spending the night getting to know one another. It was the best date of your life, the best night. You never would have imagined it to be quite like this, but here you were, completely entranced with some handsome man you fell for on the carousel.Â
   The drive back home is quiet as the breeze from the open window blows softly through your hair. You can feel Joelâs eyes on you, the way he keeps smiling and staring every few seconds just watching you enjoy the long summerâs night. The radio hums low in your ear, but all you can hear is your own breath, the shift of Joel in the driverâs seat, the soft tapping noise of his thumb on the leather steering wheel, and the low rumble of the truckâs engine. You love summer nights, love getting lost in the night, but most of all you love being in this truck, in this seat, next to Joel.Â
   You feel Joelâs calloused fingers slowly graze against the outside of your thigh, so you shift in your seat and look over at him all dreamily, getting lost in those honey flecked eyes you find so mesmerizing. Heâs got you twisted around the black military watch that sits clasped against his wrist, and thereâs no way in hell heâs letting you go.Â
   After a few more minutes of driving on the dark, dimly lit road back to your apartment, heâs pulling up to your front door. The one with overflowing white lilies in pots and the crystal wind chime you canât seem to let go of. He puts the truck in park and looks over at you, an expression of gentleness as he relaxes his brows and pulls some out of place locks behind your ear.Â
   âI had a great time with you tonight, darlinâ.â You watch the crooked smile appear on the side of his mouth, his eyes seeming to twinkle like the bright stars in the night sky.Â
   âI did, too, Joel. Thank you, for the perfect date.â
   âAnytime, darlinâ. Anytime.â
   You sit there a moment, hovering in the silence as you chew on your bottom lip and taste the hint of cherry lip gloss. You twist your fingers in your lap, thighs pressing together as you look up at him through your long eyelashes. Heâs just sitting there, his jaw clenched as he stares at you perplexed with the engine humming faintly in the background.Â
   Just as you think of slowly making your way out the passenger door, Joel clears his throat and dwindles his hand on the steering wheel. âWould you⌠would you maybe wanna go on another date with me next Friday? Sarahâs gonna be outta town for volleyball camp, and I have the weekend free. Maybe youâd wanna come over for dinner or watch a movie orâŚâ
   You interrupt his offer as you quickly nod your head yes. âIâd really like that.â
   âIs that a yes then?â he asks, brown eyes full of hope as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel, awaiting your final answer.Â
   âThatâs definitely a yes, cowboy,â you smile as he smirks back at you in response.Â
   âFriday it is then,â he confirms as his eyes never wander from yours.Â
   âFriday it is.â You let your hand meander on the side of the door handle and tug gently as you start to slide over in the seat. âWell, goodnight. Thank you again for the perfect evening.â
   Just as you about make it out of the door, Joel shoots his hand out and grabs your wrist tightly, his voice straining with an ounce of restraint as he holds you there, locked in his embrace. âWait.âÂ
   You slowly turn, eyes locking with his as they seem to widen, his plush lips parted open as he stares transfixed, his chest rising and falling in deep breaths as he tries to hold back. He really needs to, doesnât need to rush anything, but any self restraint comes crashing down when your eyes trail down to his warm lips.Â
   âCâmere.â A gasp falls out of your mouth as he pulls you into his lap, your thighs straddling his as he pulls you flush to his broad chest. âWanna kiss you one more time, sweetheart.â
   With no hesitation, he tugs your head down to his and crashes his lips against yours. The kiss is heated, desperate, burning as you melt your lips against his and get lost in the radiant glow of the moment. You part your lips, and he slots his tongue inside your mouth, desperately licking at the cotton candy flavor as he collides with your tongue. He twists around, pulling you closer to his body as you feel the hard erection that bulges at his zipper line.Â
   You deepen the kiss, tasting the powdered sugar and cherry lemonade against your lips, letting your body grind down on him as you hear him moan through your glossy lips. You feel his hands slowly slide your dress up, feel his meaty palms dig into your thighs as you feel slick start to coat your lace.
   You rake your fingers through his messy curls, start to grind against the thickness of his cock through his tight denim jeans as you picture how ruined he must be underneath that zipper. You moan into his mouth the second one of his hands slides up higher, teasing the inside of your thigh as you desperately want to ride him right here, right now. You want to taste him, want to feel him slide in and out of your dripping core, want him to make you come until you see nothing but him in your vision.Â
   His swollen lips drop to the side of your neck, teeth grazing against your skin as he starts to suck slowly, finding just the right spot that makes you moan and pant against the shell of his ear as your face rubs against his coarse salt-and-pepper scruff. Your fingers cling to his dark green flannel, curling around the edges as you lick the side of his ear, just as he makes you moan again from his teasing tongue low on your collarbone.Â
   Your other hand grips the back of his sweaty hair, holding on for dear life as you feel you can orgasm right here at any moment. He hasnât even touched you where you need him most, and he already has you unraveling from the seams. Just when heâs about to slide his hand under your soaked panties, his phone rings loudly, blaring as you almost jump out from beneath your sticky skin.
   You hear Joel swear under his breath as he digs his phone out from deep within the pocket of his jeans. When he retrieves it, he looks at the lit up screen and sighs. âItâs Sarah, I gotta answer this,â he murmurs as you sit still and let him take the call. âHello?â
   You watch him talk, eyes blown out as his breathing is still shallow, beads of sweat staining his forehead as his curls stick to the edges of his face. His eyes are on yours, unmoving, even when heâs talking to his daughter on the phone.Â
   âYou alright? You call Tommy first?â he asks as his free hand stills on your exposed thigh, his thumb gently circling your burning skin as his chocolate eyes stare back into yours, that same heated gaze locked on you. You hear a small voice on the end of the line, but itâs just quiet enough to where you canât make out what she says.Â
   âAhh, shit. Alright, jusâ hang tight. Iâll be there in about fifteen minutes. Jusâ wait there with Ellie and tell her not to touch anything. See ya in a few.â He clicks end on the phone and shoves it back into his pocket, sighing as he pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes tight for just a few seconds.Â
   âEverything okay?â you ask quietly, still out of breath from the heated kiss.Â
   âYeah, Sarah jusâ got a flat tire near the house. Tommyâs daughter, Ellie, is tryinâ to fix it, and I just know sheâs gonna make a mess and hurt herself if I donât get there quick. Damn kid likes to cause trouble,â he chuckles as he sighs again and pulls you close, resting his forehead on your own as he breathes out slowly.Â
   He pushes some damp locks behind your ear, and you sit there glued to his flannel, your nose gently brushing against his. He shifts in his seat and sighs before he speaks. âLook, sweetheart, I didnât mean to take it so far. If I didnât get that call, I mightâve not been able to stop myself. Youâre just so⌠so⌠beautiful and hard to resist and fuck. We donât have to take it fast, we can go slow, as slow as you want, darlinâ. I jusâ like you a lot and wanna keep you around andâŚâ
   You cut him off as you press your thumb against his bottom lip and gently hush him. âJoel, itâs okay,â you giggle out as you look straight into flecks of warm honey eyes. âWhat if I donât want to take it slow?â
   His eyes widen, a speck of sweat sliding down his forehead as he eyes you carefully, his heart hammering in his chest as he watches you closely. âAre you sure?â
   You nod in response. âIâm sure, Joel. I want this, want you. Iâm all in. Iâm not going anywhere.â
   A small smile creeps up against his lips, and then all you can see is warmth in his face, his cheeks tinged red as he blushes. âAlright, sweetheart. If thatâs what you want. What do you say, Friday we pick this up where we left off?â
   âFriday it is, cowboy.â
   Another chuckle reverberates off his lips as he brings you down once more against him and crashes his lips into yours. This time itâs just one kiss, but itâs as heated and intense as the others, but thereâs also something else in the kiss. Need, desire, want. He wants you, just as bad as you want him.Â
   When he breaks the kiss, he helps you off his lap and ghosts his fingers over the back of your hand as you make your way out of the truck. âGoodnight, sweetheart. Sleep tight.â
   Before you close the door, you smile warmly at him and wave flirtatiously. âNight, cowboy. You sure do know how to light a girl up inside.â Before he can say anything back as his cheeks burn bright crimson, you slam the door closed and saunter up to your small porch. You feel his eyes on you, watching until you make it in safely, then heâs driving off into the thick of the night.Â
   When you close the door, you slide down the back of the wood and end up on the floor in a heap, giggling to yourself as you rest your head against the back of the door and hug the stuffed dolphin to your chest. You canât stop kicking your feet, canât stop the feeling of warmth and nerves pulling at your insides. You have it so bad for Joel Miller. You canât wait to see him again. Your new favorite cowboy.Â
Tags: @laurrrra @sawymredfox @amyispxnk @princesatracionera @vivian-pascal
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This was sooooo good! I love this position and Joel. Amazing đĽ°đť
Good Morning
no outbreak!joel miller x fem!afab!reader
Mornings with Joel are wonderful.
part 1
tw: smut!, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, crying, sex with feelings, not proofread, soft Joel.
word count: 4.7k
MDNI!
masterlist
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Mornings with Joel were quickly becoming your favorite despite their rarity.
After the night of your motherâs wedding youâd never expected to actually have anything come from it. Maybe another hookup for either one of you to blow off steam, but nothing that actually was meaningful. So when Joel had called you and sounded so nervous to ask you on a date six months ago, your heart melted and you excitedly agreed.
The date was precious, Joel had chosen a place that was fancy enough to make him put on a navy blue sport coat and use gel to style the wonderful mess of his curls. He had been awkward in all the cutest ways, blushing and bashful as though the two of you hadnât already slept together
He was so crestfallen when youâd suggested that you get the check instead of ordering one of the flouncy, expensive desserts, his dark eyes had dropped to the tablecloth as he quietly mumbled his agreement. Of course, youâd suggested that you have the delicious and, more importantly, free pint of cookie dough ice cream that you kept in your freezer, some part of you intent on the fact that you knew you were taking Joel home at the end of the date.
Six months later, you were waking up luxuriously in his bed.Â
He only shared the morning with you when Sarah was gone, sleeping over at a friendâs house or staying with his brother, Tommy, for the night. Youâd only stayed over a handful of times, each time feeling just as giddy and special as the first. More than once you had imagined getting to stay longer than just one night, the night turning into the weekend and the weekend turning into the week and the week turning into you just making a home with Joel and the teenager youâd seen photos of all over his house.
In time, you hoped.Â
But this morning, waking up was a wonderful thing. It was still relatively cool in the mornings in Austin, the sunlight painting your eyelids orange as you stretched. His mattress was so soft, your body sinking into the fluffed topper. The sun-warmed sheets were wrapped around you, keeping off the chill of the morning as you finally opened your eyes.
You could see the dust motes floating in the shaft of light through the parted curtains, the brightness of it making you blink slowly as you rolled onto your back. Joelâs room was surprisingly cozy, the walls painted a deep blue with a few paintings of southwestern landscapes hung up. There were framed posters from concerts heâd been to as well, mostly acoustic guitar gigs in open-air parks. Heâd taken you to one as your second date, the poster proudly framed and hung up next to the large window.
Joel was still asleep, snoring softly as he lay partially sprawled on his stomach. Youâd forced Joel to see a musical with you the night before, plying him with drinks and a steak dinner that he begrudgingly let you buy for him. The musical was fine, Joel distracting you through most of it by just having his thick arm curled around your shoulders as it rested on top of the seatback.
The night ended in your favorite way: the two of you tangled up in Joelâs truck because you just couldnât wait until you made it back to his house. He practically begged you to stay the night, his huge hands pulling you over the threshold and sweet kisses stamped to your lips and cheeks.
How could you say no to this man?
He mumbled something in his sleep, reaching out and curling an arm around your waist. You were yanked close to him, his skin hot even through the stolen Pearl Jam shirt you were wearing. A quiet hum echoed from your throat as you snuggled into him. It was a sign for you to relax, to attempt to reverse your early bird ways as you burrowed into his warmth.
You drifted in and out of a light sleep, his snores just barely quiet enough that they felt more like background noise. Every time you opened your eyes another thirty minutes had passed, Joelâs hand slowly creeping from your hip to rest against your stomach beneath the tee shirt. He held you close, spooning with his right arm acting as your pillow.
It was the feeling of Joelâs aquiline nose pressed against the side of your neck and a loose, open-mouthed kiss against your skin that finally woke you up fully. His wide hand clutched at your waist beneath your shirt, pressing your back close to his chest.
âGood morning,â you mumbled, reaching up to comb your fingers through his dark curls as you blinked in the bright sunlight. You rolled back toward him, your shoulder blade pressed against his chest as you laid partially on your back. As soon as Joel heard your voice he chuckled, grinding his clothed cock against your ass as you came to.
âMorninâ baby,â Joel murmured against your cheek, his voice raspy from sleep. The feeling of his lips on your skin sent a shiver down your spine. His hand left your waist, the shirt you wore bunching up on his forearm as he cupped the swell of your left breast in his palm.Â
Your head turned toward his, you hand in his hair tightening as you arched into his touch. âJoel.â You already sound wrecked just from him thumbing at your nipple, rolling it beneath the calloused pad of his finger before squeezing your entire breast under the stretch of his grip. It was always the best way to get your plush thighs squeezing together.
The press of his smile felt intimate as his beard tickled the curve of your jaw. His right arm bent, the scoop of his palm cradling your left shoulder in the loose form of a headlock. You loved when he held you like this, the column of your neck in the curve of his elbow as your bodies pressed closer and closer.
Joelâs hand moved from your breast to trace down the soft skin of your stomach, snapping the waistband of your panties playfully. You giggled, your hand wrapping around the forearm pressed against your collarbone as he groped a handful of your ass.Â
âThis is nice,â you whispered as you lifted your top leg and curled it back around his hip, giving Joel better access to your already wet cunt. He grabbed at your parted inner thighs, making you whimper.
âThought I deserved a morning treat for going to that musical last night,â Joel said, making you huff and roll your eyes.
You turned your head just enough to catch his mouth in a needy kiss, whining against him as he continued to grope at you. The curve of his hand from the tip of his thumb to the pad of his forefinger slotted into the crease where your thigh met your hip. His fingertips just barely brushed under the lace trim of your panties, just enough contact to tease you.
Joel loved to take his time in the mornings. Every touch was slow and calculated despite your hips impatiently rolling in the grip of his hand. He was so stubborn, smiling as he squeezed and kept you steady. You locked your lips with his, noisily smacking together as your noses pressed into each otherâs cheeks.Â
Ever the benevolent god, he finally inched his fingers beneath the soaked gusset of your panties. A stuttered whimper pulled from your throat just to be absorbed by Joelâs mouth.Â
There was a sightless exploration under your fingertips, your hand leaving the thick curls of his hair to snake beneath his arm. You could feel the practical, working-man muscles beneath his tanned skin as you traced the cap of his shoulder.Â
He already looked smug as you pulled away, your lips parted and shiny with his saliva. You let out a soft, punched moan as his fingers smeared wetness up and down the slick seam of your sex, your head spinning. Your fingers dug into his shoulder, your other hand tightening around his forearm. Joel was smirking at your reaction, his dark eyes watching you fall apart at the simplest of touches.
âYou are sensitive this morning,â Joel murmured, the deep rasp of his voice wrapping around you like a warm coat. You didnât bother denying it, just nodding with another whimper as he trapped your clit between the pads of his pointer and middle fingers, rubbing tight circles against it.
You nodded dizzily, not quite trusting yourself to form a response as you spread your knees further apart. Joel chuckled against the hinge of your jaw, his hips still languidly pressing his erection against the side of your ass.Â
Your hand slid from his shoulder in a path that snaked down Joelâs side, feeling every ridge of his ribcage and the softness of the pudge on his belly. The smattering of wiry hair beneath his navel served as a guide as you reached behind your back, your thumb hooking into the boxers he wore to sleep and pulling them down just enough that one half of the waistband caught around his wide, hairy thigh.
Joel was already hard when you wrapped your hand around the base of him, a choked groan resonating from him against your hairline as your pointer finger fit into the valley on the underside of his already leaking head.Â
With a clumsiness from your hopelessly tangled limbs, you brought your hand to your mouth and spat in the scoop of your fingers before returning them to slick his cock with your warm saliva. âBaby, youâre gonna be the death of me,â Joel sighed, his bicep flexing against your neck and his hand tightening on your shoulder.Â
The two of you were a panting mess as you touched one another, the slick sounds of his dick in your hand and his fingers on your cunt filling the room. The pace he set was a lazy one, his thick fingers circling your clit before dipping down to your dripping cunt to gather more slick. You followed his lead, slowly pumping your closed fist from base to tip. You could feel the thick veins bulging beneath your fingers.
His brown eyes were so warm, half-lidded and staring at you with an affection that knew no bounds. The intimacy of his gaze made you lurch forward to kiss him, your nose bumping against his as lips met teeth.
Joel pressed two fingers into you, the stretch was divine as you moaned against his mouth. You matched each thrust of his fingers with a roll of your wrist, the two of you leaning into one another as you shared your breaths.Â
You knew you were leaking like a faucet, soaking Joelâs hand down to his wrist. His slow pace was getting you worked up beyond the point of still having dignity. You were whimpering pathetically, your hips rocking against the motion of his hand with desperation. The squelch of your cunt was loud, overshadowing your moans and Joelâs grunts and the soft rustling of sheets.
The movement of your hand started to get clumsy and uncoordinated, your focus splintering between jerking Joel off and the way he was making you feel. He chuckled, turning his head to whisper in your ear. âThatâs it baby,â Joel mumbled in his deep gravel tone. âCan feel you squeezing my fucking fingers.â
His thumb moved forward to press against your swollen clit, your spine arching off the bed as the pleasure ricocheted up your body. You couldnât help the way your eyes squeezed shut, your deep, syrupy breaths turning into shallow gasps. The gasp of your voice came out too loud and shrill, your free hand clenching in the pillows about your head. âJoel, oh myâ!â
A groan left him, the pad of his thumb firmly strumming over your clit as his fingers crooked inside you.
Everything was becoming too much. You were merely holding the base of his cock, too overwhelmed by the euphoria coming from Joelâs hand to divide your attention. Solace was sought in the curve of his neck and shoulder, your body canting to one side so you could bury your face against him. Your muscles braced around him, everything becoming tighter and tighter as you huffed small whimpers against the delicate skin of his clavicle.
âJoel!â The tension became too much, your muscles convulsing and your back breaking on you repeating his name like a broken record. You rode the jolts of your orgasm snugly against Joelâs fingers, intimately grinding your clit against the joint where his thumb met his palm.
You sank down from your high, bonelessness seeping into your limbs from head to toe. It was still hard to breathe properly, Joelâs fingers smearing messily up and down your cunt in an effort to soothe the aftershocks as he pressed kisses against your jaw. Clarity returned with slow breaths, attentive eyes met over your shoulder.Â
He looked pleased.
âLove making you scream like that, baby,â Joel murmured as your hand resumed jerking him off. Your own wetness smeared against your thigh as he manipulated your legs so he could take your panties off, tossing them over the side of his bed. âYou always sound so desperate.â
You rolled your eyes, a tired smile stretching across your lips. âI think youâre getting too cocky for your own good, old man,â you said with a grin, gently kissing him. He pulled your leg back to where it was, spreading you apart so your calf was pressed against the small of his back while the outside of your other thigh was snug against the sheets.
Joel chuckled good naturedly, his free hand pushing his briefs down enough to kick them off with his feet. The whole motion was uncoordinated, jostling the two of you together as he settled back next to you. Another set of kisses were stamped against your cheek and throat.
âSo now Iâm an old man?â Joel asked, a dark eyebrow arching as he waited for your response. He moved your hand away from his cock, stroking himself from base to tip as his forearm squished into the fat of your thigh. Â
âDefinitely,â you said with a soft smirk, your nose bumping against his as you placed a sweet kiss on the corner of his mouth.
He snorted softly, shaking his head. âIâll show you just what this old man can do,â Joel said, his southern drawl low as he threatened you. His other hand moved from your shoulder to palm at your breast through the worn fabric of the shirt you wore, kneading it in the wide stretch of his fingers.
Your bratty response died in your throat, killed by the drag of the blunt head of Joelâs cock against your cunt. He snickered, mercilessly nudging your oversensitive clit with it.Â
âPlease,â you gasped, the plea slipping from your mouth before you even realized it had gathered there. The hot slide of his cock between your thighs almost made your eyes roll back, your cunt fluttering around nothing as he teased you. His hand pressed just below your belly button, making it hard for you to angle your hips just right.
âPlease what, baby?â Joel asked, the wiry hair of his mustache tickling the shell of your ear. He was driving you nuts, your nerves starting to fray as you struggled against the iron hold of his hand. You knew he wanted you to beg.
You tried to be stubborn, whining pathetically as he continued to fuck your thighs. Arousal was pouring out of you like youâd sprung a leak, making your inner thighs slick as his thick cock sawed in the hinge between your thigh and your sex. You were all kinds of worked up before, but the almost stimulation combined with Joelâs grunts in your ear felt like sick torture.
It only takes you a few more thrusts for your resolve to crack. âJoel, fuck, please fuck me,â you gasped, too blinded by your horniness to keep your composure as you strained your hips against the prison of his hand.Â
The laugh he let out was condescending. âThere she is,â he purred against you, the smile clear in his tone. His hand moved from below your navel to adjust his cock so the blunt head pressed against your cunt. âYou want this?â he asked, still not pressing his hips to yours hard enough to actually push inside.
âYeah, yes,â you sighed plaintively, your eyelashes fluttering as you almost started to cry. It was humiliating how desperate you were, but you were too far gone to care.
Joel rooted himself deep in you with a solid thrust, the stretch and the sudden feeling of finally being full making your chin drop to your sternum. The sound that ripped from you was animal, your hips shoving back against Joelâs as his chest curved around your shoulders.Â
He fell into rhythm immediately, making your bedhead even worse as you rocked against the mattress and his pillows. The arm curled beneath your throat pinned your shoulder blades to his chest, the two of you plastered together like sardines despite the size of the bed. His other hand reached forward to curl around your belly, fingertips pressing into your skin.
It felt like his cock was in your sternum has he steadily fucked into you, coaxing gasps from your throat as you clutched desperately at his strong arms. His nose nudged beneath the hinge of your jaw, his breath cooling the sweat accumulating there.
It was only when he was inside of you that you realized how badly you needed it. Fucking Joel made you feel complete, the aching emptiness being chased away as he gathered up all the loose and ragged pieces of you and put you back together with every drag of his cock against each slippery ridge inside of you.
You didnât know if it was gratitude or reverence that made your breath nearly stop.Â
âFeels like this pussy of yours was fucking made for me,â Joel groaned into your ear, drawing back and rolling his pelvis against you. The clap of his hips and your ass was getting impossibly louder, accompanied by the wet squelch of his cock pushing deeper and deeper into you.
He dug his teeth into your neck, sucking a sloppy hickey against the delicate skin as you started to fuck your hips back onto him. The head of his cock kept smashing into that spot that made you feel like mush, satisfied groans muffled in the back of your neck as your toes curled. You were seeing stars, one of your hands bracing against the headboard in a pathetic attempt to get some stability to anchor yourself to.
Joelâs big hand left your belly, dipping down to spread the messy lips of your sex. The firm roll of your clit between his fingers made tension knit in your abdomen again. Your lungs expanded, the breath stuck in your throat on instinct, sharp gasps pushing out of you. The spiral of heat forming in your stomach tightened, almost so tight you could hardly see.
Your cunt fluttered and tightened around him desperately, your body preparing for a crash. Joel moaned in anticipation, his thrusts took on an eager purpose as he kissed sloppily at your neck.Â
âLove you,â you gasped, your nails digging into the thick muscle of his forearms as you tried to stay afloat.
The fat, tight plunge of Joelâs cock in you was maddening. Dizzying. You could feel yourself almost start to drool against the sheets. You were hazy and out of your mind as he rut into you again and again and again.Â
âI love you too,â he muttered in your ear, raspy and deep. You felt his forehead press against your clothed shoulder, sweat absorbing into the fabric. A loud moan echoed from him, making your pussy clench as he watched your ass ripple with each slam of his hips. He always told you it was one of his favorite parts of you, stretchmarks and dimples and all.Â
He mercilessly ground into your g-spot as he circled your clit with the pads of his middle and pointer fingers, making the ache in your abdomen more pronounced. You were clenched so tight around his cock, the need to orgasm almost making you feel like you were going to cry. The tightness in your core foretold you that it would be a big one, one of the orgasms that you needed Joel to talk you through as you came back down to earth.
You tipped your head back, fitting it neatly between Joelâs ear and the mattress as you whined through clenched teeth. The coarse, wiry hair of his beard scratched your cheek with each thrust, but you couldnât bring yourself to worry about it. It was like you were a bow drawn too tight, ready to snap at any moment.
There was a startling moment of clarity as your toes curled, a deep part of you realizing how safe you felt like this. Pinned to the length of Joelâs sturdy frame, sweat pooling in the few areas where your skin connected. You were wanted and protected and needed and craved, it was the same feeling you had on the first night when you and Joel had hooked up at the wedding. You felt it every time since.
Your throat was tightening with a feeling deeper than pleasure as your field of focus narrowed down to solely Joel. His thrusts were calculated and methodical, you could feel the cords of muscle bunching in his abdomen with every deep press of his huge cock.Â
It was almost too much, leaving you teetering on the edge of a precipice as Joel refused to leave you an inch of space. Your hips twitched against his forearm, part of you trying to get away from the blinding feeling of his cock. It was impossible, the length of him staggering as he stretched you over it. Youâd think that youâd get more used to it, but it still felt like the first time every time.
Something in your mind broke, tears starting to leak out of your eyes as he bullied your swollen clit and relentlessly pounded into you. âJoel, oh, oh⌠Joel, pleaseââ you gasped on an exhale, your voice catching on the edge of a sob. âOhmygod, Joel. Love you, I love you, JoelââÂ
Joel responded by doubling his efforts, pulling your hips back to meet his frantic thrusts. You clung to whatever parts of him you could hold, one hand reaching back to squeeze his hip as you dug your nails into the forearm pressed into your collarbone.Â
âThatâs it. Thatâs my fucking good, perfect girl,â he hissed into your ear, the praise making your head spin. There was a hitch to his tone that told you he was just as close as you, running his mouth like a madman. âChrist, donât know how I ever went without this sweet little pussy in my life. Sheâs sucking me in and fucking creaming all over me.â
Itâs the nonsense that finally pushes you over the edge, a cry that sounded more wounded than pleasured rocking out of you. You rocked your hips back against his, your cunt seizing around his cock as tears leaked out of the corners of your eyes and soaked into the sheets. Joel held you tighter, abandoning your clit to curl an arm around your waist and keep you steady as your legs shook against him.
âSo fucking good for me,â Joel said through grit teeth, voice like honey. You could hardly hear him over the pounding of your heart, listening to him like you were both underwater. He kept talking, mumbling things against your skin that you couldnât understand as he kept going.
He was taking what he needed from you now, your body going mostly limp as he bounced you up and down his cock and grunted in your ear. Your nerves were frayed beyond belief, your breaths shallow as the remnants of your orgasm fizzed in your peripheral vision. His fingers dug into your flesh, probably leaving bruises beneath them as he fucked into you like an animal.
It was too much, your hands weakly reaching back to push at Joelâs thick torso as you protested. âSâtoo much, fuckââ you sobbed, your voice hoarse and breathless and broken. He fucked you stupid, the weight of thinking all the time finally leaving you as every thought left your head.
Joel shattered, the rhythmic pulse of your drooling pussy finally enough to coax him over the edge as his cock jerked inside of you. He groaned, pressing his open mouth against your throat and scraping his blunt teeth against it as you felt him inside you. The cage of his arms was tight around you through it, his hips slowing down without ever stopping as he leisurely ground into you.
You were still wrapped in your own pleasure, your body tightening and shivering with the aftershocks. He shivered behind you, panting as he came down with you. The ringing in your ears was loud, color slowly bleeding back into the room as Joel finally stopped moving.
He stayed there for some time, holding you to his chest as his other hand ran up and down the long line of the thigh that was still slung over his hip.Â
âGood morning,â he mumbled as though you hadnât already gone through the song and dance, pressing sweet kisses to your throat and shoulder as you caught your breath.Â
You sighed, feeling red hot come ooze around Joelâs cock and down his balls as you started to relax. It took you a moment to formulate a thought, your mind having gone slack with the rest of you. âMâleaking,â you blurted stupidly, your voice a slur as your grip on Joel started to loosen.
Joel snorted, the sound feeling loud and harsh compared to everything that just happened. He made no move to pull out, nuzzling at your shoulder lovingly. You made no effort to move away, twisting your shoulders so you could look at Joel better.
He was smiley, his dimples showing just over his patchy beard as his eyes met yours. They were half-lidded and so warm, making you reach out to stroke your thumb over his cheek.Â
âI wish we could do this every morning,â you said without thinking, not considering the implications.
Before you could close up and apologize, Joel nodded. âWeâd never get anything done, though,â he said playfully, slipping out of you so he could mash you against him. You felt a little sorry for the loss, come and slick dripping down your thighs. âBut it would be worth it to stay like this.â
Joelâs sappy, soppy moments were rare. You tried to cover the hitch of your breath by squirming your way closer to him, pressing idle kisses to his sternum as you did.Â
âMaybe you could meet her,â he mumbled against the crown of your head after a little while. Your eyes widened as you pulled back to properly look at him, assessing the sincerity in his expression. He meant it, a soft smile curling his lips upward as he waited for your reaction.
âYeah, Iâd love to,â you breathed, your own grin breaking out on your face. âI canât wait to meet Sarah.â
He pulled you against him, not moving fast enough for you to miss the spark of pure joy in his expression. âSheâs gonna love you.â He squeezed you lovingly, stamping another kiss to your head as he took a deep breath against your hair.
You nodded, curling impossibly closer to Joel as you let the rest of the morning soaked around you. âMâgonna love her,â you sighed, the words sounding muffled as your cheek squished against his chest.
Someoneâs stomach rumbled, you couldnât tell whether it was yours or Joelâs. With your other needs sated, hunger began to crop up in the two of you.Â
Joel spoke first, his deep voice thick. âHow about we discuss it over breakfast?â
It only took you a second to agree, yanking him out of bed with you and dragging him to the attached bathroom to clean up. He laughed at your eagerness, bracing a hand against the wall before leaning down to capture you in a kiss. It was passionate, his tongue licking between your parted lips. Your shoulder blades pressed against the tiled wall of the bathroom, your hands finding his cheeks and holding him closer.
âOnly if we get pancakes,â you countered as you parted, your breaths heavy.
âYouâve got a deal, baby.â
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Hey friends! Best news ever! I finally have a job! I start on the 18th! Obviously, this is great, no more selling what little I have anyway. But, I'm in need of some groceries to at least get me by, as I won't be getting paid right away.đ. But, that's where I need some assistance. Just some stuff to sustain my belly for a bit. I've been eating a half pack of ramen a day(thankfully it lasts). If you can help, that would be amazing. The biggest help would be reblogs just to get it out there. My PayPal is below.
Thank you lovelies!
PayPal- @JenniferBartscht
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Oh my goddd that was so toe-curling delicious and I feel just as frusterated as the reader that he didnât fuck my pussy but at least I got one hole đŠđŠđŠđŠ đŚ
make a move on me
â pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x reader - 5.5k
â You've been teasing Joel every day since he started remodeling construction on your house. He finally works up the courage to do something about it - but not in the way you expect him to.
â Rated MA for babyâs first anal fic protected p in a and anal fingering (r receiving), age gap (reader is early 20âs, joel is 36), m masturbation/pillowhumping, daddy kink, size kink, praise kink, gentle-turned-rough sex, pet names (baby, darling, honey, good girl, baby girl, little lady), slight degradation and condescension but only in a sexy way, one use of âslutâ, pussy pronouns, one (1) pussy slap, gratuitous dickscription, heavy dom/sub dynamics i mean seriously these power dynamics are out of control, tommy is a little bit of a shit (affectionate) [pls let me know if i missed anything at all :)]
â This reader insert character: has female anatomy and uses feminine pronouns, no name/no use of y/n, is generally able-bodied, fits in joelâs shirt and is implied to be shorter/smaller than him, is on summer break from college but no major/year is mentioned.
Joel had one rule for himself going into this job: be respectful. Keep his hands to himself and his mind on the job. Donât fret over the pretty little thing whoâs been draping herself all over the house ever since he started demo, practically begging to be fucked.
If he had any sense, he would pack his shit and drop the jobâor, at the very least, tell your parents to put you on a leash. But thereâs a little part of him that might be a glutton for punishmentâthat savors the teasing.
The most infuriating part of the whole thing is that he canât blame you for this whole mess. He shouldnât be so quick to temptation. You should be able to walk around your own home in whatever you want and not have to worry about the creepy contractor getting flustered every time he looks in your general direction.
But god, you make it hardâdouble entendre intended. You walk around like you havenât a care in the world because you donât; youâre home for summer break after a grueling year at college, and you intend to savor every languid second of it. Your preferred method of savoring just happens to be wearing tight little bikinis that barely hold anything in place as you lounge out by the pool in the Texas heat, or tight leggings that hug your ass so perfectly it almost makes him jealous of the material as you curl up with a book on your couch.
Joelâs a grown man. He can keep it in his pants, no matter how badly he wants you. But youâre not exactly making it easy on him.
Really, itâs Tommyâs fault when the levee breaks. If he could keep his big mouth shut, Joel mightâve been able to maintain the thin control he had over himself. But Tommy goes and makes an off-handed comment about you one night, and thatâs the beginning of the downward spiral.
The brothers are both lounging on Joelâs couch after a particularly taxing day of demolition work, beers cradled in hands and the TV droning uselessly with some movie that theyâre more staring at than actually watching. Itâs late, yet weary muscles are melted so comfortably into the couch that neither of them try to move even after Sarahâs gone off to bed.
Tommyâs eyes flicker over to Joel, then back to the TV. âThat girlâs gonâ be trouble for us, brother.â
Thereâs a question mark in the grunt Joel emits, leaning forward with interest because he knows Tommyâs talking about you without any specification.
Tommy hums in confirmation and takes a sip of his Corona. âSheâs always wearinâ those skimpy little outfits aâhers, and she ainât coy. Must catch that pretty little thing starinâ at your ass even more than I catch you starinâ at hers.â
Joel plays it off as best as he can until Tommy goes home for the night with a half-assed promise to actually be on time in the morning for once. Then he goes up to his room, locks the door, and wraps himself around the spare pillow that lays against his headboard.
He tries so desperately hard not to think about the plump round curve of your ass, or the enticing way you lick your lips, or those damned little bikinis you favor. He grinds his aching cock into the soft pillowcase and tries to think about anything that isnât you.
But he comes with a muffled growl of your name anyway, face pushed deep into the pillow and hips jerking arrhythmically.
Thereâs not much he can do now besides clean himself up and try not to think about how thoroughly fucked he is.
The next day is torture because he can feel your gaze lingering. He catches you checking him out on more than one occasion, and youâre brazen about it now. You can tell something has shifted, so you shift with it. Where you once wouldâve flushed with heat and hurried away to your room, you now meet his heated eye contact and hold it.
Joelâs jaw hurts that night from the way itâs been hard-set and clenched all day long. He rubs over his sore temporomandibular joints with his long, thick fingers and wills himself to siphon you out from beneath his skin.
It doesnât work.
The work helps. Laying tile is something he normally considers tedious, but itâs a welcome reprieve in your home because he can get down on his hands and knees and focus on something that isnât you.
You see the labor heâs going through, and you appreciate it. And really, what kind of host would you be if you didnât reward his efforts?
It starts with a pitcher of iced tea. Itâs made just the way Joel likes it, with light ice and a few slices of lemon. He doesnât know how you could possibly guess that, but it makes him want you that much more.
And then itâs cookies. Pain-stakingly handmade oatmeal raisin cookies, to be exact. Youâre like something out of his most shameful domestic dreams in your cute floral-patterned apron and oven mitts as you pull the tray of cookies out of the oven, and an image of you in nothing but those mitts and that apron flickers through his mind before he can stop it.
All the while you traipse around the house like a mirageâhumming along to the yacht rock that drifts from Joelâs stereo, swaying your hips in the kitchen as you put together the most delicious bologna sandwich Joelâs ever eaten, toweling off your soaking wet body after an afternoon in the pool. Youâre the worst temptation Joelâs ever had to face.
It becomes his mantra. Be respectful, be respectful, be respectful.
But thereâs no respect in your eyes. Thereâs nothing honorable about the way you bite your lip and smirk when he catches your gaze lingering on him.
Joel had one rule for himself going into this job: be respectful. But why should he have to play nice if you donât?
And really, the whole thing is Tommyâs fault. He started it with that first comment about you, and then he goes and calls out sick (read: horribly hungover) this morning. He leaves Joel all alone with youâgives you the perfect opening to pounce.
Or, more accurately, entice Joel into pouncing on you.
Heâs just setting his tool bag down, about to decide where he wants to start today, when your beautiful face pops in through the door.
âGood morning, Joel,â you say with that gorgeous smile of yours that makes his knees go a little weak. âNo Tommy today?â
He nearly chokes on his own tongue when you step further into the room wearing a plaid button-up he left here earlier in the week and booty shorts so small he has to do a doubletake to make sure youâre actually wearing anything on your lower half. You look fucking good in his shirt, and suddenly all he can think about is pulling you in and bending you over the half-finished vanityâ
âN-no. Heâs sick,â Joel manages to choke out. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, then, âthatâs my shirt, isnât it?â
You look down and rub the time-worn fabric between your fingers like you have to think about it, like you donât know exactly what youâre doing.
âOh, it mustâve gotten mixed in with our laundry!â The little giggle you let out is so innocent that he almost believes you. Almost. âHereââ
You start to lift the fabric up your torso in the most tantalizingly slow fashion, and he just sits there and watches it happen. He sees the first peek of skin above the waistband of your shorts, and then your beautiful stomach, then the delicious curve of a breastâ
He quickly jolts out a hand to stop you in the midst of mentally willing every single molecule in his dick to control itself. âSâalright, darlinâ. You keep it. Looks better on you, anyway.â
âOkay,â you acquiesce and let the fabric drop back down into its rightful place. âCan I get you anything? Water maybe?â
He certainly could use it. His neck and face are flushed red, and thereâs sweat starting to form at his temples despite the relatively cool temperature within the house.
He realizes, with startling clarity, that heâs at a precipice right now. This might be the only chance he gets to really do something about this burgeoning tension thatâs spread thicker than butter between you and him. Heâs got a choice to make, and itâs not going to be an easy choice.
âSure.â It comes out a bit too high-pitched, so he clears his throat and tries again. âSure, sweetheart. Thatâd be great.â
âAlright,â you say with that damned giggle again. âIâll be right back.â
As soon as you leave the room, Joel feels like he can breathe again. Itâs so much easier to think straight when youâre not standing there, smiling up at him and looking so damn gorgeous.
Heâs got two options, when it boils down to it: fuck you or leave you alone. And he really, really wants to take you. Make you scream his name while he pounds himself into you, fill you so full that you never completely wash him out. And you want it too, he knows you do, youâre practically begging for it.
But he promised himself he would be respectful. That he would keep his hands away from the girl thatâs definitely too young and too pure for someone like himâbecause he knows that if has you, heâll never be able to get enough.
Thereâs a very clear and obvious loophole that comes to mind now; a way he could have you without ruining you, a way you could both come out of this satisfied yet mostly intact. Joelâs never been opposed to doing the hard jobs, after all.
Heâs got a condom in his wallet and KY jelly in his bagâmostly used for plumbing fittings, but itâll do the job for this kind of pipework, too.
You come back with a glass of ice water, and his resolve slips. How the hell is he supposed to initiate this? What if you say no and think heâs disgusting? What if you tell your parents? He canât do this, this was such a horrible idea, heâ
Your touch on his back is like a gentle breeze, just a flutter of your fingers to alert him to your return. He flinches a bit at the sudden contact, but when he turns youâre still so achingly close. He can smell the agonizingly sweet aroma of your conditioner and the lotion you slather on your body after showering, and all he wants is more. He wants to wrap you around him, to inhale that scent straight from the source. His resolve is back, just like that.
He doesnât give himself another opportunity to hesitate. He places one big, meaty palm on your cheek and wraps the other around your hand that holds the glass of ice water to steady you; and then he kisses you with such bruising force it almost knocks the wind out of you.
You moan. You actually moan the second his lips meet yours, and he knows just like thatâwith a startling moment of clarityâthat this isnât going to be enough. Heâs going to take, and take, and takeâgorge himself on you until you have nothing left to give. And the strangest thing of the whole matter is that he thinks youâll actually enjoy his greed.
âJoelââ
âTell me you donât want this,â he murmurs as his lips break away from yoursâso low and soft in your ear it canât be anything but a growl. âTell me you donât want this, and Iâll stop right now.â
âI want it,â you affirm.
He searches your eyes, but he finds only earnest honesty and lust. That darkness, that pure and unadulterated want is enough to make his pants tighten. âFuck.âÂ
Heâs so big underneath your roaming hands as he crowds you back against the long bathroom vanity. He lifts you like youâre nothing and sets you on the counter top; he slots himself between your legs and thereâs an actual stretch in your muscles to accommodate the width of his hips. One of his wide palms slips behind your head and his fingers tangle into your hair, tugging a little bit to angle your head just the way he wants it. Itâs messy and frenzied and desperateâyour hands gliding over tee shirt-covered muscle, his tugging your (his) shirt up over your stomach.
âWas starting to think you werenât interested.â Your voice is heavy and breathy as he breaks away to tug the shirt over your head, casting it aside to lie forgotten on the floor.
âIâve been tryna convince myself mânot,â he kisses into your neck. âDidnât work.â
With a sudden roll of his hips, he has you gasping into his neck. He canât be more than half-hard, but that bulge is formidable. Thick and straining and⌠suddenly you canât focus on anything except getting him out of those tight jeans to see what youâre working with.
Your hand just barely fits around him. Heâs thick and flushed, getting harder with each passing second as he scatters feather-light kisses over your neck and shoulders. He muffles a groan into your neck as you slowly pump his lengthâyou think heâs seven, maybe eight inches at best guess. The tip of him is flushed red once you get his uncut skin out of the way, and it makes your mouth water. Thereâs a slight upward curve to him and a long, prominent vein that runs down the left side. Itâs porn star materialâyou didnât know real people had dicks like this.
âJoel⌠Jesus, thatâs gonna be a tight fit.â
âOh, donât worry darlinâ,â he hums, thumb ghosting over your clit in a way that makes your entire body jolt. âIt ainât goinâ in there.â
Thereâs nothing but pure excitement in your voice, despite the anxious gulp that tracks down your throat. âWhereâŚâ
âFlip over fâme.â
You follow his instruction with a sort of morbid curiosity, hopping down from the counter before folding yourself over it.
You can feel his eyes on you, as he takes in your willingness. Itâs like youâre on display for him, for his appraisal. Youâve still got shorts and a bra on, yet youâve never felt more exposed.
Itâs almost like he can sense your mind swirlingâmaybe itâs because his is prone to do the same. He sets a gentle hand on your back and smooths it down your spine as he crowds up against youâyou can feel the press of his exposed cock against the curve of your ass, and it makes you shiver.
âYouâre so damn beautiful,â he murmurs as he folds over you, caging you in with the delicious weight of his body. His lips trace along the curve of your jaw and down your neck as he speaks. âBut I made myself this little promise that I wouldnât fuck you. You got me actinâ so unprofessional, honey.â
You whine at the sincerity in his voiceâall youâve wanted since the day he started was for him to have you folded over and at his mercy like this.Â
âYou can fuck me,â you whine earnestly. âItâs okay, I promise. Wonât tell.â
âMmm, I know. Youâre too good a girl to go gettinâ me in trouble over somethinâ like this,â he humsâyou can hear the condescension in his voice even as he praises you, and it makes your cunt clench around nothing. âBut with all the teasinâ you been doinâ... donât rightly know that you deserve to be fucked.â
âPleaseââ
âHowever,â he continues, landing a light smack to your ass in retaliation for your interruption, âmight be willinâ to take you anyway, with some conditions. Out of the goodness of my heart.â
He pauses to let you ask, âWhat conditions?â
And then he pauses again, asking his own question this time. Is he really going to go through with this? But heâs spent the better part of two weeks staring at your ass, and youâve spent the better part of two weeks putting it on display for him. Itâs like youâve been silently asking him all this time to take it.
His hand slides down from where it rests on your spine, over your tailbone to where heâs been thinking about all this time. He feels the way your muscles tense up even through your shorts, and it sends a thrill he canât describe coursing through his veins.
âYou ever taken someone here before?â
âN-no.â He feels it again as his other hand comes to soothingly rub your hipâthat excited-yet-nervous flutter of muscle. You havenât run away screaming yet, and thatâs the biggest motivator he could have to keep going.
âI think you ought to let me. As a thank you, for puttinâ up with all your play,â he growls into your ear.
Itâs fucking dirty, the idea of letting a man you hardly know take you in such a taboo way. Itâs even dirtier how fucking excited the idea has you.
âYou say no right now and Iâll drop it,â he murmurs so sweetly. âDonât ever have to talk about this again.â
Youâre shaking your head before heâs even finished talkingâa sly smirk spreading over your lips as you grind back against him hard enough to make him choke on a moan.
âItâs only right,â you affirm. âGotta make it up to you for how naughty Iâve been.â
His eyes flash dangerously as he grinds his cock against you again, smearing precome against the flimsy fabric of your shorts. âAtta fuckinâ girl.â
He has your bottoms and panties down around your ankles in a flash, and he actually groans at the sight of your sticky cunt all puffy and wet and on display for him.
He canât resist the urge to swipe a finger through your folds, delighting in the string of shiny arousal that connects his finger to your core when he pulls away. âShe wants it so bad, hmm? Such a shame she ainât gettinâ any.â
It tugs a moan from your throat, especially when he drags as much slick as he can up to circle your tightest hole. He feels the way you flutter with apprehension, and he leans back down to kiss the corner of your jaw.
âGonna get you nice and ready, I promise. Mânot gonna hurt you, baby girl.â
âThank you, daââ You almost lost yourself there for a secondâalmost laid your whole hand of cards out on the table for him to see. You try not to get flustered over the slipâyou simply clear your throat and try again. âThank you, Joel.â But you arenât nearly as smooth as you hope to be.
In a flash Joelâs free hand is lifting your head, forcing you to look into his deep brown eyes. Theyâre so much darker than normal, and it only serves to make you wetter.
âWhatâd you call me?â
âJ-Joel.â
His hand slips down to your throat and gives it a warning squeezeâhis jaw is set, you know he isnât playing. âTry again, and tell the truth this time.â
âD⌠daddy.â
You try to hide your face, to cower in shame, but he wonât let you. He smashes his lips to yours at the exact second his first finger probes that tight, waiting entrance.
âGood girl,â he murmurs as he slowly breaches you, using your own slick to guide the way. âWasnât so hard, was it?â
You canât do anything but gasp, hands clutching for dear life to the edge of the counter. This feels different, and not in the way you were expecting it to. Itâs tight, sure, and it feels foreign, but it also feels so much better than you ever couldâve expected it to. The subtle stretch around his thick finger is addicting.
Joelâs jaw drops at the expression on your face; you already look so thoroughly fucked-out, and heâs barely even started. âFuck.You like this, hmm? Like feelinâ daddyâs fingers gettinâ you ready for his big cock?â
The only response he gets is a wrecked little whimper, and he props your chin up again to meet his heated gaze. âTalk to me. Gotta talk to me, tell me how youâre feelinâ, or Iâm gonna stop.â
âFuck!â Itâs shriller than you want it to be and you would feel pathetic if you werenât so thoroughly overwhelmed with this new sensation. âDonât stop daddy!â
âFeels good, yeah? How long has daddyâs little slut wanted to try this?â
But thereâs no way you can be expected to answer, not when heâs adding another finger to the onslaught. Not when your legs are already shaking and youâre thinking about just how many fingers heâs going to have to use to get you ready for the massive cock you can feel throbbing against your thigh.
He retracts just as suddenly as he started, and a needy little whine escapes from your throat involuntarily.
He canât help chuckling as he reaches for the bottle of KY jelly heâd dug out of his bag while you were getting him water. It feels like itâs been years since you left the room on that little errand for himâdefinitely not the barely ten minutes itâs actually been.
âRelax, baby girl. Iâm cominâ right back.â
You feel the cool drizzle of the water-based substance over your hole and it forces another whine from your throat. Itâs met with his thick fingers again, spreading the jelly over your hole before plunging two in knuckle-deep.
âAtta girl.â His voice is thick and sweet as honey as he slowly works his fingers, thrusting and scissoring at an achingly slow pace. âDoinâ so good fâme.â
âDaddyââ
âI know,â he coos. âI know, itâs so much, isnâit?â
All you can manage to do is nod your head, arms shaking under the strain of holding yourself upright. He sees the way your limbs tremble and he adds a third finger just to be extra cruelâalthough he steadies you by grabbing your hip firmly with his free hand, keeping you in place as he fucks you open with his fingers.
Everything is so hot. Thereâs a sticky sheen of sweat covering your forehead and your chest; you can feel your own slick dripping down your thighs.
And then his free hand drops down to thumb at your clit, and everything twists in your gut so fast it nearly gives you whiplash.
Within seconds youâre comingâno pretense, no warning. It explodes white-hot from your belly and sweeps through you to the tips of your fingers and toes with flash flood speed. One second thereâs nothing more than pleasant anticipationâthe next, youâre shaking and convulsing and sobbing Joelâs name as you fight with every cell in your body to remain upright.
He does his part to work you through it, thumb swiping even circles on your sensitive clit, pulling his fingers from you to pin you in place on the counter so he can continue working you through it.
âI know, I know,â he coos so sweetly in your ear over the sound of your moans and cries. âYouâre doinâ so good baby, let yourself have it.â
Itâs minutes before youâre breathing normally againâyour legs are cramping from trying so desperately to support your shaky weight. Joelâs hands are soothing you the whole time once he lets up the onslaught on your clit; itâs like heâs mapping you, tracing over every dip and curve so tenderly you could almost forget what this encounter really is.
âDoinâ okay?â He husks into your earâand then heâs folding himself over you again, and you can feel the insistent press of his hard cock against the curve of your ass.
For some reason, thatâs what really makes it sink in. Thatâs the moment you realize that this is actually going to happenâthat you want it to happen. Joelâs about to take something from you that no one has ever taken before, and you want him to. Youâre offering it willingly, even.
You hum in response and buck your hips back, giving him a delicious taste of friction that pulls a ground from his throat. âMhm. Iâm ready, daddy.â
âFuck, thatâs my girl.â He gives your hip a light pat before pulling away for a moment, and you somehow have the presence of mind to jump up on the deep countertop because you know your legs wonât be able to support you through whatâs about to happen.
Thereâs a smile on his handsome face when he turns back towards you, lube and condom in hand. âThat how you want it, baby?â
Despite everything thatâs already happened, you feel so much more exposed like this. Youâre completely naked, and heâs fully clothed with his pants shoved down just enough to free his dick. Even as you spread your legs to admit him between your thighs, you feel shy. And he senses it, the slight apprehension in your gaze, because his smile softens even further; he sets the lube and condom down on the counter next to you so he can grasp the collar of his worn t-shirt and tug it up over his head.
Heâs beautiful for a nearly forty-year-old man, you think. Heâs firm and toned, but thereâs a softness about him that you canât help admiring, especially around his belly. Your eyes eagerly lap up the soft curve of his tummy, following the tantalizing promise of his treasure trail to his cock, hard and aching for you. The ruddy, flushed tip is weeping for you; you donât know that youâve ever seen someone so turned on before, and itâs a heady rush of power.
He chuckles as he sees your hungry eyes taking him inâhe raises one big hand to cup your chin and pull your gaze up to meet his. âYouâre so pretty, baby, look so good spread out fâme like this. You sure youâre ready fâthis?â
âFuck yes,â you say with an alluring little wiggle of your hips, and thatâs more than enough for him.
He pulls his bottom lip between even rows of shiny white teeth as he rolls the condom down over his length, and itâs actually intimidating like this. Heâs so big and imposing and it makes your legs want to close, butâ
âMâgonna go slow, okay?â He vows, voice gentle as his big, brown eyes look into yours. His fingers wrap tightly around the half-used tube of KY jelly, and he leans down to kiss you when he sees the nervous gulp that bobs your throat. âGonna be real gentle, I promise. You tap out at any time and weâre done, âkay?â
âOkay,â you affirm, and you feel a lot better. As out of the blue as this is, as little as you really know Joel, you can tell heâs being sincere. You trust him; you know he wonât hurt you.
The first press of his aching tip against your hole is enough to make you choke on a gasp. Heâs big, and even with all of his attentive prep work to get you ready for him itâs a tight fit. You can tell itâs affecting him, too. His eyes flutter shut and he bites down hard on his bottom lip, and you can tell that heâs fighting with all his strength not to just shove himself deep inside you. You appreciate his restraint more than words can convey, so you donât even try; you hook your arms around his neck and pull him in for a deep, messy, desperate kiss instead. His tongue licks eagerly into your mouth as he eases his hips further and further towards yours, and itâs a nice distraction from the nearly overwhelming stretch of your muscle trying to accommodate his girth.
He shudders when his hips finally meet yours, cock stuffed to the hilt into your ass. âGod damn baby, youâre so fuckinâ tight. You doinâ okay?â
You whine at the first roll of his hips, nodding your head rapidly because words wonât come. Itâs such a foreign sensation, being stretched and breached like this. Not unpleasant necessarily, but so brain-scramblingly different that all you can do is dig your nails into his strong, broad shoulders and hold on for dear life as he actually starts to fuck into you.
Itâs nasty, and youâve never been so wet in your life. You hear the sticky squelch of lube as he thrusts his hips, shoving his cock deeper than you imagined possible. Your own wetness seeps from your neglected cunt and drenches him, dripping down around his cock and wetting the dense curls at the apex of his sex.
âShit baby, youâre takinâ daddyâs cock so well,â he whines breathlessly; one arm hooks under your knee so he can spread you open a bit wider for him, and then the other hand returns to your puffy, arousal swollen clit.
You make what has to be the most high-pitched sound youâve ever made as his index and middle fingers start a torturously slow pace on the little bud. âFuck daddy!â
âI know,â he coosâyou think that soft, breathy, Southern twang is going to actually put you in your grave. âI know, you wanna come, dontcha? Itâs okay baby, daddyâs gonna make you come all over his cock just the way you need.â
His hips pick up the pace in time with his fingers, and all you can do is lay there limply like a ragdoll. The pleasure is so much different than what youâre used to, but itâs good. Itâs amazing, the feeling of him balls deep in your guts in tandem with his ministrations on your clit, in a way you never imagined it could be.
âSuch a good fuckinâ girl fâme,â he growls, hitching your leg a bit higher over his hip so he can thrust even deeper. âFuck, mânot gonna last long like this. Youâre gonna make daddy come so hard in this tight little ass.â
His words are accentuated with a little smack to the side of your ass, and it makes you moan louder still. Your head rolls back as he picks up the pace of his fingers, swirling hard and messy circles with reckless abandon. Heâs not trying to prolong it anymoreâheâs going for the kill.
âFuck daddy!â Your hands scrabble for purchase on his smooth, freckled skin as he pounds harder into you. âW-want it, please, want you to come in my assââ
âGonna give it to you, impatient girl,â he growls deep in his chest. âYou gimme one first.â
Your entire body jolts when he brings his hand down on your sensitive cunt before groaning at the way your arousal sticks to his hand and makes his fingers shine.
âShe wants tâbe stuffed so full, doesnât she?â He purrs, fingers dancing so fucking teasingly around your fluttering cunt that it makes your eyes water. âBet sheâd love to be chock fullâa cock right now.â
âJoelââ
âNow, now, baby, no whininâ. Itâs unbecominâ for such a sweet little lady,â he grunts, and the condescension dripping from his tone is almost enough to make you come on its own. âYouâre gonna take what I give you and be grateful for it, aintcha?â
âYesyesyespleaseââ
His fingers have barely returned to your clit before youâre coming again. This one is even more powerful than beforeâa hurricane instead of a flash flood. Your entire body trembles with the ebbing flow of pleasurable wavesâthe words youâre panting arenât even discernible English anymore.
The way you clench and flutter around him in your own pleasure pulls him over the edge faster than anything ever has before. He comes hard, chest clenching hard around his breath, cock twitching more violently than anything youâve ever felt before as he spills his load into the condom.
Itâs a long, breathless moment before he pulls himself from the vice-like grip you have around his dick. He pulls out with a deep, long groanâit makes you giggle, because itâs the most over-dramatic sound youâve ever heard in your life.
Thereâs a beat, and then he starts laughing, too. At the sweet sound of your laugh, at the way he feels like he just ran a marathon, at the absolute absurdity of this whole thing. His laughter is so sweet and gut-deep and infectious, and it only serves to make you laugh harder. For a good few moments itâs just you and Joel, half naked, panting and sweaty, doubled over in laughter.
And then the bathroom door swings open and Tommy barges in.Â
âIâm feelinâ a helluva lot better after sleepinâ in, whatâs so funnyââ He stops dead in his tracks; he sees you naked and spread out on the counter and Joel disheveled and sweating. Neither of you are laughing very much anymore as you both scramble to cover yourselves up.
Tommy quirks a brow, a smirk spreading across his lips as his eyes dart back and forth between you and Joel. âWell, well, well. What have we here?â
You donât know how to answer when youâre so mortified, so you do the only thing you can think ofâyou dart out of the room and down the hall to the safety of your bedroom as fast as your shaky legs can carry you.
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Greener Memories of Better Men
Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader
Summary: Best Story of the Day! South Austin elementary school started a âBreakfast With Dadsâ program but many dads couldnât make it and several students didnât have father figures. The school posted fliers at the local YMCAâs for 50 volunteer fathers⌠600 different people from all backgrounds showed upâŚ
Joel Miller is one of them.Â
-OR-Â
Sarahâs gone and Joel wants to feel close to her again. He reconnects with someone he used to know along the way.
Rating: Explicit 18+
Content Warnings: No outbreak; Grief; Child loss; Emotional hurt/comfort; Angst; Fluff and smut; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (f!receiving); Size Difference; Size kink; Dirty talk; Truck sex; Praise kink
A/N: This was planned for a long time, and then just happened all at once today without prior thought. Enjoy! :)
Word Count: 10.8K
Read on AO3
When she got very sick, towards the end, they used to listen to âThe Weightâ by The Band all the time. Heâd sit at her bedside playing it for her over and over again, and heâd watch her breathe. For hours, heâd sit there and watch the rise and fall of her chest, the slow, weak thrum of her pulse in her neck beneath the wan and clammy skin, listen to the sound of her fight to continue existing. Sometimes, when she was a little more on this side of lucid, when sheâd let him look at those gorgeous green eyes, sheâd mouth the words at him through cracked, parched lips. Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed? The still beautiful sound of her laughter, not made any less lovely despite its weakness now, when she adapted the lyrics to suit herself, take a load off, daddy.Â
And sometimes, when she was keen on showing that superior and tremendous wit, that intelligent mind, the eye she had for seeing within and through him, sheâd say that Fanny was the friend theyâd always needed, but had never had. Like she knew, she knew there were times, only sometimes, where there was something missing, an imaginary figure that would have been nice or helpful, that was sometimes wished for. A mother, a wife, a partner, a friend, something they might have both needed or liked to have, perhaps, even especially, now, at the end.Â
It had been a slow crawl towards death, for a long time, and then, suddenly, a mad dash to the finish line sheâd seemed desperate to win.Â
At times heâd been angry, angry and resentful and so fucking filled with a rage so deep it terrified him at the unfairness of it all. Sometimes there were parts of Joel that wished it was him lying in that bed, rotting away from the inside out by that invisible poison crawling through his little girls veins, but then the idea of Sarah being the one left behind, the one left alone, seemed an equally terrible fate, and he could not discern which was the worse of the two evils. And so he was left with nothing but this terrible impotence warring inside of him against his equally terrible anger.Â
If he could have carried the weight of her illness for her, he would have. If he could have bore the pain and suffering of it, he would have. He would have eaten his own heart, cut off his own limb, forsaken everything heâd ever known, to have taken her suffering from her. Heâd told her theyâd be brave together, that theyâd get out of it together. Eventually though, that mad dash had ended, and after it was all done, sheâd been the only one to be brave, and heâd been the only one to get out of it. If thatâs what it could even be called. Sarah had died and Joel had been left with nothing more than whatever half life he pretended at now.Â
Itâd been a year and a half since then, five hundred and sixty seven days since heâd put his only child in the ground. Days of living his life as if a thousand raging gladiators screamed and readied for battle in his mind while he lay limp and motionless in their midst. While he lay limp and motionless as the rest of the world went on around him. He failed all the time now, it seemed. Failed at being a father, a man, a brother, in his waking hours and in his dreams. And sometimes he wondered or worried at what sheâd think of him now, if she saw what heâd let himself become. A limp and useless thing in the shadow of the memory of what heâd always been or wanted to be.Â
But he remembered love, he remembered loving her, and he thought that if he held onto that, perhaps, he could be something again. Certainly not himself, or who or what heâd been before, but he could find the wherewithal or the strength or the conviction to be something, surely, he could be something again. How could death have the ability to touch such perfection? He could not understand. So, if he could no longer be a father, Sarah's father, then he could find it in himself to at least be alive, couldnât he? For her, at least, for that memory of loving her.Â
He sees the flier at the YMCA one evening, after heâs finished his workout. For months heâd gone from work to bed and bed to work. Gotten soft and lazy and horrible, half dead, but heâd had a dream a few weeks ago, a memory of them at Lady Bird Lake when theyâd go and feed the ducks. Sheâd wanted to burst into the water after them, catch one for herself. Skinny little arms and legs flailing as he caught her around the waist, stopping her from rushing in after the poor things as they paddled madly away from the lovely little terror that she was. The thing he was now was not the man, the father, he had been before, not even a fraction. And heâd felt disgusted and ashamed and frightened with himself at the thought of her ever seeing the creature heâd become. Heâd gone for a jog that evening after work. As exhausted and beaten down from the day as heâd been, heâd tied on his sneakers and forced his body to move. It had felt terrible and cathartic and heâd thrown up in his front yard afterwards, pathetic, heaving sobs wracking his body as he emptied the contents of his stomach in the overgrown grass and tears dripped down the tip of his nose, right there for the whole world to witness. But heâd gone out again the next day and the next and the next, and then heâd gone and gotten a membership for the Y, paid the thirty dollars and promised himself heâd make it there a few days every week. Pushed himself week after week to exhaustion and tears, even, sometimes. Wilting into bed at the end of the day like a felled weed, but he couldnât stop.Â
Donât stop to think, donât interrupt the scream.Â
So he tried to not think, and he tried to keep going.Â
They used to walk down there all the time before, to the Y, Joel, Sarah and Tommy. She loved to swim, and the three of them would jump in the pool together and play for hours every summer. They were good memories he knew he needed to keep fresh in his mind, like a muscle that needed to be exercised constantly. He couldnât, didnât want to lose them.Â
The flier called for volunteers to show up for an event at Sarahâs old elementary school, âBreakfast with Dadsâ requesting fathers who could show up for those children who didnât have a father figure in their lives. Heâd stood still as a statue, reading the poster over and over again for almost ten minutes there, in the middle of the bustle of the busy gym around him. He could still remember the last time heâd picked her up at school with perfect clarity, the way sheâd looked, curls bobbing around her, green eyes shining, shooting out the double doors towards him. Sheâd always been good in school, smart and lovely and friendly. Heâd had to make the difficult decision to pull her out almost a year before sheâd died, when sheâd started getting too weak from the treatments to continue going in person. Heâd not been back to the place since. Didnât know if he was capable of walking through those halls she used to walk through, where sheâd been happy, had friends, been a kid.Â
He thinks about it for days afterwards, afraid and unsure and awkward with himself. Worried the children will be able to smell the deceit on him, the fact that he isnât really a father anymore, lying on the soft purple rug of her perfectly preserved bedroom. A mausoleum to her memory that he meticulously cleans every Sunday to maintain exactly as she left it, staring up at the stick-on stars of the ceiling. He thinks that perhaps it would be good for him, that perhaps he would like the chance to feel like a father again, to remember what it is to have some spunky little kid talk at him for hours on end the way Sarah used to. And if nothing else, he thinks that there might be some child out there without the commodity of a father, the way he is without the blessing of his daughter, who would appreciate the fact that heâd shown up. Perhaps, he can make some kid not feel as alone as he always feels now.Â
The morning of the breakfast dawns bright and warm, but with the faint scent of impending rain in the ether. Sheâd died on the same kind of sunny, tremulous day, and Joelâs hands shake as he walks up the steps of the elementary school. Flashes of the memory of her running out of these same double doors, skipping down the steps, curls flopping and gap toothed smile more luminous and sillier than any sight heâd ever beheld before. His heart beats like a hummingbird in his chest, hands clammy and shaking and ridiculous. He cries all the time now, at any and everything and it embarrasses him but is also so strangely freeing. Heâd watched that ridiculous, but not really, movie Uptown Girls last night and had wept like a child at the end of it, all throughout it if heâs being honest. Huge mistake for the night before he was supposed to show face bright and early and have some kid inspecting him. Tommyâd shown up this morning with coffee and burritos and told him his face looked swollen, fucking asshole, and heâs once again ridiculous and embarrassed and awkward and shaking with nerves as he takes a few deep, calming breaths, before stepping into the Sarahâs old cafeteria.Â
The large room is loud and chaotic, the bright sound of childrenâs voices and laughter and commotion, and people, there are a lot of fucking people. Two different lines of men, traversing the entire wide room, starting at a long table on one end and snaking through the lunch tables. It seems he wasnât the only one whoâd seen the posters, who had felt the need to come here today. Heâs inspecting the lines, deciding which one seems to be moving faster when he hears his name, soft and breathy and incredulous, voice like a fucking angel: âJoel?â
He turns and there you are. âJoel Miller?â You almost stumble towards him, hand almost outstretched, eyes almost swimming. The last time heâd seen you was the last time heâd picked Sarah up here, and thereâd been real tears in your eyes that time as you got to your knees, and his daughter buried her face in your neck, your soft hair, as she cried and told you how much sheâd miss you, how much she didnât want to go. Youâd been her last teacher before sheâd had to leave school â sheâd never gotten to finish the year with you, and it had been a painful and difficult parting for the both of you. One heâd not appreciated fully in the moment, but now, looking at your shocked face, like youâve seen a ghost, the memory rears its head in his mind, the sound of your voice trying to soothe her, trying to remain strong, stifle the sound of your own tears. Youâd gone to the hospital once, near the end, the nurses had told him, in the quick hour he allotted himself to go home and shower every day, to say goodbye to her. Had sat at her bedside and laughed with her, brought her a card and a bright bouquet of yellow daisies in a pretty, blown glass vase from her entire class. It had been near the end of the school year, what would have been the end of Sarahâs second grade year, and heâd been glad, after the nurse had gushed about the pretty young woman whoâd come in, made Sarah laugh and smile, perked her up for even a few brief moments, heâd been so fucking glad heâd missed you. He hoped heâd never have to see you again, could avoid the memory of his daughter in your care, the way the two of you looked at each other, like you shared a secret, a friendship, a connection, that of pupil and teacher, but also just two girls, something special and sacred. He envied it and resented it and was glad heâd missed you and grateful heâd not had to see you, but he was also grateful for the fact of you, that youâd been able to give her something sheâd needed and he could not provide.Â
He whispers your name, and you finally reach him, hand fully outstretched now, not an almost anything anymore, and your small, delicate fingers grasp at his thick forearm. The soft touch burns.Â
He places his big hand over yours, completely engulfing you, and when he whispers your name back he feels a tremble in your limb. âJoel, Iâm so glad to see you,â said with so much sincerity he feels the backs of his eyes pinch. He did not think the hardest part of this day would be seeing you again, a person whoâd known and cared for his daughter so deeply.Â
âIâ Iâm glad to be here,â he chokes, coughs, tries to take a steadying breath. âI saw the postersâ just thought⌠I just thought itâd be nice for me to come around.â
âYes,â you squeeze his arm gently, âYes, of course. Welcome, please, Iâm really so glad to see you here. There are so many great kids here todayââ you cut yourself off, and your face does a funny sort of uncertain thing, you shake your head, try and give him a small smile. A deep breath, and then: âThere are so many kids here that need someone. Itâs a real good thing you came.â
âYeah, well⌠I just wanted toâ to feelâ to rememberââ he shakes his head too, unable to continue, but he sees that you understand. You slide that small hand into his, wrapping around two of his thick fingers and pull him around and further into the room. Nodding your head and smiling back at him like youâve got the best sort of secret youâre about to let him in on. âOf course. Come on, Iâll show you to your seat. I know just the person for you.â
-
âJoel, this is my nieceââ
âWho the fuck is this guy?â All the sass in the world and a scarred eyebrow to boot.Â
âEllie,â you say nice and slow, voice soothing as if trying to calm a wild banshee on the verge of revolt, it makes him smile a small smile, âWeâre gonna be nice. You promised this morning.â
âUgh, fine,â she drops her head back on her neck, and he can see the whites of her eyes flash as she rolls them as far back as they can surely go. âStick me with the dinosaur, what do I care?â Christ, he mutters under his breath, trying to hide his scoff of a laugh with a rough cough. He turns his head to rub his chin against the hill of his shoulder, running a hand over his whiskered face.Â
âEllieâ Mom said you canât go to the sleepover tonight if you arenât nice. Right?â You try and reason with her.Â
âFine. Whatever â nice.â And she flashes a big old, saccharine grin, wagging her eyebrows at you.Â
âOkay,â you turn back to him, bringing your hands together in a soft clap beneath your chin and giving him a small and painfully sweet little smile â worried and probably a little afraid for him. He shakes his head, âItâs alright, weâll be okay,â he says low, distracted by the sight of your small hands, fine and delicate looking, and the dainty gold necklace that sits at the hollow of your throat, a little golden pendant of your initial.Â
You nod your head slowly, turn back to give the kid, Ellie, one more stern look, and then turn to walk away, leaving him to face her alone, and no, he most definitely does not glance at your ass as you walk away from him.
He turns back to look at the kid, and she rolls her eyes again, turning back to flip open the book sheâs got infront of her on the lunch table, a one Will Livingstonâs No Pun Intended: Volume Too.Â
He snorts a little, sighs and settles into the cramped bench made for a child, thick thighs barely squeezing into the space between the tableâs edge and the seat, knees bumping the underside. âWell arenât you a pleasant one.â
âYeah, a ray of fuckinâ sunshine. Whatâs your problem?â
âJesus, kid. How old are you?â
âThirteen. How old are you?â
âForty eight.â
âOld.â
âYeah.â
âSo, why'd you get stuck with the leftovers? Where's your kid?â
He clears his throat, âUh well, sheâ sheâs not here anymore. Or I meanâ she doesnât go to school here anymore. She died. A while ago.â
âOh, shit.â Sheâs quiet for a beat, looking down at the open page of the book, It doesnât matter how much you push the envelope. Itâll still be stationary. âThat sucks, man. I'm sorry.â
He supposes the correct response is: âThank you,â he nods his head awkwardly, still unaccustomed to going through the motions of having to tell people and accept condolences. He doesnât think itâll ever be something he gets used to.Â
âI thinkâŚâ she tilts her head side to side, letting the thought slide between her ears, flips to the next page, I walked into my sisterâs room and tripped on a bra. It was a booby trap. âThat my dad is dead, or at least a dead beat or something,â she snickers. âDonât know. My mom never talks about him.â
Dead or a dead beat, he mutters, shaking his head, âIâm sorry to hear that.â
âItâs hardâ being a parent, right?â
âYeah. Yeah⌠hardest thing in the worldââ
âIs it like â like weird⌠to not be one anymore?â
He feels his stomach drop out from under him, coughs roughly, âDunno⌠I guessâ I guess in ways I still feel like a parent. Think Iâll always feel like that. But in other ways, yes, itâs⌠weird.â
âYeah⌠I guess that makes sense. You donât forget how stuff feels, right?â
âYeah, you donât forget how stuff feels.â
âDo you like space?â she asks suddenly, very seriously, knocking her head to the side, looking up at him with big, baleful, hazel eyes. His heart twists in his chest.
âSure, yeah. Space is alright.â
And then another seeming one eighty: âIf you could do anything you wanted, where would you go? What would you do?â
âDonât know, never really thought about it. Maybe⌠an old farmhouse, some land, a ranch.â
âCool. What kind?â
He shakes his head, Jesus, I donât know⌠âSheep. I would raise sheep.â She nods, doubtful, unimpressed look on her face, and he frowns at the look, âTheyâre quiet, do what theyâre told.â
âYeah, yeah, okay. So, just you and a bunch of sheep. Romantic,â she says sarcastically.Â
âWhat about you? What would you do?â
She points a single finger up towards the ceiling, ah, space⌠âProbably because Iâve always been here, never left Austin, single mom and all, ya knowâ Iâve read everything I could in the school library⌠Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Jim Lovell. But you know who my favorite is?â
He could understand her on this. He felt, too often, like he was still right where sheâd left him. âSally Ride,â he says, of course.
âSally fuckinâ Ride!â She slaps her hands down on the table, âBest astronaut name ever,â Shakes her head, whistling through her teeth appreciatively.Â
He nods his head, yeah, figures. âSo, your auntâŚâ and he feels a hot flush spread over the tops of his cheekbones, real smooth, Joel. At least heâd waited this long.Â
âSheâs my momâs sister. Sheâs great. The three of us live together â kind of like my second mom, I guess. Or like they take turns being mom and dad. Weâve always been together.â
âThatâs great, kid. Sheâs great. Sheâ she was my daughterâs teacher, Iâve known her for a while now.â
âYeah, she really is. I punched this girl last year,â she says way too excitedly, âBethany,â rolls her eyes, âFor being a huge dick, man, like seriously, she was. And she got me out of it. Backed me up with the principal, Mr. Kwong. No one else wouldâve stuck up for me that way.â
âYeah, I can see that. Seems like her styleââ
âProtective,â she snickers.
âYeahââÂ
âAnd good. Her and my mom, theyâre a unit, the three of us. Donât know, Iâve never seen anyone take care of each other the way they do. SometimesâŚâ she looks away a little shyly, âI misbehave,â she says slowly, âLike the fighting. For no reason, I guess. And I know it worries them. But Iâm trying to be better, not fight as much. My friend Riley, sheâs a good influence. She stops me when I get too riled up.â
âI reckon itâs a lot easier said than done, but the fact that youâre trying to be good is what counts, is what Iâd say. Iâm sure being thirteen is difficult,â he says a little sarcastically, but giving her the approximation of a small, warm smile.
âFuck you, man,â she laughs, âItâs difficult as shit.â It hits him then, suddenly, that the kid just needs someone to talk to, someone other than perhaps her mother or her aunt who she knows love and worry for her so much. A third, impartial party. Joel had come here today and been able to be that for her, and as inconsequential as it may seem, after all heâs lived through, itâs everything to him.Â
The teachers and school administrators begin the process of handing out the breakfast: pancakes and bacon and sausage and fruit, and Ellie tells him about her book, full of terrible puns he pretends to frown at but also canât really help but laugh at with her, and about a comic she loves Savage Starlight. Endure and survive, she tells him, is the motto, and he canât help but think the idea is far reaching and significant in its truth. They sit and talk and laugh together, and itâs easy, this surly kid who pretends at being angry, hiding her charm with a potty mouth and a scowl, but whoâs really nothing but sweet. It makes his chest ache and his throat go tight. So much so, that after a while he needs to excuse himself. He tells her heâs going to the restroom and runs off like a coward, the devil and his memories on his heels to take a few deep breaths, a moment alone to collect himself.Â
He rushes out of the cafeteria, bursting through the double doors and out into the hallway, scurrying to find a lone corner to hide himself and his shame and grief away in. He makes it to a shadowed alcove at the mouth of an empty hallway of classrooms and presses his hands to the concrete blocks of the wall, painted a soft blue color. He stares at the pockets in the aggregate and tries to take deep breaths, feels the air pass through his lungs, inflate his belly, and then back out, transformed into the world as something else. Sometimes he wishes he had the ability to transform his grief into something else â a non-memory, perhaps. Sometimes he wishes he could forget the whole thing, a terrible, selfish, disgusting thought. But pain makes terrible creatures out of us sometimes, and Joel has existed in a pool of such pain these past five hundred and sixty seven days that sometimes itâs difficult to recognize himself anymore, his desires, his goals, if he even has those anymore. Like heâd said to the kid, itâs a lot easier said than done, but the fact that youâre trying to be good is what counts, and he was trying so very hard to be good, better.Â
âJoel?â That soft voice again, a shiver claws its way down his spine, and he shakes his head at the wall, letting his hot, pinched eyes fall closed.Â
He coughs, trying to clear his throat, âMâfine. Just needed a secondââ Coughs again. And then he feels that small hand from before, at the small of his back. You rest there, gifting him that brief, comforting touch, and he reaches behind himself to clasp you around the wrist, keep you there with him, silent for a moment while he tries and fails to collect himself. His fingers wrap entirely around your wrist and something different and hot and alive flutters deep in his belly.Â
âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry. I canât talk about it. Iâm justâ Itâs overwhelming being here. Iâm sorry. Iâm okay,â he rambles.Â
âItâs okay, Joel. Just take your time.â Your voice is too soft and gentle for a hard and broken thing like him.Â
âSheâs a good kid,â he tries and fails to keep his voice steady, comes out all hiccupped and cracked instead, and he feels you step closer, not touching him anywhere else, but he can feel the heat of you against his back.Â
âShe is,â you whisper.
âSâgot a fuckinâ mouth on her.â
âYeahâŚâ You try and laugh, fail.
He cracks and splinters: âI didnât think it would be like this coming back here⌠seeing you,â voice breaking, âShe was sick for so long, and I knew she didnât want to leave me. I knew she was so fucking tired, but she kept holding on just for me. And I told her it was okay, I told her to go and that Iâd find her again one day, and now I don't know who I am or what Iâve become, and all I can think about every single day is that if she saw me now I worry she wouldn't recognize me anymore.â
âYouâre trying, Joel. That's all that matters. I know you are. I can see it now even just here today, you being hereââ
âI wish I could see her smile again, just onceââ he cuts you off, not really listening. His ears filled with static noise, chest heaving. Your other hand comes to his flank, and itâs too much: this place, your touch, the kid, all of it, all of his memories and all of his grief, and he shouldnât have come here today. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and for a second, right before he pushes you away, he squeezes your wrist tightly, as tight as he can without really hurting you, lets the heat of your skin burn him, and then lets go of you, harshly shaking you off.Â
âIâm fine. I shouldnât have come here today, Iâm sorry. This was a mistake.â
âJoelââ
âTell Ellie Iâm sorry, but I have to go.â And like a fucking coward, like a man his daughterâd be ashamed of, he leaves, runs away from you and the memory of her and another child who needs something he is not equipped to give.Â
He listens to the sound of your voice calling after him, and he is nothing but sorry and nothing but too much of a man he wishes heâd never been made into.Â
-
Youâre on your second margarita when he walks in. Trailing his brother, serious, sullen look on his handsome face. When youâd seen him this morning, after all that time, after the last time which had been so painful and so sad and so full of regret for the circumstance of it, youâd felt like your heart was about to burst through your chest. You thought about him so often, about her, more often, probably, than was warranted or healthy, but the experience of having a child such as that in your care, such a special little person, and having to witness the extinguishing of such a bright flame⌠Well, calling it a tragedy was entirely inadequate in the face of all it truly was.Â
Anna was kind of dating the bartender that worked here, and with Ellie away at a slumber party tonight, the two of youâd decided to have a girlâs night out that you were almost certain was going to turn into a slumber party for Anna with her bartender, Ben, as well.Â
You eye the two brothers as they find their spot at the far end of the bar, watch as Tommy, you remember she used to talk about him all the time, flags down Ben to order them two beers, appreciating the way Joel pulls on the glass bottle with that soft, frowning mouth of his.Â
Heâs so sad. Thereâs no other word for it. Sad and hurt and made into a sort of tragedy of a man that you wish desperately, and even though itâs not your place, that you could do something to help. The sound of him choking back tears this morning, the sight of him laughing with Ellie, sheâd warmed to him immediately which was a miracle all on its own, and he is, you think, a man with so much tenderness to give that has nowhere to go now. And it is nothing but the gravest and saddest sort of tragedy.Â
âHi, Joel.â Eventually, you muster up enough courage, after one more margarita, to approach him. You think that, perhaps, heâll be annoyed to see you again, another reminder of his past and the difficulty of the morning, but you need to just talk to him one more time. To thank him again for being so brave, to reassure him that heâd done good. Tommyâd abandoned him to brave the waters of the bar a while ago, and he turns in his stool at the sound of your voice to peer over his shoulder. You love his beard, thick and lush and so soft looking, his thick, dark curls, slightly threaded with silver at the temples, and his ridiculously broad back. Heâs wearing a dark green button down that brings out the colors in his eyes, tight around the swell of his thick biceps. Heâs gorgeous and so fucking hot, and he makes you feel silly with nerves and fizzy bubbles deep in your belly.Â
âHeyââ he clears his throat, says your name softly, with a hint of apology. âHey.â
âI saw you come in earlier, and Iâ I just wanted to come over and say hi and thank you again for this morning. It was a real nice thing of you to come today.â You try and swallow the shyness and nerves in your voice, but youâre pretty sure you fail spectacularly, can just picture Annaâs mocking giggles as she watches you twist your fingers and fidget in front of the man.Â
âYou already thanked me,â he says gruffly, âAnd besides thereâs nothing really to thank me for.â
âI know, but again, or anyways,â you stutter, âAnd there is.â Thereâs absolutely no reason for these nerves, you know this man, have known him for years, âIt was a good thing of you to do. Ellie really liked youââ
âYou gave her my apologies, right?â He cuts you off, a thing akin to desperation and worry coloring his tone.Â
âI did, donât worry. She understood.â He looks like he wants to ask what excuse you gave her but forces himself into silence, looking down at his hands in his lap sullenly. âI donât know⌠I just wanted to say thank you again.â
âAlright. And Iâm sorry too, about earlier â after. I was an ass.â
âYou werenât. I shouldnât have gone after you, shouldâve given you your privacy. Iâm sorry. I was nosey.â
He shakes his head, looks up at you with those hazel eyes, âNo, I wanted you to come after me.â His voice is rough, like it costs him something to admit this truth to you, âThank you.â
You have to look away, glancing back at Anna who gives you a wide, cheesy grin and a thumbs up, followed by a much more inappropriate hand gesture. You roll your eyes at her, a hot flush burning your cheeks. âThatâs your brother, right? Tommy?â You turn back to him.Â
âYeah, it is⌠You wanna sit?â He gestures to Tommyâs empty stool.Â
âShe used to talk about him all the time.â You take the offered seat, nervous for a second that heâll resent you bringing her up, react badly, but he gives a soft laugh, looking after his brother. âYeahâŚâ he says slowly, âThey were real close.â
âThatâs really nice,â you say sincerely. You catch Benâs eye, and he nods his head at you, turning to get the two of you another round. âYou two having a boys night out?â
He gives a short laugh, bringing his beer to his mouth again, pressing the lip of the bottle to his smile, âGuess he was just trying to do the same thing you are right now, distract me, make sure Iâm alright or somethinâ,â a quick shake of his head, and then takes another drag, and you watch the thick muscles of his neck work as he swallows. You have to look away from the sight, cross your knees together tightly, pulling down the hem of your wrap dress to keep it from riding too high.Â
Ben comes around at that moment to place two shots in front of the two of you. âHere you go, baby girl,â a wink and that smarmy little smirk that makes Anna lose her head, for some inexplicable reason, âTequila for you and your friend here.â
âBaby girl?â Joel eyes you, as you push the shot towards him.Â
You roll your eyes, âIgnore him.â He takes the shot from you, fingers brushing yours briefly and you swear you feel a slight jerk move through him. You want him to want you so badly, you think suddenly.Â
âShall we?â you wiggle your eyebrows at him, and he gives you a soft laugh.Â
âSeems I donât got much of a choice,â before clinking his glass against yours, touching the base of it to the barâs surface, and then shooting it back, not even an insinuation of a grimace as he swallows the strong alcohol, while your face puckers ridiculously.Â
Gross. You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut and sucking on the lime Ben had left also. âHe sweet on you or somethinâ?âÂ
âNo, not at all.â
âHuh, not so sure about that,â he eyes your sisterâs boytoy almost sourly, and you get brave or reckless or something, all of a sudden, when you press right up to his ear, your breasts against his arm, emboldened by the liquor or the soft hazel of his eys, or the breadth of his shoulders when you whisper right into the peach fuzz covered shell of his ear, âHeâs fucking my sister. Not me.â
He freezes, a soft, masculine sound rumbling deep in his chest before he clears his throat. He sets the glass down, and then slowly turns to face you, gripping your knee briefly as he spins on the barstool to bring your legs between the space of his spread thighs. Heâs so thick everywhere.Â
âIs that so?â The place on your legs where heâd gripped you burns and throbs and the other, softer place between your thighs drips and aches. You nod your head at him, temple resting in your palm propped on the edge of the bar. Ben walks by again, snagging your attention from Joelâs molten gaze, âGimme permission to come over tonight?â he says as he passes.Â
âOh, fuck off,â you laugh after him, and you swear you feel the whisper of Joelâs touch on the curve of your bare knee again. When you turn to look back at him heâs staring down at you, a flush sitting high on his cheekbones.Â
Thereâs something slightly bold or desperate or sad stirring inside of you, and you need to hear the sound of his voice. You wish you could make things better for him. You wish that perpetual look of grief didnât sit so deeply embedded in his gaze all the time now.Â
âYou know that feeling of knowing someone, but not knowing them?â He asks you suddenly. âYou and I, weâve known each other for years. You were Sarahâs teacher, and she talked about you all the time â her last teacher â and I felt like I knew you, even though I didnât really, not in a way that mattered, not in the way I would have liked, if Iâm beinâ honest, but we knew each other peripherally. And I wanted you, all that time ago,â he laughs a boyishly shy little huff of laughter interrupting the rush of his confessed words, the crests of his cheeks flushing bright, âIn that way you want someone you don't know but see all the time and want to know better. And now, itâs like⌠like weâre meeting again for the first time, but in a different way, in a way weâve never met before, and yet you know so much about me already. You knew my daughter, spent time with her, you cared about her â itâs⌠I donât really know what it is Iâm trying to say, to be honest. Iâm sorry.â He shakes his head, another unsurely shy laugh, and you reach out to set your hand softly on his knee, rubbing the thick, muscular ball of it. Itâs okay, you nod and shake your head at him at the same time. Confused also, with what youâre trying to convey, but knowing you want him to continue anyway. âYou knew me before in a different way, and Iâm not that man anymore. And I donât know who I am now, or Iâm beginning to relearn, but Iâm not there just yet,â He trails off, and then softly: âHave you ever not known yourself?â
You tilt your chin slowly, watching the slow rove of the leftover tequila in the glass as you roll the base of it along the grain of the bar. âIâm⌠Iâm not sure. Would it be very naive or arrogant or shallow to say, no? That Iâve always known myself, that even when I was lost or afraid, I was still certain of who I was, or at the very least, who I wanted to be? Like⌠like sometimes when youâre uncertain of the next step, orâ or of what it is that you want to do next, but you still know the direction, maybe? Or what ending youâd like?â You give a brief huff of laughter, not really meaning to laugh, but expelling the air anyway, glancing down at where youâre still gripping his knee. He lays his own large paw over your much finer hand, calluses on his palm that you can feel on the back of your knuckles. âI think now weâre both, maybe, not making sense. But I think that sometimes happiness is only the peripheral thought, the peripheral ending, like obviously we all always want to end up happy. I was always open to the journey, open to the different avenues my life could take, but all Iâve ever wanted was for me and Anna, and then later, Ellie, to be okay, to be happy. Nothing else matters after that. The way I get there, the way Iâd make it happen never mattered. Only that, in the end, weâre okay.â
âNo⌠I know exactly what you mean.â His brow caves in on itself, âI know exactly what you mean because I failed at that. That was all I ever wanted too, and look at what I ended up with. Sheâs gone, I failed her.â
âBut you didnât, Joel,â you say with all the fervor you can pull from your heart, all the certainty you absolutely know that heâs wrong with. You bring your other hand to his other knee, leaning forward to make absolutely sure heâs understanding. âYou canât honestly say that. Youâre right, I did know her, and that little girl was an exceedingly happy child. If anything, you were nothing but a triumph, and you need to hold on to that, and think of it every single day for the rest of your life. You were triumphant in that girl. Never forget it. There is not even a shadow of failure in the memory of that child and the life she led.â And this does not seem like the appropriate environment to be having such a conversation, but you push on. His hand tightens over yours almost painfully, his blunt rough nails digging into your soft skin. âWhen she died â was she scared? Or peaceful?â
âShe was so fucking brave,â he chokes. âShe was so fucking brave. There wasnât an ounce of fear in that heart. Iâd swallowed all of it. Iâd swallowed all the fear either of us could ever carry. Sheâs the one that held me while I fell to pieces. While I lied through my fucking teeth and told her it would be okay, that Iâd be okay, that she could rest, she could go. And held me and tried to soothe me and told me sheâd see me again one day, but not too soon. Eight years old, dying and comforting her father, cracking jokes. She was so fucking brave, and Iâd promised her that weâd both be â that weâd both have courage and both get out of it, and in the end, I ended up being nothing but a goddamn liar.â And there are tears in his eyes, and maybe you shouldnât and maybe youâre overstepping and maybe itâs the alcohol, but you lean forward in your barstool, that boldness and that desperation and that sadness pushing you along so that your knees are sliding further between his spread thighs to wrap your arms around his neck to hug him tightly to yourself, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, big hand coming up to cup the back of your head.Â
âIâm so sorry,â you whisper, even though you know the words are redundant. Even though heâs probably heard them an antagonizing amount of times. You are so sorry, and you have to tell him that you wish you could help him in some other way, that heâd not have to bear this alone, that heâd never have had to live it at all. Iâm so sorry, Joel. Iâm sorry that you lost your daughter, and Iâm sorry youâre alone now, and Iâm sorry we didnât know each other better before, but maybe we can know each other now. Iâd like to know you now more than anything else.
You feel the rattle of his wide back as he takes in a shaky breath, and you slide your hand soothingly up the broad expanse to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck.Â
âIâm sorry,â he laughs wetly into the warm space beneath your jaw, rolling his forehead against your shoulder, âIâm killing the mood,â and you feel the wet press of lips to the soft spot beneath your ear, right at the vulnerable hollow. Your heart stutters, and you shiver a syrupy sweet little jitter down the line of your vertebrae in the clutch of his arms, letting your head fall to the side to open yourself further to him, you smell good, whispered into your skin, but the two of you are sitting at the center of the crowded bar, industriously dedicated patrons hooting and hollering around you, and you can feel Annaâs nosey gaze zeroed into the back of your head so you pull away, letting your hand on the back of his head drag around along the edge of his jaw, fingernails pulling through the soft whiskers of his beard so that you can feel the snick, snick, snick of each bristle beneath your nail.Â
âLetâs go outside,â you whisper, made only of boldness and desperation and want now. Wetness pooling at the center of you.Â
He pulls back, and his hand slides to grip your jaw in his wide, rough hand. The architecture of you feels inconsequential and without strength or steel in his grasp. âFor what?â Voice serious but also knowing, also provoking.Â
âI wanna kiss you.â Might as well be honest now that youâve got his hands on you.
âI think that if we go out there, Iâm gonna do more than just kiss you. You prepared for that?â
âYes, letâs go,â and youâre already pulling him out of his barstool before the words are even fully out. His hand goes to your elbow to steady you as your feet meet the ground, and you canât help but give him a small laugh. âAre you okay?â Just making sure.
âYeah, Iâm okay, sweetheart. Are you?â His gaze is so warm.Â
âYes.â And you canât help but smile widely up at him. He gives you a huff of laugh through a half crooked smile that looks a little bit like the sliver of the moon when itâs nothing but a silver crescent in the sky, hand wrapping entirely around your bicep to tug you closer. You feel a little bit out of control when you slide your hand over his belly, and his eyes go immediately dark and molten, rubbing slowly up his chest. He makes a deep, rough sound, low in his throat. âLetâs get the fuck out of here.â He pulls you along behind him, and as youâre making your way together out the door, you hear the sound of Anna whooping and whistling loudly behind you right before the bar door slams shut.Â
He tugs you along behind him, and then passes you gently in his hands to walk in front of him as he weaves through the crowded parking lot, his wide chest, smoldering hot through his clothes, pressed up against your back, big hands wrapped around the soft of your hips. You feel him nosing into the curtain of your hair, smelling you and humming appreciatively, and you realize that heâs steering you towards the back of the parking lot, his familiar truck tucked into the far dark corner, and you twist, suddenly, in his arms, walking backwards and reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. His hands go to the small of your back, bunching your dress in his hands tightly so that you feel the humid night air against the uppermost backs of your thighs. The look in his eyes is so dark, so wanting, and he presses you tight against his chest, your breasts squished up against the hard planes of him. Heâs not even looking where heâs going, and your feet are barely touching the ground anymore as you tiptoe backwards, guided by his embrace. One of his hands comes up to grip the curve of your jaw, and then you feel the side of the truck against your back. He hoists you higher up towards his mouth, âIâm going to kiss you now,â he says, and before you can even think about saying yes, yes, please, finally, heâs swallowing your breath in his mouth, eyes still slightly open to watch you as he does it, pushing his tongue into the wet gleam of you to taste everything you so desperately want to offer him. He nips at your full bottom lip, then laps at it soothingly, and you moan for him, head falling back on your neck to open further for him, cradled now in the palm of his hand. Your hands smooth down the sides of his neck and then curl to scrape your nails down his stomach, and he groans into you, one thick thigh shoving between your knees. One of his palms slides over your hip to grip the curve of your ass, the other coming up, gentle yet unyielding, to circle your throat and tip your chin up to him as he pulls back to look down at you. The hand on your ass tips your pelvis into his and pulls your core along the broad expanse of his thigh so that your pussy slowly rides the hard muscle, once, twice. âJoelââ you gasp.Â
âBack seat,â he orders, tugging the truck door open and hoisting you inside. Are you really about to let this man fuck you in the back seat of his truck in a crowded parking lot? Yes, yes, you are. He follows in after you, and then slams the door shut behind him, encasing the both of you in this quiet, paused moment before heâs pulling you forward to straddle his lap, spreading his legs wide to widen your own stance perched atop him. You listen to the sound of your panting breaths as he runs his hands over your curves, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you plant your palms on his strong chest, smoothing them down over his belly, reaching the line of his belt to tuck them inside, he growls low, leans forward to lick at your throat and you feel the tug of his fingers at the tie of your wrap dress, then the pull of the fabric as he bares you for his eyes. You pop the first few buttons of his shirt as his wet mouth moves down the thrumming line of your neck, over the wing of your clavicle to the tops of your breasts where he pulls back to take you in. Youâre wearing a soft pink lace bra and a matching thong, and as his eyes move down the length of you, the fire already smoldering within seems to ricochet up to a burning inferno. There is something about the look in his eyes, compared to before, compared to the usual look, that is even more thrilling than just the fact of him gazing upon your naked body. Heâs always so serious, melancholy and sad and straightforward, in a way. But taking him in like this, the way heâs looking at you now like he wants nothing more than to devour you, to push inside of you, it makes it all the headier. âFuckinâ gorgeous, look at you,â he murmurs, smoothes his hand over your breasts, thumb catching and flicking at your nipple, down the soft swell of your belly, stopping at the little bow at the front of your thong. He pushes the sleeve of your dress over one shoulder and tugs you forwards, you feel him lift the back of your dress over the curve of your bottom, his hand following the path of bared skin, taking in the tiny scap of lace disappearing between your asscheeks, and he makes a breathy, desperate sound, âWhere the fuck are the rest of your panties, little girl?â He pinches the lush of your ass, smoothes his hand down and around to cup you between your legs, and youâre sure he can feel the soaking wet there because you listen to the sound of his gasp, and then heâs pressing there, seeking out your clit and rolling gentle circles to the swollen, throbbing nub. You run your hands up his chest into his hair, gripping there, pressing your nose into the thick curls to take in the scent of him and then running them down the heavy swell of his biceps. Heâs so masculine, hard in all the places youâre soft, and wet, for him. His other hand grips your hip to pull you closer, rolling you onto the thick line of his erection, and oh God, heâs big. You can tell just like this, thick and long. Your hand moves to his belt buckle, pulling at the leather and the zipper of his jeans, and then youâre slipping your fingers beneath his boxers and wrapping around the thick heft of him. âJesus, fuckââ he gasps.Â
You fist him tightly, squeezing at the thick root of his cock and sliding up to the fat head to twist there gently. His fingers move beneath the line of your panties, finally making contact with your bare skin.Â
âFucking wet little cunt. Shit, youâre soaked for me, baby.â All you can do is moan as you pull him out of his jeans. Heâs heavy in your palm and your mouth waters as you take in the sight of his big cock. Thick and long, wide, drooling head an angry red verging on purple. He hooks the gusset of your panties to the side and slides the underside of the shaft through your swollen lips, pressing the fat tip to your clit, and then sliding along your slit to catch softly at your opening. âJoel, pleaseââ you moan. The head of his cock catches again and again, and youâre so wet, coating his thick length in your slick. He reaches to pull both cups of your bra down, exposing your breasts to his gaze and when his mouth latches onto one peaked nipple, sucking sharply, his other hand wrapping around the heavy weight of your other breast you cry out, fingernails digging into his thick shoulders. You use your grip on his shoulders to drag yourself along the length of his shaft while he sucks and nips at your breasts, pulling back to gently slap the full side of one, sending a jerking shiver through you while he watches how it jiggles and sways for him. âShit, youâre too fuckinâ pretty,â he groans, and youâre about to come just from this, just the feeling of his thick cock sliding through the lips of your sex, and you tell him so, wet mouth presses to the arch of his ear, you tell him youâre about to come, but he changes the angle, presses his hips up and then the tip of his cock is breaching the dripping mouth of your cunt, stretching you wide to take him and you both pant and gasp, burying your face in his neck as one wide hand presses at the base of your spine, forcing you to take more of that impossible length. You feel the pinch and snap of your thong around your hips as he rips the scrap of lace off of you, and you think you must shake your head or something, make some soft sound because he tuts his tongue in a gentle reprimand, âAll of it, baby. The whole thing.â He squeezes your breast, strums at your nipple, presses a feather light kiss to the hinge of your jaw, and you feel your cunt flutter around him, sucking him deeper so that he can wedge that thick cock further inside of you. âYeah⌠Fuck, yeah. Just like that, good girl. You asked for this, sweet girl.â You hitch and sob into his neck, clawing at his shoulders as he finally forces you down all the way onto him, buried balls deep in your weeping, fluttering pussy. âNow youâve gotta take the whole thing, no cryinââ He sounds like heâs spitting the words through clenched teeth, struggling to get them out despite the demand of them. âYouâre doing so good,â he whispers, âTaking my big cock in this tiny little cunt.â He kisses your ear, your throat, pulls back to suck on your nipples, all while his hands on your ass start to rock you on his length, working you loose and wet and pliant.Â
âFuckâ fuck, JoelââÂ
âI know, I know, itâs so much, isnât it? But you can take itâ deep breath, you can take it.â He fucks up into you, holding your hips steady as he feeds you his cock over and over again, and you drip down onto his balls and the leather seat beneath. âDoes that feel good, sweet girl? Tell meââ
âItâs soâ itâs so good. Wanted it so badââ you slur, wet cheek pressed to his shoulder, you mouth at his neck, little teeth digging into the thick line of muscle so that heâs growling, thrusting up quick and a little painful into your cunt, tip punching right at your cervix.Â
âLemme see youâ Iâve gotta see you,â he says suddenly and presses you back. You reach back to plant your hands on his spread knees, arching your back to present yourself to him. His gaze is almost manic, licking over your skin, your bouncing tits as he fucks up into you, the swell of your tummy glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, down finally to the place where heâs fucking in and out of your swollen, blushed cunt, stretched obscenely around the base of him. âYouâre so goddamned lucky weâre in a car right now,â he growls. He jerks you back into him, both hands squeezing your ass in each palm and rolling you hard and fast onto his impaling cock, your swollen clit presses into his pelvis on every thrust in, and you feel your cunt pull tight and then go loose as you start to come around him. Yes, yes, yes, fuck, yes â just like that. His cock kissing your g-spot with every press inside. You sob into his neck, pull at his hair, scratch at his shoulders and neck as you gush around him.Â
He surges up then, orgasm not entirely abated, and flips you over onto your back, laying you down on the truckâs bench. He pulls his dripping cock out of your still grasping clutch to kneel down on the floorboard, hulking form entirely too large to fit in the tight space, and drags the broad, flat of his tongue through your drenched sex, tasting the echoes and throbs of your climax, sucking your clit and your come into his mouth while you sob up into the roof of his truck. He pushes your knees up to your chest, displaying you for himself entirely and devours you. âFuck, there ainât enough room in this fuckinâ truck to eat your cunt the way I need to,â his accent suddenly heavier, a sharper twang cutting off the end of his words, lost to the taste of you and the feel of you and the scent of you. You lean up onto your elbows, sweaty face burning bright hot with shyness as you take in the sight of his mouth wrapped around your clit, lapping at your leaking sex. He looks up at you, reaches up to wrap one hand around your breast, one of your legs is hanging down the length of his back over his shoulder, the other hooked at the bend of his elbow to keep you open and spread wide for him, and the two of you hold gazes for a moment. His eyes flash with something⌠different to desire or lust, something more in tune with whatever it is thatâs happening here between the two of you right now, something more than just a quick fuck. You whisper his name, and his eyes flash again, predatory and desperate, and heâs pushing up, the wet sound of his mouth unlatching from your pussy and crawling back up onto the seat bench, pressing his slick wet mouth to yours and licking into you, sloppy. âTasteââ he orders, he pulls back, fists the root of his cock and feeds it back into your gaping cunt, âThatâs what it tastes like when you come for me.â His voice is a growl, something like a commandment or a promise, something else that hums beneath the mere words, something that says this is happening again, I need this to happen again, Iâve wanted this longer than I can say. He fucks into the very end of you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, let him maneuver and manhandle you to his liking so that both of your ankles lay limply over his shoulders, pressed entirely in half for him to pound into you.Â
âOpen your fucking eyes,â he pants. âLook at me,â he begs. You do, and you watch a bead of sweat roll slowly down his temple, over the curve of his jaw to the point of his chin, and then drip and splash down onto the swell of your breast, seep into your skin.Â
Heâs so deep like this, right at the heart of you, and it hurts and it feels good and you canât help but think about the next time already, hope that this can happen again. âYes, Joel,â you gasp, âPlease, donât stop.â
âYeah?â He grits, lifting one hand to hold on to the edge of the window above your head, the other gripping at your ass to pull you onto him harder. âYeah, just like thatâ Taking me so well, baby. Taking the whole thing like such a good girl.â Heâs so big, maybe too big, and he pounds into your cunt, forces you to take the entire thing, thick thighs bracketing your frame, cock punching at your womb over and over again. You feel cock drunk, Joel drunk, and you turn your face to press into the back of the seat crying, telling him youâre about to come again.Â
âGod, yes, yes, youâre such a good girl. Come on my cock again, one more time for me.â His thrusts speed up, harsher, stronger and heâs saying your name while you sob out his, while you leak around him. âHey,â he grips your jaw, gives your head a little shake, âHey, babyâ you gotta tell me where. Where can I come? Inside? Can I come inside?â It sounds, a little bit, like heâs beginning.Â
You nod your head, yes, gaze delirious, unfocused, the swell of his anchoring bicep is so thick and distracting, and you start to milk his thrusting cock inside of you, muscles squeezing tight, fluttering loose â please, please, please, come inside of me, please, I want it so bad. He groans, grits a curse, your name, something that sounds like gratitude, and then heâs filling you, thick cock kicking and jerking and spitting his come right at the mouth of your womb, inciting your own orgasm to throb again, again, harder, deeper.Â
-
He drops his head to the damp crook of your shoulder, takes in the heady scent of your sweat and sex, licks a path up the side of your throat. Heâs careful not to ask you to bear the full, heavy weight of him, and he pulls his hips back, shivering at the sensitive slide of his spent cock falling from your wet cunt. He sits back, grasps your knees to keep you spread and watches the flutter and clench of your hole as the thick white leak of his spend starts to drool out of you. He gives a low, appreciative hum, and then bends forwards to press his face into your tummy, nuzzling there softly. Your hands come to his hair, panting chest heaving, and he mouths and sucks at the skin of your stomach, the undersides of your breasts as you both catch your breaths. He looks up, then, suddenly, a thought occurring to him, âYouâre going to have dinner with me, right?â Voice a little frantic.Â
You give him a slow, lovely smile, eyes sparkling, âThink weâve gone and done things a little out of order here, havenât we?â
He frowns in mock severity, then presses his face back into your tummy, another soft kiss, and shakes his head slowly, âNo,â another kiss, this one to your hip, âNot at all. This morning counts as breakfast together.â He looks up to give you a quick, boyish grin. âHow I see it, thatâs actually an extreme dedication to order. Breakfast, sex, dinner.â
You sigh, laugh softly, âYou know⌠Iâm actually a little hungry right now,â you say contemplatively.
âBurgers? Fries?â
âMilkshake?â
âWell, weâve gotta have somethinâ to dip âem in, right?â
âOf course.â Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him up towards your mouth, âYouâre so smart.â
âVery true. Youâve gotta stick with me now, Iâll teach you everything I know.â A kiss, another and another.Â
He rests his face back on your belly, looking up at you, and you run the pad of your thumb over the fan of his lashes, and he feels so happy.Â
-
Itâs been months since then⌠and still even now, when he looks at you, all he knows is that heâs sure you saved his fucking life.Â
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the old man and the sea- a joel miller x reader fic
summary: grief is a sacred thing, a nasty thing, a sensual thing. it grips you from the inside until there's nothing left but a void of darkness- a void that can never be filled. joel miller knows this fact very well, and all he wants to do is save you.
warnings: girthed up age gap (college age!reader x 50âs age joel), iâm exploring a new type of writing ok let me COOK!!!! idk i am delusional, reader has hair that at least reaches her neck, cigarette use, this whole thing is basically an allegory for grief and growing but there also a lot of sexy smut soooo yeah. (mentions of death and two brief mentions of suicide, but nothing too detailed.) that being said, smut (f receiving oral sex, soft kissy missionary sex, unprotected piv sex, some 'dirty' talk, etc.)
note: this has NOT been proofread or edited. any mistakes are mine. i just hate going back and editing lmao. enjoy! xx
In the august days of your youth, when the rocky line of the coast line glimmered beneath the flame of the sun, when the foamy waves would pool by your sandy feet, you could remember the towering lighthouse just south of the beach, the way it stood tall and proud, like the statues of Roman soldiers you knew from your school encyclopedias. It was vibrant and alive, no more dead than the clams bubbling beneath the surface of the ocean, no more dead than the bellowing of the whales far off the shore.
You remember how it would speak to you, late at night when you would walk alone, hoping to catch the light reflecting off the tail of a pretty mermaid, hoping that the local legends of talking fish would come poke their heads above the water, speaking to you in riddles from days gone by.
You remember the words of the light which shone strong from above, circling above your head , like the passing lights of a traveling carnival, your eyes caught like a moth roaming towards the flames, lost in the eternal beauty of its golden light.
Come to me, child. Let the lighthouse unburden your pain.
But back then, when you were quick to scare despite your steadfast stubbornness, you never garnered enough courage to explore behind its walls.
Now college had passed, and you moved back home to your parent's rickety beach house, alone behind her comforting wooden exterior. This home. This home that was once so full of life. This home that held warm laughter and late night board games. This home that housed your closest friends and their secrets of crushes and undeciphered dreams. This home where you grew into a young woman full of life and beauty, clever and brilliant.
This home that was now empty.
You had got the call the week after finals.
We're so sorry, they went out fishing and a storm came. We never found them.
Oh, yes.
Adventure pumped through your veins, the taste for freedom like salty water on your tongue. You knew where you got it from, you always had. Your sweet family, your loving parents. Full of life like that lighthouse, full of of love like the sun.
Now they were nothing, and this house was nothing. Those years of laughter and secrets and adventure were nothing.
Nothing.
Your favorite word these days.
Going through belongings and shuffling through old books had taken almost a weeks worth of tears. Hot, tepid, angry tears.
How dare they leave you alone? How dare they forsake you like this?
The thought of crashing water and striking lightning was almost too much to bare.
When the storm had rolled in that morning, you had been tucked away in the alcove of your kitchen, nursing a steaming mug that was more cream than coffee. You watched the droplets of rain paint pictures on the window, you watched nature wring her tears across the fluttering branches of trees, cracking soft splashes across the pavement with each gust of air. Your chest felt heavy with thoughts of them.
Mom and dad.
Mamma and papa.
Perhaps it was in hopes you would feel some comfort, perhaps it was in hopes you would feel whole. If you could just stare out at the ocean that took them, maybe they would speak to you. Maybe those fairytale fish would poke their heads up from the water and exclaim to you how happy your parents were, how they were fitting right in, how they had invited Mrs. Dolphin over for tea last Saturday, and how they were finally warming up to the funny shark that always lurked in the seaweed.
You stood barefoot on the cragged rock, staring out at the roaring waves, with nothing but the lull of distant seagulls and the song of incoming thunder.
No fish. No parents. No Mrs. Dolphin. Just another season of storms and a crater in your heart.
Your throat was raw from all the screaming. You danced to your fight song as you let the rain take you, your clothes felt like skin from how soaked through they were. Heavy drapes of fabric that cemented you in place on that cragged rock. That cragged rock that dripped with the blood of your raw heels, your toes scraped and ruined from the sandy surface.
It was dark by the time the storm rolled out, dark by the time your back found the safety of the sand, dark by the time your hair clung to your neck and became tangled up with the seashells.
There was a glowing orb of light far off in the distance that you could just make out through the hazy fog of your eyelashes, and you realized it was growing closer, the old handle of a lantern creaking through the night.
"Hello?" The voice was rough and unknown to your ears, yet held a certain warmth despite the weariness.
"Yes?" You asked softly, refusing to open your eyes. If you opened your eyes, all of this was real, all of this was raw, all of this was right there.
"Are you.... okay?"
"Yes."
The lantern creaked once more, and you heard the shuffle of fabric as the man leaned forward, pressing his knuckles to your cheek. "You're colder than a reindeer's antlers, girl." His touch was warm, his hand a welcome solace from the rain. "You live around here?"
You didn't want to go back to that house. You didn't want to smell their detergent or see their old clothes. You didn't want to waltz through that kitchen or hear the creak of those old stairs.
Perhaps it was from the way your lip quivered, from the rain or from the cold, perhaps it was from the defeat in your voice, or the weightlessness of your soul, but the man before you knew he had to do something about it. How could he not? You were laying there like a pile of unfolded laundry, and no one else was around to fold it all.
You felt an arm slip behind your back.
"C'mon, stand up with me. On three."
You groaned softly, using a thick arm as leverage as the mystery man helped you stand off the ground. When you opened your eyes, you saw a pair of umber orbs staring at you, tracing over your face, every line, scar, freckle, dent, he was soaking you in like a sponge, as though he wanted to know your face just from memory.
"I'm Joel."
Joel.
He was handsome, that was the first thing you noticed about him. You felt your stomach churn at the feeling, angry you could find him so beautiful, despite the darkness which shrouded over you. Joel was broad and rugged, no doubt rough around the edges. He was adorned with various scars and random freckles, with thick eyebrows and broad shoulders, plush lips and kind eyes- hardened by time, no doubt, but beautiful all the same.
You know you mumbled your name out somewhere along the walk, eyes cloudy with tears. It was a miracle you managed to speak anything at all.
As you neared the lighthouse, you realized just how foreboding it truly was. Its paint was cracking, yet its foundation remained firm, and it towered up into the clouds like a Medieval castle. Behind it's white structure you saw a small cabin, warm light seeping through the misty windows, painting the green grass with splatters of sunshine.
When Joel opened the door, an old dog sitting in front of the fireplace lifted his head, the soft thump of a tail beating against the wooden floors. His fur was gray and his eyes were old, his long fur a mixture of brown, black, and white patches. Like a makeshift quilt.
Quilts. Your mother used to make those.
"That's Moby." Joel explained, setting a kettle on the old gas stove. "Sit down. You're trailing blood." You felt embarrassment creep up your neck, and he must have noticed the way your eyes darted with shame. "No, no. I didn't mean it like that. Let me fix up your cuts. I-.... I wasn't trying to be a dick." He spoke like this was his first time having human interaction in a decade, and by the way he moved, you might have been right.
He fumbled through drawers and cabinets, eventually finding a metal first aid kit that had begun resting at the edges years ago. Joel pulled up a dining room chair in front of you with a loud screech, peering up at you as he shuffled through the remnants of the kit.
"What were you doing out there?" He asked, gently grabbing your ankle. He guided it to his lap, inspecting the raw flesh of your soles.
"Exploring."
"Exploring what?"
"Myself."
You felt his shoulders jerk with a bit of a laugh. Normally, you would not have gone home with a stranger. Normally, you would not have let a random man place your legs on his lap or nurse you up.
But then again, nothing was normal anymore. Normal was home. Normal was family. Normal was homecooked meals and late night board games and sleepovers and secrets and.... well, none of this.
The hot stream of tears threatened the dam that rest just above your waterline. Joel noticed, but he didn't say anything.
His calloused thumb rested on the side of your foot, the sting of alcohol soaked pads causing you to wince.
"I know." He muttered through an unlit cigarette which dangled from his mouth, the lines of his forehead prominent with each movement he made. "There we go. Right one's done. Let me see the left."
You obeyed wordlessly, gently propping it up onto his thigh. He repeated his previous work until that foot was cleaned and patched.
Joel stared at you. The tea kettle behind him was whistling for attention, its top sputtering from the roaring boil of water.
"Earl gray or green?" He asked as he rummaged for two cups, blowing the dust off of one. You watched Joel stare at one of the cups for a beat too long.
"Earl gray." You croaked, blinking hard. You felt wetness by your hand. When you looked down, the black nose of a dog was pressing into your palm. Your fingers found his fur, rubbing that spot right behind his ear that made his back leg go crazy. Who couldn't smile at that?
Moby laid down, his fur a puddle at the base of your chair as he rested his snout atop your foot. You stared at him, welcoming the softness of his body against yours.
"Moby is a sweet dog. He's old. Rarely gets up from that bed." Joel explained, handing you a cup. The words World's Best Dad were fading at the sides. This cup must have been older than you.
"I like him." You let the liquid glide down your throat with each sip, savoring the warmth it provided you. At the first sign of a shiver, Joel had wrapped a blanket around your shoulders.
"Why are you being so kind to me? You don't even know me."
Joel sat back down across from you with a soft groan, the ache in his bones creaking like an old, rusting elevator shaft. "I do know you."
"Have we met before?" Your eyebrow raised with interest, and you looked at him wearily, trying to deduce what he was up to.
"No. But I know what grieving looks like." There was a long pause before Joel decided to speak again. "Were you trying to kill yourself?"
"What? No!" You guffawed, neck snapping up to shoot him a scowl. "Of course not."
"Look. If you walked up on a half dead, soaking wet person on the shore, during the aftermath of a storm, you'd be thinking the same thing." He defended himself sternly, setting his cup down.
There was a thick moment of quietness.
"Those were your parents, weren't they?" His voice was barely a whisper. It floated through the air like smoke off a candle, hitting you in the face.
"Yes."
"It was all over the news. Loads of us went out there, tried to find them."
"They're out there somewhere. Fish food." Your voice was bitter.
Joel didn't say anything. He just sat and stared. You stared back.
It became a ritual after that night. You were over there every evening, usually with a paper bag full of groceries and treats for Moby. You taught Joel how to make Paprikash and Japchae, you taught Moby how to fist bump with his nose (old dogs can learn new tricks), and you taught yourself how to laugh again.
Laughing. Such an odd thing to do in the aftermath of grief. Such a weird feeling to allow ones self to feel after weeks of chaos.
And Joel, he had his uses too.
Joel taught you how to do a fishtail braid, he taught you how to use a fly rod, and what the inside of a lighthouse looks like. Joel taught you how to smile again, he taught you what the feeling of freedom felt like once more.
Summer faded into autumn, and the orange and yellow trees began to paint the prettiest of pictures on the canvas of the coast. It held a certain nostalgia that summer had always failed to do for you, and the promise of apple cider and pumpkin scented candles floated through with every passing day.
It had taken some convincing, but Joel had swayed in to your demands, and you both sat at a tiny table in a tiny cafe, the steaming pumpkin latte swirling between his hands.
"So?"
He stared at it for a moment before meeting your gaze. "It's.... not half bad."
"Well, well, well. Looks like I was right. I knew you'd like it." You smiled through your victory, drinking your own iced coffee.
"I haven't been here in years." Joel explained, looking around at the decorations. Local art, framed photographs, and signed albums adorned the exposed brick walls, the glowing salt lamps on each table bathing the air with warm, orange light.
"You've been here before?" This coffee shop was old, you knew that much, but even when you were younger and frequented its counter with your high school friends, you can't remember ever seeing him here. And this was a small town- you knew you would have remembered his face, despite the wrinkles and grays. He still would have been Joel.
"Over two decades ago. Sarah loved this place."
"Sarah?"
His upper lip twitched at the sound of her name. Joel looked at you with heavy eyes, glossed over with the mark of grief. The kind of grief that settles in to your body as though it's its home, the kind of grief that sits beside you on the couch and never leaves. The kind of grief you were learning to grow beside.
"My daughter."
The air hung above your heads like a rainy cloud, thick and desultory. It fell across your shoulders like a fur coat, and you struggled to shake it all away.
"I didn't know that you..." Words were useless. They always were when it came to matters like this.
Joel drank his coffee in silence, tracing the ridges of the wooden table out with his eyes. "Don't like talking about her."
"We don't have to."
"Yes, we do." His voice was stern as he looked up at you, your gaze connecting. Joel's eyes were far away, searching for something in the recesses of his memory, or perhaps gaining the courage to speak to you.
"I've been alone for over twenty years." His voice was softer than you had ever remembered it being. "And then.... you were there. Just there. Laid out on the shore like a beached mermaid, shivering in the moonlight. I didn't know you... but I knew you. You were me in that moment. I had been you."
Your lips were pressed into a tight, thin line, and you watched as he spoke. There was a subtle shake to Joel's hands as he picked at his thumb nail, a tick you had picked up on the first week you had known him. The bouncing of his knee vibrated through the table.
"I know what grief is. I know the stain it leaves on someone's face. It was all over you.. just-just dripping."
You hadn't noticed the tears welling in your eyes.
Joel reached over, his palm engulfing your cold hand like a blanket, warming your skin up with his touch. He laced your fingers tight in to his own, cradling your palms close between his two hands.
"I know what all this does to a person. How it rots, how.... how it erodes. I knew I needed to help you."
"What's why you took me back to your house."
"Yes. That's why I bandaged you up, that why I made you tea, that's why I let you keep coming back. Because I wanted to help you, because I lov-"
"Are we doing okay over here?" A barista walked up with a smile, a tray in hand. "I'm just going to take these empty cups away! It's such a beautiful day outside."
You managed to shoot her a smile.
As she walked away, Joel continued staring at you, and there was a sense of something..... else in his eyes.
"Lets go back home? To- well, uh, to my home."
You nodded silently, letting go of his hands as you both walked out the door.
There was something unspoken between Joel and you, and it had settled between the two of you over the months. You knew that he knew, and Joel knew that you knew, yet it was never brought up, it was never allowed to spoken out loud. If it was spoken out loud, then it became real, and if it became real, then it would end up being a burden. Or a promise. Or a nightmare. Or a dream. Or a beautiful, welcoming, loving thing that lasted until the day you died.
How terrifying was that?
You don't know when you had started holding Joel's hand, but the walk back to the lighthouse was quiet and chilly.
Because I lo-
His words echoed through your skull with every single step you took along the cobbled path.
Lo, lo, lo, lo. Love? Loathe? Long? Look?
Your chest compressed against itself as your thoughts wandered. You must have been squeezing Joel's hand too hard, or your nails must have been digging into his skin too deeply, because he stopped and looked at you.
"Are you okay?" He asked quietly.
"I- um. Huh?"
"You're practically making me bleed with those nails of yours. Are you okay? Thinking about something?"
"Oh, I'm sorry." You muttered sheepishly, gently recoiling your hand away. Joel stopped you, placing it back in the grasp of his own. "I just... what were you going to say to me?"
"Hmm? Say to you?"
"Back at the coffee shop?"
"Oh." Joel shuffled his weight between both of his feet, his eyes shifting to meet yours. His warm, gentle, dark eyes. Those honeyed orbs of warmth that you had grown to love so deeply. Love? Oh, yes. You were certain it was love.
What part of Joel Miller didn't you love? He had rescued you from much more than that shore on that fateful night. Fate. Hell of a thing, that.
Joel squeezed his eyes shut. It was like ripping off a band-aid. When he spoke, he opened them once more, allowing his words to drip off his tongue. They were soft, gentle, they swayed through the tresses of your hair like a breeze through a field of flowers.
"I love you."
And there it was.
Time must have stopped. Your ears rang with silence, the weight of the universe funneling and funneling, closer and closer to your head until there was nothing. No noise. No air. No nothing.
Joel stared at you with a blank expression on his face, as though he couldn't believe what he had just said.
"I shouldn't have... that was- I'm sorry."
You took a step towards him, his hand was still wrapped around your own. You felt the subtle sheen of sweat on his palm, you tasted the tang of metal on your tongue from biting your cheek too hard, too deep, too long.
You knew it as sure as the sun rose in the east, you knew it with every vein in your body, with every hair on your head. You loved him, too.
Oh you did, didn't you? What a fool you were for him. If he told you to jump, you would jump. If he told you to run away with him, you would ask where. Joel Miller had bewitched you, every ounce of you, and you couldn't bare the thought of leaving him, or forgetting him, or even worse- never meeting him.
Some brave rush of courage overtook you, and before you could think you had grabbed his face in your hands and pressed your mouth into his own, nearly knocking him off his feet with the force of your movement. Joel's hands instinctively grabbed your waist, and his back found the support of a stop sign. The tips of his fingers gently dug into your waist, and he held you close and tight to his chest. You could feel the beating of his heart against his torso, pumping and pumping and pumping its vibrations into your own chest, ricocheting through your body as you tasted him on your tongue.
You pulled away only when your cheeks ached, burying your face in to his chest, allowing the smell of Joel to overcome you. He always smelled like the sea air and cotton, sweet and nostalgic against your nose.
"Lets get home." He whispered in your ear.
Home. He hadn't corrected himself. Home.
Joel's fingers refused to leave yours, locked tight as you made it to his house. Moby greeted you with a kiss to the knee, waddling back to his bed with a heavy huff of air. You gave him the bone you always picked up for him on the way there, before turning around to see Joel in the kitchen, a cigarette in his mouth.
"Want one?" He asked as he brought the lighter to his mouth. You walked towards him, nodding. He took the item out of his mouth, before placing it between your own two lips.
Joel watched the way you took the cigarette, the way your glossy lips looked against the white sheen of paper.
"You're so damn beautiful. God, I just..." Joel shook his head as he kept his thoughts to himself, lighting another smoke before tossing the half empty pack on to the table.
"You just what?" Your voice echoed through the bellow of smoke, and you leaned against the counter, challenging him with your words.
"I just... got so many things I want to do to you."
You smiled, alluring eyes beaming up at him as you puffed and exhaled, slowly putting out the embers on the clay ashtray you had bought him months ago. "Like what?" Your words were teasing.
Joel watched you step towards him, and his chest rose and fell underneath the unlit kitchen light. He took in a deep breath of tobacco before flicking it in to the metal sink.
He'd deal with that later.
"How 'bout I just show you, baby?"
Your lip caught between your teeth as you nodded.
Joel had never moved so fast in his life, whisking you off to his room with a loud bang of his door. He had you nearly naked and on his bed in record time, his knee resting between your legs as he kissed you, the hair of his moustache tickling your nose.
He allowed you to grind yourself down on his leg, soft moans flooding in to his mouth as his tongue explored your own, tangling and dancing with one another as his fingers worked the back of your bra. Joel threw the material across the room, your breasts pressing in to his chest, nipples hard and tantalizing.
That was the first time Joel had pulled away. He left a trail of wet kisses down to your nipples, his lips wrapping around the stiff bud. You watched him suckle at your flesh, shivers causing the hair on your arms to stand up. His curls became tangled with your fingers, a leg resting on his shoulder as he adjusted himself, sucking and licking at your tits as though he were starved.
Your sweet melody of arousal was like music to Joel, who finally gathered the strength to pull away from your chest and move down between your legs, his mouth planting a flurry of pecks to your stomach. He hooked your panties in his fingers and tugged them off, large hands resting on your thigh as he spread them.
Joel stared at your pussy, now open and bare for his eyes. It glistened with arousal, the soft pink of your flesh causing his mouth to water.
"Jesus." He breathed out slowly, eyes darting up to your gaze. "You were made just for me, weren't you?"
You felt your cheeks heat up. You were. Oh, God, you were!
His free hand snaked up to yours, and you held it tightly, nervously. His hand was your anchor, tethering you to the ocean floor of his bedroom.
Joel leaned forward, his tongue pressing flat against your clit. You whimpered out once. He sucked it in between his lips. You whimpered out twice. He worked your aching bud until you were singing a song composed just for him, pants of hot, heavy air swirling through the four walls of his room.
He was devouring you. You were his Eucharist and your pussy was his prayer. Joel worked you in ways you had never been worked before, licking and sucking your pussy with the fervor that could only ever be found in a religion. You were his religion. His idol. His worship. His solace.
Oh, solace. What a sweet, sweet thing when it was found in you.
Joel's chin was quickly soaked in your sweet wetness. He would have drowned in you if you had let him.
His tongue pushed deep in to your folds, exploring your most precious pf places, tasting every inch of you like a starved man, like a frenzied man, like a mad man.
You were his. He was yours.
Your hips were bucking, your body like a wild animal caught in a trap. Except you weren't in a trap. You were in his arms. His strong, thick, heavy arms, and ecstasy was overtaking you. His tongue was coaxing you towards an explosive orgasm, the likes of which had never been known to you. Not one so intense. Not one at the hands of a man who loved you.
Joel's grip tightened around your own, his lips sucking at your clit, tongue tapping and swirling, licking and lapping.
You could barely get any warning out before your orgasm rushed through you, thighs shaking with earthquakes of pleasure. Your fingers tugged at his hair, holding his head tight in place. Joel licked you through the height of your euphoria, sucking softly at your bud before you could barely take it anymore, before you had to gently push his head away.
"Joel." You whispered, staring at the ceiling as the white hot heat of your climax rushed over you. "Joel." You spoke it like a mantra. His name was a promise to you.
"Baby?" He climbed over you, weight supported by his elbows, and allowed the tip of his nose to gently brush over yours.
"Take me." You whispered, the palms of your hand moving to his cheeks. They were warm, and you could smell your pussy on his facial hair. You leaned forwards, kissing him, tasting your cum and his spit. A moan tumbled out of your mouth, straight through your teeth.
"Make me yours. Fuck me." You begged, although Joel didn't need any begging.
"Anything for you."
His boxers were off in the blink of an eye, and you glanced down at his cock. Tanned, slightly curved, hanging low and heavy, the mushroom tip gleaming with pre-cum. Your mouth was watering at the site, but his grasp on your chin moved your line of sight to his face.
Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and a soft gasp escaped you at the feeling of the tip of his cock pressing against your folds. He grinded against you, his shaft rubbing up and down the folds of your pussy, jolts of electricity causing you to shiver each time he brushed your clit.
Joel was teasing you. He was making you in to a mess. A mess all for him.
His eyes never left yours. Joel watched you lovingly, noses pressed tight, lips brushing past the others. You were as close as two people could possibly be, and you were unsure where his skin ended and yours began. Stray curls of his hair tickled your forehead, and your chests rose and fell in unison.
"I love you." His breath was hot against your face.
"I love you too-" He pushed his length in as you spoke, stretching out the lips of your pussy, hitting deeper than anything had before. You moaned out a wanton noise you had never heard before, nails gently digging in to his shoulders.
Joel sat there for a moment, heavy eyelids half closed. He was soaking you in, literally, allowing himself to relish in the feeling of being inside of you. Of being one with you.
He had not afforded himself many of life's pleasures. Not after Sarah had died. Not after he had let himself go. He had paced the same shore as you many moons ago, gun in hand, trying to urge himself to just put the barrel in his mouth and pull the trigger. It sounded so easy.
But something had stopped him. Something hadn't let him.
He had wondered, many years after that, why he hadn't done it. He had wondered what could possibly be worth living.
And then he saw you.
In that very same spot, rotting beneath the silver light of the moon.
It was you. Everything had been for you, hadn't it?
And now there you were, beneath him, as pretty as a picture, the embodiment of everything he had ever yearned for, everything he had ever dreamed for. You were everything to Joel, and he was everything to you.
And now there he was, deep inside of you. You were all he could feel, all he could smell, all he could see. You, you, you. The most beautiful thing he had ever saw, the most wonderful thing he could have ever waited for.
The shiver of your body brought him back down to reality. He kissed you deeply, and all you could do was smile against his mouth.
Lucky. That is what you were. That is what you both were.
"You feel so good." You whispered softly, hands gently running down the back of his head, finding a resting spot on the broad stretch of his freckled back.
Joel rubbed his cheek against yours, slowly moving his hips, grinding down against you, eliciting a sweet moan out of you. "Yeah?"
You both giggled in unison, and he watched your eyes shut as he began to pump deep inside of you. The feeling of your nails pinched at his skin.
Joel glanced down, watching his cock disappear into the depths of your cunt, sloppy noises of your arousal filling the air. Your pussy lips looked so pretty wrapped around his length, your wetness looked so pretty glistening off his cock.
You were made for him, and he for you.
"Take me, Joel." You begged, and his movement increased, growing slightly rougher as his forehead met yours, lips pressing together once more.
"God, you're so beautiful. So fucking beautiful. So fucking pretty. You feel so fucking good. This pussy.... fuck. Fuck, I never want to leave it." He was rambling through his thrusts, hand reaching down to rub at your swelling clit.
"Fuck me, Joel. Fuck me." You whined out, bucking up against the touch of his fingers as he fucked you harder in to the mattress.
"You're my girl. You're my beautiful fucking girl. God, you're everything to me. You're my world." His breath was hot against your face as he kissed you, coaxing you towards another orgasm with each rub of his middle finger across your clit.
"That's a good girl. I can feel you getting closer. I can feel that pussy tightening against me."
Your back arched off the mattress as you cried out his name, moaning as his praises filled your ears. Joel rested his face in the crook of your neck, hips slapping in to your thighs as he filled you up with every inch of his length.
"That's my girl, that's it, baby. Cum for me."
You did as he said. There was no use in holding back. As your orgasm rushed through, his own was approaching. Your name tumbled off his lips, the only word he could remember, as he came deep inside your walls. His hot cum filled you to the brim with a warmth you had never experienced, and Joel kept slowly pumping as his high rushed off, as his orgasm died down.
You shivered beneath him, another kiss being planted on your mouth. Then you cheeks. Then your nose. Then anywhere else Joel could get to.
A moan tumbled off Joel's tongue as he slowly slipped out of you, falling beside you before grabbing you and pressing you in to his chest.
"Stay with me."
"I always do." You whispered in to his chest.
"No, stay with me. Permanently. This can be our home."
"Our home." You whispered quietly, nuzzling closer into his body.
"Our home." He established firmly, resting his palm on the crown of your head.
The world would always spin, and sorrow would always lurk. That was how the world worked. That was the way of the universe. When you both awoke in the morning, the pain of yesteryears would still be there. The horrible, nasty tug of old memories and distant lives would always be somewhere deep within you.
The cosmos, however, were full of possibilities. You could have stayed in your parents home and succumb to a darkness greater than yourself. Joel could have drank himself to death or tasted the metal of a bullet. Those waves could have taken you, and he could have never decided to take a walk down to that beach.
There were many what if's.
But right now you were alive with passion, eyes wide and awake with a newfound love. The bitterness had gone, and something much brighter and better was waiting for you in the future.
Beside you, Joel Miller sat puffing on a cigarette, smiling at you through dreamy eyes. The sheen of sweat was still glistening across his chest, and the gentle smirk on his lips reflected the tales of a lovesick fool.
"Ready to go again?" He asked cheekily, handing you the smoke.
You took it with a smile.
For now, grief would have to wait.
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Summary: It's the FBI 4th of July party and Agent Pike comes to your rescue.
Word count: 2.7
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, fluff, Reader wears a dress and wedges but is otherwise a blank state, self-deprecating thoughts and feelings of inadequacy (on Reader's part), no use of y/n, this is my first time writing Marcus I have never watched The Mentalist
A/N: Written for @iamasaddie 's writing challenge 2.0. My genre was pining and my prompt was "You're so full of shit" (I just yeeted this one in the story, I don't know, man). Like I said, I've never written for Marcus but I wanted to do something different than Frankie so here it is, thanks for giving me inspiration to do it! I'm not a native speaker, this is unbeta'd. I hope you enjoy and I'd love to hear what you think of it!
It seemed like a good idea at the time. To buy a dress with pockets. A cute, flowery summer outfit. Also practical. You should probably have tested the depth and width of said pockets beforehand.
Because right now, itâs a struggle to pull your phone out of it, stuck at the seams.
Desperately trying not to rip it open, in the middle of the 4th of July party with the entire Bureau there, or almost. The first time you even put the dress on. The bottle of soda in your other hand is close to spilling on it and letâs not talk about the plate you precariously balance, two fingers holding on to it for dear life.
What a stupid idea it was, to find the flower blooms on the edge of the lawn so breathtaking that you just had to go take a picture of them.
You tug on your phone again, thumb stuck between it and the dress. A sharp tug and you feel and hear the food tumbling down to the grass. And you curse. Tug again.
âHere! Wait! Hold on. Let me help you.â
Your savior. Making a quick jog to your side. Not in shining armor but in a crisp white tee-shirt and some shorts. The most casual youâve ever seen him dress. Sometimes after work, when you go out for drinks with your colleagues, heâll loosen his tie and forego the jacket and thatâs already a pretty sight. And thatâs without including the evening he even popped the top buttons of his shirt open and rolled up the sleeves for a game of pool and youâd lost track of your conversation with the girls.
Today is different, muscles flexing as he takes the soda from you, a helpful smile on his face, those same sunglasses that always drive you insane and you feel your face heat up, blood pumping underneath the skin. And not just from embarrassment.
Somehow youâd have preferred it if heâd chosen to help tug on your phone. Those hands, those fingers, so close to your skin, flimsy dress that would have let you feel his touch as if it had been on your naked skin.
That would have been better.
Still your savior, clicking his tongue at the food at your feet.
âCanât do much about that, though.â
âDead on impact?â
âIâm afraid so.â
âFeast for the ants.â
He chuckles at the quip, at the triumphant âahahâ as finally, finally, your phone is free.
âThanks, Marcus.â
âNo problem.â
They do touch you, his fingers, when they brush yours, taking your drink back from him. Sparks through your veins, up your spine to the small hair on the nape of your neck. Beads of sweat in the hot summer afternoon and heâs so close still. Smells like fresh laundry and the barbecue he was helping with, swirls of the scents surrounding you as he stays there, watches you snap your pictures.
âIâve always wished I could have a garden like that.â Your boss has a fantastic one. And a house. And the pool where the children are having their best life. âInstead I have a windowsill and try as I might, Iâll never have room for that many,â you sigh.
Too small, not enough pots and not enough space, and real estate doesnât care if youâd like tulips and dahlias and daffodils on end, prices are still through the roof.
âI had a plant,â Marcus supplies, hands in the pockets of his shorts, âand it justâŚ.didnât survive my last mission.â
Months away without really being able to check back home, if he can even call it home, and also heâd forgotten to leave a window open and perhaps he should have invested in the cleaning service the bulletin board had advertised. Perhaps then it wouldnât have been left in the dark. It could have been watered.
âOuchie,â you sympathize but he only shrugs.
âBut we got the bad guys so I suppose I can live with its sacrifice.â
âYeah, congrats on that by the way. I havenât had a chance to tell you yet.â
âI know. Itâs been crazy busy.â
Marcus sighs, rubs a hand down his face. So much paperwork after the arrests and itâs been a couple of weeks and yet, heâs still getting his footing back, trying to keep his head above water and not drown in all the files on his desk.
The long weekend, itâs more than welcome then. The breeze under the shade of the tree, the pink and orange and yellow and purple sprawled at his feet and the beer in his hand.
Not having to pretend anymore.
He scratches at his beard.
âI havenât even had time to shave.â
You almost swallow wrong, sputter. What a shame it would be if he did. And you almost blurt that out. Before your brain catches up on your tongue.
âI think it suits you,â you squeak instead.
âYeah?â
He rubs at his chin, takes a swig of his beer and itâs hypnotizing, the way his throat bobs and the facial hair on his jaw. Around his mouth when he wipes a runaway drop and what you wouldnât give to do the same. How soft his lips must feel and how coarse his cheek would be against yours. It wouldnât sting, though, you donât think. And if it did, heâd soothe it all, Special Agent Pike. Heâs sweet like that.
Always the highlight of your day when he drops by your desk. Sweet and nice with everyone, youâre no one special, just a colleague, which makes it even more inappropriate, how youâve been feeling about him. Almost from the moment you were introduced.
But itâll be a shit show, when you let him know and heâll be polite and kind when he lets you down. Except you wonât ever be able to talk to him again so youâd rather swallow it all down, bury it deep, if it means you can still see him on a regular basis.
âMaybe Iâll keep it then,â Marcus ponders, thumbing at his beard. âIf you like it.â
âItâs nice.â
âBut I mayââ
âShut up! Jeez, youâre so full of shit, Denvers! Yo, Pike! Get your ass over here!â
Perfect synchronization in how you both turn towards the barbecue and your colleagues in charge of the food there. The men who have so rudely interrupted you and the white cotton, it stretches on Marcusâs shoulders when he sighs, gives you an apologetic smile.
âSorry, duty calls.â
âI didnât know you were an expert at barbecuing.â
âIâm full of secrets like that. Can I get you another hot dog while Iâm at it?â
You barely got a bite or two of yours before dropping it and your stomach is starting to rebel at the lack of food. Butterflies at talking to him canât sustain you forever.
âOh, no, I can get it myââ
âAh, my pleasure. Anything for my favorite analyst. Hang on tight, enjoy your flowers.â
The crinkles around his eyes, peeking at the edge of his sunglasses, they stretch with his wide smile and his wink. They leave you flustered, staring at his back, eyes daring to dart lower to admire how he walks back to argue about cooking and charcoal and seasoning.
Flustered and enthralled and you hardly notice someone has taken Marcusâs spot by your side until they bump their shoulder against yours and grabby fingers tug at your sleeve.
âSo, do you think today might be the day?â
âUh?â
âWhen you finally ask Agent Handsome out?â
âAnd have to quit my job? Iâd rather not. Hi, love, how was your nap?â
The baby in her arms smiles big at you, tug a bit more on your dress and refuses to let go until his mother distracts him with the shiny rings on her fingers.
âAlways so dramatic, Iâd forgotten about that.â
âIs there something you havenât forgotten? Like, do you even remember your password?â
âNope. And I couldnât be happier about it.â
âNot coming back anytime soon then?â
Your work buddy whoâs spent the last year or so having a baby and caring for it and hasnât set foot in the office ever since. But you forgive her, the little boy is extra cute and claps as she lowers him and herself so he can look at all the bright flowers and the colors and then she groans, sits down in the grass.
Soft and warm and weight off your legs and your wedges when you join them and you could probably lie down and fall asleep, the lull of conversations everywhere a lullaby. Somewhat. Like the chirping of birds in the branches. Hidden.
âNot if I can help it. But donât change the subject. Pike?â
âHeâs very nice.â
âHeâs hot.â
âArenât you married?â
âWhat does that have to do with anything?â She shrugs. âHeâs still hot.â
âHe is,â you agree dreamily, fighting the urge to steal a glance at him. âBut itâsâit wouldnât work. He doesnât like me like that.â
âHas he told you that?â
No. Because youâd die of shame before admitting your feelings. Itâs only a crush. A silly crush youâve harbored for months and the stings of envy youâve felt when you caught him talking to another woman at the bar, weeks ago, they were so real that you went to bed crying at how pathetic you were. A silly crush you wish could pass and yet here you are.
No way Marcus Pike could ever be interested in you. Not when he can have anyone he likes. Heâs so gorgeous, way out of your league.
You tut instead of a proper answer, because he doesnât need to tell you for you to know he can do better. You tut and play with blades of grass instead. Your soda gone and thatâs a good thing, with how she shoves your shoulder again. Roughly.
âOuch!â
âFor a behavior analyst, youâre really shit at it when youâre off duty, arenât you? Look at him!â
A quick glance towards the end of the backyard, your eyes directly finding his, already gazing at you. Not dropping when they meet. Sunglasses dangling from the collar of his tee-shirt and paper plates in his hands. He holds one up to you, inquiring silently and you nod so fast, something cracks in your neck. Dizzying.
âIâm telling you. Heâs into you. Iâm sure if you ask him to show you his hot dog, he will.â
She wiggles her eyebrows, giggling at how you scrunch up your nose, annoyed that you canât retaliate with a shove of your own, that would upset the baby. Instead, you dramatically cover his little ears, glass bottle tipping in the sunshine, the last drops spilling in the grass. Refreshment for the ants.
âDonât listen to your mom, she says the grossest things.â
âThat doesnât make them any less true,â she whispers hastily, already scrambling back up, white petals in her sonâs little fist. âHi, Marcus!â
âHi, Cora! Iâdo you want this one? Iâll go get another one.â He offers her his plate and could he be more attentive, youâre melting. And not from the bright sun.
âIâm okay, thanks. This oneâs in need of a diaper change. Iâll see you later? Enjoy your hot dogs!â
You throw her a dark look as she scampers off, children a wonderful excuse. A dark look that Marcus canât see while heâs kneeling and sitting by your side. A groan at how low the ground is but then a contented noise at kicking his shoes off and feeling the grass against the soles of his feet and you think he may actually be trying to kill you.
Blissed out and carefree and so attentive, you donât even have to pretend he didnât get your hot dog right because amazingly, he did.
You hold the plate out, gaping. At it. At him. Astonished, not touching any of it.
âDid I forget something?â
Thereâs the mustard and the ketchup spilling from the bun. Onions and pickles on two little piles by it, not touching. And the bun is wholegrain. Where did he find it? It wasnât an option when you first went to get some food or you would have hoarded a couple.
âItâs perfect, Marcus. Howâhow did you know?â
âThatâs how you take it when you go to the food truck by the water, isnât it?â
Lunch break in the city, when the trees are blossoming, when itâs sunny enough to eat outside. The ripples of calm on the river, how refreshing it is. Away from phones ringing and artificial lights and the clink clink clink of typing on keyboards. What you most look forward to after winter.
âHave you been spying on me, Agent Pike?â
You dip your head, a teasing edge to your smile and the way he adverts his gaze from your mouth to your eyes, maybe Cora isnât that wrong. Or maybe the sun is in his face. How he squints and clears his throat.
âItâs a peaceful spot, isnât it? I go there, too, sometimes. For coffee. Saw you a couple of times. Always on the same bench.â
âFar enough away from the geese.â
âI figured. But Iâfor the record, I wasnât spying. Just happened to see you there and well, youâreâyouâre pretty to look at.â
He mumbles it really, around a mouthful of hot dog, the pink of his tongue darting out to lick the mustard and the salt and the grease at the corner of his mouth, eyes never leaving yours, boring into your very heart. How it beats wild against your rib cage and you canât seem to be able to break the spell.
The deep tone of his flirting, you think, at least you hope itâs what it is and not delusions that Cora has planted in your head. You canât quite hold your plate steady, fingers sweaty.
âYouâre just saying that,â you reply eventually and as you cast your eyes down you miss how Marcus frowns. You hear his confusion, though.
âWhy would I do that?â
âWell, because youâre you and Iâm...Iâm just me.â
âYes, youâre pretty. The first time I saw you there, by yourself, I meant to ask if you wanted company but you were reading and I didnât want to bother you.â
Adding some beauty to the marvelous scenery. Making it more serene in how unbothered you were by your surroundings, how captivated you were by the story on the pages and itâd have been a crime, to interrupt that.
âOh.â
Theyâre heavy, your eyelids, scared to bat open and up to catch him looking at you. A weight on your shoulders that hold them down, because what if heâs making fun of you. But itâs Agent Pike and Agent Pike doesnât do that. You donât think. Heâs never let his hand wander so close to you either. Fingertips hovering by the hem of your dress, the soft skin of your thigh and itâs almost like an electric shock, the barely there brush of a nail. Enough to make you snap your head up.
Blood pumping under your cheeks and in your ears and hot dogs completely forgotten.
âYouâre real pretty,â Marcus says again, lips parted and sincerity pouring out of his eyes, whispered into the world by velvet lips.
âThanks. You too.â
A stupid thing to say, you can do so much better, there are so many things you like about him and yet, your brain is frozen. Not that it upsets him, judging by how his face lights up and how it emboldens him, the simple words. How his fingers creep closer to you again, toying with the hem of the dress again. A longer brush of his skin on yours and thatâs certainly not going to help you find better vocabulary.
âDo you think next time I see you on that bench, I could come keep you company? I canât promise Iâll be as good as your book butââ
âYou will be.â Not doubt about it.
âGood. Monday?â
Youâve always loved Marcusâs dimples, how they shine when he laughs or genuinely smiles and right now, theyâre all you can see. And theyâre here because of you and it almost seems too good to be true.
Except it is. True. How warm his hand is when you cover it with your hand. Greasy and clammy.
âYeah, Monday.â
I'd love to hear what you think!!
Thank you @saradika-graphics for the dividers!!
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yes!!! more of this!!! realisitic sex!!!!
Stiff (no outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader - age gap)
Moth's Masterlist // Add yourself to the tag list
pairing: no outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader
rating: E!!! 18+MDNI
summary: As Joel's getting older, his body isn't working the way it used to. Luckily, you're happy to help him out.
contents: erectile dysfunction, age gap, anxiety, Joel is old (affectionate), m masturbation, oral sex, p in v sex, reader is able bodied but not described, moth never uses y/n.
wc: 2k
a/n: There was a post going around a couple weeks ago about Joel taking a long time to finish as he gets older. Well, I made it worse for him. Sorry to this man. Thanks @ezrasbirdie for betaing and being a slut for Joel even if his dick doesn't work.
...
Joelâs nervous in a way he can only remember from his youth. Back when girlsâ bodies were a mystery to him. Itâs his own thatâs the real conundrum these days.Â
Heâs been seeing you for over a month now and he likes you. A lot. He wasnt sure he would considering Tommy set the two of you up and there were more than a few years between you. Joel hasnât dated for a while but heâs glad he took a chance on you.
Youâre a great girl. Knock out looks. Funny, smart. The kind of woman he wouldnât mind introducing to Sarah.Â
Only problem is, one day heâs going to have to fuck you.Â
Not that he doesnât want to. Heâd love to. Heâs thought about it more than he should.Â
He imagines how warm and tight youâd feel around him as he tugs at himself in the shower. Pictures your pussy swallowing him whole. Sometimes he thinks about what your mouth would feel like, those beautiful lips wrapped around him.Â
But heâs too chicken shit to do it.Â
Heâs getting up there. 56 years old and his dick doesnât work the way it used to. It happens every once in a while, no matter how horny he is. Things just go soft. Â
Heâs already self conscious about seeing a younger woman. Heâs caught himself examining the grey hairs at his temple before a few dates. Maybe itâs time for some Just For Men. Silver hairs are one thing. He doesnât think he can withstand the humiliation heâd feel if he couldn't make it to the finish line with you.Â
The worst part is, you want it. Thereâs no playing coy with you. You donât hesitate to invite him back to your place after drinks. You initiate deep, lurid kisses in his truck. You wear slinky lace panties that beg to be seen. Â
You must think heâs some kind of saint the way heâs insisted on going down on you with no reciprocation. Each time you reach for the fly on his jeans, he demurs.Â
âThatâs alright, darlinâ. Just want you to feel good.â
His cock throbs, balls ache.Â
He wants to do it, to plunge into that pussy heâs made all messy and wet. But heâs terrified heâll start and find himself dying inside of you, shriveling up like a raisin. Thirty years ago, he wouldnât have lasted five minutes. Now, heâs afraid he canât keep it up. Heâll never hear from you again when you realize heâs an old man with a limp dick.Â
Tonight you asked him over to watch a movie. He knew exactly what that meant. Itâs been playing in the background for thirty minutes as you climbed into his lap to kiss him. You slide yourself rhythmically across the growing lump in his pants, slow, steady strokes. He can feel the heat of your pussy through the fabric and, fuck, he wants you.
He holds your hips against him so you can get more friction and you moan. You can use him to get yourself off and maybe thatâll be enough.
âJoel, I want you to fuck me,â you breathe against his ear.
âYeah?â he asks. Heâs buying time, trying to think of an excuse.
âPlease donât make me beg,â you whine.
He looks at you, all disheveled and needy. Youâve stripped off your shirt and your bra strap hangs off of one shoulder. Your body feels so soft on his. Itâs too much to take. He swallows hard.Â
âLetâs go to your room,â he says.Â
Thereâs more time for preamble once the two of you have changed locations. More kissing to get back into the swing of it, clothes coming off piece by piece.Â
Joel makes one more last ditch effort to snake between your legs mumbling something about getting you ready. You stop him.Â
âIâm already soaking for you,â you whine.Â
He gives up.Â
âDo you have a condom?â he asks. Maybe you wonât and he can pretend the one in his wallet doesnât exist.Â
âYou donât have to. Iâm on the pill,â you say.Â
Joel hates himself. Youâve practically gift wrapped your pussy and put it on a silver platter for him. He should be elated for this.Â
You sense his hesitation and your brows knit together.Â
âIâve been tested. But we can use a condom if you want,â offer like youâre trying to save him the embarrassment of admitting he has a venereal disease.Â
You look like youâre about to ask him why heâs acting so squirrelly and heâd rather drive off a cliff than say it out loud.Â
âNuh uh. I wanna feel all of you,â he says.Â
Despite his anxiety, itâs true. Heâs fantasized about this moment as much as heâs dreaded it. Â
You recover quickly, giggling with anticipation as Joel settles between your thighs.Â
In the soft clutch of your cunt, Joel has no regrets. Itâs absolute bliss. Heâs not sure heâs capable of being anything other than hard inside of you.Â
âThat feel good?â you coo.Â
âFuck,â is the only answer heâs capable of.Â
You clench around him, egging him on, and he lets out a groan. He rolls his hips back and plunges his cock deeper. The heady feeling of being surrounded by you is perfection.Â
Heâs ravenous for you. He buries his face in your tits, grips onto the bend in your knee, bites at your jawline. Each time he denied himself this pleasure has made him exponentially aroused.Â
The sounds that come from you drive him crazy. Little moans and whines with each thrust. You weave your fingers into his hair and dig your fingernails into his shoulder.Â
âTake it so good,â he grunts. âPretty little thing.â
He shouldnât have waited for this. He should have fucked you every time you opened your legs to him. He should have gotten those pills so he could go on fucking you until you had tears in your eyes.Â
And then it happens. He keeps driving his hips into you but he canât reach as deep, isnât being hugged with that snug fit. First frustration fills him. Then utter humiliation.Â
You can tell. He knows you can. Youâre not making as much noise and when he dares to look at your face, he sees the slightest hint of concern.Â
Heâs sweating from his exertion but a chill runs down his spine. Shame and fear, despair. It feels like the rug has been pulled out from his feet.Â
âShit. Need a break,â Joel says.Â
âYeah,â you respond.Â
Heâs breathless when he rolls off of you. He fists his cock, willing it to spring to attention.Â
âIt ainât you he insists. Youâreâ fuck, youâre incredible. Gorgeous.â His head falls back against the pillow as he tries to regain his breath.Â
He can imagine you having cosmos with your girlfriends, telling them all about the old geezer that couldnât fuck you porperly.
âI ainât a young man anymore.â
It feels like another nail being driven into his coffin. He notices his age more and more. His back hurts, knees complain. Tommy ribs him when he sits on palettes of tile with a groan.Â
Just as Joel feels like heâs got one foot in the grave, you speak up.Â
âIâm glad youâre not,â you say. Youâre trying to catch your breath too. âJoel, I've never come with a guy my age. Most of them wonât even eat pussy.â
That only adds to his self loathing.Â
âI was justâ I was trying to avoid this,â he admits.Â
It doesnât feel right to accept your praise when he had ulterior motives. You sit up on your elbow, you other hand gliding across the plane of his chest.
âSo you wouldnât have gone down on me?â you say.Â
âNo. Course I woulda,â he says.Â
âEven though it took me, like, 45 minutes to finish?â
âThatâs alright,â Joel says. Heâd loved every second of it, his cock begging for relief as you writhed under this tongue. âI donât care how long it takes you.âÂ
âWell, me either,â you assure him.Â
Youâre circling his damp skin with a soothing touch and your hand inches down his belly.Â
âYou still want to come, right?â you whisper.Â
He nods. The need is still there, just as it has been from the very first time he kissed you. Heâs touched himself to the thought of you but itâs never been enough. Heâs desperate for it now.Â
You kiss him and bring his hand to cup your breasts. Heâs not sure he deserves thisâ your compassion, your patience. But weeks of fear and embarrassment begin to melt away as Joel focuses on the taste of your tongue, the warmth of your skin under his touch.Â
âI bet I can get you hard,â you purr. The fine edges of your teeth rake against his earlobe before you get up.Â
You swing your leg over to straddle his middle, your back facing him. He runs his palm up your bare skin, from your hip as far as he can reach to your shoulder blade. A beautiful expanse of delicate skin, coated with a sheen of perspiration. You look at him over your shoulder with a seductive look, eyes hooded, bottom lip caught in your teeth.Â
He groans and grips a handful of your ass. You respond by arching your back.Â
âCan I tell you something?â you ask.Â
âUh huh,â is all that he can manage.Â
âI was so excited to see you, to do this, last night I was touching myself,â you admit.Â
âYeah?âÂ
The thought of it increases the arousal thatâs already coursing through him. You, twisting in your sheets, fingers coated in that sweet slick. Or maybe you used a toyâ a smooth little purple thing or maybe one of those big wands that could jackhammer the knots out of his back. Filthy images fly through his mind.Â
âNot the first time,â you say. âBut itâs not as good as the real thing.â
You lean down and through your legs, Joel can see the heavy swell of your breasts. Your peaked nipples sway against his lower belly. As your legs spread wider, he can see your pussy throbbing, convulsing.Â
Everything is revealed like this. Itâs obscene. The curve of your ass is presented, open so he can see your hole. Your lips shine, swollen and slick with release. Dripping for him.
If this doesnât get him hard, he ought to give up and become a monk.Â
You moan against him. Itâs a little much, pornographic and almost silly but he needs it. Joel focuses everything on the sounds, the feel of your weight on him.Â
âPut your fingers in me,â you command.Â
Two digits slide easily into your cunt and you press your hips back towards him. Your breath catches with each rock of your ass. His senses are overwhelmed by you. Soon. Soon heâll be back inside you, fucking you properly. Â
And then you put your mouth around his half-hard cock. Hot and unbelievably wet, your tongue coaxes him on. Sloppy noises come from your lips as he begins to twitch back to life.Â
Itâs exquisite torture. The strain in his belly courses lower and he grits his teeth. All of this for him. An old man that ought to be taking those blue pills. Youâve become a little vixen to make him feel young again.Â
By now his cock has awoken, harder even than before. Probably hardest itâs ever been.Â
âOkay. Okay, darlin,â he pants. âIâve got to fuck you right now.âÂ
You lose no time, pulling off of him and scooting down over his thighs, still facing away. You line his stiff cock up to your entrance and sink down over it. This new angle grips him even tighter and he hisses as you draw him in deeper. Itâs an obscene view. Joel looks down his chest to see his cock disappearing within you as you ride him. He watches himself fuck you, holding onto your hips so hard heâs afraid he might hurt you.Â
âTurn around, darlinâ,â he manages. âWant to see you.â
You pull off and quickly flip around, your hand tracing his cheek once heâs back inside of you.Â
âSo good for me,â you say.Â
The sight of youâ radiant and triumphantâ inspires him to press his feet against the mattress and fuck up into you. Heâll probably regret the strain on his back tomorrow but now, he needs to bury himself deep inside of your cunt before he loses it again.Â
âCanât believe I waited so long to fuck this pretty pussy,â he says. âYou wanted it so bad. Filthy girl.â Heâs babbling senselessly, lost in his own pleasure.Â
The delicious tension and heat wind in his belly. Each thrust brings him closer to the edge.Â
His orgasm hits him so hard he practically roars as he spills into you. His hips stutter, every muscle in his body goes taught. Just as quickly it unspools and he nearly collapses under you.Â
You lay your head on his shoulder, your palm pressing to where his heart beats erratically. You both struggle to catch your breath.Â
âNot bad for an old man,â you tease.Â
He lets out a tired laugh before hauling you in for another kiss.Â
--
Comments and reblogs always appreciated! My asks are always open!
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Caught in 4k
Din Djarin x F!Reader
Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist
Summary: You catch Din watching porn and discover his secret; his breeding kink.
Word count: 1.8k
Warnings: reader is able-bodied, canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), established relationship, porn, heavy on the breeding kink, daddy kink kinda, dirty talk, fingering, oral sex (F receiving), vaginal sex, creampie, helmet comes off, pet names, no use of y/n
Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics Fic recs: @kelbellsficrecs
Itâs been a long week. You and Din have barely seen each other. That seems impossible given the small confines of the Razor Crest. Your schedules have just been opposite from each other lately. And itâs driving Din insane, in more ways than one.
He misses how you feel when you sleep, your back pressed up against his chest with a protective arm slung around your waist. He misses your conversations in bed, recapping your day to each other, being the person you both come home to at night.Â
But he also misses having you underneath him, squirming under his cock. Itâs been too long and the urge to cum is getting uncontrollable.Â
He doesnât normally masturbate. Unless youâre right there with him, telling him what to do, whispering in his ear, and making him melt. But this is a special circumstance. Itâs been days since he came and he feels like heâs going to burst. When he arrived back at the Crest you were already gone, running your errands. He doesnât know when youâll return and the ache in his balls is painful.Â
He sits in his bunk, looking at your data-pad at the foot of the cot. Heâs watched porn videos before but it was always with you, right before the two of you are about to have sex. If youâre not here to help him out, whoâs to say he canât watch something to give him a bit of inspiration?Â
He searches for a video, something to satisfy a certain kink heâs been hiding from you⌠his breeding kink.Â
Maker, he canât stop thinking about it. You have the implant so you wouldnât actually get pregnant. But it would be fun to pretend, to talk about knocking you up as heâs balls deep inside you, pumping you full of his cum.
His cock twitches against his flight suit.
Kriff.
Yeah, he needs to cum. Now.
He clicks on the first video under the breeding kink search results and pulls his cock out. But he wants to be extra comfortable. He lets go of his cock and takes off his helmet, setting it on the floor beside the bunk. He spits in his hand and returns to jerking off, watching the holo-vid with wide eyes. Itâs a man and a woman. He has her on her back, folded into a mating press, moaning in her ear about how heâs going to breed her, make her his, telling her how pretty sheâll look carrying his children.Â
He thinks about you carrying his children and his cock gets even harder. How everyone will know youâre truly his.
âIâm gonna fill you up, baby. You want that? You want daddy to breed you?â the man in the holo-vid says.
âYes, daddy. Please, I want it so bad,â the woman whines as the man is pounding her.
He thinks about you, shuddering underneath him while he has his way with you. Maker, where are you? This is certainly getting the job done but it could be so much better than this.Â
Heâs so enthralled in the experience he doesnât hear the exit ramp lowering. He doesnât hear your footsteps. He doesnât hear you set your bags down.Â
You lean against the door frame and he still doesnât notice you.Â
âGonna stuff you full of my cum,â the man moans.
âYes, daddy. Please. Breed me. Fill me up,â the woman whimpers.
Your eyes widen at those words.Â
Breed me.Â
You had no idea about this secret little kink of his.
âDin?â you say, ripping him from his bliss.
He startles with a jolt, almost dropping the data-pad. He looks at you with wild eyes, skin slick with sweat all while his hand is still wrapped around his cock.Â
âCyarâika, when did you get back? Iâm sorry you had to see that. I-â
Heâs rambling so you cut him off.
âHow long?â
âHow long what? How long have I been masturbating?â
âHow long have you had⌠this kink?â
âUhh.â
âYou can tell me.â
âA while,â he says, putting his cock away and standing to meet you.
âHow long?â you press.
âFor a long time! I just never told you about it.â
âWhy?â
âI just⌠I was afraid you would judge me.â
âWhen would I ever?â
âI donât knowâŚâ he starts, trailing off. But then he realizes⌠You didnât explicitly say no.Â
âPlease, can we try it?â he says, falling to his knees. His are wide, pleading with you.
âI have the implant,â you chuckle, âYouâre not getting any babies from me for a long time.â
You run your fingers through his curls and look down at him. Itâs just dirty talk. Itâs not like youâll get pregnant. But itâs still funny that you caught him in the act, that you discovered his little secret.Â
âPlease. Itâs all talk, cyarâika,â he begs.
âFine. Show me what youâve been watching.â
He blinks twice in disbelief as you start to get undressed, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it on the floor. He stands and grabs your waist, bringing you close and planting his lips on your neck.
âReally? You mean that?â he moans into your skin.
âIâll try anything once,â you shrug, âBut let me finish getting undressed,â you say with a chuckle.
Reluctantly, he takes his hands off you, letting you get undressed while he does the same, shedding pieces of armor and putting them in a neat stack on the floor. You watch as he strips his flight suit, his cock springing free from the fabric as he kicks off his boots.Â
You two stand in front of each other, completely bare and admiring every little detail. It doesnât take long for his hands to be glued to you, fingertips sinking into your skin, holding you tight as if youâre going to slip away. He directs you to the bunk, gently coaxing you to lie down. He hovers over you, large hands palm your inner thigh, You spread your legs apart and he marvels at how wet your cunt is already.Â
âYouâre so wet for me already, cyarâika,â he teases, running two fingers along your entrance. âBet you want me to pump you full of my warriors.â
Bet you want me to pump you full of my warriors.
Your mind just about short circuits at that. A shiver of anticipation runs down your spine. He brings his fingers to your mouth and like a reflex you open it, knowing what heâs asking for. You suck his fingers, getting them nice and slick for him. You maintain eye contact the whole time, obscenely swirling your tongue around and putting on a show for him. His mouth falls open, watching you suck his fingers like such a good girl until he canât help himself anymore. He needs to feel you coming around his fingers now.Â
He takes his fingers back to your cunt, thrusting both of them inside you slowly. Your breath hitches at the sudden girth inside you. His other hand grips your chin as he lowers his face to hover above yours, looking into your eyes deeply.Â
âYou can take it,â he reminds you, curling his fingers against your g-spot.
He lets go of your chin and lowers himself in between your thighs. He watches the wetness seep from you, running down his fingers and onto his hand. He goes for your clit, mouth latching around the sensitive spot and sucking for dear life. This man is aching to make you cum like his life depends on it.Â
Your back arches up off the bunk, the tension in your core breaking loose. Your cunt clenches his fingers and he hungers for that feeling around his cock. He continues to pump his fingers in and out of you throughout your release, mouth never leaving your clit. It borders on overstimulation until heâs finally done satiating himself, getting drunk off your scent and taste.Â
When he looks up at you his chin is dripping. He swipes the wetness away with his thumb and pops it in his mouth, moaning at the taste. Always such a slut for you and only you.
âYou taste so good, cyarâika⌠so sweet,â he moans, swiping two fingers up your cunt one more time for a final taste.Â
He rests on the back of his heels as he strokes his cock, collecting more of your wetness to lubricate himself. He looks down at you, lips curled into a smirk as he tells you the filthiest things.Â
âGonna stuff you with cum, meshâla,â he says, hovering over you and aligning his cock with your entrance. Just before he thrusts into you he adds, âBut not until you beg for it.â
You go to respond but youâre cut off with a moan, his cock entering you and splitting you apart.
âCan you do that for me? Can you be a good girl and beg for me to breed you?â
âYes,â you breathe, voice high-pitched and filled with arousal.Â
He draws his hips back and slams into you, hands resting by either side of your head. The look on his face is one of pure lust, fueled by a primal instinct.
âWhat are you waiting for? Beg.â
âI want you to breed me,â you beg, eyes wide and pleading with him. He thrusts into you over and over again, an unforgiving pace as he makes your cunt his.Â
âNot good enough.â
âI need you to breed me,â you whine, voice incessant and needy.Â
âTell me how bad you need it.â
âSo bad,â you whine, âMore than anything.â You reach your hand up to his hair and entangle your fingers in his locks, tugging on them as he rails you.Â
A deep and guttural moan escapes his throat like you just unlocked something inside him. His thrusts grow faster and harder. Your second orgasm is nearing, core muscles tensing up in anticipation again. Tears spring in the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over.Â
âIâm gonna-â he starts, cutting himself off.
âPlease. I need it. Fill me up,â you beg, just as you finally cum. The sensation of your orgasm draws his own from him. At long last, youâre filled with his spend, cock pumping in and out of you, sending it even deeper inside you.Â
Heâs delirious at this point, moaning over and over.Â
âMmm gonna pump you full of my warriors.â
âYouâll be so pretty carrying them, meshâla.â
âAnd everyone will know youâre mine.â
With one final rut of his hips, heâs done, pulling out of you and lying beside you on the bunk. Itâs silent between you two as you catch your breath, the small bunk only filled with the sound of labored pants.Â
âSo⌠About that implant.â
You grab the pillow and playfully smack him with it, laughing as he puts his arms up in defense.Â
âDonât push your luck!â
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Oooh Iâm so excited to read more! I love Frankie and his daughterâs relationship!
Ch1: New Beginnings
teacher!reader x student's dad!Frankie Morales || W/C: 8.8k
Ch. Summary: Frankie gets introduced to a new opportunity for his daughter, Elena. You get introduced to your new job. In celebration of these new beginnings, you both set out to a night at the bar, completely unaware that your paths are about to cross.
Content/Warnings: F!reader (she/her), female sex anatomy, reader is able-bodied. No physical descriptions of reader. Slight description of readerâs outfit (no size descriptions). TĂo Santi (& TF Miller boys) makes an appearance. Slight implication reader understands some Spanish. Going out to bar/consumption of alcohol. Flirting. POV switch, mainly Frankie this chapter. SMUT 18+ MDNI. Sexual activity while under the influence of alcohol (you've slowed down your alcohol intake by that point, though). âAuthor Chose Not to Apply Archive Warningsâ because it may result in spoilers (but thereâs smut hereâŚ).
A/N: thank you to @honeyedmiller for proof-reading this for me, and thank you to @javierpena-inatacvest for peer pressuring me into giving my little idea an actual chance. I love love love you both sm𩶠to everyone, I truly hope you enjoy!! All my love xx
series masterlist || main masterlist || updates blog
August 2024
âThank you so much for coming in, Mr. Morales.â
âItâs no problem at all, Mrs. Adams, is- is, um, is everything okay? Is Elena doing alright?â Frankie asks the second grade teacher, concerned.Â
The school year hasnât started yet, but from time to time, the school does accelerated summer sessions that last a few weeks up until the actual start date of the school year. Elena always attends these sessions, begging her dad every summer to sign her up for one because I need to learn more! sheâd tell him. How could he deny her the chance to expand that beautiful mind of hers?
âOh, yes, everything is good! Elena is wonderful, and thatâs actually why I asked you to come in,â she states. âAre you aware of how smart that girl is?â
Frankie canât help the cheesy grin that spreads across his face. âYeah, sheâs always too excited to show me her progress reports and report cards, always pulling them out before we even leave the parking lot at the end of her days,â he beams.Â
âOh, I bet. She blows me away everyday, that girl,â Mrs. Adams says genuinely. âSo much so that I actually think she shouldnât be attending here anymore,â the teacher adds, softer than the rest of her previous statements.Â
Frankieâs eyebrows twist in confusion. âWhat do you mean?â
âWell, donât get me wrong, I love having Elena, and everyone in this school loves her, too. Sheâs one of our brightest. But,â she sighs. âShe is so damn smart, Mr. Morales. Iâd go as far as to say sheâs a prodigy.â
âOh,â Frankie says, pleasantly surprised and confused. He still doesnât know where sheâs getting at. He tells her as much.Â
âWhat Iâm trying to say is- Elena isnât getting the proper brain stimulation someone of her level needs. She needs to go somewhere that will increase her levels at the fast rate sheâs moving and somewhere that will stimulate the creative parts of her brain. Traditional public schoolâat least hereâcannot provide her with that.â
Frankie has always known his daughterâs natural intelligence. She often comes home either excited because they worked on a topic sheâs really good at, or she comes home really bored and exhaustedâbecause they worked on a topic sheâs really good at. Itâs too repetitive for her, but he wasnât sure what other options he had.Â
Frankie takes a moment to think. âEven if I did move her to a school that has all this, it sounds like it would cost a lot of money. Money that I unfortunately donât have right now,â he says with a heavy breath.Â
Mrs. Adamsâ smile grows ten times bigger. âMr. Morales-â
âFrankie, please,â he corrects.Â
âFrankie, thereâs a school for the gifted connected to our local university just a few miles down the way. I used to work there, and I have friends there. Please forgive me if Iâve overstepped, but Iâve spoken to the Director of Admissions. Thereâs a waitlist, and barely any get admittedâand itâs by semester, so youâll have to keep up with re-enrolling herâbut I told them all about Elena. They want her, Frankie. No waitlist. No tuition. They want her for this new semester. And I really think you should go for it.â
Frankie sits in Mrs. Adamsâ office, utterly stunned. Heâs sure his jaw is on the floor right now, eyes bugged out like those squeezable stress toys. âI- I donât know what to sayâŚâ Frankie trails off.Â
âI know itâs a big step,â the teacher comforts. âBut think about it.â She pulls out a card from her desk and hands it to him. âHereâs the directorâs card. Iâll reach out to them to make sure they know to expect your call.âÂ
Frankie knows this is a good thing. He knows these are once in a lifetime opportunities, and he knows if he goes through with this now, those rare opportunities wonât be so rare for her as she gets older. Thatâs all he wants for his daughter; nothing but opportunity and the right kind of challenges meant to help her grow as a person.Â
So why does he feel so nervous? Heâs dealt with change before, and heâs dealt with last-minute, under pressure change up in the sky where his life couldâve been on the lineâbut nothing compares to the anxiety when it involves Elena. Since she was born, she is all heâs ever known. Itâs been him and her against the world, and although some days are more difficult than others doing this parenting thing alone, Frankie wouldnât have it any other way.Â
He gives Mrs. Adams his thank yous and goodbyes, and makes his way to the front office. Itâs 12 oâ clock right nowârecess timeâbut he wouldnât doubt sheâs propped up against a pillar with her nose in a book. He decides to check Elena out early and take her to go get dessert.Â
âSheâll be escorted here in a few minutes,â the front desk lady tells him.Â
âThank you, maâam,â Frankie says, resting his back against the wall.Â
A few minutes pass and the officeâs door bursts open with the heartwarming sounds of his daughterâs giggles, an excited aura filling the room. âÂĄPapi!â she squeals, immediately wrapping her arms around the parts of her father she can reach.Â
âÂĄMija!â he says, matching her energy, pulling her in for a tight squeeze. He kneels down to reach her level, placing a kiss on her forehead before he speaks. âWanna go get dessert?â
Her eyes light up like a million stars. âPlease!!â she replies, her entire body shaking in Frankieâs grasp.Â
Frankie picks her up, and they make their way to the car. Buckling her into her car seat, Frankie settles himself to the driverâs seat and asks the burning question before he pulls off. âBrownie sundae spot or-â
âBROWNIE!â Elena replies immediately. Frankie has to slap his mouth to stop from the uncontrollable laughter bubbling out from his chest. He knew what her answer would be. âOkay, mija, brownie spot it is.â
Their usual brownie sundae spot is in a little diner up the street from their house. Frankie began this little tradition as a way to celebrate Elenaâs wins and milestones. The first milestone they celebrated was for her first word: airplane. Frankie was ecstatic, practically jumping up and down with Elena in his arms until his best friend, Santiago, had to calm him down. âAy, tranquila, tranquila,â relax, relax, he said, holding his hands softly around Elenaâs little head.
Todayâs milestone, however, is much bigger than any theyâve celebrated, and the notion is not lost on little Elena.Â
âPapi,â she calls. âAre we celebrating something?âÂ
Frankie chuckles to himself, loving how easily she can put things together. âWe might be, mi amorcito.â
âHm?â She hums, eyebrows furrowed and head tilted to the side as she settles into the booth seat, sitting across from her dad.Â
Their usual waiter comes before they can continue their conversation. âHey, guys! The usual?âÂ
Elena answers first, very excitedly. âYES, YES, BROWNIE SUNDAE!!!â She squeals as she elongates every syllable. Frankie confirms with a head nod as he chuckles at her energy.Â
âWhatâs the occasion?â The waiter says softer, directing the question to Frankie.Â
âWeâll see after I talk with this little lady,â Frankie tells the waiter, extending his long arm out to pinch Elenaâs little cheek.Â
The waiter smiles and walks off, putting the order in with the kitchen and asking for a little bit of a delay to give Frankie enough time to talk things through with his daughter.Â
âSo,â Frankie states.Â
âSo,â his daughter mirrors, putting on her best serious face while fighting the huge grin that wants to break free.Â
âDo you know how smart you are, mija?â Frankie asks, smiling because he knows what sheâs gonna say. Duh, papi, he thinks in his head.
âDuh, papi!â She says, a troublemaking giggle sheâs had since her babbling stages echoes their little corner of the diner.Â
âAlright, little smart ah-â Frankie coughs to stop his mouth. âYou little smarty pants,â he corrects himself.Â
âDaddy, were you about to call me a smartass?â She scolds.Â
His cheeks flush a bright red. âYou spend too much time with TĂo Santi,â he deadpans.Â
She hums, nodding her head triumphantly.Â
âAnyway,â he says, noting in his mind to scold Santi for his mouth around his little girl. âYouâre so smart, mija, I was wondering⌠well, I was wondering if you feel like youâre actually learning?â
âWhat do you mean, papi?â
âWell, everything youâve been learning so far is super easy for you, isnât it?âÂ
She ponders for a moment. âYeah, itâs easy,â she confirms.Â
âDoes it ever make you bored, how easy some days are?â
âA little, yeah,â she says a little softer. âBut itâs okay because I end up helping my friends, and Mrs. Adams tells me Iâm her assistant,â she giggles with pride.Â
âYouâre too good, amor,â he chuckles. âBut what if I told you,â he starts. Immediately, her interest is piqued. âA really fancy, really smart school heard about how smart you are?â
Her chocolate brown eyes widen, and her little jaw drops. âMe?! Really?!â
âYes, baby!â Frankie can feel his excitement rising alongside hers, his initial nervousness fading just as quick. âAnd what if I told you they want you to go to their school?â Elenaâs hands fly to her mouth, suppressing her squeals of joy. Frankie can hear her legs kicking back and forth underneath the table. âWould you wanna go, mi niĂąa inteligente (my smart girl)?â
âSo⌠Iâll learn harder things?â She asks.
âYes,â he swallows thickly. Frankie thinks sheâs having anxiety.Â
Itâs not. âThenâŚâ She settles for her usual diva answer. âDuh, papi!â She giggles, positively radiating pure excitement on this new journey sheâs about to embark on.Â
She wiggles out of her side of the booth to crash into her fatherâs arms, pulling him into the tightest hug ever. As she pulls away and settles next to Frankie, the waiter comes out with the sundae, Congratulations! written in cursive on the side of the plate. Elena reads the message with ease, scooping up the red icing with her finger and licking it up. âThank you!!â She exclaims to the waiter who murmurs a sweet smartest person I know with a ruffle to her curly head of hair.Â
The waiter looks at Frankie with a genuine smile, and Frankie returns it. This diner really has been there for all the Moralesâ family wins. Frankie wonders what other miracles just might happen in this little building.
For the first time in your teaching career, you are nervous.Â
Youâve dealt with gifted children before, and you had no problems juggling public school and the extra side lessons youâd give to the occasional gifted child. People tend to underestimate the amount of prodigal children in the world due to the constant brushing off these adults like to give to developing humans. These little children deserve as much respect and care that any other human deserves, maybe even more. The children are our future, after all.Â
So, now that youâre starting a new job, in a school dedicated to your lifeâs passionâyeah, youâre pretty nervous.Â
This school was created by the stateâs local university; it was their attempt at providing children with an enriching, stimulating environment that the typical school system couldnât care enough to provide, and their attempt was an absolute success. It will take a little while to get themselves off their feet, so tuition and enrolling students is expensive compared to what you would pay for your child in the public education system.Â
However, with time and careful planning, the programâs ultimate goal is to adequately provide to childrens of all needsâregardless of their prodigal statusâfor little to no cost. Itâs definitely an ambitious goal, but itâs one youâre absolutely ready and willing to stick around for.
You were hired this summer, August 1st to be exact. The principalâMs. Sabatinoâcaught wind of the powerhouse of a teacher who goes above and beyond for her students, and she just had to have you on her team. Your interview wasnât even a real interview: it was exchanging logistical information and showing you to your new home base, your new classroom. She told you if you wanted to take the time before the year officially started to make your classroom feel more like you, you could.Â
It took you about a week to settle the vibe of your classroom, and during your preparations, you met a few other teachers, instantly hitting it off with each other that they invited you to their âsemester pregame,â they called it.Â
âYou have to come, Ms. Powerhouse!â Ms. SmithâLinda, she corrected youâexclaimed.Â
âPowerhouse?!â You repeated, a little frightened. You knew coming in that the culture here was very tight-knit, but how fast does word really spread around here?
âYeah, you powerhouse, you!â Mr. WhiteâBlakeâchimes in. âYouâre all anyone is talking about! Honestly, weâve been dying to meet you.â
And lastly, Ms. MarshallâLeahâjoins in. âYouâre a real legend, ya know that, donât you? Sticking to the Rebel theme we got going on here,â she smirks, referring to their schoolâs mascot, the Rebels.Â
You flush under all their praise. âI really donât know what you guys are talking about,â you say softly. âIâm just trying to do whatâs best for our kiddos, like any of us would.â A proud smile graces your face, and not for the things youâve done, but for the amazing students youâve had the honor of meeting and teaching. There truly isnât a better feeling.Â
The three teachers share a knowing look, the one that tells you they think youâre just trying to be humble. Their hums of secret agreement donât escape your super-teacher hearing.Â
Ms. Marshall is the one to speak again. âAre you going to come though? We really would love to have you. Weâve been trying to find someone who can hold their alcohol better than Mr. Lightweight here can,â she cackles, pointing over to Mr. White, who now has an offended look on his face.Â
âIâll have you know-â he starts. âOh, Blake, enough with the excuses already!â Ms. Smith cuts him off.Â
You giggle at their banter, your apprehensiveness about this little squad slowly melting away. âIâm afraid if youâre looking for someone who can hold their own, that person is not meâŚbut I would absolutely love to join you guys. When and where is this pregame?â
âYAAASSSSSS!â Ms. Smith is quick to squeal. Sheâs definitely the life of the party with these three. âWe have it the Saturday before the semester starts! So, the 17th I believe. Itâs a bit risky depending on how plastered we end up getting, but itâs all a part of the fun,â she says with a wink.Â
You reach for your phone in your back pocket, unlocking and letting your three new friends put their phone numbers in. You group text them so they have your number, too. âPerfect! I canât wait,â you say sheepishly, your excitement slowly rising as their smiles begin to mirror your own. Itâs been a while since you let yourself go and get lost in something else other than work, and you think this little pregame is exactly what youâve been needing.
âOh, come on, Fish! You have to come out with us!â Santi tells you, giving Frankieâs shoulder a punch of encouragement.
Frankie hisses at the impact, swatting Santiâs hand away with a scowl. âNo.â
âFish,â Santi reasons. âThe Millers havenât seen you in a hot minute since my âLena girl was born, man. They miss you. Especially Benny, you know how sensitive that man gets. And! We need to celebrate this new chapter for you and âLena!â
âWe already celebrated,â Frankie corrects. âAt the diner.âÂ
âAn adult celebration, Fish. When was the last time you let yourself go?â
Frankie sighs. Santiâs right. âWho would watch Elena?â
âI already spoke with Yavonna last night,â Santi says, a tinge of hope laced in his voice.Â
âLet me talk to Elena-â
âFish, sheâll be fine-â
Frankie holds his hand out to signal Santi to shut up. âLet me talk to Elena,â he repeats, âand let her know our plans for tomorrow night. You know I donât do anything without running it through with her first.âÂ
Santiâs face is happier than a toddler getting ice cream for breakfast. He claps him on his shoulder, âFuck yeah, man! Frontier boys back at it again!â
Frankie grimaces. âPope, cĂĄllate, por favor,â shut up, please, he says, pinching the bridge of his nose as he kicks Santi out for the night.Â
âTell âLena TĂo Santi says buenas noches (good night) please since her daddy likes to kick me out so soon,â Santi taunts, a fake offended look on his face.Â
âNo,â Frankie says. Then he shuts the door.Â
Frankie lets a few moments pass to make sure Santi was out of sight before he calls out to his daughter. âBaby, tĂo Santi wishes you good night!â
Elena comes running down the stairs. âHe left already?!â
âYeah, sorry kiddo,â Frankie frowns, meeting her at the end of the stairs to kiss her forehead.Â
âItâs okay,â she says. âYou kicked him out again, didnât you, daddy?â
âY-yeah, yeah I did,â Frankie stutters. Thereâs no lying to this little Einstein.Â
âHey, baby?â Frankie says again, crouching down to his knees to meet her level. âDo you remember Yavonna? TĂo Santiâs girlfriend?â
Her gears turn before recognition sparks in her eyes. âYeah!â
âWell, would you be okay if papi went out tomorrow? And you and Yavonna have a girlsâ night?â He asks.Â
Elenaâs smile turns mischievous as she pulls her dad in for a hug, whispering in his ear. âAre you going on a date?â
âMmm, tĂo Santi is nice and all, but heâs too much a pain in my ass for me to wanna go on a date with him,â he retorts. âSo, no, no date. Just spending some time with your annoying uncle and some of our other old friends.âÂ
âOh, okay,â Elena says as she giggles. âHave fun, papi!â
âI will, baby, thank you,â he says, pulling her into one last hug before they both venture off to bed.
Itâs Monday morning, one week before the semester starts, and Frankie is buzzing. Heâs nervous and excited for his daughter, but he can tell this new environment is one that gets heavily involvedâin both the child and the guardianâs life.
Heâll do anything for Elena, of course, and it isnât like he wasnât involved at her old school. But this one makes it feel like heâs also attending this place. The thought terrifies his socially anxious heart.Â
He puts his car in park and practices a few breathing exercises before he gets out. He has a meeting with the principal todayâMs. Sabatino?, he tries to remember. This meeting is for her to finally get to know him, and for the paperwork to get finalized. And because they arenât charging him for this semester, he also needs to fill out some waivers.Â
He makes his way to her office, checking in at the front desk and waiting to be pulled back. His hand fidgets at his side, the nerves getting to him again.Â
âMr. Morales?â A voice calls out, pulling him from his nerves. âMs. Sabatino is ready for you, first door to your left.âÂ
âThank you,â he replies. He softly knocks on the door before entering.Â
âMr. Morales! Come in, come in!â Ms. Sabatino waves him over. âSit, make yourself comfortable! Itâs so nice to finally meet you.âÂ
âItâs nice to meet you as well, maâam, and please, just Frankie is good,â he tells her, a slight shyness in his voice and demeanor.Â
âOkay then, Frankie,â she smiles. âLetâs see here,â she says, squinting to her computer. âDo you have the enrollment forms?â
âYes, right here,â Frankie sets the folder in front of her.Â
âPerfect, thank you,â she replies. âHere, you fill these waiver forms out that we talked about while I upload your forms in for Elenaâs profile.âÂ
Frankie mutters a quick okay, sounds good, before Ms. Sabatino speaks again. âWhile we get through these formalities though, did you have any questions for me? About the program, the teachers, literally anything at all besides what the meaning of life is?â she tries to joke, sensing Frankieâs anxiety.Â
Mrs. Adams already gave him the rundown of this place, but the financial conversation has been clouding his mind since he first found out about this place. âWell, actually, yes, I wanted to talk to you about the cost,â he starts.Â
âThe cost is no issue, I promise you,â she reassures. But itâs not that. Although Frankie has major social anxiety, heâll be damned if he comes off as a freeloaderâeven though absolutely no one here views him that way.Â
âNo, I understand, but itâs more so that-â he pauses, taking a deep breath before he tries again. âIâm a single dad. Iâm the one catering for both Elena and I. Weâre not very well off, but weâre also not entirely poor. Just enough toâŚnot really afford this place,â he shakes his head, heâs rambling. âAnyway- sorry. What Iâm trying to say is, money isnât an issue, but I canât just sit here and not do anything to pay you guys back, even if it isnât in a monetary sense.âÂ
This piques the principalâs interest. She nods her head, taking a moment to measure her response. The computer pings as she thinks to herself, signaling that itâs done uploading the forms. She hands Frankie the folder back. He takes it, handing her the completed waiver. âI respect it,â she finally states. âA lot.â
âY-yeah,â he says, not really sure how to respond to that.Â
Ms. Sabatino spins in her chair, pausing towards a drawer underneath her desk. She pulls out a little booklet of some sort.Â
âI have one idea,â she offers.Â
Frankieâs ears perch up. âYeah? Anything,â he replies.
âItâs a lot to ask of a parent,â she says. âAnd I know youâre eager, but hear me out before you agree. And if youâd like to say no, then say no, thatâs all I ask.â
âDeal,â Frankie tells her.
âSo, last semester, the head of our PTAâthe Parent-Teacher Associationâquit on us. She quit and also unenrolled her child. Some weird drama, it was very unavoidable if she knew how to communicate properly⌠anyway, we are actually in need of a new head. I will admit, itâs a lot, but youâll have me by your side, and I know a few of the parents would help show you the ropes and help you with anything you need.âÂ
Out of everything, Frankie was not expecting this. Itâs evident in the shocked look on his face.Â
âLike I said, I donât need an answer right now-â
âWhat about the existing PTA parents?â Frankie blurts out. He may have not been PTA-level involved with his daughter, but he knows the seriousness in which parents take their roles when it comes to this.Â
âI appoint the head, and choosing one out of all of them would⌠to be frank⌠be a bloodbath. This PTA needs a fresh face. A new perspective. I can tell youâre nervous, but I can also tell youâre ambitious. I can tell youâd do anything for your daughter first and foremost. That is what my PTA needs. The rest of those parents- God- I love them, but theyâre more worried about looking good and their brownie points with me than their kidsâ experiences.â
If Frankie was unsure before, he definitely isnât now. All he wants is the best for his daughter, and honestly, it makes him disappointed to hear where these parentsâ priorities are. Heâs absolutely scared shitless about doing this, but he canât stop the next words that come out of his mouth. âIâll do it.â
Her eyebrows fly up. âAre you sure?â
He isn't, he thinks. âYes,â he tells her.
âOh- okay, then,â Ms. Sabatino smiles bigger than before. She picks up the booklet from earlier and hands it to Frankie. âRead this over- theyâre just some little rules weâve established to keep the environment thriving for our kids. Weâve never had any issues beforeâŚbesides last semester⌠but yeah, itâs just a precautionary measure. Thank you so much again, Frankie, and please if it does get too much, do not hesitate to let me know if youâd like to quit.âÂ
He looks down to the book in his hand. The Rebels Guide - PTA Addition. Heâs definitely not cut out for this. âThank you, Ms. Sabatino. Iâll let you know. And I really appreciate you considering me for this. You have a good rest of your day,â Frankie says as he exits.
What the fuck am I doing? He thinks to himself as he gets himself into his car.Â
The rule book stares at Frankie as he drives. Stopped at a red light, he decides to place it in the glove compartment of his car. Heâll grab it later. For now, he needs it out of his view before he spirals.
Saturday, August 17th. Semester Pregame Day.Â
Youâre in the middle of picking out your outfit when a flood of texts come through your phone.Â
[5:47PM Linda] You bitches ready?!
[5:48PM Leah] Iâve been ready, just waiting on Mr. Lightweight to get hereâŚÂ
[5:48PM Blake] Yeah okay, Iâm not giving you a ride anymore, good luck.
[5:49PM Leah] Blake, Iâm kidding, get your ass over here.Â
[5:49PM Blake] Iâve been outside, smartass.Â
[5:53PM Leah] Linda, weâre on the way to you. Ms. Powerhouse, are you sure you donât want a ride?Â
[5:55PM] Please do not call me that.. And yes, Iâm sure! Iâm still picking out what Iâm gonna wear to be honest. I think Iâm gonna be a few minutes late.Â
[5:56PM Linda] OOOOO GIRL ARE YOU TRYING TO GET LAID?
[5:57PM Leah] đ
[5:57PM Leah] Blake is driving, but he also would like to say: đ
[5:58PM] Umm. No. I canât make myself look nice for my friends?Â
[5:58PM Linda] In this world? Not without a motif, no.Â
[5:59PM] Wow.Â
[5:59PM] Okay, Iâve gotta finish getting ready. See you guys in a bit.Â
You toss your phone on your bed, not wanting to make yourself any later than you already are. They are right, you donât necessarily have to get all dressed up. And itâs not like youâre getting laid anytime soon, let alone tonight. Right? Gosh, itâs been a hot minute since youâve had any action. Well, okay, if you count your trustee wand, then itâs been about an hour since youâve got some⌠but human interaction? Yeah, no.Â
You shake away the deprived thoughts your new friends planted in your brain settling for a sage green tank top with a lace lining at your chest. Something casual yet not too casual, slightly flashy but not too flashy. And since itâs in the middle of August, you decide on some black jean shorts.Â
Itâs 6:15 by the time you head in your car. They wanted to get there around 6:30, so youâre not too far behind after all. It definitely helps that the bar they chose was a seven minute drive.Â
When you enter the bar, you spot the trio immediately, huddled by a tall table, all already cheering with shots. Linda spots you with a squeal, sending Leah to grab another round with a fourth shot this time.Â
With the mischievous party glint in her eyes, already you can tell what kind of night youâre going to have. One that makes you think maybe you shouldâve caught a ride.Â
The first shot goes down roughly, an immediate fiery burn sliding down your throat as Linda shoves a lime in your mouth afterwards. âTequiiilllaaaa shootttsss!!â She sings, already on her fourth to your first.Â
The second and third round slides down much smoother, your entire body beginning to heat up from its effects. Tequila has always had a fast effect on you, making you buzzed after one shot and effectively fucking you up after the third. Maybe you were a lightweight. Nonetheless, you indulge in one more peer-pressured round from Linda before you settle on a sugary sweet mixed drink paired with a glass of ice cold water.
Linda disappears to the small dance floor while Blake convinces the people at the pool table to let him join. Itâs just you and Leah at the table now, talking here and there, but mainly just watching the other two have their fun from afar.Â
âSo how long have you guys been doing this?â You shout over the loud music. Once the clock hit 7pm, the music was definitely hitting the threshold for ear damage.Â
Leah looks at you with a genuine smile. Sheâs content watching her friends be social butterflies. She has them in her presence and thatâs all that matters. âWeâve been doing this for a few years now, really. Linda was at the school first, then I got hired a semester after her. Then Blake got hired a semester after me. And because we were all relatively new, we all just sort of- gravitated towards each other,â she explains. âI donât know what Iâd do without them, honestly. In and outside of the school, those two are very important in my life,â she breathes in a sniffle, quiet enough to go unheard, but since youâre watching her, you catch it in combination with a tear she sneakily wipes away.Â
Itâs your turn for your eyes to gloss up. âThatâs really beautiful,â you tell her.Â
Leah laughs a little. âYeah. But donât tell them though. Iâll have to strangle you,â she says in a mock sternness. Weirdly enough, you think thereâs truth behind that.Â
You pull your hands up in a surrendering motion, âPromise,â you respond with a smirk. âIâm gonna go get another drink. Want?â
âWhat are you getting?â
âWas honestly just gonna sip on beer and water the rest of the night. Iâm tapped out.â
âMe too,â she grins. âIâll get what you get.â
Making your way up to the bartender, you politely wait until she comes up to you. âWhat can I get you, doll?â
âTwo beers, please, and also two waters, but can you give me the waters after I set the beers down at my table?â you ask a little shyly.Â
The bartender gives you a sweet smile. âI got you, honey.â
She hands you the beers, and you make your way to Leah. âI gotta grab the waters real fast, give me one second,â you say, already whipping around and making your way back.Â
In that short span of time, the bartender was met with a crowd of needy newly aged adults, swarming her with requests. She looks at you, but you give her a nod, signaling itâs okay.Â
Two minutes, she mouths.Â
You sit down on the stool in front of you while you wait, turning to check on Leah. Her eyes are back on her friends, a warmth radiating from her smile. Only now, youâre a part of her rotation, and the warmth is reciprocated to you, too. And to think you were hesitant with this bunch.Â
As you sit and wait for the bartender, a group of four rowdy men take up the bar space beside you. One of them even bumps into your side, and youâre quick to jump. âHey, watch it!â You yell over the noise.Â
A large hand grabs onto the guyâs shoulder and pulls him away from you. The bar is loud, but it doesnât stop his deep gruff from blessing your ears. âBenny, watch where youâre fucking going, man!â
âOh, shit,â the tall, lean man turns to you. âIâm so sorry, I wasnât paying attention..â he starts. You can feel the man fight for his life to stay on your eyes. He darts to your lips for a millisecond before he brings them back up. âCan I⌠Let me buy you a drink? To apologize?â He smirks like he just pulled the smoothest flirt attempt ever. Your eyebrows furrow in annoyance, but before you can say anything, the large hand from earlier is pulling the manâBenny, apparentlyâaway from you and to the other end where their other friends are. âPendejo,â he mutters under his breath towards his friend.Â
You stifle a giggle. The man, your savior, finally actually looks at you, and at first he was going to ask if you understood what he said, but the moment your eyes meet, itâs like all the airflow was vacuumed clean out of his lungs, leaving him mentally gasping like a fish out of water. Physically, though, he keeps it cool. Or, at least, tries to.Â
âHi- uh, Iâm- Iâm Frankie- look, Iâm real sorry about my friend back there, he can be real stupid sometimes,â he mutters, his rosy cheeks bright on display, no alcohol to blame it on.Â
As he rambles, only then are you able to get a good look at this manâat Frankie, he calls himself. A baseball cap sits on his head, hiding what you can make out as curly hair. The dim light of the bar ruins your view slightly, but you are both near the warm light that emanates from the side of the bar, so your view is not completely obstructed. You can see beautiful brown, puppy dog eyes with a pretty scruff that grows haphazardly across his cheeks and jaw, and above his lip, too.Â
âDonât worry about it, Frankie,â you manage as you look up at him. Heâs still standing. Youâre sitting on an elevated bar seat, and you still have to crane your neck. Good lord, heâs tall. You introduce yourself with a smile, holding your hand out for him to take. You have to fight your body not to shudder at the warmth of his hand.Â
Little do you know, heâs also fighting the same battle as you.Â
âCan I get you a drink, Frankie?â you ask. Usually youâd never do this, but there is just something about him. You need to know more.Â
âUh,â you see him flush, an internal battle going on in his brain. Is it the battle of the so-called bro-code where he canât hit on you because his friend did or because he should be offering you a drink?Â
He looks back to his friend. Yup, the bro-code. You quirk your brow at him.Â
âYeah, okay,â he says with a grin as he perches himself to the bar seat beside you. âIâll have a beer,â he tells you.Â
âComing right up,â you smirk, winking at him before you try and regain the bartenderâs attention.Â
You text Leah a quick Iâm sorry, to which she replies with the eyes emoji again along with a winky face. Of course she saw everything.Â
The bartender comes to you and apologizes for earlier with the other group and then apologizes again when she admits she completely forgot to come back to you. She tells you this round of beers for you and Frankie are on the house. You try to tip her, but she doesnât accept.Â
Frankie is really nice. Really handsomeâŚand sexyâŚbut you try to ignore the heat tingling between your legs because of the fact that Frankie is really nice.Â
As your two beers listen in on your conversation, untouched and sweaty, youâve come to learn a good amount about Frankie. Like the fact that heâs a bashful boy, but you can tell he has no problem getting what he wants when the confidence strikes him. Youâve been witness to it a few times tonightâa hand on your knee there, a tucking of your hair behind your ear here, a long glance at your lips as you lick the residual drip of your drinkâand it does nothing to calm your coreâs ache.Â
The one that really sent you over the edge though was when he made you laugh particularly hard, your reaction was to lean into him. He took the opportunity to grab onto your seat and pull you against him, his thick highs entrapping both of yours.
âOh-!â you gasp involuntarily, your eyes immediately searching for his. His gaze is dark, and so is yours.Â
Although quite nervous, Frankieâs confidence has spiked being in your presence. His thumb and forefinger come up to your chin, steadying and making your heartbeat erratic all in one. He leans closer in, the tips of each of your noses a hairâs width away. âYouâre intoxicating,â he whispers.
âI could say the same thing about you,â you whisper back, feeling lightheaded and not from the alcohol coursing through your veins. âBeen dying for you to touch me since you pulled your friend away,â you admit.
You see his Adam's apple bob in his throat. He looks past you, eyeing the single stall bathroom. You scanned the place earlier, you know where heâs looking. Tapping his thigh for him to look at you again, you give him a look of understanding before you break away from his grasp.Â
He faces the bar again, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. He catches Santi and the Millers staring at him from the pool table they took over. Santi shoots Frankie a wink while Benny looks like a puppy whoâs been kicked to the curb. Frankie really couldnât care less right now.Â
Satisfied with the little window of time he gave, he stands from his seat, taking one more swig of beer before he makes his way to you. He knocks on the door softly, and you open it right away, pulling him in and immediately shutting it again.Â
Like a calculated dance, his hand goes back to lock the door while your hand grasps onto the fabric of his shirt at his chest, pulling his body flush against yours. Your hands take their time in coasting the plain of his broad chest and shoulders. Your thighs clench at the sensation.
His lips meet yours for the first time tonight, and he can feel every nerve in his body spark with electricity. Your lingering taste of all the drinks you had this evening mixed with a flavor he thinks is distinctly you consumes each of his senses.Â
Oh, you have him wrapped around your pretty little finger and you donât even know it yet.Â
He walks forward, backing you into the bathroom sink.Â
You hop up on your own, your legs spreading without any forethought for his broad form. His hands coast the expanse of your body, settling at your ass on the counter as he pulls you tighter into his body, your center coming into contact with this hardness. He practically growls into your mouth at the heat he feels radiating from you.Â
âFuck, querida,â he moans, his teeth chasing your bottom lip.Â
âFrankie,â you beg. For what, youâre not entirely sure.Â
âCan I taste you?â He breathes heavily against your lips, fingers twitching to take action.Â
Fuck. âYe- yeah- yeah, okay,â you stutter, eyes wide. Getting eaten out probably has to be one of your favorite things in the whole world, yet, with your dating history, itâs a rare occurrence. Your last boyfriend was disgusted by it, and your last girlfriend ended up cheating on you. So. Your experience of receiving oral was rare, and God did you miss it.Â
Frankie mistakes your surprise as fear. âAre- are you sure? I donât have to, not if youâre not comfortable,â he says sincerely. He starts to pull away, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, but youâre quick to grab onto him.Â
âNo, no, Iâm sorry, thatâs not what I-â you laugh a little breathlessly before looking into his soft eyes again. âYes, Frankie, please. Please, I want your mouth on me,â you say, tone a little needy on the backend. âYou just took me by surprise, is all,â you whisper.Â
âSurprise?â He canât stop his curiosity.Â
âI- I donât know, guys donât usually like-â
You donât get to finish your statement before Frankieâs face turns angry. He places a heady kiss to your lips before he brings his mouth down your jaw, your neck. âSo what youâre saying is,â he starts, his breath tickling your neck. If you werenât propped up on the counter, youâd be on the floor with how weak your legs feel. Making his way down, he places a soft kiss in between your breasts. âThis pretty little thing hasnât been treated properly in a long, long time?â He asks as he kneels down, his eyes looking up and devouring you in your entirety.Â
âHow do you even know sheâs pretty?â You quip back, matching his energy.Â
âOh, I know sheâs fucking gorgeous based on the rest of you,â he purrs, fingers working your button and zipper. He hooks his fingers at the waist, and you lift your hips to help him.Â
âYou flatter me,â you shakily say as you try to tease, your resolve starting to break.Â
Frankie smirks up at you before his entire demeanor changes upon seeding your exposed lower half. His face falls into astonishment, as if he just won the damn lottery, as if his last fucking meal was just placed in front of him. âWhatâd I say?â He mutters to himself. âFucking gorgeous,â he answers his own question before he gives you no time to respond as he dives right in, the flat of his tongue licking a slow wide stripe up your glistening went cunt.Â
âOh, fuck,â a loud moan leaves you, your head falling back as you relish in the immediate pleasure that shoots up your spine.Â
Frankie reluctantly breaks away to look at you, to check up on you, but your body is still shocked from the pleasure, and he grins, cheeks full of mischief. He hums to himself before he goes back in. âFucking delicious, too.âÂ
âJesus, shit-â you murmur, trying to brace yourself for what you know is going to utterly ruin you.
He licks through your folds once more, slow and steady, calculated, measuring every small twitch and whimper that your body produces. His tongue moves up to your clit, circling around the area reveling in the way your breathing speeds up and your hips buck. Even with your movements chasing for more, he remains steadfast in his ministrations.Â
He continues his tease until he hears you huff. Youâre getting impatient. âBaby, please,â you whine. âPlease donât tease,â you pout at him then, and whether itâs real or a ploy to get him to give in, how can Frankie say no to that face?Â
Without lifting from your cunt, Frankie switches from slow passes around your bud to attaching directly on it, suckling and flicking the sharp tip of his tongue across you. Your legs writhe under his expert touch, your hand flying to the baseball cap to his head and flinging it off to rake your fingers through his wild curls. He groans into you the second he feels your grip, his pace faltering for just a moment before he finds his way again.Â
Frankie detaches from you, dragging his tongue downward to your folds to lap up your slick. The squelch your pussy makes when his tongue makes contact is sinful. He lets his mouth wrap as much as he can around you, his tongue prodding at your entrance, testing your limits.
âOh, Frankie, yes-â you lament, your hand pulling his face tight against your core as your hips force his pink muscle inside. His cock is definitely at full mast now, especially with how reactive you are for him. Your eyes are entirely white as you repeat his name like a prayer, your hips frantically meeting the thrusts of his tongue.Â
You grip tighter into his locks, angling his head slightly down, and fuckfuckfuck you squeal loudly, this angle causes his nose to nudge at your sensitive nerves perfectly with each push of his tongue inside of you.Â
âIâm c-close, Frankie- fuck- Iâm gonna cum, baby, Iâm gonna fucking cum- oh my God-â you practically scream, your body losing all strength as you fall back into the counter behind you, Frankie licking everything up while he tries to fuck you through your orgasm.Â
The vibrations of his moaning sends you into overdrive, and youâre so spaced out you donât even realize Frankieâs been desperately humping nothing, bringing himself to an orgasm the same time as you. He lifts off from you completely, his breathing labored as his chin threatens to drip your arousal to the ground. Frankieâs fingers reach for his face, collecting up the residue only for him to bring it back up to his mouth. The sound of him sucking his fingers up like he just ate the sauciest of wings brings you back to reality, pulling your body up weakly as your eyes go wide when you realize what Frankieâs doing.Â
Your cheeks heat up, but your ability to tease is back. âThat good, huh?âÂ
âFinger lickinâ, baby,â he says lazily.Â
He rises from his knees only for you to then notice the wet spot at his crotch. âFrankie-â you start.Â
âYes, yes I did,â he finishes, knowing the question you were going to ask.Â
He bends down to pick up his hat, swiftly placing it back on his head while he grabs your shorts, putting them gently back in place.Â
âYou okay?â He checks in.Â
You melt under his sweet attention. âNever better,â you beam.Â
You two stand there in each otherâs presence before you finally pipe up. âSo how do you wannaâŚâ you trail off.Â
âYou wanna head out first? I got a bit of a⌠mess to clean up anyway,â he says, gesturing to himself.Â
âOh! Right, yeah. Okay,â you say awkwardly, as if his tongue wasnât just inside of you. âIâll see you out there,â you add as you turn around, opening the door just enough to slip out.Â
You stand there for a moment, giving yourself a second to register what the fuck just happened. You did not let a man you just met go down on you? At a bar, no less?!Â
You make your way to the bartender, needing an ice cold glass of water to cool you off. Your head is spinning, and itâs really not because of the alcohol anymore. But you blame the substance anyway.Â
Hearing the bathroom door creak, you turn around to see a blushing Frankie, his hat off his head and his hand shielding the wet patch between his legs. He sees you at the bar and he smiles, walking in your direction. However, before he can reach you, Linda magically appears in your face, drunk as shit and louder than youâve ever experienced.Â
âThere you are, silly!! Whereâd you run off to?? Been looking for you, I swear itâs been like an hour!!!âÂ
You look at Frankie over her shoulder, and he pauses in his tracks. You give him an apologetic smile. Before he can say itâs okay, the friends he was with finds him and drags him into a game of pool.Â
âHey, sorry!â You scream over the music. âJust needed some time, it got a bit too loud in here,â you lie. Youâre too overstimulatedâin many ways as your clit throbs against the fabric of your wet pantiesâto handle more ridicule from these three. âI think Iâm gonna head home now, though, Iâm kind of tired,â you tell her. âWhereâs Blake and Leah?âÂ
She drags you back to your guysâ table, urging one more round of shots. You go with her to the bar to order the round, mouthing to the bartender to make yours water. She winks at you, and hands you your glass directly while Leah impressively holds the other three with a drunken ease.Â
When Frankie finally spots you, happy and laughing with your friends, he smiles to himself and decides not to interrupt your time. He can find you later.Â
Except, he doesnât.
Monday, August 19th.Â
Sunday was a blur. It was spent downing more water to flush out your body while surfing every account on every social media platform you have for a Frankie in your area.Â
No luck. Of course.Â
Frankieâs Sunday was spent the exact same way, too, although he is much less tech savvy and his attempt only lasted an hour before he gave up and spent the rest of his day moping.Â
âÂżQuĂŠ pasa, papi?â Whatâs wrong, daddy? Elena had asked him as she scarfed down her eggs.Â
âEstoy bien, mi amorcito,â Iâm okay, my love, Frankie responded with a kiss on her head.Â
Elena didnât bug further, but he knew she would soon.Â
Monday morning, Elena was way too eager for her new school, forcing her father up and making breakfast an entire hour before they actually needed to get up. Somehow, Elena even convinced Frankie to leave the house half an hour before they needed to leave, forcing them to wait in the empty parking lot until any sign of life emerged.Â
Elena buries her nose in a book, while Frankie sat there, watching the minutes tick by. As he stared at the building, red accents and Home of the Rebels painted in big white letters, heâs suddenly reminded of what Ms. Sabatino asked him.Â
He reaches over and grabs the handbook out of the glove compartment. He flips open to the first page to the table of contents, and the first section, written in italicized, bold letters catches his eye:Â
Ground Rules
He flips to the page.Â
He scans through each bullet point, each one feeling more and more like common sense, but with the way the principal described these parents, he realizes how necessary these so-called rules are.Â
His eyes scan the last bullet point, and he canât help but bite back a laugh.Â
No parent-teacher relations. Parent will be kicked off the PTA. Teacher will be reprimanded. NO exceptions.Â
He flips through several more pages when Elena lets out a piercing shriek. âAHH! DADDY, DADDY, LETâS GO,â sheâs jumping up and down as much as she can while being belted in her car seat. Frankie looks up to see a bustling crowd of children and their guardian. He sees Ms. Sabatino in the mix.Â
âAlright, alright, mi vida (my life), Iâm coming,â Frankie soothes, giving a softer tone of voice that hopefully she mirrors. He gets out of the car and opens the passenger door behind him, unbuckling Elena and setting her down to the ground, grabbing her backpack and shuffling it onto her back.Â
Ms. Sabatino catches sight of Frankie and Elena, and excitedly makes her way over. She bends down to Elenaâs level. âGood morning!! You must be Elena Morales, yes?âÂ
âYES-â she stops herself and clears her throat. âYes! Yes, thatâs me!â She says, a decibel calmer.Â
Ms. Sabatino warms at her eagerness. âItâs very lovely to meet you, Elena, Iâm Ms. Sabatino, the principal here!â She holds out her hand for Elena to shake. She takes it eagerly.Â
âItâs very nice to meet you!â Elena emphasizes, putting on her best charm. Frankie chuckles.Â
Ms. Sabatino rises. âMr. Morales, itâs great to see you again!â He nods his head with a smile and a soft likewise. âMay I walk you both to her class? Iâd like to introduce you to her new teacher,â she directs the question towards both of them.Â
Elena looks elated. She turns around to look her father in the eye, Frankieâs very own signature puppy dog eyes reflected back to him. He doesnât even need to hear the question to know what her answer would be if she pulls this card. âOh, papi, please will you come?âÂ
âOf course, baby,â he says, caressing the apple of her cheeks before she cheers in victory.Â
âGreat!â Ms. Sabatino says with a clap to her hands. âRight this way.â
On the way to Elenaâs new class, Ms. Sabatino really praises her new teacher. Apparently, sheâs the best of the best. One of their newest hires, but sheâs practically a veteran when it comes to teaching prodigal children. Sheâs a powerhouse, Ms. Sabatino calls her. He gets the feeling that the teacher doesnât really like that label much.Â
When Ms. Sabatino opens the door to his classroom, the teacher is immediately there to introduce herself and welcome in little Elena.Â
Frankie really doesnât know what happens next besides the fact that his heart thoroughly stops and Elenaâs voice is a muffled daddy, whatâs wrong? throughout his panicked mind.Â
Whatâs wrong? He thinks.Â
Whatâs wrong is that Elenaâs new teacher is you.Â
And he is absolutely, wholeheartedly, positively screwed.
Fuck.Â
I hope you liked the first chapter of my new series, New Beginnings!đĽšđĽš I poured everything I have into this story, and Iâve been so eager to share it with the rest of you. I hope you are able to love it as much as I do.
Follow & turn on notifs for @endlessthxxghtsnotifs to know exactly when a new chapter comes out!đŤś
Comments/reblogs or any kind of feedback to let me know what you think is my favorite part about putting out a story!! Please let me know your thoughts!!! I love you all so much, and thank you for the endless support you all show me. I wouldnât be here without you.
Floral dividers on top & bottom courtesy of @saradika-graphics <3 section dividers in middle of fic made by me!
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*screams into the void* this is soooo cute!!!!!
I love the concept of handyman Frankie and how humble he is about posting thirst trap DIY tutorials đŤđť.
1. butterscotch orange
frankie morales x f!reader | chapter one of do me yourself
summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.
wordcount: 3.3k
chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over <redacted>. frankie being a single!dad to a son. coffee date.
an: it is finally here! this little thing has rotted me from the inside out and nothing brings me more joy than a romcom. so here we go. buckle in. all hail @secretelephanttattoo for the wondrous idea and support (seriously thank you, i know you know ily, but i don't think I've been this happy writing something in so long). a thank you to @thetriumphantpanda who i forced to read this when we had our sleepover, ily.
key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics [winks]
IF I CAN DO IT, ANYONE CAN DO IT. ALL YOU NEEDâ
It rings, echoes through your skull.
Has been doing so the whole ride overâyour groan doing nothing to dilute it, even as you kill the engine of your car and are welcomed with silence.
Thereâs an element of regret you feel thrumming in you since discovering that perky voice, her high-pitched excitement becoming the bane of your existence. Forever replaying in your head. Regardless of whether it is actually playing. It remains on a loop in your mindâall light and sweetâgrating on you from the amount youâve had to watch it, just to get to this stage.
Realistically, you know you shouldnât hate the voice, because it has been helpfulâin that effortlessly playful way thatâs kind of begun to fuck you off.
But then, youâre not even sure if any voice would fare much better. Because you just donât feel like itâs just that easyâso possible, all simple and quick to do.
Because DIY apparently isn't that trouble-free for you. The bandaids on your palm, fingers, and forearm are proof of it.
Yet, somehow youâre outside of a hardware store.
One that Google promises will have all you need and more. Not that you know what that is.
The only thing you do know is that it at least gives you another reason to focus on something other than the mountain of boxes that never end. The ones not unpacked. In the home thatâs now only slowly beginning to feel more like yours, and not the people you purchased it from.
Eyes flicking over the front of the store, the clutter of things all left outsideâin judging various shades of buckets and plastic garden chairsâbefore your eyes land on the door to Haroldâs Hardware.
Thereâs no breeze, but the door moves ever so slightly. Sitting, slightly ajar, as though onceâa long time agoâit fit in the frame perfectly, but now remained warped and unwilling to even try. Then thereâs the glass, all smeared and sitting inside (what you assume) would have been a bright-white frame thatâs slightly yellowed and has been adorned in scuffs, swinging in its layered overuse.
But, at least itâs visited, you think. Shoving open the door, a bell sounds in some distant corner, ringing, it almost muffled by the voice from the video continuing to play in the space between your earsâa to-do list, a handful of items required, listing themselves on a never-ending loop, the billionth play through since youâd woken up.
Itâs so much bigger inside than you banked on. Jaw-ticking to the side, eyes marvelling at the floor-to-ceiling display and the array of things all living and existing under hanging signs that appear worn and peeling.
With each second, more and more of the charm comes to you.
That thereâs a radio, crackling away, a song from decades gone by playing with difficulty, as an array of scents swirl, fighting themselves for your attention. But, two stand out, fresh-cut wood and lemon disinfectant. The latter you assume kills dirt but doesnât make the floor tiles gleam in the way they once did. Scuff marks adorning well-walked paths. But the former, you gravitate more to, wish for it to fill your nose and remain with you long after your visit.
Adjusting the strap of your bag, you glance about again, almost fidgeting your feet in your shoes, before it dawns on you. Slams into you as you flick your gaze from sign to signâ
You havenât got a clue about where to start.
Listing the things from memoryâsuddenly distant and difficult to find amongst the dooming overwhelmâas your feet begin moving of their own accord. Choosing an aisle, selecting itâall eeny-meeny-miny-mo.
Because better that, than standing aimless, lost. Watched on some flickering CCTV in the back where you assume the person who works here is.
Dragging your eyes, scanning them up and down, taking in the varying types of paint brushes, different thicknesses, different intentions. Moving from single purchase to grouped, to multi-packs, and landing finally on rollers before youâre turning, heading down an entirely different aisle.
The next isnât any less overwhelming.
If anything, itâs more, because itâs at least more of what you needed.
Screws, bolts, fixings.
Your brain assessing, attempting to assemble whether a bolt is what you need, a screw orâ
âYou need a hand?â
It throws you off, the voice.
Cuts through your processing, through the low replays of the video (the ones only in your head) and the cracking radio which has moved into an advert for migraines.
Itâs low, a slight gravel that he rids with a clear of his throat as you look over your shoulder, eyes sweeping over the owner of the voice, eventually turning to face him.
And fuck.
Heâs broad, dressed in a deep green t-shirt under a tan apronâname badge scratched over, only leaving the lingering marks of a âhere to helpâ and the fading logo youâd seen outside.
You donât mean to gawk, but yet you do all the same.
Practically swallowing, attempting to whir your brain into gear as you take in the rest of him. The thick loose curls atop his head, the strong nose and the round-brown eyes. His moustache, the wiry facial hair across his chin he slowly begins to scrape at, as he remains waiting for a response.
âScrews.â
âYou⌠you need screws?â
Nodding, you will your brain to work, to function. But, heâs just soâ
Lifting his chin, he runs his thumb up and down the underside of his chin, waiting, waiting, until he smiles. âDo you know the kind?â
Think. Think. Fucking think.
And then you do. Somehow able to unspool some thoughts, find sentences. Beginning to explain, in barely-there pauses and animated hand gestures about your move, and your new lease of life, and this video you found and how you felt inspired by it to the point it had led you to order wood cut to size and tools from the internet, but screws, screws and this and that are all that youâd forgotten.
And, he listens. Sliding a hand over the sleeve of his sun-scorched tee as he does. Just nodding on occasion. Thin lines appear along his forehead at certain parts of the story, but nonetheless listening.
âShow me.â
âShow⌠you?â
Then he smiles. Soft, it slides up in a slow, almost cautious way, but then itâs at his eyes, touching, brushing itself there and sending sparks up into the darker brown flecks.
Licking his lips, he gestures, âThe video.â
You do.
A quick shuffle in your pocket, a slide to unlock your phone and then your fingers are brushing his. Theyâre warm, his. That you can tell.
Heat radiating from them, slowly blanketing yours as his hand and yours cradle the phone like a newborn in an announcement photo.
From there, your chest tightens, more so when you meet his eyes, finding them watching you as intently as you wish to look at him, and it makes your heart stammer, skipâa full chaos of beats following before heâs holding your phone independently.
Thatâs when a new crisis calls. A new thought is all set to erode your mind.
Because your phone looks tiny in his hand.
The plastic case is almost dwarfed by him as he tips his chin, watching the video, occasionally tapping at the screen to skip ahead before he nods to himself, you all but busy trying not to choke on your own drool.
âI know what you need.â
âYou do?â
A foolish question, all escaping without thought or rationale.
He just smiles, in a way that seems to settle your incoming anxiousness.
âI do.â
And he does.
A tilt of his head, his back turned to you, a brief thought crossing your brain at the sight but you quickly rid, and youâre following. Listening as he explains, as he points out things with his long, thick finger, as you nod, as though nothing lives in the space between both of your ears.
It isnât until youâre back in your car that it hits you. Do you suddenly wish as your engine ignites and your car roars to life, that you had asked for his numberâor better yet, his name.
Itâs been days, and youâre still wondering if some part of youâd concocted him, made him upâthrown up an illusion of a man and exaggerated how good he looked.
The more you thought about him, the more insane it got. Even hearing yourself explain it to a friend made you question if you'd been dreaming. That maybe youâd let days mould him, shaping perfection in your consciousness.
It has more weight when you walk past the older man at the till, all white hair in a slick-back style and who tips his head and looks more what youâd expect from the decor of the place.
But a part, one fighting, scrapping for a moment to exist, still believes. Hopes.
Forcing your legs to wander down aisles you donât need, pausing at each corner, desiring to be proven wrong. Hovering, hopingâhalf-wondering if it was essential that to make him appear, you had to look lost and hopelessâor whether that had just been a coincidence that first time.
With each up and down, you almost give up. Hope almost gone, erasing itself with each step, all but fading.
But there, in the centre of the paint aisle, speckled in dried flecks, it clinging in varying shadesâa kaleidoscope dream on his jeans and worn t-shirtâis him. The man you haven't stopped thinking about.
"It's you."
"It's me," you grin, heat flooding your cheeks, growing up into your neck.
Arm lifting, hand brushing the back of his curls not housed in a cap, as he matches your grin. "New project?"
"Something like that."
His gaze doesn't waver, doesn't lessen, not as his grin slopes into a shy smile, before he wipes his hand on his jeans, offering it out. "Realised... I never... I'm Frankie, by the way."
You hand him your name, dropping an octave as you doâall unmeaning, entirely accidentalâfingers sliding past his as you shake his hand.
âI donât⌠youâve not got your apron on.â
Glancing down, you find him grinning when he looks up, âNot my day today. Here on personal business.â
âOh isâŚâ squinting at the paint can in his hand, âButterscotch Orange on a hit list or something?â
His lips slide into his cheek, a tooth-filled smirk. âShould be, itâs a right bitcâpain in the ass to sell.â
Rolling your lips, you trace your tongue across your teeth as you grin. âItâs noâŚâ eyes squinting. âMt Rainier Grey.â
His brow arches. âThat your shade of choice?â
âI like itâdonât hate the orange though. So, maybe itâs not the paint, but the seller.â
Something twinkles in his eye, lips still cocked to one side, smirk still ever-present.
And itâs a challenge to drag your eyes to look at the floor, you shift your weight. Trying, and failing, to think of an excuse, to leave before it gets weirdâbefore you become too much and ruin this nondescript thing. But, his throat clearing stops you. It forces your chin up. Barely just able to catch it, the whisper, how itâs almost said to the can in his hand than to you.
âYou⌠doing anything right now?â
Shaking your head slowly, you bite your cheek as you grin. âJust talking to a man holding a paint can.â
Tapping his fingers along the top, lips rolling, âYou fancy getting a coffee? With me?â
You have to bite your smile, out of fear youâll show how practically beaming you are. Mouth opening, but he adds an addition of I donât usually do this that makes your lips curl into a smirk.
âWhat? Invite random customers for coffee or accost them with paint you canât sell?â
Biting his upper lip, he shakes his head, tucking a curl behind his ear as your eyes glance over at them. How they glisten under the yellow-fluorescent light.
Letting your heart dance like leaves in the wind. âIâd love to get coffee with you, Frankie.â
Itâs nice, the coffee place.
Not a far walk, a few doors down. The charm of it coaxes you in with sounds of crunching beans and strong scents of varying levels of caffeine sliding over and relaxing your shoulders from your ears.
Because suddenly youâre nervous.
A slight shake to your bones, a twitch of your fingers.
âLet me get this.â
Smiling, you find him watching you, not caring to drag his eyes away when you catch him.
âBecause you never do this or because youâre hoping to persuade me to buy your unsellable paint?â
Smirking, he traces his eyes over you, âBoth.â
The corner of his mouth slides back into his cheek, a dimple appearing, deepeningâone you want to brush over with your thumb the longer he keeps looking at you the way he does.
All dark eyes, beedy, but sparkling.
'Who's next?' breaks the spell. Shatters the magic. It forces you both to blink, to focus on the task at hand. Both orders said, whirring and crunching sounding as you admire the place, glaze over the menu until heâs nudging you.
With your order in hand and tucked away in the cornerâthe large window letting in light and warmth from the sun on your backâyou try not to moan at the taste of your drink once it hits your tongue.
Because itâs good. Brilliant, practically everything.
To the point you have to bite back a thank you, one that you feel would be never-ending, a constant swirl of words landing on the circular table between the two of you. Nothing napkins and good conversation could soak up.
Because good coffee is always great, but knowing where to find it in an unknown place is something else.
Distantly, you hear him say your name, chin dipped, eyes focused, realisingâin a flood of embarrassmentâheâs been talking to you.
âSorry?â
âI said, Iâve not seen you in the store beforeâŚâ
Swallowing, you take a steadying breath.
âYou donât have toâŚâ
But, you do all the same. You pour open small bits of truth, words falling, tumbling half-strung together as your history rolls out in a timeline in front of you both. How youâd bought a new place, that itâs a bit run down, seen better daysâa determination to prove friends wrong by doing it yourself.
Foolish, you comment with a shake of your head, I know fuck all about decorating.
And he listensâto the fact youâre alone, not even a pet; he listens even as you talk about your work, all boring, not entirely interesting. The two of you simply lost in one another, surrounded by coffee mug swirls and the sounds of sizzling food, coffee shop noises and mumbling daytime talk as you ask him about work, about his love for orange shades.
And your eyes glance down at his phone, how itâs turned overâhis all undivided attention given to youâyet your eyes linger on the phone case. The one with a drawing, likely in pencil, a man in a hat on a hill, a child next to him and a sun with a smile on its face.
âI⌠I have a kid. Lucaâshared custody,â he says, nodding, tongue peeking out between his teeth, hands leaving the table and wiping back on his jeans in slow slides up and down. âHe⌠he made it me.â
Itâs the grin that makes your heart swell.
Makes your hand cup your mug a little tighter so you donât offer it out to him to hold, a thing which feels so natural, no thought required. Except you donât know his last nameâbarely know a thing about him.
Yet, your body practically leans forward as you mirror the smileâall soft, as another piece of a missing puzzle sliding into place.
âDoes he like drawing?â
Laughing, his palm slides along his jaw. âLoves it.â
âHow old?â
âFiveâdoes that⌠does that bother you?â
âThat youâre a dad?â He nods, and you lick your lips, you make sure to hold his gaze. âNot in the slightest.â
You smile, watching him mirror you this time. It rushes out, kissing across every bit of his faceâa shyness soon fluttering over him before he clears his throat.
âSo, you freelance? You like being your own boss?â
âNot especially, but it does mean I can work at night.â
Nodding, he slides his hand around the white porcelain, hand practically dwarfing the mug. It makes you want to ask him to hold things, to see if IKEA pencils or childrenâs eating utensils look more ridiculous than your iPhone and a regular coffee mug.
âPrefer the night?â
âI prefer the quiet of it... to think. Itâs why⌠why I began trying to do something in the day, needed to still be busy.â
âSitting still not an option, Rainier Gray?â
Shrugging, you smile. âSays you Butterscotch and your three tins of unsellable paint in the bed of your truck.â
âYou got me there.â
âI just⌠like to be busy, and with the new house, no partnerâcommitments, I thought why not try a bit of DIY.â
Nodding, he lifts his mug, and takes a sipâeyes remaining fixed on you as he does, as though it buys him time, lets him think up an opinion, an assessment. It makes your skin warm, but for all the uncomfortable reasons, the panicking onesâparts of you beginning to catastrophise that youâve said the wrong thing.
âOpen up your Instagram.â
You stare, blinking.
âTrust me.â
And you do. With another fumble, another slide of your phone screen open, and you follow his instructions as you type in the spelling he gives you. When you click the page, itâs hard not to grin, to not have your face explode into a smile so large it cuts into your cheeks.
âI donât like to sit still either,â Frankie adds, as though the thousand photos and videos, the tutorials and follower count donât say that on their own.
Youâve fallen down a holeâwillingly.
It cracked open the moment youâd sat on your couch, drink in hand, blanket half over your body.
The moment youâd begun your scroll, you discovered you couldnât stop. Starting with the latest and moving back, until you realise youâd rather see the story in the way it happened.
Choosing a moment, almost nine months ago, before you work your way forward to the present.
You were cautious, more careful than needed, to not like anything too lateâto not give away how deep into his page youâd gone. Even if you were in awe, a little proudâyour cheeks a little warm and lips turned up into your cheekâas you saw in real-time his confidence grow. The way heâd look at the camera, began experimenting with angles, all in all being smoother, more happy.
You suppose thatâs why you type a comment under one picture:
Is that butterscotch orange in the flesh? đ
Stalking me are you?
Getting some tips from Mr DIY himself.
I know you went back some months, Rainy.
How do you know that?
Because as soon as you commented thatâs what I did. You looked nice at the beach.
Now whoâs the stalker, Butterscotch.
Me. Clearly. Iâm being very upfront about it.
Out of interest, do you tutor at all? Gives hands on help to beginner DIYers?
You genuinely asking or flirting?
Big-headed much?
I can help you with something if you need it.
I think I do.
Then Iâm yours. Donât worry, I promise to only snoop in your drawers when left alone.
Think we should get food first, show you what Iâm thinkingâmake sure youâre up to the task.
You asking me on a date?
No. But if you keep showing off tools topless Iâll be tempted to ask you.
Knew youâd gone back further than a month.
FRANKIEâS INSTAGRAM đ
NEXT CHAPTER
an: you do not understand how giddy i am about this series. the chapters have flown out of me. i hope you enjoy it half as much as i'm enjoying writing it. see you soon xx
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joel miller just adores sleepy angels .
â eyes barely open , half lidded and slightly red ? lips jutted out in a pout when u can ât get a word out cus ur poor brain is jus so tired ? blinking rapidly so ur poor eyelids don ât cave down ?
âŚ. well don ât u worry ur pretty little head any longer . joel and his ( surprisingly ) comfortable lap , large hands ( to stroke your hair ) , and soft voice ( to whisper precious things down at u ) are at ur rescue as soon as ur eyes start to slowly flutter shut . he âd beckon u over with a hand , â c âmere sweet thing .. jeez , so tired , hm ? what âs got u so tuckered out ? â his low voice would mutter softly as he pulled u into his warm and wide embrace .
his fingers snaked their way into ur hair, tucking ur hair behind ur ear , then tracing ur jaw & cupping ur cheek . â poor baby , â he âd coo softly as he tilted his head to the side to admire u , a light chuckle rumbling gently in his chest . he just adored u . precious baby . his precious baby.
wc : 181 đ.
a/n : hai first post ⌠sorry , i lowkey got lazy , but i just wanted to write a tiny thing ( inspired by my bae who was asleep while i wrote this ;P ) . hope u like it :) .
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corrupt bunny
ŕł happy birthday to our daddy dearest josè pedro balmaceda pascal đ
ŕł a lil dbf!joel smut 4 celebration i hope u babies enjoy i was so tired from work but baby daddy deserved dis!!!
ŕł DBF!JOEL MY MAN 4EVA
ŕł description: FILTH LITERALLY FILTH HELLO, SMUT, DBF!joel, (pre-outbreak!joel kind inspired)early40s!joel, dom!joel, sub!reader, early20s!reader, heavy heavy daddy kink (MHM), choking (r receiving), cowgirl momentarily đ
, doggystyle, slight hair pulling (r receiving), breeding kink (âşď¸), no use of y/n, use of pet names (darlin, sweetheart/girl, babydoll), reader gets rammed in childhood bedroom.
you came home from college for summer break, you were feeling severely homesickâand sick for something else.
your dadâs bestfriend Joel. he was a burly, scruffed, and damn-right sexy; not only that but he was a man, a real man.
you couldnât find yourself standing a second talking to a college boy after the last night you had 5 months ago before you left spring break.
now here you were, in your childhood bedroom; getting completely fucked out of your mind by that exact man, Joel.
when you came home, you expected to be greeted by your parents once you arrived at your childhood house.
your grandma had picked you up from your university and dropping you off with all your luggage; just to be greeted by Joel Miller.
he was sitting on one of the many wooden chairs on your porch, beer in hand as he leaned his back against the rest of the chair.
âwelcome back, darlinââ his southern accent drawls so sweetly, your heart pooled straight to your cunt. you took in the husky man.
he was laid-back, wearing tight jeans with his old brown belt shining with that thick silver buckle holding his jeans tightly as white tee hugged his roughed-up muscles perfectly. especially, the way his brown rough of hair curled around and framed him perfectly. you were gawking as you kissed you grandma goodbye. slight shameful but fuck, he was so fine.
you forced your way up the three-steps, you could feel his eyes burn through you. the heat of summer sun wasnât the only thing making you sweat; his gaze feeling hotter than anything else on this planet.
âhiâhiyaâ Joel! âmy folks?â your throat raked outâcheeks flushing in embarrassment, clearing it before continuing. you were a complete mess under the chocolate galaxy he carried in his husked eyes.
âthey left for a cruise?â he answered, looking at you questionably as your memory begins to jog-back to you.
âfuck right! âyou were going to greet me todayâi completely forgot.â it had completely slipped your mind through your rushed packing that Joel was going to be with you for their last night of their cruise; to watch over you, take care of you.
âoughtaâright babydollâyâjust gonâ stand there gawking?âor yâgon câmere?â his tone was low as his drawl foretold.
there were no words, just actions.
you could feel the sweat trickle down your neck into the dips of your clavicle as you walked through your front door, taking in the aroma of your childhood home.
the place you grew up with your dad and Joel handling grill-outs on summers like these, the place whereas you got older, the infatuation you had for your dadâs bestfriend only turned into a undying crush.
you would do anything for Joel, anything he asked.
thatâs exactly how you ended up in the salacious position you were in now; position he put you.
âbetter have not been fuckinâ around with those dirty olâboysâ his hot breath glazed your ear with his growl.
you took in the view of your childhood bedroom, taking in the white walls that were decorated with the cutest posters and fashion magazine rip-outs. your ceiling fan even had a pink monkey dangling from it that has been collecting the dust up there for the past decade.
your bed was completely by a full satin-ruffled bunny printed set from when you were younger, scattered with all types of stuffed animals; a couple of different colored teddy bears and hello kittiesâalmost all had been gifted to you by Joel himself.
this was a disgustingly heavenly-sent tainted picture-perfect moment.
he laid perfectly in between all your teddies and plushies as you hopped on him like a corrupt bunny.
ânever daddy!âpussy sâyours! sâyours!â you cried as his rutting vigorous hips met yours. your titties were pushed against his broad hairy chest as his hair had a grip through your hair, keeping your heads connected.
all you could feel was the way he engulfed your insides was a flame hotter than the rays of the sun, a burn you craved more and more.
the only thing you could pay attention to be the sound of his balls slapping against your lower ass as your hips recoiled against each pistol of his ownâfeeling his cock brush against your cervix with each fuck-up from his cock.
the room that Joel used to once come check-in on you everytime he visited your home throughout the years, watching you become the woman you are today, so full of life and intelligent. yes, your father would kill himâgo out first thing he was to find out to purchase a gun and wouldnât hesitate to use it on him.
Joel knew this was wrong, but lord didnât give him enough strength. it was you; how could he resist you.
it all made it more sickingly more beautiful to him.
âwhoâs your daddy, babydoll?â Joel flipped you over. your faces embarrassingly smushed in between all your cute little plush babies.
âgahâfuckâyou!you daddy!you!â it wasnât even a second that he was outside of your cunt before slamming himself back into you.
âoh myâfuck daddy sâbigâ your cock-drunken self slurs out as you drool onto of the hello kittyâs Joel gifted you; completely dumbed out on his cock, he was biggest youâve ever seen and taken.
you never failed to remember the way his cock stood girthy and tall, almost taking up the size of your face as one hand wasnât even enough to pump him correctly.
Joel showed no mercy to your sweet little cunt as you were now on all fours for him, exposing him to all your perfect curves and dips; his hand running up and through your back as his hips slapped harshly against the recoil of your ass.
you felt his big callous hands hold the back of your neck, not caring for the sweat that glistened off the both of you before moving it over to grip your throat, cutting the air from you blissfully.
from now on, the only thing planted into your brain was Joel.
the way he had you in pure erotic dismay for him in your childhood bedroom, the bedroom he watched you grow up in. you loved this, you lived for this.
âsuch a dirty girlâlikinâbeinâ chokedâ Joelâs groan graveled, sending a shiver through your spine as you felt your vision blur from the loss of circulation. you felt like you were at the gates of heaven.
âonly fâyou!âonly fâya-daddydaddy please!â
your pleasantly ardenous moans and sobs echoed through your little girly walls, bouncing off just like your plush ass against his thick cock as your cunt slide him like it was molded for him and him only.
you felt his grip on your neck loosen slightly as it went to massage through the locks of your hair, roughening it up as he pulled on it slightly with each impassioned thrust into your squelching cunt.
âsuch a good girl faâmeâyou always been, havenât you? âgah fuck! âalways wantinâ to do good by me, hm sweet girl?â the tone that carried through his deep accent was ravenous as his groans stuttered him out.
Joel could feel himself growing closer as he twitched inside of you âyesyes! always good fâyou, daddy! mâcloseâso close!â you moan out as you feel your legs shake as his other hand that never left your hip turned red by how deep his hand dug into your flesh.
you could feel his hips stutter as you reach your hand behind you to feel him, desperate to hold him in some form. he immediately grabs your hand and places it on his heart.
âfeel this babydoll? this whatchaâ do tâmeâougah fuck! you drive mâcrazy!â Joel didnât hold back as he made his last rough and haste thrusts count.
you could feel the way his heartbeat was beating fast, beyond rapid. you were sure you loved this man âyes daddy! sâgoodâlove yoâah! ah! daddy!â you were so cock-drunk, you didnât stop the confession from coming out.
âsay it, sweetheartâplease!â the husked groan was a beg.
âim cumming!âfuck! âi love you, i love you daddydaddy!âfuck!â the confession was carnal, but you looked back, pouring your eyes into his fucked-out ones completely matching his hungry gaze. you meant it.
âi love you moreâfuck me! wanna make me a daddy? drive yâold man crazy, hm?â Joel was a menace, such a sick hot menace.
âJoelâbutâbut!ââ
âwhassaâ matter, sweet girl? yâdonât-fucking heâhell! âwanna get this young little pussy full of my kids?â you watched the sick smirk smear across his beautifully rugged lips.
âhmph fuck it-yes! yes yes! daddy daddy pleaseâfill me upâoh my!â you blabbered out in pure bliss; you loved the idea of having his kid in such a twisted way. your dad would lose it, but right now, there wasnât a single care in the world for the both of you.
just like that, you could feel his hot load shoot and seep into your cunt, coating your wall with his thick white cum; hoping to reach into your beautiful fertile self to bless you with a bump of his own.
the room was filled with breathless pants as your chests heaved, pulling you in once he collapsed onto your angelic frilly little bed.
you shared hot and love-drunk, wet open-mouth kisses, making both of your membranes fuzzy.
your kisses slowly went from his lips to the gruffness of the hairs on his beard, getting lost on the way the small greyish brown hair tickled your lips. then, down to his neck, leaving the softest pecksâfeather-like as a deep sigh erupts through his lips.
you felt him pull you up, grabbing your chin to look at him.
there was that dark hungry gaze again.
the chocolate abyss in his eyes that lulled you in every single fucking time.
âim gonâ fill this fucking pussy tâill i got a mini us runninâ around.â
dolls-taglist: ĚĚâ @yondaimekazzy @alyzae13 @elliewilliamsgirl3
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cold, lips blue
din djarin x f!reader | masterlist
summary: din takes you to see the snow, and then uses his body heat to warm you up.
warnings: softest smut soft!din. p in v. no use of y/n. loosely season one/two. same reader as isn't it - but no requirement to read.
wordcount: 3.1k
With him, youâre discovering wonderlands.
Eyes finding places your dreams couldnât even manifest, dream or conjureâshades coming to life, appearing in mixed colours and strong hues.
Each sight makes your heart do a double take as you steal extra seconds from plans to take it all in.
Todayâs wonder is all white.
Itâs littered with occasional grey stones and slightly blued pebbles. The piles of them doing their best to intersperse, to be a break in the rolling snow-covered hills. Provide some form of depth, give something for your eyes to latch ontoâto prove thereâs vastness.
The first solid thought youâd had when the hull door opened was, itâs bright. Almost uncomfortably, so,
Eyes squinting instantly, forcing yourself to see through your lashes, forearm coming up to shield you further as the wind howled and flakes began their escape into the ship.
Eyes squinting instantly, yet you force yourself to see through your lashes, forearm coming up to shield you further as the wind howled. Its mournful wail echoes through the air and flakes dance in a frantic ballet, their delicate forms swirl like spirits wishing to escape into the ship.
Stepping outside, more snow finds refuge on your cheeks, forehead and nose, resting there momentarily, before vanishing as though theyâd never existed. They leave behind only the sensation, a fleeting tickle, like the echo of a memory. Just like a kiss, its presence lingers, an imprint on the skin, brief yet unforgettable.
Just like him, you suppose. Just like all the kisses the two of you have shared.
The last one, in particular.
The softness of it. The way he so cautiously slanted his mouth over yours, cupped your head in his hand and spent seconds, minutes mapping out your lips before he even slid his tongue past your teeth.
Youâd made notes of things tooâthe low grunt he tried to bury in his throat, the way his body slowly relaxed itself on top of yours. All welcome, a weight youâd forever wear.
Forever. An odd word. Seven letters, and yet it expands through space and time. Itâs ever-lasting, yet could be gone in a moment.
Turning on the spot, your senses tune in to the sounds of it crunching under your boots. Bits of it find shelter within the worn seams, seeping into the crevices as if seeking solace in the fabric that has weathered so much, all over-worn and loved.
Youâre glad, in a sense.
Even if your toes grow colder and liquid begins to slide under the arch of your footâit just means you can feel more of it. Soak as much of it in, and let it solder itself to you, so a piece of it lives within when the three of you turn your back on this place.
You hear him follow, and all you think is that he's welded a part of himself in you too.
A fragment at firstâand now youâre sure heâs carved himself something larger. It's less about ordering you to stay behind, grasping for you in dark spaces that turn into heady nights spent panting. Now, itâs more about crawling in beside you because you know to wait, trusting him to always return. It's more about the way you can map his face with your palmsâbask in the sensation of his breath on your collarbone...
Cold stretches there now.
Youâre sure if you slide open your layers, the skin would pebble before it would begin to acheâto become desperate for cover. You wonder if your bones would want to shake and shiver; whether your blood would slow, if your mind would become a little less heavy?
âThis okay?â
He speaksâmaking the two words slice through the howl and the heavy breaths youâre consuming.
Asking it as though a smile hadnât been stitched into your face since the moment heâd told you he had a surprise. A treat. As though he hadnât watched a twinkle in your eye because you know he doesnât make half-promises and he does not give without thought.
âMore than okay,â you reply, voice gentle, it flowing from your lips as you let your gaze rest on him.
Let it sit there.
Allow your mind to begin to walk away with itself as you recall the way he jolted, the soft murmur he exclaimed when he danced between being awake and asleep.
You wonder if he regrets this. Whether the way you curled into him to soothe had been a step too far; whether your palm flat to his cheek, knuckles tracing the stubble that leaves welcomed burns along your thighs, had been too much for him.
He hadnât said as much.
Not even once.
Sighing, letting it trickle past your mouth, you stare upâthe sight of frost falling seemingly coming from nowhere and yet somewhere. Lost in it. Attempting to trace, to find the origination, only to find yourself struggling to see, to focusâtoo bright, you think again, chin dropping, eyes closing as you take another deep breath.
Itâs why it slips out, is spoken before you realise itâs left your lips. It travels in wispy condensation, hand outstretched, palm upturned, as the words fill the silence: Iâve never felt falling snow.
You hear the sound of his boots crunching snow, the gap between the two of you closing as you flick your eyes to himânot halting him, but rather ensuring he knows you see him.
The dangerous side and the gentler side; the one who hunts and the one who caretakers. And all the rest in the middle.
You drop your gaze to himâthe one more beloved than ship, principles or bounties. Snow resting atop his green head, ears twitching when certain flakes make contact.
Then, you stare at the helmet. Silently asking, all done in an exchange, a purposeful distractionâwith a reply given in a tilt, a descent of his beskar-covered shoulders before the child was placed on the ground.
âIâll be gentle.â
âItâs not him Iâm worried about.â
You snort. "You trust me, Mando?"
He says nothing, which says a lot.
And you allow a deep inhale to followâone that flows ice through your nose, forcing it to crash into the sides of your lungs as you almost gasp.
Itâs a different kind of cold here.
A lot of things are different now.
You donât concede to the ache in your bones or the weariness in your jaw from the relentless clenching of your teeth. You hide it beneath a veneer of stoicism and resolve.
Because if you do, the three of you will leave.
Stubbornness, some would say; utreekov he would say.
All under his breath, later translated when your mouth wraps around his cockâwhen you hollow cheeks and trace the tip of your tongue along the slit as salt kisses the roof of your mouth.
He decides for you when you blow into your gloves. A firm declaration, bold: Grogu needs to sleep.
It is less a question, and more of a statement; not quite an order, but he leaves little room to argue. The child picked up, scooped practically from the ground, leaving you to face the back of them both.
If you were closer, youâd likely see your dismay reflected in the beskar. The ball in your hand melting, before you let it fall in a half-formed lump to the ground. Letting it reunite with others similar to it before your soles flatten it, crush it back into nothingness.
You shiver, with no attempt to hide it this time, his eyes no longer a threatâno necessity to fight it or bury it. Letting it rumble through you as your teeth move on their own accord. Knowing, without touching, that your lips are likely colder than the melting snow that had been in your hand.
It might not have been the case if you hadnât taken six snowballs to the face in the last so many moments.
The balls had been cupped and formed in your palms before you'd thrown them, only to have them flung back at you. A test, an experiment. A training session for Grogu and another thing ticked off from the list of things youâd ever done.
Yet, still, there are many things left.
A never-ending listicleâbut, there alongside the ones for him are even more questions you're not sure you'll get an answer on.
They won't be shared. You won't whisper them to him when youâre both bare and catching your breaths. They'll rot inside of you, leave them tucked behind sinew and held back by stronger muscles than you have anywhere else.
You know the protocol when you are back in the warmth.
Silently disrobing, entering the refresherâfollowed by dressing and the rest of your usual routine as the other two sit up top, one resting and the other doing his utmost to avoid.
A thing that rarely bothers you, except now, your skull throbsâpounds. A sudden desire to call out his name, to ask him to come, for no reason other than to be held. The back of your hand finds nothing but chill, cold and sweat when it brushes your forehead, an unsteadiness to your walk as you manoeuvreâso reminiscent of the first few days on the shipâhis name being swallowed.
Bed, you think.
Moving slowly, each step is akin to a baby's crawl until you finally grasp the comfort of it before sliding up further into it, encasing yourself, wrapping until youâre closer to a ball than a person.
Youâre not sure how long you lie, how much time passes, but when he calls your name it sounds distantâfar off.
And, so he calls it again, and again. A chant, a melody, it carries around the walls and greets your ear each time. There's just no energy to reply, nothing else inside of you than being curled and willing warmth to stretch out across skin, muscle and ossein.
Maker.
He breathes it. Allows it to flow out. But, it isnât until his hand knocks away the sheet, fingers brushing over your calf do you hear him hiss.
âKriff, youâre freezing.â
You murmur something, mind willing for an I know but not entirely sure what hits the air. Barely able to do more than remain still, to stop yourself from shivering.
Worth it, you add. Repeating it, the bridge to the song of your name he'd begun earlier, until you open your eyes and find yourself in the dark.
It's all-encompassing in its cloak of midnight, the darkness enveloping you like a heavy shroud, pressing against your skin with an oppressive weight, suffocating any glimmer of light and casting you into a realm of shadows and ambiguity.
Then you hear him undress.
Able to tell now, able to spot when each item is placed downâlike a strip tease youâve never been privileged to actually see, but the routine is all but memorised.
You want to reply, tell him you'll be fine as a tremble rips through youâfinding itâs easier to keep your teeth together. Easier to tremble and shiver and shake.
That is, until you feel him shift, the presence of him looming before his body begins to smother yours.
It's all broad, heavyâheartbeat hammering against your skin as it ripples a kind of tune through your bones. But it's the warmth you grasp for; bring closer. Your fingers digging into skin and muscle, needing him flush to you more than you need to breathe.
Itâs not romantic, but in a way it also is.
Even if shrouded in a blanket of faux night, thereâs something intimate about the way he feels around you. It's far softer, slower movements.
His fingers find your cheek. Thumb brushing over your lips, likely cold, lips blue, as you bite back the instinct to let it slide into your mouth. Fight hollowing cheeks around the appendage, remind him how good your mouth can feel.
Instead, you focus on him. How this time, neither of you said this wasnât it. This wasn't the placeâisn't it. No entertainment that snowy-topped hills and rolling mounds of ice could be a place he could ever leave you.
Youâre thankful, more than grateful.
Wishing to say as much as you shift your body under his, his thigh slotting more gracefully between yours, so much so, that makes you whimper. A sound that makes his head move, shift quickly.
A shyness falling over you, a veil of it, weightless but still there.
You're sure he's reading you, scanning you, deciphering everything the noise could mean even in the dark.
But, it's obvious that you want him. A thing you almost shrug out, but he shifts again, purposefully rocking his thigh, intentionally pulling another whimper that proves that you're throbbing. That you need him. More than a requirement, more than survivalâ
Warm me. Keep me warm.
Fingers sliding to his waist, resting, thumb stroking as you nuzzle your nose against his cheek. A sign without words, a signal that flashes in its own way.
Your wants rolling, clumping. Not too dissimilar to the snowballs you had made earlierâthem all compacting, hardening.
Please, Mando.
Even if he thinks you just want him, you want more than the solid length of him inside of you or his palms on the back of your thighs.
It's a thing which circulates, and you ponder over it. Turn it over when you wake before him and let sit on the back of your tongue when he's showing you what buttons and switches mean on the ship.
Because you want to know his smile, the shade of his eyesâsee the faces he pulls when he tilts his head and know the unfiltered sound of his laugh. You want him to never let you go. To never let you slip under, to hold you, to always beâ
âMesh'laâŚâ
You hadnât known youâd been speaking out loud. Letting confessions fall, like the earlier snowflakes. Except they hadn't landed softly, or gently. But rather laboriously, thicklyâmaking the small space feel much narrower.
Realisation slams your heart into your chest, halting thoughts, and silencing your apparent babbling.
Head turning, silence doublingâair tighteningâbefore you think and speak, âShould be saying that t-to you.â
He hums, it vibrating through him, fluttering over where your chest meets his. âIâm not... not mesh'la.â
âDonât need to see you to know that you are, Din.â
Youâre cautious with it, his name.
Barely used, barely warranted. A thing given to you one night when your face was buried into his neckâa silent promise made when heâd handed it to you. An offering.
You feel his head rise, each of his muscles taut, and you close the gap, moaning your gratitude into his mouth, all messy.
Rustling sheets sounded, suddenly aware of him. Feeling him. Pressed against you, heavy and leaking, as the rest of him remains tense. Caged in his bicep, mouth unwilling to release yours, to be anywhere but reading the rest of your wants straight from your tongue.
"Got you," he moans, signing it against you as he moves, positions himself before you can feel him nudging at your entrance, "I've got you."
And he does.
Slick with need for him, in a slow thrust, he sinks into you. Deeper and deeper. Clutching onto him, hanging more imperatively to him as he pauses, lets you adjustâmouth sliding over yours as he waits for the sign to move, to go, permission to further set you aflame.
You think each time youâll be used to how he stretches you, how delicious it feels. How youâre so full, so content, and how he feels all warm and soft against you. But this time itâs different. Not just in the way he moves, but in the way he kisses you, in the way he murmurs soft phrases to your neck and collarbone.
Some you make out and make heat rush to your cheeks. Some you begin to try to translate before a drag of his cock sends the words spiralling into a mess of letters that fade as quickly as they were spoken.
Toes curling, fingers digging further into his waist and shoulderâleaving something on him, even if heâll bury it in armour.
It's a thing youâll know. Heâll know. A thing which makes him bite down on your shoulder and ask for more.
A demand which makes your back arch, makes you drop a curse as your vision blurs and your toes curl as his pace picks up.
Because youâre trembling for an entirely different reason now. So close to fracturing, to coming apartâletting have it all, the good, the bad and the parts which have rotted before he lay beside you. Seeing stars in a galaxy of nothing all because of himâIâm close, so close.
"Let me feel you."
All gruff, grunted into your neck as you tighten, clench, tangling fingers into his curls for leverage.
It should feel like falling, but it doesnât. Never does.
It feels like an explosion. A pauseâlike youâre floating, not rising or descending. Just there. Flames roaring through you, burning away any leftover chill, as you flutter and howl out his name.
You writhe, whine. Moan. Paint the small space with nothing but pleasure and thankfulness and Din, oh, Din, as he tells you how good you are, how well you take him.
And, heâs not far behind. Can tell from the babbling and then the choked back where he emits as you croak back inside. Internally pleading, wishing, crossing fingers and toes that he does so, when you feel him spill into you when your name sounds both sweet and sinful as he groans it.
As he buries a word that sounds similar to mine into your neck, hips stuttering and stammering as you wrap a leg around him in response.
Yours.
Thereâs a moment.
The air tightens when breaths are caught and heads are clearer. The space the two of you are in is on edge. Subconsciously tensing. While you, after the softness of the moment, are unsure whether youâll be rewarded with more or something akin to the opposite.
He answers by pulling you closer, no space between the two of you. Just sweat and skin and nil else, as his mouth and hot breath rest against your cheek, your own fingers finding purpose in his curls.
Thatâs when you hear it, a whisper, barely discernible from his heaving breaths: Theyâre brown. My eyes are brown.
Smiling, you swallow.
Nodding, something you hope he can feel.
Because a shade is something, far more than you had this morningâand itâs plenty enough, for now.
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