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purebarnes · 1 month
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✶ 𝗜𝗡𝗙𝗥𝗨𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗜 / FUSHIGURO MEGUMI
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. 𝓟airing ─ fushiguro megumi × reader
. 𝓖enre ─ light angst, established relationship, he apologizes at the end
. 𝓒ontent warnings ─ megumi is lowkey an ass, dumb argument
. 𝓢ynopsis ─ the reason why you're arguing is stupid. megumi is too busy doing his stupid work on his stupid computer. he's stupid. and you feel stupid for crying.
. 𝓘ndex ─ masterlist, yuji version, yuta version
❛ 𝓖irl , you're the one i 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁
𝓨ou're the one i 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱 ❜
things got heated quickly. you keep talking but megumi's not even looking at you, his whole focus is placed on the stupid screen of his stupid computer.
"are you even listening to me?"
megumi groans, annoyed, removing the headphones that were loosely hanging over his head. "what? what do you want?" he asks, his hands harshly rubbing his face before he looks at you, giving you that look.
your boyfriend often came off as rude and cold—impassive, and maybe even insensitive. except he wasn't. he cared about his loved ones deeply, he just had his own way of showing it. and they knew that. you knew.
regardless, never once did you think he'd point those unphased, frigid eyes of his—his thin brows hovering them like dark clouds—at you.
"you wanted us to spend more time together, isn't that what you said?" his gaming chair was fully turned in your direction now. he was sat, his whole body demeanor screaming nonchalance, and you stood there, in front of him, feeling like a child getting scolded.
"i told you i was busy, that i had work to do, but you insisted, so i told you to come over. and now you've been clinging and bitching for the past fifteen minutes. if you're not happy, you're free to leave!"
your breathing stopped along with your heart. everything went silent, you couldn't even hear the fan noise coming from his computer, and you could've sworn five minutes had gone by before the clock ticked again.
"shit, no, that's not what i meant-"
but it was too late, now. as soon as the words left his mouth tears were already streaming down your cheeks. to be honest, you only realized when your hand subconsciously wiped the salty drops away as you let out a quiet sniffle.
you wanted to come back at him, hit him with one of your sarcastic remarks like you always did, megumi wished you did too. but you didn't trust your voice enough to do that.
getting up warily, he attempted to reach for you, you took a step back, so he tried again, and all of a sudden you were in his embrace, with his fingers tangled in your hair.
"sorry, this is stupid. i didn't mean that," he muttered, caressing your hair. his voice low and his touch delicate, he feared anything he'd do would hurt you.
"...i'm stupid."
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© aastrobliss, 2024
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purebarnes · 2 months
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soft bucky ABSOLUTELY KILLS ME😭
TENDER CARE. 18+
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pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader
summary. you’ve been feeling insecure lately and your boyfriend, bucky knows just the way to make you feel pretty
word count. 2845
warnings. 18+ only!! hurt/comfort, reader feeling insecure, lots of hand kissing bc that shit makes me weak, kissing in general, praise, body worshiping, oral (f receiving) little bit of titty stuff, unprotected pinv sex, bucky being the best bf. minors dni
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It was late, the evening quiet - the winter moon, a bright slither of silver amongst the dark blue sky. 
As you lay in your bed, admiring her beauty through the condensation of your window, your mind begins to drift, irrationality throwing hurdles at you. Your brain darting back and forth to those same thoughts you've been having more of lately - ones where doubt and insecurity flood any sense of logicality. 
You knew you had no reason to feel this way. Your boyfriend always went to grave lengths to ensure you felt loved and appreciated, showing you nothing but tender care. Though, there was just something in your brain, that little green gremlin instilling distrust within you - no fault to him.
You felt isolated with your sense of humility, often feeling as though you didn't have someone to confide in, someone to talk to. It wasn't an easy topic to bring up, and although you felt comfortable enough with Bucky to share your mind freely, this was something that you just could not stomach. 
Not only were you thinking about yourself, you were thinking of Bucky. The thought of admitting to him you felt insecure in your relationship felt like the highest form of betrayal. To confess to the man who's been torn apart and stitched together more times than one can count - that you felt unlovable, was something you couldn't bear. 
The amount of hurt you would cause him simply by sharing was enough to deter you. So, for that reason alone, you kept it hidden. Letting yourself wallow in the crappy feeling unaided. 
Your phone vibrates on your nightstand beside you, the screen obnoxiously bright - the white almost blinding you within your dim bedroom. Teary-eyed, you peek over at the caller ID, your boyfriend's name displayed beside his picture. 
You wanted to talk to him - to hear his voice, but you knew your wavering tone would give away your dismal state. So, you let his call go to voicemail, like all his others from this evening. 
Feeling guilt-ridden for declining his calls, you pick up your phone, deciding to send him a text instead. But when you unlock your phone, you see a pile of missed messages from Bucky, each text growing more and more worried at your sudden disappearance - his last one reading, 'I'll be over in 10' which was nearly ten minutes ago. 
You exhale in frustration, cursing yourself as you wipe your eyes - carefully blotting the sensitive skin with one hand, the other typing a response. You decided on a small, white lie, replying, 'sorry, I was sleeping.'
The second your thumb presses send, you hear a frantic string of taps on your door - the repeated sound of knuckles knocking. You take a moment to situate yourself before making your way to your front entrance, socked feet paddling over to answer. 
You peek through the peephole, your boyfriend on the other side - visibly distressed as he rakes through the front strands of his hair. You reach for the handle, unlocking the door with an expression you were sure to be disgrace. "I'm so sorry. I was in—" you start.
"Are you okay? You didn't answer. I got worried— I thought something happened," Bucky cuts you off, walking past you and stepping into your apartment.
You close the door behind him, turning to meet his frazzled features. "I know, I know. I'm really sorry. My phone was on silent, and I was in bed. I didn't see anything til just now," you confess, sharing parts of the truth.
He deeply exhales, gaze softening as he looks over you. He pauses, seeming like he's analysing you, eyes honing in on your evading ones. "What's wrong?" 
You knew your gag would be up sooner or later, but you didn't expect it to be this soon. Sometimes, it was like your boyfriend knew things about you before you even did yourself - as though you failed to remember who you were talking to.
"Nothing," you smile, kissing his cheek as you step past him. "Just tired— didn't sleep properly."
"Yeah?" he hums, not quite believing your half-truths. He kicks off his boots and follows you into your room, soft footsteps behind you like a shadow. "How was your day?" he asks, talking like he's scoping you out.
You sit on the foot of your bed, shrugging at him dismissingly. "Same old. How was yours?"
He steps towards you, eyes darting around your room before focusing on you - everything becoming more apparent. "Fine. Good," he nods, softly groaning as he takes a crouch in front of you, kneeling on the floor between your legs so he's level with you. "What's wrong? What's going on?" he asks, eyes following you with the movement of his head, brows narrowing.
"Nothing," you reply, speaking faintly. Responding minimally in case your voice were to break.
"No?" he questions, placing a delicate hand over your knee - the palm emitting warmth onto your skin through the fabric of your pyjamas.
You shake your head, bottom lip beginning to waver under his attention. 
"Then what's on your mind?" he asks gently, his tone warm and concerned.
"I told you," you avoid his eyes, looking down at your hands on your lap. "Didn't sleep well."
He sighs at your tenacity to push him away, head cocking to the side. He adjusts the stance on his knees, and your hands scramble for him - reaching out and holding onto him as if you were to stop him from leaving. Though only he wasn't leaving - he was just getting more comfortable. 
"I wasn't leaving," he murmurs, slipping his hands into yours, thumb brushing over the back of your hand assuringly. "Did you think I was going to leave you?" he asks, lips lining into a faint frown.
You notice his brows tug upwards in the middle, the tell-tell sign he was beginning to think too hard. "No, I was just— I... don't know."
"Well, I'm not," he responds shortly, speaking like he was being stern with you - tough love. "Now, what's going on with you?" he asks, his grip on your hand tightening with a reassuring squeeze, the silent act encouraging you. 
You inhale steadily, letting the air fill your lungs. "I haven't been feeling good."
He keeps his eyes on yours, following you. "Okay, why?" he questions shortly, wanting to get to the root of the problem as quickly as possible.
"I've been sad."
"Why?
You shrug. "I just have."
"I need more than that. Why have you been sad?"
"I don't know."
"Why?" he repeats, brows straightening.  
"Because I feel... ugly."
He hesitates, his shoulders slumping at your confession, visibly digesting your words. "Ugly?" he recites, the remark leaving a foul taste on his tongue. "Honey," he lingers, softly shaking his head.
Bucky stills, his forehead creasing with what you perceive to be pity. His mouth opens as though he's going to say something, only for it to snap back shut. He faintly sighs, bringing your hand to his lips. "You know that's not true, right?" he rhetorically asks, pressing a kiss into the back of your hand.
You don't say anything, the only reply being a short exhale and an awkward smile.
"Because I think you..." he pauses, kissing another patch into your hand. "Are the prettiest," a slow smile lining his lips - an expression that's now mirroring yours.
It was so simple. Everything Bucky did to reassure you - he did with ease. Just the tiny, loving act instantly melting the tension in your mind. His care for you pushing away any sense of self-doubt.
He peppers another kiss into your hand. And another - littering a short string of them over your wrist. "Don't listen to your brain, okay? She's not always right," he murmurs, expression softening like it was reassuring his words.
"I know," you nod, weakly smiling at him. "Just—"
"Hard. I know," Bucky finishes your sentence, nodding at you understandingly. 
He leans forward and places a soft kiss on the centre of your lips - his own brushing over yours sweetly, the action grounding and comforting. He pulls away first, eyes half-lidded as they glance over you, focusing on the almost pleading look on your face.
Your free hand reaches up to his face, palm enclosing his jaw as you bring him back in for a kiss - lips working over his more urgently than the time before. 
"Thank you," you mumble against his mouth, merely pulling away to show your appreciation. "You're so kind to me."
His grip loosens on your hand, now sliding both up to your face, cupping your cheeks as he deepens the kiss - tongue slipping into your mouth willingly. His lips leave yours, trailing a line of kisses along your jaw and down the side of your throat. 
"Always," he murmurs, the short word muffling into your skin. Whispering, "I want to show you just how pretty you are."
A soft whine-like hum vibrates in your throat, the noise accepting his words eagerly. Your hand trails into the short strands of hair at the back of his head, fingers grazing his scalp as you hold him to the crook of your neck. Neck tilting to the side, allowing him more access to you as you reach for his jacket, pushing the fabric off his broad shoulders. 
He presses a final kiss into a patch of your skin and pulls away, looking at your ever-softening features - eyes and brows growing pliant under his attention. His hands slowly roam down to the hem of your t-shirt, fingers hooking under the fabric as they lift, pulling it off your head in a steady, swift motion.
You sit in front of him, chest bare and on display in front of him, letting him take you in - not shying away like you did earlier.
Bucky remains quiet, his eyes fixed on the lewd sight before him, silently storing the image for safekeeping. He brings his hands up towards your tits, cupping under each - holding them in his palms. "So beautiful," he hums, leaning in to place a kiss on the swell below your nipple, giving his attention to each breast.
He rolls them in his strong hands, delicately playing and toying with them, thumbs skimming over your sensitive, hardening nipples, pressing kisses into the skin above. He looks up at you from between your tits, eyes full of love, full of warmth - looking up into your blissed ones with nothing adoration. 
He places a hand over your middle - fingers spread wide as he nudges you backwards, silently and carefully laying you down. Your bare back against the covers with him kneeling on the floor between your spread thighs. 
Barely leaning over you, he reaches up to kiss a trail over your abdomen, lips skimming along your jittering stomach as his fingers slip into the waistband of your underwear and pyjama bottoms. He pulls them down - light tugs as he drags them off your hips and down your thighs, grazing kisses over your now-exposed skin as he undresses your lower half. 
Pulling the fabric off your ankles, he sets it aside, replacing the material that just covered you with kisses - lips grazing up the length of your legs, chaste pecks over your skin like he was worshipping you. The kisses trail higher and higher, reaching up to the crease between your thigh and cunt where he continues the worship, tongue faintly swiping over the skin.
Your hands worm into the roots of his dark hair, fingers locking on the shorts as you hold him to where you want him, guiding him to the needy little spot between your thighs. Chest rising and falling, inner thighs twitching as the anticipation builds in your stomach.
He situates himself in front of your pussy, lips mere inches away as he softly breathes over it - teasing you, his eyes locked on your trembling stomach above. He places a peck on the bottom of your slit. And another. Lining a stripe of kisses up your cunt til he reaches your clit where he skates past the nub, tongue skimming over it.
Hands working over your thighs and to your hips, he adjusts you, placing your legs over his shoulders - letting them drape freely over his blades as he delves in deeper between your thighs, caressing your plushy folds with his lips and tongue. 
You murmur the first half of his name only to be cut off by a whine, the desperate noise catching in your throat when he nips at your clit, his lips wrapping around the mound - tongue skillfully flickering across. 
The noises he muffles are lewd and obscene - gruff, soft groans as he adulates your pussy, pushing his mouth in closer. Your fingers tug tighter on his roots at the consuming feeling, back lifting from the bed in an arch, mindlessly grinding your cunt into his face. 
Within minutes, you become a twitching, moaning pile of mush, coating his chin with your slick as you cum - thighs clamping around Bucky's head between.
He places a final kiss on your pubic bone before pulling away, standing up with a chubbed-up cock in his pants, the area tenting after tasting you. You hold his gaze, looking up at him with blissed eyes and a stir in your stomach - the sight of him making your cunt twitch. 
He wipes the wet from his chin on the back of his hand, briskly drying his stubble before undressing his lower half - tugging down on his combat pants and boxers, letting the material pool around his ankles as his cock springs free. Full length hard and ready, tip leaking precum. 
You scooch up your bed, resting flat with your head on the pillow, eagerly awaiting him. Your thighs instinctively spread as he crawls up the bed and between your legs, slotting his lower half between you - anchoring his weight on his hands either side of your head.
He leans in to kiss you, making you taste yourself on his tongue, the residual creamy slick transferring onto your own. Cock absentmindedly rubbing up against your pussy, the faint friction making you whimper into his mouth.
Your hands hook into the hem of his t-shirt, fingers gripping the bottom of the fabric as you guide it up his back, pulling it over his head as you break the kiss - his chest now bare and up against yours. 
Balancing on his left metal hand, he dips the other between you, reaching for his cock, wrapping his fingers around the base. He gives himself a few short strokes, guiding his head towards you - pushing his tip through the slick of your folds, coating his cock in your wetness before sinking into you.
You take him at your own pace, walls fluttering and loosening around his shaft as he eases more of himself into you - your pussy swallowing little bits of him at a time. Your hand paws at his wrist placed on your hip, fingers enveloping around the thickness, silently pleading and begging him to get closer.
He looks down at the lewd sight of you spread out in front of him: your brows knitted, eyes soft, lips bitten - natural, unadulterated beauty all desperate and malleable for him. He notices the bliss cloud in your eyes and gives your glistening, stuffed pussy a final once over before hovering back over you, chest lingering above yours. 
His lips skim over your jaw, trailing even more kisses down the side of your throat, giving you easing, reassuring pecks as he slips more of his cock into you - distracting you from the dull ache. 
"You are so beautiful," he whispers into your skin, sealing the compliment with a kiss. "You really are," he adds, pressing kisses into your shoulder. "I don't know how you don't see it."
You bend at the knee, holding it at his side - the new angle opening your hips wider, allowing that last bit of his cock to slide in, head hitting at the hilt. You keep him snug to you, arms lazily wrapped around his neck, your other leg entangling with his as your lips shadow each other. 
The moonlit room fills with soft, wet clicking - the sound of your pussy and sticky skin hitting cuts through the bliss-filled noises that slip past both of your lips, lewd noises surrounding you in the dark.
Bucky pulls his forehead from the crook of your neck to look down at you, eyes hinting at something - like his mind was temporarily elsewhere.
"Earlier," he starts, his voice hoarse as his hips wind into you, cock rubbing your walls so nicely. "When you said that thing," he adds, following your eyes when they bashfully divert away. "You tell me when you feel like that... I'd be happy to remind you just how pretty you are."
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a/n. I had an idea for myself, what?? and my first full fic in almost a year?? hope you enjoyed, bc I surprisingly don’t hate this💌
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purebarnes · 4 months
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AHH dbf!joel GETS ME EVERY TIME🤭
someone to be thankful for
DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader
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summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller.
warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (AU, NO OUTBREAK) non canon, DBF! Joel, AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s, i do not specify her age, but she’s a recent college grad so do with that what you will, not everyone graduates at the same specific age ya know? Joel is in his mid-ish 50’s). Reader’s a teacher, she is visiting her suburban childhood home from a big city. Reader’s parents are religious and practice traditional-ish gender norms (i.e father is head of the household kinda thing) reader’s family celebrates Thanksgiving (sorry) several mentions of food and alcohol, reader’s parents suck, she has two brothers who come with names, a lot of her relatives come with names, watch out for Aunt Ines she’s a bitch. (TW) body/weight shaming (twice) PLEASE BE MINDFUL if this could be triggering. mentions of and implications of childhood abuse (not graphic) reader’s dad gets in her face, implied infidelity (reader’s dad), implied toxic marriage (reader’s parents). soft, caring, protective Joel. Joel’s recently divorced, mention of Sarah, mentions of the ex-wife. SMUT. oral sex (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader states she’s on baby blockers (birth control), creampie, DADDY KINK (bc reader clearly has a few daddy issues), LOTS of pet names (darlin’, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, honey), size kink (ish?), cockwarming. think i got it all?
PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, that is fine but just keep on scrolling.
MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.
word count: 11.5k
a/n: yeah…idk. this was very delayed because it turned into a whole thing. if anyone actually reads all 11k of this, i will bake you muffins.
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You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.
Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.
Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.
Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.
And somehow, someone will still find something.
Something to point out.
Something to comment on.
Something to criticize.
If not your appearance, it’ll be something else.
Because someone always had something to say.
“Should you be eating all of that?”
“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”
“Don’t you want to get married?”
“When I was in my twenties, I had two children.”
Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.
Actually, for your family, boundaries didn’t exist at all—somehow, they are still scratching their heads and wondering why you’d decided to up and leave the minute your high school principal handed over that diploma, your ticket to freedom.
“Sweetie!” Your mother’s shrill voice calls from the kitchen downstairs. “I need a hand! Our guests are going to start arriving soon and there is still plenty left for us to do before they get here!”
You groan outwardly.
There’s still plenty left to do?
How’s that even fucking possible?
You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.
“Don’t you think it’s too early?” you’d grumbled at five o’ clock in the morning when your mother had pulled you out of bed, declaring it was time for the big dinner preparations to begin—even though it’d be several hours before your family came over and gathered around the table to break bread. She had pulled the turkey out of the freezer a few days ago, a massive, thirty-pound whole bird that looked big enough to feed a small village. In addition, she had picked up a ham and a brisket. “Mom, why’s there so much food?” Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, you’d started making your way over to the Nespresso only to realize that the coffee machine was hidden behind paper bags full of groceries. “Are we cooking for all of Texas or something?”
“Very funny,” she had glared at you. “Of course we aren’t.” She started unwrapping the turkey. “We’re simply making sure we have enough food and that we have different options for everyone to enjoy, so knock it off with the wisecracks and get to peeling those carrots for me for the stuffing. There is not a single minute to waste today, you hear me, missy? We’re hosting a dozen people, so everything must be absolutely perfect. I won’t accept anything less than perfection today, do you understand me?”
Thirteen hours later, she’s still driving you insane.
You’re only home visiting until the end of the week and then it’s back to the Midwest. You can survive her for three more days, right?
You hear her calling your name and exhale a small, frustrated sigh. “I’m coming, mom!” you call back. It’s difficult to mask the annoyance in your tone of voice, but somehow you manage it. “One minute!”
Smoothing down your pleated plaid skirt, you take one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in order—there is a loose thread on the sleeve of your brown, knitted sweater and you carefully snip it off with a pair of scissors before sliding your feet into the comfiest pair of ankle boots you’d packed and head downstairs, nose leading the way as you follow the warm, delicious scent of the made from scratch biscuits and rolls baking in the oven.
You find your mother standing at the center island counter garnishing a charcuterie board with sweet gherkins and sprigs of fresh herbs. She is donning festive apron embroidered with fall leaves over her designer dress; her hair’s still up in rollers. “Finally, there you are,” she huffs out loudly the second she hears you walk into the kitchen. Down the hallway, your father and two younger brothers are shouting at some football game on the flat screen television in the living room—men don’t lift a single finger on this day, at least not in this household. “I need you to start setting the table for me. I have place cards in that bag over there. Make sure your dad’s at the head of the table. Oh and don’t forget to bring out the children’s table for all your little cousins—” She glances up, letting out a small gasp when she sees you. “What in the world are you wearing?”
Frowning, you look down at yourself. “Clothes?”
Her ruby red lips purse together in a tight thin line.
“Honey, that skirt is too short. It’s inappropriate.”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her. “It’s like an inch above the knee, how is that inappropriate? It’s not like it’s a miniskirt, mom.” As she eyes your skirt with disapproval, you decide you’re not in the mood to argue and say, “Okay, fine. I’ll go upstairs and change into something else then—”
“No, no, forget it,” she shakes her head. “We don’t have the time for that.” Your mother whirls around, picking up the bag of place holders—she’d special ordered little turkeys carved out of wood. She also takes a marker and a notepad, shoving everything into your hands. “Here. I wrote down all the names of everyone who’s coming for dinner. The children get place holders too but make sure the little ones are sitting beside someone older to help them. Oh! Did I already mention putting your dad at the head of the—”
Tuning her out, your eyes scan down the guest list and if there’s one thing to be thankful for today it’s the fact that your mother’s given you the power to seat everybody wherever you want. Halfway down the list, you see the names of several relatives that you don’t want anywhere near you at the table. An Aunt Miriam who smells like the inside of a casino; a cousin Jennifer who refuses to acknowledge her forty-eight month old is actually four years old; an uncle Richard who always has one too many beers and winds up spewing antigovernment conspiracy theories, ranting until he’s passed out somewhere, such as on the floor of the guest bathroom.
You get to the bottom of the list and can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Joel Miller?”
She nods, returning to her board.
“You remember Mr. Miller, don’t you, sweetie? He and your father went to college together—he’s one of his oldest and dearest friends. Don’t tell me you forgot about him? You’ve met him plenty of ti—”
“Yeah, I remember who Joel is, mom,” you mutter, cutting her off. “Didn’t he and the family move out to Arizona like, four years ago? To Phoenix, right?” You’d been away for college then. Taking a second glance at the list, you notice she had forgotten the names of Joel’s wife and daughter. Surely, it’d just been a mistake on her part, though. “I had no idea they were in town visiting. Dad didn’t mention it to me at all.”
“They’re not.” She lowers her voice, as if someone else is standing in the room listening. “Joel moved back to Austin, he’s been back for a few days now. He and Connie, they um—” Pausing for a moment, she reaches up and clasps the cross hanging from her neck before whispering, “They got divorced.”
Taken aback, your mouth parts slightly. “What?”
“I know. Joel and Connie were the last people that I ever thought would get divorced. Such a shame,” your mother remarks, shaking her head. “I ran into Mrs. Adler at the super market and she was telling me all about it. Thinks they could have saved their marriage if only those two—”
“Would get right with Jesus,” you finish, biting the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “She says that about everything, mom.”
“Well, she isn’t wrong! The sacrament of marriage is a lifelong bond that shouldn’t be broken. It’s not right.” Dropping her hand away from her necklace, she crosses her arms over chest. “Anyway, Connie stayed in Phoenix. Sarah’s spending Thanksgiving with her. Your father didn’t want Joel spending the holiday alone and invited him over for dinner. That means I need you to be on your very best behavior tonight. I don’t want you embarrassing your father in front of his closest friend. Is that understood?”
You can’t help but scoff a little. “I’m not a child.”
She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs right back, planting her hands on her hips.
“No, you’re a smart aleck. Need I remind you what happened last Thanksgiving with Aunt Ines?”
Of course she didn’t have to remind you about last year’s fiasco with her insufferable bitch of a sister.
“That’s an awfully big piece of pumpkin pie,” she’d remarked loudly, eliciting snickers from everybody sitting at the table. “Don’t forget, dear—a moment on the lips, forever on the hips. And you have quite a few forevers on your hips already, darling.”
You had smiled sweetly at her, your fingers itching to fling your mother’s fine china at her. “I wouldn’t really worry about my pie, Aunt Ines,” you had said as soon as you realized that nobody, not even your parents, would be coming to your defense. “Much less when your husband’s stepping out and eating someone else’s pie when he’s away on all those so called business trips. Worry about that instead.”
That comment hadn’t gone over all too well. Three months later, Aunt Ines and Uncle Louis started to see a marriage counselor. Whoops.
“Well?”
“She deserved that,” you say, shrugging lightly.
“She’s family.”
“She’s a jerk.”
“You crossed a line.”
“She crossed it first.”
Before your mother can respond, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes throughout the house.
“Jesus, we don’t have time for this!” Your mother’s eyes widen when she tries running a hand through her hair and realizes she still has her rollers in. “Oh no, people are arriving and I’m still not ready!” She makes a beeline for the hallway. “Get the door and greet our guests, I’ll be down in five minutes!”
She disappears upstairs into her bedroom and you hear the doorbell ring again. Your father shouts for someone to go answer it, someone other than him or your brothers because it is the end of the fourth quarter and they just can’t possibly miss that.
You make your way through the foyer and open up the front door expecting it to be one of your family members, but it’s not.
Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.
He’s broader than you remeber, so much broader.
The fabric of his sage green dress shirt is nice and snug on his frame—stretched taut over the planes of his chest and his wide shoulders. He’s holding a box of store bought something or other but you’re much too preoccupied with the way the sleeves of his shirt are hugging his biceps to notice what it is although you assume it’s some kind of dessert. He looks far more delicious than whatever sweet treat could be in that white box he’s got in his hands.
After a minute, you realize you’ve been gawking at him and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Hello Mr. Miller,” you greet him politely. “It’s very nice to see you again. Please, come on in.”
He smiles, his brown eyes warm and sweet behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. “You remember me,” he states and the syrupy richness of his voice sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. Stepping off to the side, you allow him inside—as he steps past you over the threshold, the tantalizing scent of his cologne almost brings you to your knees. Notes of a citrus accord like tart grapefruit, fresh bergamot mixed with the woodiness of vetiver and musk; it’s intoxicating, something you could easily get drunk off of if you’re not careful. “I’m surprised. S’been a real long time since you last saw me.”
“It hasn’t been all that long,” you reply, closing the door behind you. You speak to him in the steadiest voice you can muster, with nonchalance—as if you aren’t one missed heartbeat away from feeling like a silly little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Has it?”
He thinks about it. “‘Bout four and a half years.”
“That’s really not that long.”
“S’not,” Joel admits with a chuckle. “But with how much I’ve aged in that short amount of time, I just wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me, y’know? I look a lot different than I used to.” He pauses and laughs, shaking his head. “I must look like an old geezer to you now, don’t I?”
Grays lightly pepper his thick dark brown curls, his beard and his mustache. He’s got crows feet when he smiles, he has worry lines and creases between his eyebrows—he does look a lot older, but he’s so goddamn handsome, wrinkles, fine lines, and all.
You toss him a playful eye roll, prompting a grin. “I don’t think you look like an old geezer, Mr. Miller.”
“Well, you’re sure as hell makin’ me feel like an old geezer by callin’ me that, darlin’ girl.” He gives you a little wink and you’re not quite sure if it’s that, or if it was the way he’d used a pet name that knocks all the wind out of your lungs. “Please, just call me Joel.”
You nod and shyly agree to it. “Okay, then. Joel.”
“S’much better.” His grin widens and a prominent, deep dimple appears on the left side of his cheek.
There’s a silence that follows, but it’s not awkward or weird. It’s comfortable—being in his presence is comfortable. His sweet disposition makes you feel so calm, so at ease.
Joel’s always been a nice man of course, although your interactions with him had been limited—kind, quick hello’s in passing on Sundays whenever he’d come over to watch football with your dad, maybe a polite how are you here and there if you bumped into him at gatherings like a backyard barbecue or birthday party. But you’re older now, no longer the child who greeted her father’s best friend because it was bad manners if she didn’t. You don’t want to throw him that kind, quick hello or that polite how are you and then scurry off the way you used to as a little kid. You actually want to talk to Joel Miller.
But you suddenly remember he’s not here for you.
He’s here for your father.
Joel!” Your mother screeches, five-inch high heels clacking loudly as she descends the staircase. She had ditched the apron and hair rollers—and put on one too many layers of her heaviest perfume. With a delighted squeal, she rushes up to Joel and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, almost causing him to drop the box he’s still holding. “Oh, it is so good to see you! It’s been far too long!”
You force back a small, amused snort.
As if she hadn’t been judging the man for a failed marriage just minutes ago in the kitchen.
It’s performative, too over the top to be sincere.
“S’good to see you too.” He steps back and laughs as he adjusts his glasses with one of his hands. He holds out the box to her with the other. “Picked up a pecan pie on the way over here. I would’a tried to make it myself, but the kitchen’s still all packed up in boxes.” He pauses, laughing again. “Then again, I ain’t really much of a baker. Store bought was for the best I reckon,” he admits, sheepishly. When he shrugs his shoulders, his shirt strains a bit over his frame and even your mother can’t help but stare a little.
Lightly clearing her throat, she takes the box from him and reminds him, “Didn’t I tell you that all you had to bring tonight was a nice, healthy appetite?”
Joel lightly pats his stomach. “Brought that too. In fact, I didn’t eat a thing all day long. I’m absolutely starvin’ right now. Could eat a whole horse.”
“Good! Dinner’s going to be served soon. William’s in the living room with the boys, watching football game after football game. Come with me, I’m sure you’re eager to see him.” Your mother spins on her heel and hands you the dessert. “Sweetie, will you be a gem and go put this in the kitchen for me?” It isn’t a request, it’s an order masked as a request—it’s the kindest she’s been to you all day. She takes Joel’s arm and leads him down the hallway, calling out over her shoulder, “And please set the table!”
You do set the table, and when you do, you decide to sit yourself right next to Joel Miller.
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Your mother lightly clinks her knife against the rim of her wine glass and clears her throat. “Everyone! It’s time to join hands and say grace before we dig into our meal,” she announces, her voice breaking through the loud, buzzing chatter at the table. She waits until there’s complete silence and then takes her seat, the chair adjacent to your father’s. You’re on his opposite side and Joel’s right beside you. “I think you should do the honor, William. You are the man of the house, after all.”
Nodding, your father begins the prayer.
“Heavenly Father, bless this food we are about—”
You’re not listening. You’re distracted by the jolt of electricity that zips through your entire body when you put your hand in Joel’s. His hand dwarfs yours and it’s rough and calloused, but somehow it’s the most gentle, soothing touch. Heat prickles at your face and neck when you feel him sweep his thumb across the back of your hand—you open your eyes and glance over at him, wondering if that had just been an accident. You’re convinced it was, until he does it again, running his finger over each knuckle one at a time. Slowly, like he’s savoring the touch.
Biting your lip, you give his hand a gentle squeeze.
His head is bowed and his eyes are still closed, but a faint smile tugs lightly at the corner of his mouth and he firmly squeezes your hand back. There’s an unmistakable desire that’s already burning deep in your lower belly, a flame you can’t extinguish even when the angel on your shoulder reminds you that not only is Joel Miller twice your fucking age, he is also your father’s best friend. His best friend.
“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”
“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.
You force out the declaration. “Amen.”
“Amen,” Joel murmurs, opening his eyes. He turns to you and his gaze flits to your hand in his and for a moment, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let it go. It feels like Joel doesn’t want to let it go—and he doesn’t. He doesn’t let it go until the sound of your father’s loud, booming voice announcing it is time for him to carve the bird startles the two of you apart. Clearing his throat lightly, Joel turns his attention forward and reaches for his cabernet. He gulps down half his glass in one easy swallow.
Dinner’s fairly uneventful.
You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.
Part of you wonders if it’s because you’re sitting in between him and your father, the only person that he’s most comfortable conversing with. Assuming this is the case, you’re just about to ask him if he’d like to trade places when he turns to you and says, “Your dad told me you went to school in Chicago.”
He’s just being friendly, you remind yourself when your heart starts to flutter wildly at the notion that he wants to talk to you. He’s friendly. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.
“Yeah. I did.” You pick up your glass of wine, taking a sip hoping it’ll ease the nerves. “I graduated over the summer and took a teaching job out there.”
“You became a teacher?”
“Yeah. I teach kindergarten.” You smile proudly.
“Can you believe that, Joel?” Your father lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “I spent thousands and thousands of dollars to send her to school. All that money and for what? For her to learn how to teach little ankle biters how to color inside the lines?” He rolls his eyes and gestures to your two brothers on the opposite side of the table. “Now my boys, they are smart. Chose good careers to pursue. Brandon starts applying to medical school in the spring. Oh and Matthew? He got early acceptance to Yale. He plans on studying law.” He shifts his attention over to you once more and shrugs. “Not too sure where I went wrong with this one.”
You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.
“Dad.”
Chortling, he waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on, honey. I’m just kidding around. You know that I don’t mean it.” He then reaches out, pinching your cheek roughly. “Don’t be so sensitive,” he tells you before turning his attention back to his plate.
But he does mean it.
His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.
Joel nudges your arm with his. “Y’know somethin’, it takes someone real special to become a teacher, ‘specially to kids that age,” he states in a matter of fact tone. “Someone who’s real sweet and patient, someone real smart too. Someone just like you.”
Warmth radiates through your entire body. It’s not just his words, but it’s the sincerity behind them.
You shoot him a small, grateful smile.
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The two of you wind up talking to one another.
Joel’s moving his contracting business, bringing it back to Austin from Phoenix to run it with Tommy, his younger brother who you vaguely remembered meeting a time or two in the past. He mentions his daughter here and there, but doesn’t bring Connie up once—perhaps it’s too painful for him? It’s hard to tell. He seems to be in good spirits and truth be told, it doesn’t appear he’s mourning his marriage; but it’s difficult to believe he’s not missing her, the woman he’d spent three decades of his life with. It shouldn’t even matter to you whether he’s missing his ex-wife or not, if there are residual feelings still lingering around. But it does matter and you don’t know why. Or maybe you do know why, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.
“Do you like Chicago?” Joel questions, curiously.
Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah. It’s a cool city.”
“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”
“I’m not too sure,” you admit. “It’s too expensive. I don’t want to live with a roommate forever. Unless teachers start getting paid more, I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to afford to live alone in Chicago.”
Joel seems hesitant about his next query. “Do you ever think ‘bout comin’ back to Austin at all?”
Suddenly, you’re not too sure about that either.
You’ve been itching to go back and get as far from Austin, Texas as possible, but now, it means being far from Joel Miller. There’s a deep, sinking feeling inside of your chest at the thought.
Realizing he’s still waiting for a response, you have no choice but to tell him the truth. “I don’t think I’ll ever come back here, to be honest. Not to stay.”
“Oh. I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Are you—do you plan on visitin’ home again for Christmas?”
“I do. I’ll be here for Christmas and New Year’s.”
He’s being friendly. He’s being friendly. He’s—
“It’d be real nice to see you again then.” Flushing a deep shade of red, subtle regret flashes across his features, as if he’d said it without thinking. Picking up his glass, he drains the rest of his wine and you can swear he’s nervous. About what he’d just said, and about whether or not your parents, who are in such close proximity, had overheard him. Because what business did he have in telling their daughter it would be nice to see her again?
They’re both much too preoccupied. Your father is attempting to be slick checking his text messages underneath the table and you can tell by the smirk on his face that it’s one of his secretaries. He’s got a penchant for perky blondes in tight pencil skirts. Your mother is well aware of this. She is also aware he’s on his phone, but she turns a blind eye just as she always does and distracts herself by being the perfect hostess.
Feeling foolishly courageous, you turn back to him and nod, heart pounding against your sternum. “It would. It’d be very nice, actually.”
Relieved, he nods and murmurs quietly, “We’ll talk ‘bout it later, then. That okay, darlin’?”
Not wanting to seem too eager, you nod again and turn away from him, teeth sinking into your lip in a futile attempt to hide the giddiness in your smile—but the soft chuckle Joel elicits under his breath is a clear indication that it’s useless.
He knows how he’s making you feel. He likes it.
Your mother returns from the kitchen carrying two baskets of fresh crescent rolls, one for each end of the table. She sets one of them down right in front of you and you reach out to take one when a voice, one that sounds as awful as nails scraping down a chalkboard, remarks loudly, “Should you be eating so much bread, dear?” Ines, who’s sitting a couple chairs down, next to your grandmother, looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. There’s a smug little smile on her face, almost as if she were daring you to run your mouth like you’d done last year.
For as much as it pains you, you make your choice and decide not to take the bait. You pull your hand out of the basket of rolls and pick up your glass of wine instead, chugging it down like it’s water.
Frowning, Joel picks up the basket and takes a roll that you assume is for himself, but it’s not. Putting it on your plate, he shoots her a frigid glare. “Don’t you listen to her.” He says it loud enough for her to hear him. “You just enjoy yourself, alright?”
Your aunt bats her eyes, innocently. “Well, I’m just saying. If my skirt was that tight on me, I would be thinking twice about what goes into my mouth.”
Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You slam your empty glass down so hard onto the table that the entire dining room goes completely silent. The little ones at the children’s table stare with big and wide eyes, mouths full of food hung open because a grown up had just used a naughty word.
Your mother says your name warningly. “Don’t you start,” she hisses, shaking her head. “Be quiet.”
Angrily, you round on her. “Seriously? You’re going to let her say that to me? You don’t care that she’s making comments about my weight?” You almost laugh. Of course doesn’t care, she has never cared and she never will. “I’m your daughter! Would it kill you to defend me for once in your fucking life?”
“Shut your mouth!” Your father stands up, shoving a threatening finger into your face, so close the tip of it almost touches the tip of your nose. He hasn’t put his hands on you since you were nine, but he’s as drunk as he is angry, and you find yourself back in the shoes of the little girl who would curl up into a ball in the corner of her room as she begged and pleaded for him not to hurt her. “You hear me?”
Joel stands and walks around your chair. Placing a hand on your father’s chest, he mutters, “Hey now let’s take a step back from her, alright?” He guides him back down into his chair. “Ain’t gotta be in her face like that, Will.”
“I’m sick and tired of her ruining everything—can’t get through one dinner without her screwing it up! Always has to run that fucking mouth of hers! She still acts like a goddamn fucking child—”
You can’t bear to sit there and hear another insult.
Fighting back the hot tears that are threatening to spill over, you quickly stand up and rush out of the dining room. You make a beeline for the front door and step outside onto the porch. It’s about sixty or so degrees in Austin and the cold nips at your bare legs, but that’s the least of your worries. Without a place to go, you descend the porch steps and find yourself walking towards the swing that’s hanging from the old bur oak tree in the front yard. You had asked your father for a swing when you were three years old—it wasn’t until your brothers asked for a swing a couple years later that he’d hung one up.
You sit down, hands curling around the rope that’s so old and weathered it’s beginning to fray slightly but not so much so that you’re concerned about it snapping. You’re so busy trying to keep it together that you don’t notice the sound of crisp, autumnal leaves crunching under a pair of boots behind you. A hand gingerly touches your shoulder. You let out a startled gasp and glance over to see it’s Joel.
“Hey there, darlin’,” he says, gently.
You stare at him in surprise.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” you grit the lie through your teeth.
Joel’s expression softens. “You ain’t gotta pretend with me, sweetheart.”
His concern is genuine. It’s real.
You don’t quite know how to handle it. Accept it.
“It got real ugly in there, ‘specially with your dad.”
Tears prickle at your eyes all over again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry?” Baffled, Joel walks around the swing and a minor labored grunt escapes him as he squats in front of you. “There’s a few people who need to be apologizin’ for what happened, but darlin’ you sure as fuckin’ hell ain’t one of them.”
It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.
You’re not used to someone being on your side—it prompts more tears to spring forward and despite your best efforts to fight them off, it’s useless. You manage to whisper his name. It’s a feeble warning, one that’s telling him to go back inside before he’s caught in the torrential downpour of emotions you are mere seconds away from unleashing on him.
But he doesn’t budge. He waits. Joel knows you’re about to break and he’s ready to catch the pieces.
Finally, a tear slips and rolls down your cheek, only to be followed by another and then another. You’re holding onto the swing for dear life now, emotions that you’ve been holding in for your whole life now coming to the surface. The rope digs painfully into the palms of your hands. He reaches out and curls his fingers lightly around your wrists.
“S’okay to let go,” Joel encourages you and you’re certain he’s not just referring to the swing. “Listen to me, darlin’ girl. I ain’t gonna let you fall, alright? I’m right here to catch you. You can let go. I’ve got you, okay?”
You allow Joel to take your hands off the rope and he guides them around his shoulders as you begin to crumble. Leaning forward slightly off the swing, you wrap you arms around him and bury your face into his neck. “Joel,” you choke out his name as he wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.
He feels like stability.
He feels like security.
He feels like safety.
Your entire body shudders as you cry, cry, cry.
“S’alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
He repeats his reassurance over and over again.
He wants you to believe it.
And you do believe it.
Joel’s as patient as can be. It’s growing colder and his knees are begging for a change of positon, but couldn’t care less about the discomfort. He rubs a soothing circle into your back and waits until there is nothing left except little hiccups and sniffles.
“Shit,” you mumble when you pull back and notice you’d left behind a wet spot on his shirt along with light traces of mascara. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “I ruined your shirt.”
“S’okay. Nothin’ the dry cleaners can’t take care of for me.” Joel chuckles and lets go of you. “You feel a little better now, darlin’?”
“I do.” You glance over your shoulder at the house, then exhale a sigh and turn back to him, admitting quietly, “I don’t want to go back in there, though.”
He rises to his feet and pulls out a set of keys from the pocket of his black jeans. “Well, y’dont have to go back in there,” he states. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Friend’s house, maybe?”
“My best friend Megan went to Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving. Most of my other friends left Austin like I did,” you explain, sighing again. “Anyone who didn’t leave is spending their time with their family tonight and I don’t want to bother them.”
Joel hums, mulling it over in his mind. “Well, don’t know how comfortable you’ll be with the idea, but my place ain’t all too far from here. Ten minutes or so. Less if there’s no one out on the roads.”
“Joel, that’s so nice of you to offer, but I’ve already ruined your dinner tonight. The last thing I want to do is put you out even more,” you say, sheepishly.
“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin a fuckin’ thing for me tonight. And you wouldn’t be puttin’ me out at all,” he promises. “S’gettin’ late and truth be told, I just wanna get you somewhere warm.” Holding out his free hand, he adds, “And comfortable.”
“But Joel—”
“I can be real stubborn too, y’know,” he teases you with a playful grin. “We’ll be out here all night long freezin’ our fuckin’ asses off.”
He isn’t going to take no for an answer.
“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.
You place your hand in his and he helps you off the swing. He doesn’t let it go as he leads the way to a sleek, black Dodge Ram that’s parked behind your grandfather’s silver Mercedes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “Sorry, sweet girl. It’s a bit of a trip up into the seat,” he remarks, chuckling as he opens the passenger side door for you. He gives you a boost into the truck; the scent of new leather is mixed with that of his cologne. It is all man and couldn’t be sexier. “Good up there?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
Joel closes the door and hurriedly walks around to the driver’s side of the pickup, climbing up into his seat with ease. “Seatbelt,” he tells you as he sticks the key into the ignition. The first thing he does as soon as the engine roars to life is turn on your seat warmer. He switches on the heater as well, waiting a minute before asking, “You warm enough?”
“I am. Thank you, Joel.”
“‘Course.” He nods and pulls away from the curb.
As Joel’s driving you further and further from your parents’ house, all you feel is sweet relief.
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“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”
Joel leads you into his living room and touches his hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.
Amused, you raise an eyebrow at him and say, “I’d hardly call cardboard boxes stacked neatly over on one side of the room a mess, Joel.” You take a look around his townhouse—most of his furniture’s still wrapped up in plastic, except for the black leather couch and the rustic, acacia wood coffee table. He has a flat screen mounted over the brick fireplace; he’s been sleeping on the couch, or at least, that’s what the pillow and Texas Longhorns fleece throw tells you. You turn to him. “If you want to see a real mess, you should see my apartment in Chicago.”
You watch him as he takes off his glasses and puts them down on the coffee table.
“S’it pretty bad?”
“My roommate’s a kindergarten teacher too. You’d be surprised at how many popsicle sticks two girls in their twenties can end up bringing home. Not to mention all the glitter.”
“If you’re tryin’ to make me feel better, it’s workin’ like a charm.” Joel picks up his blanket and drapes it over the armchair adjacent to the couch. “Go on and make yourself comfortable, darlin’. You thirsty at all? I’ve got water or I can make coffee. Also got a pack of beer in the fridge,” he adds, jokingly.
“What kind of beer?” you ask curiously as you sink down onto the couch.
He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.
“Lone Star.”
“I’ll have one. If it’s not too much trouble.”
“‘Course it’s not too much trouble. Not at all.”
It’s hard not to stare as he walks away towards the kitchen. Your thighs clench together—his back, his shoulders, those unkempt salt and pepper curls of his that tuft at the nape of his neck right above his collar—this man is the epitome of utter perfection. Your mind wanders and you can’t help imagine the way your legs would look thrown over those broad shoulders. How his large hands would feel on your plush skin as they wrap around your thighs to hold them in place against his chest while he fucks y—
“Here you go, darlin’.”
Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.
He’s standing beside you, holding out the bottle of beer, which he’d uncapped along with his own.
Blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you say as you accept the beer from him, trying not to lose the sliver of composure that you’re holding onto—it wavers when your fingers accidentally brush his.
“S’it too cold in here for you?” he asks. “I normally keep the thermostat pretty low.”
“It’s a little cold,” you admit. “But it’s not a prob—”
It’s too late. Joel walks over to the fireplace and he manages to strike a match and light it with just his free hand. After tossing in a couple logs, he makes his way back over to the couch and he takes a seat beside you. “That a bit better, sweetheart?”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”
He takes a long, generous swig of the golden lager before setting the bottle down on one of the green ceramic coasters on the coffee table. He sits back; an arm stretches out over the back of the couch in a casual manner and his legs spread open causing your thighs to clench together once more.
“You feelin’ alright?”
“Huh?” You then realize he is referring to what had happened at dinner. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I’m alright.”
Joel peers at you, his concern evident, clear in the depths of his dark brown eyes. “You sure?”
“No. Not really,” you confess, tracing the mouth of your bottle with your index finger. “But I’ll get over it. I don’t have a choice but to get over it.” Another lump starts forming in the back of your throat and you swallow it, quickly chasing it down with a gulp of beer.
“M’guessin’ your family’s got somethin’ to do with why you decided to leave Austin?”
“Bingo,” you deadpan. “I was so sick and tired of it all. How I was talked to, how I was treated. Like I’m such a fucking disappointment.”
He frowns. “You’re not a disappointment, though.”
“My parents think I’m a disappointment. My dad’s never told me he’s proud of me, Joel. Nothing I do, nothing I have ever done is good enough for either of them, but especially not for him.” There is a dull ache that settles in your heart and all you can do is silently will yourself not to breakdown again, not in front of him, at least. You sigh. “Do you know what it’s like, not feeling good enough for someone that is supposed to love you no matter what? Someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally?”
Joel knows it’s a rhetorical question, he knows it’s not something you’re expecting him to answer.
But he does answer, because he does know.
“I do, actually. I know all too well what it feels like.”
He looks down at his left hand, which is resting on his thigh and you do too. Your eyes flicker over the fading tanline on his finger—where he once wore a wedding band. You don’t even think twice about it and reach over, sweeping your own finger over the patch of pale skin. Without missing a beat, you tell him, “You’re good enough, Joel.”
He can’t help but laugh a little. “She’d disagree.”
“She’s wrong.”
“You don’t know what happened.”
“I don’t have to know what happened.”
“That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”
Stubbornly, you lift your chin. “I don’t care.”
Joel laughs. “Y’think you know me, darlin’? Y’think you know what kinda man I am? Hm?”
“I do know.” You place your hand on top of his and his jaw clenches. “You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I know that you’re a good man.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong ‘bout that.” There’s a brief pause and he hesitates before confessing, “A good man wouldn’t be sittin’ here just fuckin’ dyin’ to kiss his best friend’s daughter.”
You freeze and grip your bottle so tight, you would not be the slightest bit surprised if it shatters right in your hand. “You—you want to kiss me?”
“Since the moment you opened up that front door and said hello to me.” Joel shakes his head. “S’not right.” He’s riddled with guilt, with shame. He pulls his hand out from under yours. “I ain’t a good man at all. You’re half my fuckin’ age and I shouldn’t—”
You cut him off, softly uttering his name. “Joel?”
“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.
“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”
You need more than just his kiss, so much more.
You need him to unravel you in every way possible, but beggars can’t be choosers and if one kiss was all you’ll get tonight, then you’ll fucking take it.
Joel swallows dryly. “That really what you want?”
His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to meet your sweet, innocent gaze.
“Yes,” you breathe in reply. “Please. Kiss me.”
He leans in, and there’s brief hesitation on his part and he stops mere centimeters from your face, his nose lightly brushing against yours. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.” His warm breath fans over your lips; they’re parted, eager to meet his own. “I shouldn’t let this happen. I—I should take you back home to your family before I do somethin’ real stupid.”
Your heart sinks. “That really what you want?” you parrot his own question back to him and hold your breath, knowing there’s a chance his answer could be the answer that you don’t want to hear, the one that could end up crushing you.
Joel lifts his hand, cupping the side of your face in his palm. “‘Course it’s not what I want.” His thumb strokes your cheek, his dark eyes taking in each of your features. He’s studying, memorizing them, as if he’ll never get another chance to be this close to you again. With the line he’s about to cross, you’re both about to cross, that just might be the case.
The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.
You exhale shakily. “Then just kiss me already.”
He moves his hand and gently curls it around your chin, holding you steady as he leans further in and closes the gap of space in between you. He moves slowly and he’s gentle—too gentle. You want to tell him you’re not made of porcelain, but you’re much too preoccupied with how Joel’s mouth feels, how perfectly it molds against yours. He delicately nips your bottom lip with his teeth. It’s a silent request.
He wants more, more, more. Your lips part for him, granting him the access he’s seeking. Joel doesn’t waste a single moment and he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from you. Without breaking contact, he takes your beer and somehow he manages to lean over to set it down on the coffee table without dropping it. He then pushes you back into the couch and the next thing you know, you’re lying on your back and he’s settled in between your legs, using one of his arms to keep himself propped up, while the other wraps itself in your hair. Your own hands clutch at fistfuls of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tight, the skin over your knuckles stretches painfully thin.
You whimper out again, the noise prompting a low growl to rumble through his chest—suddenly, he’s not being so gentle. He isn’t being rough. But he is hungry, he’s possessive, and he’s letting it show in the way he’s swelling your lips with his kisses, how his fingers are gripping the hair at the base of your neck as he firmly tilts your head backwards to give himself better access to your mouth.
Your mind is racing, and yet, you can’t think at all.
It’s not until his hips buck into you and you feel his bulge through his jeans against you that you break away from him. “Joel,” you gasp his out name. You grip his shirt even harder, chest heaving as you try to catch a much needed breath of air. You can feel the arousal pooling between your legs. The flames burning in the fireplace are nothing in comparison to the ones that are burning deep in your belly.
“Fuck,” he curses, pulling back. “M’sorry—”
The last thing you want is for him to be sorry.
“No! Please don’t be sorry,” you rasp, gazing up at him. Your eyes are glazed over with a lust you have never felt for another man before. “I want this, you know I want this—don’t you?”
Joel sighs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. You wish he could take a peek into your mind, see how badly you want to be wrapped up in his arms—you want to get lost in his embrace, feel him all around you, inside you. You want him to write his name on your bare skin with his tongue, whisper his secrets into the spot where you’re aching for him most.
He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.
“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”
“I want this,” you repeat yourself. “I want you.”
Relaxing the death grip you have on his shirt, your hands release the fabric and move to the buttons. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo each one of them; after an embarrassing fumble or two, you manage to get them all and push Joel’s shirt off of his shoulders. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath as your greedy hands begin roaming, exploring every inch of smooth, tan skin on his upper body.
Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.
“Wanna feel you too, baby.” Joel takes the hem of your sweater and gestures for you to sit up slightly so he can pull it over your head. Carelessly tossing it somewhere behind him, he glances down, blood rushing to his cock as he takes in the sight of your supple curves clad in sweet, delicate white lace. “Christ, you look so fuckin’ soft.”
He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud, not until he catches the flirtatious little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sit up slightly once again and reach behind you to unhook the lingerie and take it off, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the hardwood floor. Licking his lips, he meets your gaze for just a moment before dipping his head down, wrapping them around one of your hardened nipples. “Joel,” you mewl his name as he flicks the pebbled flesh with his tongue.
Joel releases it with a lewd, wet pop and he tosses you a smirk before he moves to the other to give it the same attention. He’s a biter, you find out as he takes it between his teeth, nipping over and over.
Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.
“Joel, please. I need you—I fucking need you.”
He tears away from your nipple. “Where, baby?”
You open your mouth to answer him, but your own gasp cuts you off as he starts trailing his lips down the length of your body until he comes to a stop at the waistband of your skirt. One of his hands finds the zipper on the side and he looks up at you, as if asking for permission. Desperate, you nod. Pulling the zipper down, he slides the skirt, along with the pair of lace white panties you’re wearing off of you and discards them, leaving you completely naked.
Your insecurities begin to trickle in, but Joel’s able to halt them right in their tracks.
“You’re too fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he says, his reassurance calming your nerves instantly. “So beautiful. So beautiful and so fuckin’ perfect.”
You watch as he makes himself comfortable—well as comfortable as he can—in between your legs. He shoots you a sheepish look.
“Knew I should’a put the damn bed together. But I been puttin’ it off and puttin’ it off all week long.”
You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”
Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.
Your smile is all but slapped right off of your face.
“Joel.”
Any traces of humor vanish. You’re both reminded of the next wall that’s about to be broken, the next line that’s about to be crossed.
He looks down and groans. “Such a pretty, perfect little pussy,” he remarks, his voice low, husky. “Bet she’s nice and wet for me, ain’t she baby?” He lifts his hand and drags the tip of his finger up your slit slowly, your slick coating his digit. He smirks up at you. “Oh, she’s fuckin’ soakin’, sweet girl. S’this all for me?”
Foreplay wasn’t in the vocabulary of guys your age and while part of you wishes Joel would hurry, you also find yourself enjoying the fact that he’s taking his time, teasing you—making you really want it to the point where you’re willing to fucking plead him for it. Joel Miller’s the only man you’d ever beg for.
He skims your other thigh with his nose and kisses it just like he’d done with the other. “Tell me darlin’ s’this where you need me? Right here?”
Frantically, you nod your head.
“Words, honey. Gotta use your words for me.”
“Yes!” you choke out. “That’s where I need you. So bad. Need you so fucking bad. Please Daddy—”
You freeze and momentarily, he does too. Truth be told, you wouldn’t really blame him if he just stood up, gathered your clothes and tossed them at you, demanding you put them back on and leave.
Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”
Your face is on fire. “I—it slipped,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to call you—I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m not even sure where that came from. I’ve never—”
You’re on the verge of panicking, then notice there is a certain glimmer in his eyes and realize he liked it when you’d called him that. You’re taken aback.
He fucking likes being called Daddy.
“Sweetheart, there ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout. I promise. You can call me that. But on a condition.”
You stare at him, no idea what the condition could possibly be.
“Ain’t allowed to call anyone else that. Ever.” There is a possessiveness in his tone and it nearly makes you come on the spot. “That understood?”
You nod obediently. “Yes.”
“Yes what?” he prompts.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good. That’s a real good girl, honey.”
For a split second, you can’t breathe.
This man will surely be the death of you.
Joel plants one final kiss, this one on your mound.
“Please,” you whimper, the heat in your lower belly growing and fizzling out to the rest of your body at the feeling of his breath over your aching core.
“Please what?” he murmurs into the sensitive skin as his arms curl around your legs. “Tell Daddy—tell Daddy what you need baby, so he can take care of you.”
“Your mouth,” you beg him, desperation mounting with each passing second. Your hips buck upward; his biceps flex as he tightens his arms around your thighs, pinning you down in place. “Your mouth—I need your mouth. Please.”
Joel moves his head to the junction of your thighs, his mouth hovering right over where you needed it the most. He looks up at you with hunger, like he’s a ravenous, starved man who hasn’t had a thing to eat in days. “What a good girl,” he praises, dipping his head even lower. His mouth waters at the sight of your glistening folds. “Bet you taste as delicious as you fuckin’ look, don’t you, pretty girl?”
He flattens his tongue and glides it up your slit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gets his first taste. You gasp out when it grazes your swollen, aroused clit and your head falls back onto the couch. “Oh fuck,” you whine, reaching for his hair. You weave your hands through his graying locks and pull his face closer. Another swipe of his tongue causes your back to arch up off the leather and the edges of your vision to blur.
He pulls an arm from around your legs and drags a finger down your drenched entrance, lips securing themselves around your clit. His gaze stays locked on you as he pushes his long, thick digit into you—you feel him smirk as he curls it upwards, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against the soft spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Joel slips in a second finger and curls it along with the other to double the pleasure. He begins thrusting his digits in and out of your warm cunt, eliciting what had to be the sweetest sounds that he’d ever heard in his entire life from you. He combines it with with slow, firm, and precise stokes of his tongue on your clit.
“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you encourage him, your loud, breathy moans bouncing off the bare, freshly painted walls of his house. “Yes Daddy, fuck—feels so fucking good, please don’t fucking stop—”
It’s not like you have to tell him what to do.
Joel knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows it too. He listens to every single one of your moans and feels every single buck of your hips. He is sure to pay extra attention to when your hands pull and tug at his curls; he remembers what combinations of licking, sucking, and fucking make you squeeze your plush thighs tighter around his head; reminds himself of which technique brings your body off of the couch, what makes your toes curl. Joel’s quick to learn your body’s cues, each and every last one. He already knows when to give you more, when to give you less—when he needs speed up, when it is time to slow it all down.
You sing his name over and over again, pressure of an orgasm already building between your hips. His tongue swirls around your sensitive little bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt and you glance down. You almost choke when you catch a tiny glimpse of the muscles in his forearm, the way they flex underneath his skin with each of his movements as he’s fucking you. Your gaze flits to his face. His own eyes are fixed intently on you.
You’re milliseconds away from release.
“Joel, I’m so fucking close. I’m gonna come—”
His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.
One last, broad stroke of Joel’s tongue on your clit sends an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Strangled cries tear themselves from the back of your throat as your velvet walls flutter and convulse, squeezing his fingers. Joel, who’s face is still half buried in your pussy, takes it upon himself to help you ride through the high. He peppers soft, delicate kisses onto your swollen clit as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you slowly. He waits patiently until your loud cries dissolve into nothing but breathless little whimpers before he crawls up, positioning himself on top of you, a hand on either side of your head. His beard and mustache glisten with a mixture of saliva and slick—and somehow it it ignites another fire and you’re ready for more, so much more.
“Sweet girl,” Joel murmurs. Leaning down, his lips meet yours and you taste yourself on his tongue
You place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beats strong and steady against your palm.
You start dragging your hand down his chest, your fingernails raking over his skin. It travels lower and lower, gliding over the softness of his stomach. He tenses when you brush the waistband of his jeans.
Tearing away from you, he grits out, “Baby. No.”
You immediately snatch your hand away from him.
“You changed your mind?” you question, stomach sinking at the thought of it being over already.
You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.
He offers reassurance—and an explanation.
“No, that ain’t it at all. S’just—” Joel pauses briefly and flushes a shade of red. “S’just that, well, I ain’t got condoms on me, darlin’.”
Relieved, you assure him, “It’s okay. I’m clean.”
“Me too. But that ain’t what I’m worried about,” he admits, his face going from red to maroon.
You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.
“I’m on birth control.”
Joel clenches his hands into fists. His cock strains against his zipper at the thought of it—taking your cunt bare. “Y’sure you want this?” He rasps out. “I need you to be a hundred percent sure ‘bout it.”
“I’m a thousand percent sure, Joel. I fucking need it. More than anything I’ve ever needed in my life.”
That’s all he needed to hear.
Joel stands up, his gaze never leaving your own as he kicks off his black leather boots. You sit up, and it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to remain composed as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to stare at his bulge like it’s your first time ever seeing a dick, but if he’s as big as he looks in his boxer briefs, maybe this would end up being a lot more than what your body could handle.
He hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and slides them off, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring free from its confinement.
You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.
“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Joel chuckles at the expression on your face as he kicks aside all of his clothes. His length rests on his lower abdomen and precome smears the skin there. Wrapping one of his hands around it, he gives it a couple strokes, just a hint of relief until you come into play. “Hm?”
Licking your lips, you nod and stand up. You take a couple of wobbling step towards him—Joel’s cock hasn’t been anywhere near you and you’re already fucking walking side to side. “Come here,” you say to him, taking both his hands in your own. You pull him back to the couch and gently guide him down into a sitting position. Swinging your leg over both of his, you straddle his lap. You gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh softly when you feel him brush against your pussy; the contact makes you both moan in unsion. “This okay?” you ask him, breathily. You can’t be sure as to why you’re suddenly feeling a bit shy, like you’re not planning to ride his fucking soul out of him.
“More than okay.” Joel brushes your hair over your shoulder and then drags his hand down the length of your body, committing to his memory every one of your curves. “Gonna be a real good girl and ride my cock, baby?”
You gift him with a cheeky grin. “Yes, Daddy.”
The shyness begins to dissipate and you dive your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock, causing his breath to catch in his throat. You lift yourself slightly off his lap, teasingly gliding the head of his cock down your drenched slit, then up, letting it graze over your clit, which is still senstive to the touch thanks to his lips and tongue.
Joel’s hands find their way around you, running up the curve of your spine. “Wasn’t aware that my girl was such a little fuckin’ tease,” he remarks in a low tone. He slides his hands back down and his large, warm palms cup your ass, fingers kneading flesh.
“Your girl?” you repeat, your heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering at the idea of being his. “Is that what I am to you, Joel? Your girl?”
“S’that what you want, honey?” Joel whispers, his eyes finding your own, two hopeful gazes meeting in the deepest, most intimate moment that you’ve shared all evening. “Y’wanna be my girl?”
Leaning forward, your reply is preceded by kiss, so soft and so sweet his heart swells inside his chest.
“I do,” you mumble against his lips. “I really do.”
Still gripping your ass, Joel eases you up and lines himself up at your entrance. He bucks his hips and slides the head of his cock past your folds and into your heat. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers, his hands moving to your hips, thumbs grazing your skin. He slowly guides you further down his shaft, grunting as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. “Christ, you’re so goddamn fuckin’ tight—”
The initial stretch is almost too much for you. Your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as he pulls you down further down onto him. “Joel,” you whimper, biting back a loud cry. You’re fully seated, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his head pressing against your cervix. You’re so full of him.
One of his hands abandons your hip and slips over your lower belly.
“This where you’re feelin’ me, pretty girl?” he coos gently. “This where you feel Daddy’s cock? In your belly?”
“Yes,” you sigh out contentedly. “Feels so good.”
You lift yourself off of him, then slide back down in a slow, languid motion.
Joel’s head falls back onto the couch. “Christ.” He mutters the word, his chest heaving. Staring up at the ceiling, he takes a moment to catch his breath and silently wills himself not to explode. Once he’s managed to somewhat compose himself, he looks at you again, pupils blown so wide you can’t find a single trace of brown. “Go on, then,” he rasps. “Go on, sweetheart.”
The living room fills with the sounds of low moans and panting breaths as you move, alternating your maneuvers between rocking and bouncing on him in a frenzied, fast paced rhythm. The friction of his pelvis each time you grind into it winds up the coil between your hips and suddenly you’re desperate, so pathetically desperate for another release.
“Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, feeling the beginning of his own climax building quick—much too quick for his liking. “Jus’ like that, honey. What a good girl you are for me, so fuckin’ good for me. Just like I fuckin’ knew you would be.”
“Fuck,” you whine. “You feel so good, Daddy. Feel so fucking good inside me—”
Leaning back, you firmly plant both your hands on his thighs and arch your body, head falling back as you pick up the pace. The burning fire casts a soft, orange glow around you and his jaw falls slack. His eyes drink in every single fucking thing about you, watch you with an adoration that, for the first time in your whole life, makes you feel wanted. Actually wanted.
“Joel,” you whisper his name over and over. You’re both beginning to lose track of where you end and he begins. You can hardly hear the praises that are spilling from his plush lips over the squelching wet sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his cock. There’s no chance to warn him—your mouth parts in a silent scream as you come undone on him.
“M’so fuckin’ close,” Joel grunts. He feels his cock twitch as your pussy grips him like a vice. “Where? Where do you want it, pretty girl?”
“Inside me. Please, I need you to come inside me,” you plead him, the innocent tone of your voice the last thing to push him over the edge he’s teetering on. “Fill me up, Daddy—please, want every drop of you inside me—”
Joel reaches for your arms and yanks you forward, into him. Throwing them around his neck, his own arms wrap around you and roughly slam you down onto him, holding you firmly in place. He bucks his hips upwards, balls tightening, his cock pulsing as he comes. Strings of hissed curse words and deep gutteral groans muffle when he drops his face into your collarbone. Still holding you in place, he spills his load into you, his seed filling you to the brim.
He sags back against the couch and pulls you with him. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he lets himself stay buried inside of you, the primal in him relishing the heavenly feeling of his come dripping messily out of your pussy and all over his thighs.
“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks after a minute.
“M’perfect,” you mumble against his chest. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re coming down from a high or if it’s because he’s tracing patterns on your shoulder blade with his finger, but you shiver in his arms.
“Let me get the blanket—”
Joel starts to move to get up, but you stop him.
“No, please don’t,” you say, pushing him back. You put all of your weight onto him, as if he can’t move you off to the side if he really wanted to. “I—I want you inside me for a little while longer. Please.”
“But baby, you’re cold—”
You don’t bother explaining to him that you’re not.
“Just hold me. Please.”
And that’s exactly what he does.
Snuggling into him, you close your eyes and Joel’s hand strokes at your hair. Between that, the thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek and the sound of the fireplace crackling behind you, you’re nearly soothed into sleep.
“Joel?”
“Yeah, darlin’?”
“I hate Thanksgiving,” you admit, smiling tiredly to yourself when you feel a laugh rumble in his chest.
“Do you, now?”
You nod. “I do. But I’m really thankful for you.”
Giving you a gentle squeeze, Joel kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “Well, m’thankful for you too, sweet girl.” He pauses momentarily. “I ain’t all too sure how I’m s’pposed to just let you go home. I know I have to but—”
Lifting your head off of his chest, you take the side of his face and cradle it in your palm. You meet his gaze, heart sinking when you see the sadness that has replaced the lust from earlier.
He doesn’t mean home to your parents’ house. He means Chicago.
You graze his beard with your thumb. “I’m coming back in a few weeks,” you remind him, gently. “I’ve only planned to spend a week out here just for the holidays, but I can visit sooner. As soon as the kids go on winter break, I can come back to Austin.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Of course I would, Joel. I’m not sure how it would work what with my parents and all, though. I don’t want them catching onto us.”
“C’mere.” Joel brushes your lips with his before he makes his promise. “I’ll figure it out, baby. Leave it all to me and I’ll figure it out.”
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divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎
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purebarnes · 5 months
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hurts my heart <3
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FRIENDS in COLOURS Chandler Bing
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purebarnes · 7 months
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need a moment to RECOVER
If You Lie Down With Me
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pairing: (pre-ellie) dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader
summary: there’s only one guy in all of boston that can get you a morning after pill. unfortunately, on top of being a huge asshole, Joel Miller also happens to be your dad’s closest peer.
warnings: rough sex / smut (masturbation, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content; unprotected sex; light choking & restraint; light dom/sub dynamic; fem afab reader; reader has long-ish hair (that gets touched); plot-typical violence (guns, death); plot deviations (no Tess); medication ingestion; pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel); dubcon (slight intoxication, power imbalance, no explicit consent).
word count: 6.5k+
no use of y/n in this fic
alright y’all I’m baaaaAAAaack! so this is basically the other version of Dark But Just a Game that I started back when I was writing it & figured I’d finish it to get out of my hiatus. like any devilmademewriteit fic, it’s dark and nasty and deprived like meeeeeee <3 hope u enjoy !
don’t forget to reblog, check out my masterlist, sign up for the taglist, & leave any comments / feedback / & suggestions!
(ps: new part of Salvatore up next !)
“three times the guy I ever thought I would meet, so don't say you're over me when we both know that you lie”
— lana del rey, ‘If You Lie Down With Me’
Fuck.
Waking up to a racing heart, a pounding head, and a stomach swimming with nausea was never ideal, although it was always a better experience alone — when you could squint and hiss at the light slicing through the weaknesses in the drapes without hearing your groans echoed by a lower, louder, and annoyingly more pitiful voice.
Right. What was his name?
Jared? Jordan? Jermaine?
Ah, who cares.
If he’d wanted a safe place to nurse his hangover, he shouldn’t have fallen asleep in your bed. Sure, the odds of dad being conscious at this hour (especially the odds after a party like last night’s) were Kate Moss — no, Rolling Stones — slim, but the man would get up at some point, meaning that this poor J-whatever was likely sleeping through his only window of escape from certain homicide.
You whisper. You shake him gently. You gingerly tap the roundness of his bicep.
Huh — Not bad.
You congratulate last-night-you for reeling in this morning’s good-looking catch.
Still… nothing. Not a twitch. Nary a croaked ‘lemmesleep’ graces your ears.
After loosing an exasperated sigh and running through your options, you decide to take the most effective (and least girl-next-door) route. The corner of your elbow collides with his ribs, and the boy jumps up, his loose, blonde curls as wild as his eyes, searching the room for his attacker.
You want to smile at the scene, but the motion hurts your head.
“Y’gotta go,” you croak out, thumbs rubbing circles against your aching temples.
He collapses onto his back, copying your movement with his own fingers to his brow. “God. I feel like shit.”
Despite muttering your agreement, you let your eyelashes flutter closed and your weight turn you away from last night’s paramour: no use figuring out who he is after the (f)act — that just makes it personal.
After a few breaths, the boy moves back up to a shakey sitting position.
Probably sourcing for his clothes.
He reeks of booze and sex — but then again, so do you. His roughened, unfamiliar tenor climbs to barely above a whisper, “Z’something stuck on my leg… blood, or something…”
His interrupting your suffering comes as a deeply unwelcome annoyance, so you try to sort him out to clear him out: “Prolly just the condom,” you mumble, rolling back onto your shoulders, reluctantly supervising his movements.
He lifts up fully, sitting criss-cross and pulling his calf towards him.
“No,” he tries to laugh but succumbs to the nausea, settling for a low breath instead, “S’blood, dude, from beer darts — and I didn’t use a condom.”
Your eyes immediately dart over, settling on his naked, wretched, shivering form. He notices your ire and the hitching of your throat, immediately defensive.
“I asked if you wanted to.”
Unfortunately, he had. The memories of your drunken entanglement start to resurface inside your mind. “It just feels better without one.” This time, you curse last-night-you for being such a careless, inconsiderate, horny bastard.
You’re making problems for me, girl.
“J’s get out.”
J-whatever spares no time complying, collecting his few strewn belongings and staggering out the front door. Once it slides shut, so too do your poor, weary eyes.
Shit.
There goes the afternoon.
Getting your hands on condoms in the QZ was at least fifteen times easier than snatching a morning after pill. Those were a hot commodity, especially among the younger, less responsible crowds.
Luckily for you, as a member of aforementioned younger, less responsible crowds, you knew where your best chances lay in finding whatever it was you needed (if what you needed was deeply immoral or wholly illegal). Unluckily for you, that ‘best chance’ happened to be your dad’s closest and longest-running business partner: temperamental, judgemental, frustratingly competent, Joel ‘Local Asshole’ Miller.
But that could all be dealt with after another eight hours of sleep.
Opportunity strikes sooner than expected.
Miller’s in your living room by the time you wake up, the low rumble of his southern baritone recognizable even through the closed door. After scrambling to throw on some clothes, you press an ear to the chipping paint, hoping to determine the number of bodies gathered in your home.
Not many. Just Miller (and the old man, of course).
The latter’s presence bodes ill for you. This would all have to be done in secret, which was not an uncommon strategy where ever the former was involved. No one dealt with Joel Miller to conduct clean-cut, wholesome activities. No one was calling him up for a spare copy of the holy book.
No, getting him alone was essential.
A drink slams down on the counter. After a good, patient ten minutes, you hear your father (‘s rather crude way of) excusing himself to the washroom and heavy-set footsteps decrescendoing down the hall.
This is it.
You slip through the door.
At first, your company takes no notice of you, his eyes still glued to the maps and papers littering the counter before him.
Then, a low grumble: “fun night?”
His voice makes you weak in the knees — an involuntary, near ritual-like response you’d noticed around your mid teens and hadn’t managed to kick yet.
You swallow before responding. “Yes.”
It’s all you manage to muster. Miller finally looks up, wincing slightly as his back straightens. He looks tired, at least more than usual, with his wild, grey-streaked hair tousled and the lines by his mouth cutting deep into his skin.
You’re sure you don’t look much better, a suspicion proven by the man’s slowly spreading, barely-noticeable smirk. That gaze makes you self conscious, mute; your right hand snakes up, absent-mindedly dragging a fallen bra strap back to its proper position.
“So, what was his name?”
He’s teasing, sure, but Miller was there last night. He’d always had sharper perceptions than your father did, especially — and ironically — when it came to you. That skill tended to squander your confidence as the daughter of a modern-day mafia-boss and the owner of a hard, violent heart.
Rushed by the sound of your father’s footsteps, you default to honesty.
“I don’t remember.”
“Try.”
“Josh.”
Amusement flits across his stern expression. “Again.”
“Jamie.”
“Warmer.”
“J-J-something—”
“Gettin’ colder, sweetheart—”
“I need the pill.”
It just tumbles out, an exasperated, desperate plea. Miller, a bit taken aback by your candor, drains of his previous playfulness. You almost notice the split second those dark eyes glaze over. For a second, you’re almost convinced he’s distracted by his imagination’s recreations of the act that had you making such a request.
You almost notice the tingling between your thighs.
He stares. You stare back.
Fuck.
It was moments like this that made you wish Tess was still around. Oh, she wouldn’t be any kinder — no, not at all — but she’d certainly be more professional. Tess was all work, no play. Joel was…
You’re enjoying this, you bastard. You’re enjoying that I’m cornered like this, aren’t you?
The bathroom handle clicks when it turns, and your heart drops into your toes.
Maybe Miller really wasn’t going to help you. Maybe he didn’t have the pill and you’d just embarrassed yourself for nothing. Or, maybe he did, but preferred outing you to your dad at the very first opportunity — letting him deal with you the only way he knew how.
Your fears seem confirmed: his eyes leave the grace of your own, trailing back to his big, splayed hands on the countertop. Unwelcome tears burn the corners of your eyes as the panic begins to set in, as footsteps begin to fall…
“Mine. Tonight.”
It’s low and rushed, but it’s clear, cutting off to the sound of your father lumbering in. A man who saw, thought, and lived through transactions, he’s (thankfully) blissfully ignorant of the tension collapsing around him.
“Morning,” he throws your way.
A taunt, of course — it was well past noon.
You nod in acknowledgement, slowly backing into the doorway of your sacred, beckoning room. They resume their conversation from before, letting you sink into irrelevance.
Before shutting yourself in, you catch a few of Miller’s hushed words. They’re spoken casually to your father but, you later decide, surely meant for you:
“Not that one kid — Jeremy — don’t trust him.”
The door seals (well, not seals… it creaks on its rusty hinges and squeezes into its shrinking frame), and relief courses through you, reaching the very tips of your fingers.
That only lasts a minute.
Soon, you’re negotiating with the rising anxiety of being at Miller’s place alone, asking for his help with a problem that could’ve been avoided if you’d only kept your legs shut.
Alone with Miller, the both of you knowing that you hadn’t.
Crawling back under your covers, you begrudgingly make a vow of celibacy. If this was the cost of attention and a (potential) mid-range orgasm, you were about to become very frugal.
Dreams come easy, but they don’t come sweet.
Flashes of last night’s sins overlay Joel Miller’s unintelligible speech, his voice from the next room over lulling you into a rather confusing, disturbed sleep.
At nighttime, it’s a short walk to his building.
Down this alley, past this street, up this back stairwell. Part of being in with Boston’s seedy underbelly gained you access to the best and most up-to-date intel; by the age of twelve, you could run the safest — well, least policed — post-curfew routes from memory.
(Which had come in handy in situations a lot more dire than this.)
Sneaking in was easy, although you cursed him for being so preoccupied during the day. Coming in at this hour required some delicate maneuvers through a half-shattered window, and a less-than-graceful leap down left you with a nick on your cheekbone and a shallow cut along the side of your hand.
Thankfully, the blood mostly dries on your walk up the six or eight or ten flights of stairs. You don’t resent the exercise; it feels good to move, putting the jitters building in every still moment in abeyance.
Still moments like the kind that passes after a barely-audible, coded knock delivered by a girl sucking on the side of her hand, almost wishing for the door not to open.
It does.
He’s in jeans — dirty jeans, dusty — and a simple flannel. It’s Miller — it’s Miller at his most Joel-Miller-like-ness.
So why am I so fucking nervous?
He holds the door open, brows knitting at the sight of your hand in your mouth.
“Window,” You offer.
He mouthes a silent ‘ah,’ before leaning forward to duck his head out the door and, in the process, somewhat sandwiching you against his chest.
Maybe it’s because he smells like forest-fires, but your skin burns red-hot.
Miller looks both ways, checking the status of the hall (empty), then nudges you into the dim light of his place with the weight of his hand against your lower back.
The door shuts behind you.
You’d been here at least a million times before, but the thoughts rising now feel so… new. The jacket strewn on the side of the sagging sofa is his — Joel Miller has sat at this table and showered, slept, fucked inside these walls.
Cut it out. It’s just ‘cause you’re alone. And older.
But what about it, now that you were alone and older?
Old enough to know what goes on between a man and a woman and a little bit of desperation at just the right amounts… and there sure was a lot of him, and some desperation, too…
“Nervous?”
Your feet hit the floor, all thoughts evaporating at the sound of his word. Blushing, you try to de-code his taunt, spoken with playfulness and too much condescension.
“Wh — what’d you — nervous for what? No.”
He’s already across the room, sifting through a box of miscellaneous items. A yellowed lamp shade catches his side-profile, illuminates the smirk spreading across his face. Then, a low command:
“Relax,” and your spine settles, acceding to his wish. “Some girls get nervous, y’know, takin’ it the first time.”
Oh.
You clear your throat, daring to take a step into his place, incensed enough to trace the indents and stab-marks decorating his kitchen table.
“No.”
You’re taken aback by the accuracy and the strength underpinning your answer. It’s true, you aren’t afraid, and hadn’t been afraid of much in a very long while.
What’s a Joel Miller to your best friend’s public hanging? What’s he to a dozen rows of semi automatics raining down on your zigzagging toes? What’s he to a period cramp?
Like a bolt of lightning hitting you in the chest, that cocky, gauche and indelicate rebel you’d grown into reappears.
“I’ve been told I take things pretty well my first time.” The tension rises — this time, at your command — just as Joel does, carrying a leather pouch in his right hand. “And it’s not, anyways,” you add for good measure.
The leather drops onto the marked-up table. Joel crosses his arms.
“Not sellin’ me on givin’ you one of these, sweetheart.”
He gestures to the bag.
A mock-frown as you draw closer to him. His eyes, although severe, reflect the playfulness dancing in your own.
“Why not?” You ask, voice dripping with false innocence.
Joel’s gaze doesn’t stray as it hardens, focused on your own. “They’re for accidents, mistakes, attacks,” he explains, deep and dangerous, “Not girls who can’t keep their pretty lil’ legs together.”
Oof.
On one hand, it sounds like he’s genuinely chastising you for your careless behaviour. But, on the other, he sounds jealous, taunting, hungry.
I’ll play that hand.
Sleeping all day had left you wide awake, and that long-time, school-girl crush on the man before you was dying for content to fantasize about. Even if he pushed you off, you’d get to feel the weight of his hands on your body, right?
So, you return with a taunt of your own: “You think my legs are pretty?”
He shakes his head, his signature scowl spreading as he mostly ignores you. “I think you should at least use condoms,” a breath, “N’ know their first names.”
Ouch.
“I usually do.” you murmur, “and it broke last night.”
“Bullshit.”
“What do you mean, bullshit?”
Joel sighs and lowers himself into one of the four old, rickety chairs lining the table. His hand comes up to his temples and you notice how his legs, exhausted, part.
The man doesn’t deign to respond.
Irritation begins to well in your core, sneaking through your arms and up into your throat. The muscle in your jaw must be twitching like crazy.
How does he know? How the fuck does he always know?
Across the QZ, as a skilled liar and born and bred bandit, people tended to hold whatever image of you that you’d crafted for them.
Not Joel. Never Joel.
He saw through you in a way that had always felt… intimate. It was one of the reasons, you guessed, he didn’t dare spend too much time alone with you and why you’d always been curious about him (as a man, of course). Now, there was no avoiding your obvious vulnerability from either of you — you were stripped bare, your dressings in his hand.
It makes you want to flee as much as it makes you want to leap into his arms.
You snatch up the pouch, opening it up to find a mass of differently coloured and shaped pills. Rifling through, you ignore Joel’s stare boring into your hands’ erratic search.
“Yellow ones,” he says.
“I know what they look like,” you retort.
“‘Course you do.”
He moves faster than he should be able to.
One moment, your palm is slicing through the air, headed straight for the highest point of his cheek. The next, you’re facedown on the table. Your attacking hand is caged in by a much larger, much stronger one, pinned to the decaying wood; the other, he pins behind your back. Pills litter the floor — Joel’s boot crunches into a wayward one as he adjusts himself behind you, leaning over your struggling, smaller frame, immobilizing you with his weight.
“Let go of me—” you hiss, words smothered by the wooden surface pressed to your profile.
“—Shut up ‘n listen,” he commands, leaning over to tower over his trapped victim. “Try that again n’I’ll do worse’n kill you. Understand?”
Despite the authenticity of his threat, a strangled laugh wracks your lungs.
“Gonna turn me in for contraband, Miller? Watch them gun me down in the square?”
You smile through your heavy breaths. There, behind your hips, is a growing movement indicative of some other kind of punishment he’s got in mind.
“Or,” you continue on coyly, “Give me another reason to need that pill?”
Joel pauses, untangling your meaning.
Then, an exasperated scoff. His hold tightens on your wrist and you wince. “You always thinkin’ of the fastest way to get a man to fuck you?”
“Only when his cock’s pressed against my ass.”
He goes quiet — only for a moment. Somewhere outside, rounds echo through the night.
“Z’that what you want?” His voice is deep and threatening, promising of the kind of hard, mind-numbing fuck you’d been craving for weeks.
After a hard swallow, you nod, catching the raise of his eyebrows in your periphery.
A moment passes as he mulls over your answer. Only your shallow, anticipatory breaths populate the quiet space.
“Alright.”
And he lets go.
Heart racing, wrists aching, you flip around to his neutral, impenetrable expression.
“Get down on your knees.”
Without taking a moment to decide whether you’re living anything more than just a really fucked up dream, you sink to your knees, folding your hands in your lap (to stop them from shaking). Before you, Joel’s bulge twitches while he watches you yielding to submission, and you try to ignore the excitement building between your own two legs.
His eyes burn into yours: black, starved, weighty. He tells you to shut your own and you do, unable to resist the tone of his command. Within the self-imposed darkness, Joel’s following order — ‘open your mouth,’ — parts your lips as if they were under his spell. You wonder what you must look like to him, needy and ready to receive whatever you’re given.
He speaks again.
“Show me your tongue, angel.”
The gruffness punctuating his arousal doesn’t let you stand a chance. You let your mouth fall open wider.
Next, there’s rustling. You try to remember whether or not he’d had on a belt, listening and failing to hear the soft clinks of a buckle coming undone.
Too soon, something wraps around your chin — thick, calloused fingers — and the pressure of a thumb running down the middle of your tongue sends a rush of electricity down every stacked vertebrae. It’s slow, tantalizingly slow, as if the man were trying to memorize the feel of every groove, ridge, and bud on his leisurely way out.
When Joel drops his hand, a small weight remains at the back of your throat.
“Close.”
You do, opening your eyes to meet his own: severe and wanting — or wanting for severity?
It’s a pill. That much is obvious once the taste begins to spread, bitter and chemical and totally gag-worthy. He follows up with ‘swallow’ for his own sick enjoyment; by the time he says it, it’s clear that you already have.
What kind of game is this, Miller?
Your cheeks burn when your company kneels down. He places his big, broad hand partly on your neck, partly to the side of your jaw, and you’re still too taken aback to tear it off. The feel of his rough palm against your racing pulse silences every urge to enact revenge. Words don’t come — too quickly forgotten on one’s knees.
“You’re way too easy for your own good, sweetheart,” he near-whispers, shooting to kill in a blow packed tight with condescension. “Don’t let me see you here again.”
And that’s it: your cue to get lost.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Miller pulls away from your reddening skin, straightening to stand. You follow suit soon after, heart pumping lead, tongue bruised by the memory of his touch (more overwhelming than the metallic residue dripping down your throat).
He turns, running a few fingers through his hair. It’s the last look you get before resigning yourself to the journey back home.
Still, before turning the rusted handle, in a brief moment of respite, of clarity, you seize the final word:
“I’m only ‘easy’ when I’m drunk. Or interested.”
Silence courses through the room as Joel registers the meaning behind your confession.
“Goodnight, Miller.”
With that, you see yourself into the hallway, checking its status before tearing into the stairwell.
You barely breathe.
He wanted me — he had to have wanted me.
Miller was a pragmatic player; surely, he’d only bother to play with toys he liked like that… right?
Right?
Unable to clear your head or cool the heat radiating through your core, you take the long way home, the distant sounds of a war between rivals soothing the cacophony of noise swimming between your ears.
For the next two weeks, all you’re able to think about is him.
You think about him when he’s gone and when he’s in the room, grumbling in hushed tones to your father. You think about him when you’re unable to fall asleep, letting your hands slip beneath the waistband of your shorts, imagining your own fingers as thick, tan ones running through the warmth between your legs.
He takes no notice of you — a fact you deeply resent. Even in your skimpiest clothing, he’s like a damn horse with blinders on. You decide, in the past weeks, he’d either acquired the patience of Job or purged every sinful craving from his system when he’d stuck his fingers down your throat.
Naturally, you’re more than happy when, at breakfast (two in the afternoon), your father gives you the heads up about tonight’s gathering at the Bar (which was really just an asbestos-ridden basement equipped with enough prohibition-style gadgets and architecture to host a good ‘strategic meeting’ every other month).
“Everyone’s gonna be there,” he mumbles. “Need you to keep your ears open. Had to take a couple rats out last week…”
Everyone’s gonna be there.
Smiling to yourself, your thoughts start to spin out. Business, distractions, booze. Tonight would host a million opportunities for you to get him alone.
Hope blooms through your chest.
Do your worst, Miller.
“Man, I wish we could’ve experienced cocktails. Straight hooch is ass.”
A peer named Mel, just a year older than yourself, cringes as she sips on whatever murky liquor’s found its way into her cup.
You don’t mind the taste so much, having grown mostly immune to its taste and burn. In fact, you’d come to welcome the subsequent lapse in breath and judgement.
There was little else in this world that made you feel alive.
“Mhm,” you respond absent-mindedly, looking for a familiar scowl among the mass of scowls peppering the crowd.
A sigh to your right. “Always awesome, having your attention.”
The criticism snaps you back into your body. You smile sheepishly at your friend, apologizing through a wince.
She shrugs, her raggedy, pin-decorated jacket jingling with the movement. “S’okay. Known you long enough to know that look.”
For that, she receives a quizzical glance.
Mel comes back with a scoff. “No victims tonight?”
“Oh god,” you shoot her a look of disgust. “Do you mind not using such weird vocabulary? Make me sound like a predator.”
As the words tumble out, you zero in on the object of your search. There he is: eyebrows knit together in concentration, drink in hand, unsurprisingly (and annoyingly) in conversation with your father. A few other stragglers are in the mix, too, but they’re easily overlooked. Time slows to a full stop in his wake —only for the briefest of seconds —
“Well since the last guy actually wound up dead a week later, I think it’s fitting.”
Once again, Mel’s managed to wrangle your interest.
You stare blankly into her onyx eyes, ringlets falling through molasses around her face. “Jeremy?”
And she’s bewildered. “You didn’t hear?”
This time, both of your heads turn in the same direction.
“Ratted to FEDRA about the storehouse off tenth,” she explains, gesturing towards Miller and your father with a tilt of her head. Famous for her bravery, she stoops into your shoulder, averting his gaze and speaking under her breath, “Judging by the way they found him, my guess is it was mostly Miller’s stuff.”
It’s as if she’d screamed it.
The subject of your conversation turns to face you right as your company’s words drift off. Despite the level of noise, the amount of people, and the cloudiness of the air, you’re trapped in the corridor of your mutual stare, cornered.
The challenge, the knowing marking his expression.
“I need some air.”
You twist into the body standing behind you, shoving row after row of criminal scum out of the way. Mel doesn’t follow — she’d never hung around to comfort you, only to inform you. A mutual, typical relationship for the age, and just how things worked in the QZ.
You slam into the door, stomping into a deserted, silent alley, empty save for a few drunk strays. Your lips begin to tingle and a scream builds inside your lungs. Stalking blindly into the night, unsure of your direction, alone in half a top and a plain, ass-length skirt, shivering despite the warmth of the air…
You’re practically begging for trouble.
Just as your eyes catch the numbers on the old, rusted street sign above, just as you realize you’re on a monitored street tonight, only safe after curfew every other Monday and Wednesday, you’re grabbed by the waist, pulled into the space between two buildings, and shoved into a sheltered nook.
A dim, yellow light clicks on automatically. There’s a door (chained closed) leading into the building to your left and darkness to your right.
And there’s Joel Miller above you, his expression indeterminable.
“You asshole,” you barely hear yourself breathe over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears before lunging forward in a useless attempt to, once again, strike his profile.
He catches your wrist, no doubt having anticipated the attack. It’s written on your face, in your eyes, in your shallow, uneven inhalations. He takes your other hand before you’ve even thought to use it, lifting it above your head and slamming it against the old stucco behind you.
“You’re violent,” he says flatly.
He tightens his hold when you struggle against it. “Proud of yourself, yeah? You’re a killer.”
That inspires a slight smirk. You half expect him to return with an ‘as if you didn’t already know that.’
Instead, he says, “Sweetheart, you didn’t even know his name.”
“You should’ve told me.”
And that’s the real source of this anger: it’s rage at being the last to know.
And for what? To protect your feelings? Since when had anyone in your life bothered to do that?
“And don’t call me ‘sweetheart’,” you add for good measure.
You’d wanted him to touch you so badly for weeks now, but here, scorned at being left in the dark and confused at the death of a paramour, you only want to get free.
“And what’d he call you?” He spits, leaning down and in, inadvertently pressing his thigh between your legs — when his breath grazes the skin of your ear, it causes them to part (against your better judgement). “Got lots of names, right?” He continues to tease, “Heard your boyfriend’s pretty one for you before I shut him up — ‘that fuckin’ slut,’ f’I’m rememberin’ right.”
Despite your rage-shakes, you’re warming at the core, Joel’s pressure against it dizzying your already-addled head. It confuses you, makes the scorn easier to access.
“How did I come up, Miller?” You exhale, jutting your chin towards him. “Couldn’t help asking for all the dirty little details, could you?”
He smiles, and the act lacks any sort of kindness. “‘Lot easier gettin’ him alone once he thought he was meetin’ you.” Joel slams your wrist harder into the wall when you try to wriggle away. “Not sure you wanna keep making that kind of impression, angel.”
It’s hard to rationalize with him so close, as his pet-names echoe inside your head. He’d used your name to enact gang-law violence on a boy who’d been inside you, and yet, all you can think, all you can hear, is the way ‘sweetheart’ sounds tumbling off his lips.
“Fucking let me go, Miller,” you manage to exasperate, resenting the begging edge to every word. “I don’t need another abstinence lecture from you.”
Kicking one ankle off balance, Joel turns you around, pressing your stomach to the wall, your back into his chest. Ignoring your whines and pitiful struggle, he wraps a free hand around your neck, pushing your head against his collarbone. Your stomach erupts with butterflies as the rough pad of his thumb traces the front of your throat.
Yes — no — yes, he wants me — no, no, this is wrong, this is so wrong —
“‘Be wasted on you, anyways,” he says, rough and earnest, like his hand sliding down your chest, your breasts, your stomach, “Startin’ to realize if I can’t fix your dad’s mistakes…” and he’s finding the hem of your skirt and yanking it up, bunching the fabric around your hips —
“Might as well take advantage of them.”
He moves hungrily. He’s everywhere, sliding into your underwear and across your breasts, his big arms and suffocating biceps enveloping your entire frame.
“Joel—”
But he claps a hand over your mouth, silencing any hope of your pleas being effective.
“Think I haven’t seen you? Your lil’ looks…” a low laugh, “n’ those fuckin’ clothes?” God, the rumble, the sheer want in his voice hammers at your initial resistance, and you feel yourself welcoming the feel of his thick, long fingers, sliding between your wet folds. You’re clay, melting against the curved, firm wall of his chest.
You mewl pathetically into his palm.
Another low laugh wracks his lungs, dances at the top of your ear.
“Knew you’d be this wet for me.”
“Knew since you got down on your knees,” Joel continues, uncovering your mouth only to ease a few fingers between your lips — lips that part as though commanded, and a mouth that welcomes and caresses whatever it receives, “‘N opened this pretty lil’ mouth for me to fuck it. Can’t close my eyes without seein’ you like that — so fuckin’ needy.” He exhales from between his teeth, signalling his approval while you suck him down to the knuckles.
His fingers tease your clit and you give him your thanks by pleasuring those of his other hand.
When his hands move, it’s to hold you steady and balanced as he drags your underwear down your legs. That thick, heavy cloud of arousal hides any and all rational thoughts from view.
And he knows. He knows you’re past the point of no return, restraining you only out of his desire to rather than out of a real need to. He knows from the whine you breathe at the loss of his hand against your clit, moving to work at his belt buckle instead.
“Gonna use a condom?” You breathe, emboldened by your clearing senses at the temporary lack of stimulation.
At first, you think he’s missed your taunt.
He backs up, pulling your hips along with him until the tips of your fingers are no longer touching the decaying wall before you. Joel pulls you upright and against him with an arm around your waist and a hand around your throat, turning your head and tilting it back to meet your eyes.
You grasp onto his forearms, failing to stand, unable to breathe. His hardness digs into your back, and his cruel eyes show you just how much pleasure he takes in your struggle.
“Don’t like to waste ‘em,” he finally answers, rocking his cock against your spine, “But I will if you beg. You gonna beg?”
He manipulates your answer, fingers moving to your red-hot core — he barely grazes the nerves, only dancing over the needy flesh. You can’t tear your eyes from him either, tethered to your body through his gaze.
Joel Miller was a frustrating lover.
“N-no,” is your answer, slightly strangled and softly stuttered.
He smiles. “S’what I thought.” Then, “Show me what you can do, angel,” he coos, lips just inches away from yours, his hold on your body relaxing —
“Use your pretty lil’ hands n’ put my cock where you want it most.”
And you both know exactly where that is.
After a nod, Joel allows you to bend forward slowly — it’s like moving through honey. Your legs burn with effort as you reach between your legs to wrap a hand around his thick, hard length.
Christ, he’s huge.
He groans when you touch him and uses his own hand to help guide his tip between your folds. One hand holds your waist, fingers extended under your ribs to support your weight in a skilled show of experience.
With his tip at your aching entrance, you try to lean back, to slide yourself slowly down his many inches.
But Joel doesn’t allow it.
He pushes into you in one go, clicking his tongue at your strangled gasp —
The man hadn’t even bothered to open you up with his fingers.
“Ah, c’mon,” he condescends, “You can take it.”
Then he’s setting a hard pace, hands moving from your hips to your ribs to your biceps to your hair to your neck — anywhere he wanted to go, he went. One eventually comes to the front of your throat, tilting your eyes back and up towards the ceiling. Every one of his thrusts arches your back further until you’re contorting into a half-moon shape, standing only by the grace of his support.
And it feels so good. Joel fills you up to the brim, takes you to heaven and floods your ears with hymns, punishes you in the kind of way you’d only experienced in dreams.
Words tumble out, but they’re filled with nothingness. “Joel,” “fuck,” and “yesohgodyes,” quickly become staples of your vocabulary.
He laughs whenever you sob, grows harder every time you moan, restrains you when you try to run away.
The hand around your throat tightens, digging unforgivably into the flesh as you start to let go, as your walls begin to clench and flutter appreciatively around his cock.
“M’I making you happy, sweetheart? My cock making you smile?” He asks gruffly, pulling you back into his chest. Joel readjusts you into whatever shape you need to be in at the new angle, hips still slamming into your ass. Struggling to stand on your tiptoes, he steadies you with his arms and his hand on your jaw, forcing you to look up into his rugged face.
“Mmhm,” is all you can offer him, the pitch jumping up halfway through when the head of his cock grazes that perfect spot inside your cunt.
He doesn’t let up.
“Show me, baby—” he commands, out of breath, too, but not nearly as tortured as you, “—Show me your smile.”
You do your best, smiling up at him, degrading yourself even more at the hands of Joel-fucking-Miller. And he eats it up, loves the way your grin turns into a bitten lip and knit eyebrows over closed eyes, slowing his thrusts to rock even deeper inside you.
You moan something unintelligible, and a laugh rustles through your tangled hair.
“Am I makin’ you come?”
You nod, feeling that familiar rush of pressure blooming somewhere within that throbbing bundle of nerves under his spell.
He smirks in pride and victory, the last look you get before your head falls against his shoulder, your muscles going lax as the peak builds, as your half-sobs grow louder.
“S’it, baby, tell ‘em,” he coos, nipping and sucking the skin on the side of your throat. “Gonna tell the whole street how you take it like a good lil’ slut.”
His fingers fall to your clit, enticing you right over the edge. You vision blurs and your legs shake, but Joel talks you through your orgasm, sweet nothings starting with, “S’right — show me — yes, fuck — good girl…”
And then —
He stops.
You whine, stars dancing before your eyes as the mean, mean man inside you refuses to fuck you through your climax.
“Joel,” you plead, grinding back against him in a pathetic show of need, “Come with me.”
He does the opposite, sliding himself out of your sore opening. You turn to face him, restoring your balance with hands against his chest, gazing up at him in desire-stricken reproach.
“Use your mouth,” he says, voice gruff at your ruined sight and from his own hand on his cock, keeping his arousal level, “Not gettin’ any more help from me.”
It’s unclear whether ‘help’ means pills or his cock, but you assume both to be safe.
You try to argue (having spent the last few weeks dreaming of Joel dripping down your legs) but he just won’t budge.
Then, his voice softens.
“You know your dad’d kill me, angel.”
And it’s really the sweetness of his tone that does it.
Sinking to your knees, it’s déjà vu when you open wide for him, steadying your shaking knees with both hands on his half clothed, half naked hips. Gravel and debris dig painfully into your bare knees, but you ignore the sting, smiling instead at the taste of yourself on Joel’s cock, lips sliding adoringly down the thick length of it.
He groans his approval, tangling his fingers in your hair to help guide your movements.
As you take him in again and again and again, pleasing every inch of him, he chokes out a laugh.
“Never seen you so quiet,” he muses (mostly to himself), caressing your cheekbone with his free hand —
“Gagged by an old man’s cock.”
You pull off, pumping him with both hands, asking breathlessly, “Are you all so big?”
He smiles, eyes darkening at the dirty compliment. “Give you a few numbers n’ you can tell me.”
God, he’s beautiful from down here.
You hold his attention and lick a slow stripe down the underside of his cock, half-grinning up at his lust-filled expression.
“I only want yours, Joel Miller.”
An uneasy inhale as you take him back in, his brows furrowing and his cock growing impossibly harder. Your words please him, he returns by groaning orders and praises like: “S’all yours, baby — take it all — take aaall that dick — good fuckin’ girl.”
He’s so close and you know it, moaning in submission at his hand’s pressure against the back of your head. With your nose crunched into his abdomen, you hold your throat open for him to use it however he pleases — reduced to nothing more than the man’s plaything.
There’s a low “ah, fuck,” from above, and then you finally know what Joel Miller tastes like.
It’s better than the Plan B.
You hear nothing beyond his recovering breaths, feel nothing past pride, lust, and exhaustion.
Eventually, he loosens his grip. You pull off of him delicately, drawing a groan from between his gritted teeth when you make sure to suck every last drop of his seed into your mouth.
Sitting back on your ankles, you roll your head up to face him.
He swipes a thumb under your lips, clearing the saliva connecting you to his softening cock.
“Still mad at me?” He asks.
You’d be crazy to say yes.
“Only for pulling out.”
You note the twitch at the corner of his mustache.
Joel helps you back on your feet, using one hand to pull you up by your arm and another to arrange himself back to decency.
You adjust your shirt; Joel fixes your skirt. It’s a strange kind of silence settling inside this pocket at the side of a random, ruined building.
Then, your company clears his throat, that mask of seriousness falling over his expression once again.
“You gonna be smart?”
What ever could he mean?
Stay away from him? Stay away from men? Practice abstinence? Use protection?
Either way, you’re not one to make promises you know you can’t keep.
You cross your arms.
“No.”
He sighs.
Well, looks like things are already back to normal.
His face softens and he shakes his head, already regretting his next words. “Just — just come find me, then. I won’t do… this again, but — but I’ll help.”
You frown.
“What do you mean, ‘this’?”
He stares down into your accusatory eyes with a look you’d received many times from him, one screaming, “get real.”
“Fine,” you mutter, breaking eye-contact, “Thank you.”
With a stoic nod, he walks around you, heading back into the night. You try, in vain, to watch him go in silence — god knows you had some thinking to get to — and find that, instead of getting it out of your system, the entanglement had only left you wanting for more.
And more and more.
“Is this what you meant?” and you hear his footsteps halt, “When you told me you’d do worse than kill me? When I tried to hit you?”
It comes out before you can help it, and you twist around to face his still, broad shoulders.
You can hear the smile teasing his lips as he utters the words.
“Why are you askin’ me that?”
Still facing his back, you break into a smile of your own. “So I’ll know what I have to do to get you to do it again.”
You watch him shake his head, grey-streaked ripples in the low light.
“Try your best not to find out, angel.”
With that, he disappears into the darkness, leaving you in the flickering doorway. Thighs aching, heart racing, you take a deep breath, trying to memorize the feeling of what it felt to have them taken from you by Joel Miller.
A feeling you’d chase.
Put your red boots on
Baby, giddy up
Baby wants a dance
Baby gets her way
Dreamy nights
Talk to me with that whiskey breath
Twirl me twice
I'll treat you like a holiday
And don't say you're over me
When we both know that you ain't
Don't say you're over me
Baby, it's already too late
Just do what you do best with me
Dance me all around the room
Spin me like a ballerina, super high
Dance me all around the moon
Light me up like the 4th of July
Once, twice, three times
The guy I ever thought I would meet, so
Don't say you're over me
When we both know that you lie
If you lie down right next to me
Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie
If you lie down right next to me
Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie
When you lie down right next to me
Get your jacket on
Be a gentleman
Get into your truck
And pick me up at eight
'Cause we were built for
The long haul freight train
Burnt by fire
Without trial like a stowaway
And don't say you're over me
When they all know that you ain't
If you lay down right next to me
Dance me all around the room
Spin me like ballerina super high
Dance me all around the moon
Like six times 'til I'm sick and I cry
Once, twice, three times
The guy I ever thought I would meet, so
Don't say you're over me
When they all know that you're lying
If you lie down right next to me
Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie
Lie, you lie
If you lie down right next to me
Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie
Lie, you lie
When you lie down right next to me
TAGLIST (cont’d in reblogs): @millllenniawrites @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @silkiers @jupitersmoon-cal @supernaturaldean67 @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @fruitcupsworld @mads-grace4 @killerrxger @niallsbunny @snowyarcher @grnherbs @mswarriorbabe80 @tercabed @sweettea-and-honeybutter @bbyanarchist @thisgirl-knm @pedrit0-pascalit0 @redhotkitchen @isitselfishifwetalkaboutmeagain @pseudonymist @goldengrapejuice @soullumii @kamcrazy123 @wclverine
2K notes · View notes
purebarnes · 9 months
Text
semi soft miguel AHH
𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲? || 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
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part one || part two: A broken finger, sprain… oh and a baby (coming soon)
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲- what was supposed to be a date between you and Miguel, ends up being a night to babysit Mayday. Was it enough to unleash a baby fever? 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬- nah, just fluff. clingy!reader x grumpy!Miguel + cute!Mayday, implied age gap (legal) and implied short reader (I’m 5’2, this man can ruin me), implied sex and baby talks. NO PROOFREAD!!. 𝐀/𝐍_PLEASE, listen lover and false God along this!!!!
♪ ♫ my miguel playlist. ✰ index (masterlist/ other works there)
______________
Irritant and cute giggles.
That’s all Miguel keeps hearing. He’s fixated on the screens of his office. At some point, he checks to see how his new white and red suit is doing.
But every damn time, he gets distracted by some giggles.
Until the giggles turn into strong waves of laughter, he turns, visibly annoyed.
Peter is holding Mayday, and you are seated across them and erupting into laughter once Mayday imitates some growling sounds from you and Peter.
Okay, the sight looked and sounded adorable. Mainly because it was you making the baby laugh and make funny sounds. But Miguel had work to do…
“Hey!. You three, out. You’re annoying me,” Miguel spits out. Peter, Mayday, and you turn to see the man.
“Someone’s being grumpy…” Miguel sees you exchange mocking looks with the little girl. And Peter is only there existing.
Then you stand up, and with a little jump, you’re on his floating station/desk, whatever.
He feels you tickle his rib, so he looks down on you.
You are telling him to lean down a little. So he does.
You stand on your tiptoes and smash his cheek with a kiss.
“See you at home?” You ask.
Peter nor Mayday can’t see it, but Miguel has a hand on the small of your back; his way of saying I love you, be safe. Because he couldn’t be utterly soft around the workplace.
“Say bye to the bitter man, Mayday,” you say, taking the baby from Peter’s arms.
The three of you started leaving with another long wave of laugh and chuckles.
Of course a pain in the ass for Miguel.
Later that day, a mission was successfully accomplished. Miguel had gone to a different one with Jessica, Lyla, lego Spider-man, and Spider-cat (his low-key favorite interns).
On the other hand, he was impatiently waiting for you to come back and go home together. He was in the mood to spend some time at your place.
It was your grandparent's house, and it was beyond cozy. Miguel had to admit that living on futuristic Earth was excellent. Still, even when your home could be considered as yesteryear, it was better.
However, he could not see the time to leave because he couldn’t find you anywhere.
He even started to worry something had happened.
Hobie, Gwen, Miles, Peter, and Mayday weren’t Miguel's best options for missions. But… they were your family.
“Why the pout?” Suddenly, Jess appeared at his side. Miguel ignored her and kept walking through the long hallway. Some spider people greeted him and Jess, she made brief conversations, and Miguel only sent them nods.
“I’m not pouting…” he answered finally.
“You are.”
“No.” Jess chuckled, rubbing her giant belly.
Miguel gave her a quick glance. Realizing that her coworker was heavily pregnant. It had been some rough months, especially after the events that Miles brought to everyone in the HQ. So for Jess, it must’ve been worse.
“Have you seen y/n?” He asked.
“She’s been here for some hours now. She contained the anomaly with Peter and the others” Then where the hell were you?
Suddenly, a loud noise came from the cafeteria.
Miguel and Jess exchanged some looks before walking all over the hallways that would lead them to the cafeteria.
The scene was… interesting.
Hobie was driving the spider-car, you on the passenger seat with Mayday in your arms and spider-plushie on your shoulder.
In the backseat, Miles and Gwen were laughing and looking back.
And chasing the car, Peter B. Parker tries to catch everyone with a poor running pace.
Miguel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Don’t complain. You married a younger woman…” said Jess laughing at the sight.
Soon, the car disappeared through another hallway, with Peter screaming to stop the vehicle.
“I’m not complaining. But-“ he wouldn���t say it out loud, but Miguel loved you just like you were. He wouldn’t change anything for you.
“I’m not gonna be here soon. You gotta be conscious that you’ll deal with them all alone.”
“I know…” you had a mature side that Miguel enjoyed regarding safety, health, and serious decisions. But he also loved that you remained optimistic most of the time.
And he couldn’t blame you. Back home, you had few real friends, only two girlfriends, and your family.
Both girls were shocked to learn that you were engaged less than half a decade after high school. But they were so supportive, and they accepted Miguel. Same story for your family.
Then spending time with his least favorite coworkers made you happy. So Miguel could handle the annoying moments. Just for you…
“Tell me if I’m trespassing. But… What do you do together? It’s still unbelievable that you two are married.” Miguel gives her a stern look. He doesn’t like to discuss his private (nor public) life with you, but somehow Jess wasn’t a burden of questions like Peter or Miles and Gwen.
“She likes cooking, so we either go to restaurants or cook together. Then she likes spending hours at this giant library near her place,” Jess smiles. Knowing how much you liked spending time between pages and pages.
“So you’re a pleaser. Interesting…”
“Jess…” Miguel warned her. Jessica laughed harder, giving up.
“Okay, okay, sorry. It’s just that… she seems like… the opposite of you. But it also seems like it works well.”
“It does,” he accepts, allowing himself to smile very little.
“Are you taking her on a date this weekend?”
“We haven’t been on a date since… two months?” okay, that sounded terrible for a year and a half marriage.
“Dude…” her tone indicated that it was a catastrophic event, that you and Miguel hadn’t been on a date for so long.
“What? We’re both busy. I’m in charge here; she has work to do here and college stuff. “ it wasn’t that bad. You always made time to make a decent dinner, watch movies, listen to music, and cuddle before sleeping. Miguel couldn’t complain.
“So?” Miguel knew what Jess was about to add. She would say you two didn’t have a child to care about.
And it made him question it. Did he ever see himself being a father again? No.
Would he love to see you pregnant and taking care of a baby? Yes
Would he be able to leave his trauma behind just to be happy again if you asked for a baby?… Maybe.
“I’ll just say it’s a good weekend to spend time together again. Not worrying about work is…Is a relaxed Friday.” she was right.
Maybe Miguel would take her word.
But first, he had to find you.
“Would you like to have a date?” His question popped in a way that made you feel like he was asking for the first time again.
You smile brightly, looking up at him with a slight arch on your brow.
“Yeah. I would love that,” he sighs, relieved.
“Your place. It’s better….” you knew he preferred your house. So you would not complain.
“Sure. Then let me clean today, okay?” He nodded.
Unexpectedly you hug him. Your head barely brushed his chest. And since nobody was around, Miguel hugged you back. His hands caress your head softly, touching your hair.
“I love you so much,” you admit with your eyes closed. He knows it’s obvious. Nobody would’ve stood him for so long, even before marriage.
“Me too, bonita,” he replies calmly.
There’s a characteristic pull you do in his rib every time you ask for a kiss.
So he leans again, but there’s time for a long deep kiss this time.
It’s impossible to not miss your body too.
Memories that shouldn’t appear, assault him at that moment.
Honestly, he can’t wait to have you the next night. You never deny him a good time in bed. And Miguel can’t help but be surprised that a small body like yours has long-lasting stamina.
Except when the weather it’s too hot and your low blood pressure can’t take it.
Other than that, you were so determined to take him and endure anything he decided to give you.
Another big reason to love you.
He’s still kissing you. And he can sense how your body temperature increases. He doesn’t have spider sense but swears he can hear your throbs and pulses around nothing.
A cold shower, that’s what he’s gonna need.
“So.. See you tomorrow, amor.” You say one last time. He lets you go and can’t wait for the next day.
Yeah, even when he sees you every day, no matter what.
Because he’s beyond in love with you.
As you walk towards your little office, you encounter Peter and Mayday.
“Hey!. You two are still here,” they turned, giving you a big smile.
“Yeah, Mayday can’t leave without a warm bottle of milk from here” You wondered what could make the milk from the HQ something special for Mayday. Maybe it was the mascarpone flavor….
“I want to leave early because this girl needs a bath before tomorrow….” you frown, confused. There’s a lot of trust and a great friendship with the man, even when he is older than Miguel and you. And as much as your husband liked to remark that Peter wasn’t a friend, the truth was obvious.
“What’s gonna happen tomorrow?…”
“I’m having a date with MJ, and we hope her mother can take care of Mayday. Cause if she can’t… maybe we won’t be able to- “
“Miguel and I can take care of her…” you suggest immediately.
“Really? That would be great. But… What about…?”
“Miguel? You know him…He secretly likes Mayday,” you respond.
But then you remember you were supposed to have a date with your husband. You haven’t had an entire day with him outside of work. And he hadn’t fucked you since two weeks ago.
But Mayday couldn’t be such a bother…Right? Like, look at that cute face and baby carrot hairs.
“Well, in that case…Do I bring her?” You nod, completely forgetting about Miguel and what could be his reaction.
“Sure. You know my place, right?” Peter had been there several times before you and Miguel got married.
“Yeah. So… at 7:00 pm? I would pick her up before midnight.”
“It’s fine. Right, baby?” Mayday giggles and keeps drinking from her little bottle.
“Alright then… see you tomorrow” You wave goodbye to the duo and go home.
It won’t be that bad.
____
Miguel opens the door of your house, and the first thing he hears is soft music playing.
My heart's been borrowed, and yours has been blue
All's well that ends well to end up with you
Swear to be overdramatic and true to my… LOVER!!!!.
You are singing between giggles and pauses.
Okay, he knows the song. He knows you dedicate that whole album to him every time you play it.
And when he enters the kitchen, he wants to pinch his arm to confirm he’s not dreaming.
You are cooking something on the little island: a baby pink dress, red cardigan, hair in a braid.
One hand is stirring something, and the other is… carrying Mayday?
“Oh. Hey, babe!” You greet him, running to give him a peck on the lips.
“Uh…What’s going on?” He asks, pointing at the baby in your arm.
“We’re babysitting her!” Mayday is super concentrated on a piece of watermelon you gave her, chewing and making a mess of her onesie.
“This was supposed to be a date…” he doesn’t want to ruin the mood. But he was expecting some time alone with his wife.
“It is… Peter will pick her up before midnight. We never go to sleep before 2:00am, amor.”
“Great. I have to deal with Peter even on my free day,” you laugh at his exaggerated reaction.
“Oh, don’t be like that. Mayday is a burst of sunshine; she will not trouble us.” When Miguel turns back to see you, the baby is gone from your arms. She’s climbing your kitchen drawers. Your husband instantly panics when he sees Mayday could fall into the boiling water at any moment.
“You have to look after her,” he says to you, eyes switching from you to the baby.
“I’m looking at her…”
“No. You’re looking at the recipe for…mushroom soup?” Mayday trembles, and Miguel runs to basically catch her. But you make a movement that shoots out two webs, making a little swing for her. She coos and laughs happily.
“See? I got her….” you say proudly.
Miguel had to accept you were good at taking care of kids. Making him question it further if he was ready to pop in the question; Do you want a baby?
“Could you two pick a movie? I left some options on the couch” Miguel looks at Mayday, who seems to understand that you need something from her, so stretches her arms to Miguel, asking him to pick her up.
“She’s asking you to lift her, babe.”
He rolls his eyes, and with a grumpy attitude, he picks Mayday in his arms.
You take a mental screenshot of the image. And your baby's fever escalates even more. Only that you swore to not bring up the issue. Because you weren’t ready to find out if Miguel was prepared to try for a baby again.
Miguel and Mayday, they both look at the pair of movies you have out.
All are for kids, but he can easily look at any of those because he would be with you.
And probably would not pay attention.
“Which one do you want?” He asks the girl. She looks at the movies again and points at the pirates and fairies one.
“Good choice,” your husband lets out. Mayday only giggles.
Well, Miguel couldn’t sit next to you.
Because Mayday was in the middle. You made her some tofu nuggets with vegetables because you were an almond babysitter. Also cause Peter said Mayday needed to eat more greens.
She happily looked at the movie while she had the plate before her.
Then you and Miguel had mushroom soup with warm bread and salad.
He never failed to flatter your food; never.
You can feel he’s praying for Mayday to fall asleep.
He has some big fuck me eyes, actually begging.
You can’t help but smile and giggle as he rolls his eyes.
For another twenty minutes, the movie continues. But soon, Mayday climbs Miguel and starts resting on his chest, and no more than a minute later, she’s fast asleep.
Both of you are in shock. He doesn’t even know where to place his hands.
Until you stand to place his hands in the right place, one on her head and the other on her back.
Miguel looks astronomically big with the baby in his arms. And once again, you look with a giant pair of heart eyes.
Your head is screaming; give me a baby, please!!!!!!
However, you and Miguel only stare at each other, probably thinking and wanting to say the same.
“I’ll put her on your bed” You nod, thanking him as his broad figure disappears from the living room.
You take the dishes to the kitchen and clean them.
There’s a long pause after drying your hands with a flower towel. You stare vaguely at your window, looking through the flowers Miguel gave you when he arrived.
You can’t ask him, but you want so badly. He’s your husband, your lover. You should be able to ask him, cause you to talk with him about everything and anything.
When you go back to the living room, Miguel is there. The tv is off, and the whole room is in complete darkness except for your window. Which led some light to enter through the curtains.
You look at him; he’s seated on the couch.
Your mouth opens and closes. Because you can’t find the words.
“Do you want a baby?” He asks. It’s sudden, unexpected, and shocking.
“I-…” You are frozen. His eyes had never been so intimidating. Yet, the love you feel when you come closer to sit beside him is more immense.
“I do, but-“Then you think about him. His past, trauma, and sequels he could have.
“I think I’m ready to move forward,” he can make you feel shocked again.
He’s making an effort… Why ruin it?
“You are?…” you ask, taking his hand. He caressed your knuckles, softening the moment.
“Yes. Since some months ago… I’ve seen you the kid, and I want that,” he leans into your touch. The way you caress his cheeks invites him to stay there forever.
“So…Wanna try?” You’ve never been on the pill or anything; just pure luck. Maybe it turned out for the best.
“Yes…” somehow the moment is awkward. But in a cute way because neither of you knows where to start.
“Is the kid completely asleep?” you chuckle on his lips. So you’re trying earlier…
“Completely passed out. Don’t worry, amor. I’ll be quiet” he spreads his big thighs when you straddle him on the couch. Your weight is incredibly relaxing for him, so he cherishes every moment.
“Bonita…You’re never quiet” his comment makes you blush. Miguel loved the power he had to make you feel like a teenager in love yet. And it wasn’t because of the age gap. It was simply the way you were.
“Yes, I’ll be. Promise…”
You weren’t quiet. But at least Mayday snored.
Peter is greeted by a sweaty Miguel, and you are all disheveled. His face turns into a grin, a disgusted one. He doesn’t even say hi to Miguel; he just steps into your house.
“You two had-“
“NO!” You deny it immediately, drinking a water bottle, ignoring your friend’s judgmental gaze.
“Yes,” Miguel admits with his usual stoic presence.
“MAN..why?” Peter asks in disbelief. Your blush can’t help but increase until you look like a swollen tomato.
“Guess my baby set the alarms of a baby fever…huh?” Even Miguel wants to laugh but does his best to stand still.
“Yeah, okay. Maybe…” you admit laughing nervously.
Miguel disappears to bring the baby, leaving you and Peter alone.
“So, how was the date?”
“So… How was the tango session?” He starts laughing.
“PETER!” You nudge his arm, joining his chuckles.
“Nah, the date was amazing. Oh, how much I love my wife,” he hears your prolonged aww. Then Miguel appears with a happy Mayday again.
“You woke her?” Peter asks, taking his daughter.
“No. She was awake already.” Your husband replies.
“You know? You two will be good at this” You can’t help but smile widely. You hug your friend quickly before saying bye to Mayday, and a second later…It’s just you and him again.
“This turned… good,” Miguel admits.
“He’s right?”
“What?”
“Peter. He’s right; we’ll be good at this” Finally, you see him smile. A genuine smile that is only reserved for you.
“Promise me that we’ll be careful. That we are going to try so hard to keep it going?” He pleads suddenly. Looking down at you with a slight pout.
“Oh, Miguel. I can’t assure you everything will be perfect. But I’ll do my best for us and upcoming additions. I promise,” he nods, pressing his forehead against you.
And again, it’s all kisses and slow heavy breathings.
“I wanna keep trying….” you reveal between kisses. He smiles; you can feel it. No matter what, he would always have you, but… he would try for that baby.
“I think we’re gonna stay up past bedtime,” you giggle, stretching again to feel his warm lips.
Impatient to feel them all across your body.
But little did you know, you had already been hosting a baby for the past three months.
______________
3K notes · View notes
purebarnes · 10 months
Text
THIN ICE MISTER
bucky barnes x wife!reader
description: bucky and sam break your favorite lamp and candle when left alone with your guys 3 year old daughter, world of chaos
w/c: 3.1k
disclaimers: none… beside bucky and sam being left alone with a toddler, conversation about sex
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You were this anxious and honestly not much made you nervous but that changed pretty quickly when you decided to leave your husband with your little girl. Not that Bucky was a bad father- that was far from it, he was a fantastic father to your sweet girl. He would coddle her when she would get upset, help her with any issues she would have with other toddlers not that he could do much but still.
The only issue that you found was that whenever he was Sam, that’s when it became catastrophic with those two. Now was a prime example of what was about to endure.. you currently had to leave to go do errands with Carol and Natasha while also meet Tony for a new mission that was months away but Tony insisted on getting on that.
You thought of taking Rebecca with you as the two men were probably going to make a mess in the house but Bucky kept telling you it would be fine.
You finally decided to trust your husband and his best friend and we’re hoping you made the right choice as he tried to push you out of your daughters bedroom.
“Wait. I need a goodbye kiss.” You reminded him to which he chuckled and went to lean in to you when you shoved his face away. He stumbled back while standing dumbfounded at you rejecting his kiss when you scrunched your eyes brows in confusion.
“Not you. From my sweet baby.” You hushed looking at the sweet little thing you and Bucky created to which she was letting out soft snores admiring her little curls resting on top of her forehead.
Leaning down to press a soft kiss leaving the excess of your chapstick, you looked up to a pouty Bucky to which you found hilarious. You faced him and took the chance to grab his face right in your hands as they were the perfect size to hold him.
You gave him a small grin, capturing his lip into yours and moving it in sync when he reached down the lower part of you ass and as he went to slightly squeeze it you gripped his hands that were were wrapped around his neck for support to stop him.
That meant you needed to stop before it became too much fun for him, you slapped his chest playfully but sternly as your daughter was still sleeping not even two feet away. He hissed in annoyance, “She is sleeping! Keep it in your pants.”
To that he scoffed because he looked back at his daughter sleeping and turned back to you. “Me? You obviously couldn’t keep it in, exhibit A.” Pointing directly at the brunette who was stirring around in her sleep before turning around to her side before falling back asleep.
Both of you leaving Rebecca’s room, heading downstairs to a familiar face opening the back door of your house. Sam shut the door softly not wanting to make any noise to disturb his favorite Barnes in her slumber.
Sam finally met your gaze and smirked calling your name, “Don’t ruin my house Samuel.” You playfully warned but actually not wanting to come back home with a mess or worse… actually nothing is worse then a mess (in your eyes).”
Reaching to grab your keys from the hooks on the wall you snatched them and grabbed your water while waving buy to the men and out the door.
Sam and Bucky were currently working on a gazebo. You distinctly remember looking at your iPad one night when Rebecca finally decided to sleep in her own room that night. Not that you would kick her out or anything, she just decided she didn’t need to sleep in her parents bed.
The idea of a gazebo came when you saw a beautiful gazebo when you went on a walk when you were half way through your pregnancy. Bucky saw how much you admired gazebos and it would be a great for when you all have guests from you avengers family.
You asked if Bucky could make a gazebo since it wouldn’t take long, maybe you shouldn’t be saying anything because you never built anything for that matter. 
“Alright Buck. I got all the wood… well almost all and all tools are in here.” He spoke tapping at his tool box when he walked over to show Bucky the idea of the gazebo hoping you would approve.
You had a fairly big backyard so the gazebo would look beautiful in the back with Rebecca’s playground next to it.
Sam pointed at all of the perimeters he needed to do before starting, stepping back inside he heard the voices of his daughter talking through the monitor from the kitchen that was connected to her bedroom.
Hear faint cries from the little toddler, “Dada.” She whimpered hoping someone would go in her room at any second. She wasn’t usually like that in the mornings but recently she started to get clingier and have more outbursts than usual.
Bucky pouted at his baby’s voice calling for him and went straight to the direction of her voice. Opening the brown wooden door, she stopped taking out loud when she saw her father in the flesh. “Oh, sweetheart.”
Rebecca stood up from her bed that had was gated (so she wouldn’t escape) and lifted her arms up signaling she wanted to be in his arms. He obeyed her and swooped her into his arms kissing her right cheek repeatedly leaving loud ‘mwahs’ making soft giggles escape her from his little hairs.
“Daddy stop it!” She gasped when he stopped to give her a second to breathe, smiling at her father she stopped laughing as Bucky put her down. “Alright. Let’s go downstairs because you need to eat breakfast and also someone is here. It’s a surprise though.” She widened her light light blue eyes. “Is it Mommy?” Excited to see her mother.
He frowned, “No, baby. Mama is working but she’ll be home soon.” He promised her but then kneeled down to her level, “it may be Uncle Sam.” He teased when she squealed while jumping up and down right in his ear. “Oh! Okay, Bec.” Covering his ear to where the damage was done.
Walking down the stairs with her dad- more like running down the stairs even though it was dangerous and she knew never to run down. But Rebecca was to excited, nearly knocking down her Götz dolls that she had in front of the stairs.
Bucky groaned when he saw the whole dolls that were given to Rebecca by Natasha when she was in a mission in Germany with Steve and Wanda. 5 minutes after they successfully finished it, a store was getting robbed that sold dolls so Natasha looked around carefully before snatching a doll that kinda resembled Rebecca.
Of course Steve had a problem with it but Natasha did not care at all because she technically did not think it was wrong because it was already on the outside of the store.
You were quite upset at first because you never wanted Rebecca to receive things that were stolen. That simple.
From that moment Rebecca loved those dolls because they all were designed to look like her aunts and the women she most admired. “Becca, I asked you yesterday to pick up those.” His daughter kept running until she crashed in a familiar body figure, she grunted softly.
Sam let out a heartily chuckle, grabbing her little waist and holding her up to hold her by his waist and wrapping his other arm to support her back so she didn’t fall. “Well good morning sunshine!” He yelped tickling her side when she gasped at the touch that she was enduring.
“Uncle Sam.” She grunted holding his hand to stop him from tickling her and he stopped seeing her not laughing- “Daddy already gave tickles.” She pouted, Sam solemnly nodded to show that he understood like she was only allowed a specific number of tickles per day.
She was quite dramatic like her dad, you’d definitely say that she got that from Bucky and not you because you could never admit you were dramatic. Bucky rolled his eyes at his toddler and grabbed her breakfast plate to which she denied swatting it away when it almost fell before bucky caught it.
“Oh, no. Rebecca that’s not what we do, it is time to eat.” Bucky sternly spoke not wanting to have a thing with his daughter while his best friend was watching. “No! Not hungry.” She yelled clutching onto Sam’s forearm to which he nervously laughed off.
“Hey, hey. It’s alright, I’ll sit with you.” She sulked down, running her back so she was reassured that he would leave her side. Rebecca got placed in a chair as Bucky placed her plate down locking eyes with her to which she looked down feeling guilty at getting upset with her father.
“Thank you Daddy.” She thanked grabbing her water cup from the table and took a big sip before devouring into her breakfast.
Leaving the meeting with some avengers that you were working on the mission with- you tried so hard to not look at your phone to call your husband. You were doing so good, until Carol mentioned on who was watching Rebecca. “Bucky. With Sam…” you whispered softly.
Carol gave you deadpanned look seeing if you were serious or if you were just messing with her, “Sam? Uh hope you’re house is there when you get back.” She laughed when Nat smacked her shoulder, you started to grow anxious.
You snatched you phone from your bag, Natasha stopped you while glaring back to Carol who didn’t understand at all. “Stop that. Carol tell her you were just joking.” She demanded.
“What, no. Ow!-” Carol rubbed the spot where Nat pinched her, “I’m joking. I’m sorry, they have got it. You trust your husband, right?” It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him or Sam but you did get paranoid.
“I do. Just them together is just you know.” The women nodded as Carol paused, “What trouble could they cause?”
Back home, Bucky and Sam got as much as they could so they decided to wait to do something until they got bored. Rebecca was playing with a ball until Sam perked up. “Bucky. 20 bucks you can’t know over those pins with one hit.”
Bucky looked over to see toy bowling pins stacked on the floor, Bucky scoffed grabbing the ball Rebecca was playing with right as she grunted. “Relax, Bec. Daddy will give it back once he wins that $20.”
He backed up from his position and narrowly examined his spot- he stepped back and brought the ball back and threw the ball. But the ball ended up not going anywhere near the pins because all that was heard was a loud breaking sound with flowers on your newly white carpet and your favorite candle completely broken.
Sam gaped as Bucky cursed, “Shit!” He yelled walking over to see the mess he made when Rebecca smiled widely- “Shit!” She giggled running towards her father who winced at his faulty mistake.
“Whoa, no! We don’t say that.” To that Rebecca kept saying shit, shit, shit! Sam ran to grab a garbage bag so he could throw away the glass and flowers when Bucky swatted his hand away. “Are you crazy? She loves those, I’m dead.”
“Uh, well at least it’s you and not me.”
“This is your fault.” Bucky yelled.
“Mine?” Sam spat back.
“Yeah, you just had to bet me to do it- You could backed out, she will kill me but not if I’m not here.” Sam shrieked getting up when Bucky grabbed him by his metal arm making sure he stayed in place. “No way.”
Sam grunted, twisting his grip away from Bucky’s hard grasp. He huffed dumping all the remains of the incident, a little while later Sam vacuumed up all the dirt as Bucky sat Rebecca down on the long sofa and turned the TV so she could watch a movie.
Hearing the bag getting thrown away in the trash can outside, Bucky really was hoping that you would have noticed it because although people thought of him as a very gruffly person., he was more scared of his wife then anything else.
When Sam came back pausing the movie that Rebecca was watching, the three of them looked at the door as it was getting opened to you, Natasha and Carol. Your daughter gasped seeing them three, “Mommy!” You stopped in your tracks, opening your arms widely for her to engulf you in a tight hug.
Rebecca giggled those sweet songs that came out of her mouth when her mother brought her up and gave her a mouth kiss, “Mwah!”
“I missed my sweet girl! How was today?” You asked more Bucky and Sam but of course she answered for them, “so fun, daddy-”
Bucky covered her mouth quickly before she could spill anything to you as you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. Sam chuckled awkwardly looking at Nat and Carol who glanced at each other, “Yup, so much fun.”
“Well great, nothing looks—” you paused.
You had quite a keen eye for things in anything but you noticed the center table that was holding your favorite candle and lamp were missing. You hummed poking your tongue in the inside of your mouth.
Bucky and Sam stay quiet not saying anything as you were catching on, “Where’s my candle and vase of flowers?” You asked walking near the center table to no candle or Flowers.
Natasha cackled, “Ah, this is gonna be hilarious.” She spoke patting Bucky’s back as he glared ahead to her when she sat down on the couch with Rebecca as she latched onto her, missing her even though she saw her a couple days ago.
“What.. what vase?” He trailed along hoping you wouldn’t hear the nervousness in his tone to which you caught on- “Yeah, are you sure there was even a candle.. cause.” He gulped.
You sighed lowly “What did you do?” He carefully walked to you but keeping a safe space between, “I didn’t do anything.”
You rolled your eyes getting pretty annoyed at your husband when you asked Sam what he did but he also didn’t answer you- you looked at Rebecca who was was being cuddled by Nat and Carol. She perked up, “Daddy broke the lamp and candle!” She obviously didn’t know what she was doing or that she totally made a ditch for her fall into.
You turned muttering something low that only you could hear, you shook your head in disbelief at the two adult men. “Whatever. Let’s go eat.” To that Nat, Carol, Rebecca and you all walked into the kitchen with the takeout bags you guys ordered for dinner.
You weren’t mad or anything but you decided to milk it little bit longer so Bucky could sweat to try to gain your ‘trust’ again. He never lost it but it was funny to see him that that, you sitting on the opposite side of him to which bothered him a lot.
As dinner was over and you all chatted up about future missions and other rookie co workers, you pa led up the lest overs for Carol, Natasha and Sam who took the most boxes (which you insisted because the girls wouldn’t budge)
The girls kissing Rebecca goodbye and waving to Bucky while he was holding Rebecca because she asked to be held by her father squishing her check on his chest. Sam stood by Bucky’s side, “Good luck. Bye sweet girl.” Kissing her forehead goodbye and giving you a side hug.
Shutting the door when you walked back up to Bucky stretching out your arms for Rebecca as Bucky intervened, “I can- I got it.” He sighed watching bother girls leave the kitchen as he went to clean the kitchen from the mess you all made.
Reaching Rebecca’s room you turned on her lights and started on her night routine as she was in the middle of being potty trained you guys did nighttime pull ups for when she went to bed.
Taking out her pajamas- a pink sloth matching set that you bought one day when you two went on a target shopping day when Bucky was away on a mission. Pulling the pajamas over her head you took a brush and combed the hair in her front face.
Rebecca hummed.
You looked up at her direction, “Momma? Are you mad at daddy?” She frowned at that’s thought of her parents fighting and even worse them fighting because of her. “Bec honey no. I’m not mad at anyone.” You reassured kissing her forehead making sure she knew that nothing was going to happen.
She took that so reassuring that she ran to her bed and stood on her tippy toes to reach the bed. You swooped her up and placed her in the bed, grabbing her covers and covering her.
One last kiss was placed on her cheek and forehead, “Sweet dreams, my baby.” She hummed in satisfaction snuggling in her bed letting her go off into dream land.
Walking back to your shared bedroom with Bucky, you saw him already with his shirt off and boxers on and you avoided to look at his mesmerizing body. You went over to his side of the bed which was where the dresser was and grabbed a pair of pjs also.
When you got back from the bathroom, you plopped down on your side and let out a exaggerated whine. Bucky kept quiet not knowing you wanted him to say anything or not, “Really? You’re not gonna say anything?” You asked.
“I thought you were mad still.” He mentioned.
“I wasn’t even mad Buck. Just annoyed slightly.” Holding up your thumb and pointer finger showing the slightest gap when he finally let out a moment of relief that you weren’t even upset with him.
Being completely honest- you had some stress that you needed to relief and so that’s where your husband came into play. You wouldn’t tend to ask him to help you out but you were aching, you snatched his phone away and placed it on the desk next you.
It took him a few seconds to comprehend what you were asking until he waited for you to do something. “Is she asleep?” He sheepishly wondered.
“You’d think I would make you have sex with me if she wasn’t asleep.” Bucky shrugged leaning in before you heard a sound come from the monitor and it was your daughter who was in fact not sleeping. She was muttering something, you grabbed the monitor and heard her more clearly.
“Shit.” Rebecca Barnes spoke very clearly when you turned your head to the man that could only be responsible. Bucky chuckled softly when you turned on the speak button: “Rebecca Barnes. Do not say that word. Who said that word?”
“I’m going. You want me to suffer huh,” he grunted putting on his shorts that you took from the drawer and walked out the door to his daughter bedroom.
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purebarnes · 10 months
Text
dbf!joel that’s it.
jealous
11.6k / dbf!joel x f!reader
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warnings: 18+, minors dni. smut. smut, smut. so much smut. age gap (reader is 23, joel is in his late 40s). jealous sex, jealous!joel, dbf!joel, dom!joel, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, edging, light angst, pet names (angel, baby, pretty girl, etc), praise kink, no use of y/n.
a/n: ok so it's possible i got slightly carried away because why tf is this chapter 11.6k ... anyway for everyone in my requests asking for jealous/mean joel this one is dedicated to you. i love you and i cannot thank you enough for the support on this series. this is so much fun to write and y'all are so much fun to share it with. appreciate every last one of you - your comments, reblogs, requests are the best. see you in the next part. peace 🤠🤍
this is part 6 of my dbf!joel series. read the previous parts here (or read this standalone):
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5
masterlist here. kofi here, if you feel like leaving a tip! love y'all.
He’s gorgeous. He’s nice. He makes you feel good, and you have a feeling he’s about to make you feel even better, if the way he pushes you back onto the bed and slides between your thighs is any indication.  But that’s not what really turns you on. That’s not why you’re about to let him fuck you. You want this — in some twisted, sadistic back corner of your brain — because you liked the way Joel looked when Hayes touched you in the car. Scowling, dark, a little bit lost. You imagine how he’d look now, if he could see you like this. If he could see another man’s head bending down to taste you.  Fuck Joel Miller, you think. And then you fuck Hayes, instead. 
Fuck Joel.
That’s been your mantra the last two days. Fuck Joel Miller, fuck Joel Miller, fuck Joel Miller — which does help channel your anger, to some degree. Until of course you inevitably slip, and think about him actually fucking you, and then you’re back to square one. 
The truth is you’re sad. Like, really, honestly, genuinely sad. Heartbroken feels a little too strong — you only kissed him for the first time last week — but, gun to your head, it’s probably the better word. 
But it’s easier to be angry, so that’s what you decide to be. You plaster over the part of your heart he’s left hollow with a fresh, furious coat of fuck Joel Miller. 
And then you try to forget about him. Which is impossible, really, but you’re stubborn, so you try anyway. 
Which is why you’re on Hinge at one in the morning, tucked under the covers, sending messages to some guy named Hayes. 
You matched with him a while ago. The day before the Fourth of July, you’re pretty sure. He’s cute, based on what you can glean from his profile. Tall, lean, green eyes and dark hair. Dimples and a goofy smile. He’s your type, for sure. But you never messaged him beyond hello, because — 
Well. Because of Joel. 
He doesn’t hold it against you, thankfully. He responds almost immediately when you message him after a week and a half of radio silence. 
you: hey. 
hayes: hey! didn’t think I’d hear from you. 
you: yeah, sorry. got caught up. family stuff. 
hayes: no worries. i get it. 
hayes: so what’s up? 
You roll your eyes to the ceiling. For a second you consider swiping out of Hinge — thumbing to your messages instead, and texting Joel — but you’re better than that. You’re angry. 
you: not much. home for the summer. bored. you?
hayes: haha. same. just finished my last semester at stanford. home for a little bit before work starts. 
Your brow lifts. Stanford. That’s not in his profile, so either he’s spectacularly humble, or he’s a pathological liar. Your experience on dating apps tips you toward the latter. 
But then you type his name into Instagram, and his profile pops up straightway — public and very popular — and, sure enough, there he is. His latest post is from graduation. Location tag: Stanford University. 
you: stanford. impressive.
hayes: depends. you like nerds? 
You laugh a little. 
you: if they’re cute. 
hayes: oh, well. in that case.
You smile for the first time in two days. It’s nice. 
hayes: kind of feels like we should grab a drink. 
Forward. You’re not opposed, though. Not if it gets your mind off of Joel. The faster the better, you think. 
you: im listening. 
hayes: church and anchor? tomorrow night? i can pick you up. 
You know that place. You like that place. Noisy, dark, full of rowdy students getting drunk off cheap beer. You doubt Joel would ever touch it with a ten-foot pole. 
you: yeah, sure. nine? 
hayes: it’s a date. 
You close the app and your screen goes dark. You lay there for a long time, phone face-down on your chest, breathing through your nose while you stare at the ceiling. 
You have a date. Handsome, smart, not a serial killer, by all accounts. And not best friends with your fucking father. 
So you should be excited, really. And you are. You are. It’s just — and you can’t help it, really — it’s just that when you fall asleep, phone still clutched between your hands, you still dream about Joel. 
Your date with Hayes goes well. Like…surprisingly well.
He’s better looking than he is in his photos, which is saying a lot. He’s tall — at least as tall as Joel — which, why are you even comparing? 
Joel’s maybe half an inch taller, if you had to say. But you don’t have to say, because it doesn’t matter. Because you’re not comparing. 
He’s clean-shaven. No patchy beard, no square jaw, no broad, tanned chest. He’s all angles: lean and lithe and toned, and when he takes off his jacket his muscles flex under his shirt. 
Not the kind of muscles you’d get from, say, contracting — but the kind you hone in the gym, on a machine, with exact weights and counted sets. 
His smile is striking, all straight white teeth and dimpled cheeks. And he smiles a lot. He smiles when he picks you up, in a cherry-red convertible with the top slung down, and holds the door for you. He smiles when you taste his favorite drink, some disgusting rum punch he insists is the best. And he smiles when you touch his hand, and drag him to the dance floor, because you’re tipsy and he’s cute and you want to forget. 
It strikes you, when you’re dancing — when he’s laughing under strobe lights, and his face is painted blue — that you’ve never seen Joel smile.
Not really, anyway. Not like this. 
Hayes is nice, too. Kind. He pays for your drinks. He buys you McDonald’s when you’re drunk and it’s late and you’re starving, and you walk around until he’s sober. And then he gives you his jacket, and he drives you home, and he doesn’t touch you until he walks you to your door. 
Even then it’s just to take back his jacket. He gently — very gently — rolls it off of your shoulders and gathers it back into his arms. You kind of wish he’d let you keep it. Then you’d have some other man’s clothes in your room, and maybe Joel’s tee shirt on your dresser wouldn’t drive you so crazy. 
He’s talking to you, you realize. You tune back in and look up at green eyes. 
“I had fun tonight,” he’s saying. 
You’re not so drunk anymore. You can see him more clearly than you could in the club. He doesn’t make your stomach flip; doesn’t set your skin on fire when his knuckles brush yours, but you still kiss him. You want to.
He’s a little surprised, but he recovers nicely. His hands go to your waist and he hums into your mouth when you slip your tongue to his. 
He’s a good kisser. Kind of — soft, tentative — but he knows what he’s doing. He’s bolder when he relaxes, hands skimming up your sides, splayed under your breasts when you bite at his lip. 
He pulls back, panting softly. 
“Ow,” he teases. 
It’s just a joke. He’s just playing, but — still. His reaction is so different from the man you’re not supposed to be comparing him to — that it throws you off your game. 
“I’m kidding,” he hurries, when he sees your face. “Fuck. Sorry. That was — you’re amazing.” 
“No, it’s —” You shake your head. “It’s fine.” 
“It’s just — I don’t usually —“ he nods awkwardly at your front door. The insinuation is clear. “I mean, not — I definitely want to, I was just-”
“Uh-huh.” You look at him. “You know that was just a kiss, right? Like, I’m not actually inviting you in?” 
“Oh.” He swallows. “God. No. Yeah. Of course not. Sorry — can we, like, rewind? I’m a total idiot. I just — you’re beautiful, you kissed me, I —”
“It’s fine,” you laugh. Hayes is cute when he’s nervous. It’s kind of nice to know you have this effect. You don’t think Joel’s ever been nervous in his life. 
“It’s fine,” you repeat, when he still looks mortified. “But, you know-” you can’t resist teasing him, “—probably would’ve asked you in, if you hadn’t just blown it.” 
He takes it in stride. His goofy grin lights up your porch. 
“Alright, well. I’ll make it up to you. Date number two. Tomorrow? Or is that, like, creepily eager?” 
“Oh, the second. For sure. Way too eager.” You smile. “It’s a good thing you’re cute.” 
 “Yeah, I get that a lot.” 
If you’d met this man three weeks ago, you’d have locked him up before he could blink. He’s young, he’s hot, he’s falling over his feet just to see you again. And you click. You’ve talked all night, about everything under the sun — school, friends, your tolerance for spicy food, whether aliens exist — and you haven’t scared him off, yet. 
But now, it’s just — 
Something’s not quite right. Something’s missing. And you try — really try — not to think about what. 
“Tomorrow,” you say, quickly. “But you’re paying.” 
“Whatever it takes.” 
You roll your eyes. Laugh. When he leans to kiss you again you melt into to him. And when he pulls back, and gives you a small, private version of that megawatt smile, you almost forget about Joel.
Almost. 
Hayes brings you flowers for your second date. 
And not the cheap, grocery-store kind that wilt before they can bloom. These are the nice kind. The ones that come fresh from a florist, wrapped up in silk ribbon.
White roses. Red felt presumptuous, he explains, when he greets you at your front door with the bouquet and that smile. 
You let him in while you search for a vase. He helps you look for one in the kitchen, rifling through cabinets, and for the second time in twelve hours you don’t think about Joel.
But then you lean back, against the same granite counter he fucked you into, and you can’t think about anything else. 
You shove yourself off the counter. Wipe your hands on your jeans.
“Found one,” Hayes announces. He turns to you, vase in hand. He clocks the way your face falters and looks toward the bouquet. 
“Too much?” he asks, anxiously. 
“No, it’s —” You shake your head. You take the vase from him and busy yourself rearranging the roses. “The flowers are great. Nice touch. Very classy.” You smile. “I’m just — preoccupied, I think. Sorry.” 
He shrugs.  You finish with the flowers and he crosses the kitchen, placing gentle hands on your waist. 
You stiffen. Your back is dangerously close to that counter. 
“Don’t be sorry,” he says, and his voice is so sweet, so earnest, you almost feel bad for the way your body tightens. “Can I…help?” 
You hesitate for half a second. 
No, you want to say. I think I’m fucked. 
But you make yourself fall into his touch. You let his mouth drop to your collar and let his lips trace the marks that have faded there. 
“You can try,” you tell him. 
You’re late for your date. Your makeout session in the kitchen sets you back half an hour. 
But it doesn’t matter, really, because you end up spending the entire day with Hayes.
You tell him the name of your favorite brunch place and he drives you there. He lets you order for him, coffee and bacon and too many waffles, and you laugh when he gets whipped cream on his nose. He asks you questions and listens to your answers. When the bill comes he pays it, and tips more than he should, and leaves a scribbled smiley face in the signature line. 
Everything is so easy it makes your heart ache. 
Because if you’d just done this a few weeks sooner — if you’d just texted him on the fucking…third of July — 
Maybe you never would have gotten on your knees for Joel. Maybe you never would have let him rip a hole through your heart. Maybe it would still be whole, and you could offer it up to the boy across the table. 
Maybe. 
He drives you around after brunch. There’s no real destination in mind, but neither one of your wants to go home. You don’t want to drive down your street quite yet. You don’t want to drive past Joel’s house. 
But you do, eventually. You have to. You stop for ice cream, and you drag Hayes through a thrift shop, and he buys you a five-dollar necklace that he clasps around your collar. He drives you home after the sunset slips and you doze in his car, head slumped against your hand. He’s got the radio on low and his hand on your thigh. 
It’s nice, you think. Safe. He turns onto your street and slows to the speed limit. 
Your pulse picks up when he parks by the curb, halfway between your house and Joel’s. He cuts the engine and his hand slips from your knee. 
“Today was…” He shakes his head. Laughs, lightly. “I had the best time.” 
He has that Texas drawl — Austin born and raised — but it’s not rough, like Joel’s. It’s soft. Smoothed around the edges from four years in California.
“Yeah,” you tell him. “Me too.” 
It’s the truth.
He leans in, a little shy, and brushes his lips to yours. You smile into the kiss and he slips you his tongue. 
When he pulls away he’s smiling. A blush darkens the band of his nose. 
“Do you, um—” He sniffs. Rakes a hand through his hair and watches you with quiet eyes. “Do you want me to — can I walk you inside?” 
You know exactly what he’s asking. But you’re not sure exactly what you’re feeling. You look past him onto the street, scanning dusky driveways — and your body goes still. Your heart settles near the top of your throat. 
Joel is standing in his driveway, twenty feet away, staring at you with a look you can’t read. You assume he’s been watering the grass out front — there’s a hose in his hand — but it’s lost its purpose. It dangles from his fingers, dousing the concrete. 
He watches you across the street. Watches Hayes, when his finger traces your arm and draws circles up your skin. 
The hose chokes in his hand. He lets it fall, still spitting water, and turns his back on the car. On you. You watch him trudge up the driveway and disappear through his door. 
You hear it slam. It echoes down the empty street. Hayes shifts, turning in his seat to follow the sound. 
“Who was that?” he frowns. 
“It’s—” Your jaw clenches. Unclenches. “It’s nothing. My dad’s—friend. Our neighbor.” 
“Oh.” 
“Yeah.” 
Hayes’s frown deepens. He squints, eyeing the hose. “He left his hose on.” 
“Yeah,” you repeat. “I guess.” 
“Should we tell him?” 
“No,” you say, too quickly. “I don’t—he’ll figure it out.” 
Hayes drums his fingers on the steering wheel. It seems to annoy him, for reasons beyond your comprehension. 
“Yeah, I’m gonna tell him,” he decides, unbuckling his seatbelt and popping open the door. 
You try to stop him. He shrugs you off. 
“It’s fine,” he insists — with that easy, loping smile. “Neighbors love me.” 
“Not this one,” you grumble, but it’s too late — he’s crossing the street, jogging up the drive, picking the leaking hose up from the concrete like the good Southern samaritan he is. 
He tosses the hose to the grass and knocks on Joel’s door. You sink into your seat and pray the leather swallows you. 
You’re slumped so low you can barely see over the dash. You watch the top of Hayes’s head and hope to god Joel doesn’t answer. 
But — of course — he does. 
He cracks the door open, and for a second he just stares, nonplussed, blinking at Hayes with a dark, narrowed brow. His hair is tousled, sticking up at the back like he’s raked his hands through it. His arms are barred across his chest. He looks, in a word, unfriendly. 
You can’t see Hayes’s face, but you assume he must be speaking, because Joel most certainly isn’t. You haven’t seen his mouth move once, except to furrow to a frown.
You see Hayes gesture to the hose, and Joel’s gaze trails — down the drive, over the puddle leaking into the street — and onto you. 
You can’t sink any further into your seat. You try.
You can feel Joel staring. His gaze settles hot on your skin and licks between your legs, and you hate that he does this. That his look is more electric than Hayes’s touch, and his teeth, and his tongue all combined. 
When you can’t take it anymore you fish your phone from the cupholder and pretend to scroll through it. You feel Joel’s gaze lift, eventually, and you only look up when the driver’s door opens. 
Hayes slinks back to his seat. His cheeks are pink.
“Yeah, so, that thing I said? About neighbors liking me?” 
“Mm.” You try to sound neutral. “Yeah, he’s, um — you know. He’s a character.” 
“He told me to, uh—” Hayes cocks his head, like he’s trying to get the phrasing just right, “—get off his porch before he breaks my fuckin’ jaw.” 
He affects a rough, serrated drawl for the impression. It’s not Joel, but it’s not far off. 
You stare at him. 
“He said that? Just now?” 
“Yeah,” Hayes laughs. “Like, I told him his water was on, and we’re in a drought, y’know, so, his bill’s gonna be crazy, and I offered to run around back and shut it off for him, if he wants, and he was like, or you could mind your own fuckin’ business, and then, like—” He shrugs. “Real get off my lawn energy. He’s your dad’s friend, you said?” 
“Um.” You blink. What the fuck, Joel? “Yeah.” 
“Huh,” Hayes says, thoughtfully. “Well, whatever.” 
You admire his ability to not give a shit. He seems spectacularly unfazed. 
It spurs you on, actually, just how unperturbed Hayes is. And, conversely, just how perturbed Joel seems to be. 
“Come on,” you say, suddenly. You unbuckle your seatbelt and push at the door. Hayes looks at you, curious, but he goes willingly. He lets you drag him up the street, tapping his key, locking the car with a neat little chirp as you pull him up your driveway and tug him toward the house. 
He stops you on the threshold. His eyes sparkle. Light green. So much lighter than Joel’s. 
“Are you sure?” he asks, breathless. “Your parents—”
“It’s just my dad,” you say. “He’s probably already asleep. And he doesn’t give a shit.” 
It’s true. He wouldn’t care about Hayes, because Hayes isn’t his best friend. Hayes isn’t his neighbor. Hayes didn’t teach his only daughter how to drive. 
You’re not sure how that makes you feel. Good, you guess. Good you don’t have to keep a secret. Bad you don’t have one to keep. 
It’s all the convincing Hayes needs. He’s polite, sure — but he’s still a man. He stumbles over the threshold and captures your mouth with his, walking you back through the hall.
“Where’s your room?” he whispers. 
“Upstairs,” you tell him. You break away long enough to lead him up the steps, into to your bedroom. You enter first and he locks the door behind you. 
“You’re sure,” he says, again, pausing with his fingers on the handle. “Cause you can change your mind.” 
“I don’t want to change my mind.” 
“I’m just saying. If you do want to. I don’t want to—”
“Hayes,” you say. “I want to.” 
And you do. 
He’s gorgeous. He’s nice. He makes you feel good, and you have a feeling he’s about to make you feel even better, if the way he pushes you back onto the bed and slides between your thighs is any indication. 
But that’s not what really turns you on. That’s not why you’re about to let him fuck you.
You want this — in some twisted, sadistic back corner of your brain — because you liked the way Joel looked when Hayes touched you in the car. Scowling, dark, a little bit lost. You imagine how he’d look now, if he could see you like this. If he could see another man’s head bending down to taste you. 
Fuck Joel Miller, you think.
And then you fuck Hayes, instead. 
He spends the night. 
You’re not really planning on that, but he falls asleep in your bed and you don’t have the heart to get him back up. Besides, you’re exhausted, too. Once he’d checked in for the ten-thousandth time to ensure that, yes, you really do want this — he’d kicked the Southern-gentleman thing to the curb. And turned out to be surprisingly…well, surprising. 
He wasn’t as big as Joel, and he didn’t talk to you with that low velvet drawl — and, yes, you’d had to use your vibrator, the one you hadn’t touched since Joel had fucked you — to get yourself over the edge. But Hayes had been more than willing to oblige, and if it wasn’t for the fact that you could still feel the stretch where Joel split you in two, you might have said he’s the best you’ve had. 
You’d left him in bed while you’d gone to shower. When you’d come back in he’d been sound asleep, sprawled out across the sheets, snoring softly into your pillow. You’d pulled a shirt from your dresser and slipped into bed beside him. 
And you don’t mind waking up to him, really. It’s nice to sleep next to someone. It’s nicer still when he wakes up with a happy, satisfied hum, and wraps his arms around your waist, and presses a kiss to your jaw. 
“Hey,” you say, softly. 
“Hey,” he says. His voice is thick with sleep. It sounds rougher. More Texan. More Joel. 
“My dad’s gonna see you, if you go downstairs,” you say, sleepily. “We could sneak you out the window.” 
You hear him laugh beside you. 
“I’ll take your dad over the window,” he says. 
“Mm.” You roll over, press a kiss to his lips. “You say that now.” 
You stay like that for a few minutes, and then you gently extricate yourself from him. You stand up and stretch, rolling your shoulders, and — 
“Fuck,” you mumble. 
Hayes’s head pops up from the pillow. His hair is tousled.
“What?” he asks, propping up on his elbow. 
“Nothing, I—”
You’re facing away from him. He doesn’t see your blush when it creeps up your cheeks.
You’re wearing Joel’s shirt. 
You’d put on Joel’s shirt, last night, after your shower — when you’d reached for your dresser in the dark. You’d worn Joel’s shirt to bed beside another man. You’re wearing Joel’s shirt, and it doesn’t smell like him, anymore — it smells like your detergent, and your shampoo, and Hayes’s cologne. 
“Nothing. Sorry.” A little more convincing, this time. You turn back to face him and shrug, apologetic. “I just — remembered something I have to do. Not a big deal.” 
He hums sympathetically and collapses back into bed. It would be endearing, if your pulse wasn’t hammering against your temples. If your fists weren’t balled in the fabric of Joel’s shirt. 
You have to get out of this bedroom. You need — something. Fresh air. Coffee. Something. You swallow, hard, and gesture toward the door. 
“You want — coffee, or something? I can make some.” 
“Full-service operation,” Hayes grins. He sits up, and the sheets rumple at his waist. He runs a hand through his hair and yawns. “Yeah, sure. Coffee’s good.” 
He slides out of bed and you turn away. You’d let him rail you last night, but you can’t watch him put his pants on now. You can dissect that one later, you figure. Coffee first. 
He wanders over to you in his clothes from last night — white tee, rumpled jeans — sans shoes, sans belt, sans jacket. If Hayes does run into your dad downstairs, it’s obvious what the two of you have been doing. If the fact it’s nine in the morning doesn’t tip him off, the I just fucked! outfit Hayes is sporting sure will.
He plants a kiss on the top of your head. His sleepy smile curves in your hair. 
“Okay,” he says, happily. “Lead the way.” 
It’s the first time you tug away from his touch. You tell yourself you’re just tired.
Your dad is downstairs, as predicted. You nearly collide with him when he steps out of the kitchen, staring down at his iPad. His coffee sloshes in his hand. 
“Oh—” He looks up at you. He sees Hayes at his side and his brows knit. But, to his credit, he recovers quickly. You’re an adult. It’s not the first time a boy’s spent the night. 
“Morning,” he says, slowly. He lifts a brow. “Mister…” 
“Just Hayes, sir. Pleasure.” 
“Don’t call me sir. Makes me feel old. Nice to meet you, Hayes.” 
Hayes smiles, that million-dollar smile, and your dad melts. Hayes was right, apparently, about his ineffable charm. Waiters, cashiers, dads — everyone you’ve come across, he seems to have won over. 
Well. Almost everyone. 
He loops an arm around your shoulders and you don’t push him away. 
You note the plate in your dad’s hand, balanced precariously on top of his iPad, and point to it with the arm not pinned to Hayes’s side. 
“What is that?” You frown. “You made breakfast?” 
“Told you,” he says. “I cook when we have company.” 
“You didn’t know Hayes was here.” 
“Not talkin’ about Hayes,” your dad says. He nods at Hayes, afraid he might have offended, and adds, quickly, “—but help yourself, kid. There’s plenty.” 
You blink. “Then who—” 
But you know who. 
You already know exactly who, even before he steps out of the kitchen, a few steps behind your dad, and stops in his tracks like a deer in the headlights. 
“Joel,” you yelp. It’s inadvertent. You have to bury the sound with a cough. “What are you…” 
He looks at you. Dark eyes and a pitch-black stare. He takes it all in: you, Hayes, the arm around your shoulder. Ruffled hair and wrinkled clothes and the fresh-forming marks on your neck that cover his own. But he doesn’t look pissed — not really — until he clocks what you’re wearing. Until he sees his shirt, ghosting your thighs and hanging loose off your frame and smelling like cologne that isn’t his. 
He’s got one of your mugs in his hand, filled to the brim with black coffee. He grips the ceramic so tightly you think it might crack. 
“His coffee pot’s busted,” your dad says, cheerfully. He’s completely, utterly oblivious to the seething tension outside his kitchen right now. It’s kind of impressive, you think. “Idiot shattered it last night. Split his damn hand open. Told him to come over here ’n grab some.” 
You manage to look at Joel long enough to corroborate your dad’s story. There’s white gauze wrapped around his palm. Little flecks of faded red where the bandage meets his skin.
He hadn't had a bandage on, when Hayes had knocked at his door last night. So it must have happened later. After. Shattered coffee pot, sliced palm, glass on the floor. You imagine it wasn’t much of an accident. In fact — you imagine it had a lot to do with Hayes, if the look Joel gives him now is any indication. 
Hayes pulls you closer. He extends his free hand toward Joel. 
“Hayes,” he says. “Don’t get a chance to introduce myself, yesterday. Sorry about the hose thing. I was — that’s on me.” 
Joel stares at him. A muscle leaps in his jaw. 
He takes Hayes’s hand. You watch them shake and consider the merits of simply dying right here on the spot. 
Joel drops his hand. He takes a sip of coffee, and when he pulls his lips from the rim he’s looking at you. You do your best not to meet his eye. But it’s impossible not to, when he asks you — causal, low, in that rough, sharpened timbre you’d missed so much last night — 
“That my shirt?” 
Your stomach twists to an ugly knot. You can’t stop the blush that crawls to your cheeks, and you’re sure they all see it — Joel, your dad, Hayes. Your dad looks puzzled. Hayes’s hand tightens on your shoulder, and you can sense the way he frowns. 
Only Joel is looking right at you. Your skin heats under his stare. And then you’re angry, because fuck him for trying to trip you up. 
“I don’t—” You tug at the fabric, like you’re seeing it for the first time. Black. Soft cotton. The text on the back brands you unmistakably — MILLER CONTRACTING, in faded orange letters. Definitely Joel’s. 
“Sarah lent it to me,” you say, after a beat. “Sorry. Didn’t realize. I wouldn’t have taken it if I knew.” 
Your last words pack a private sort of punch. You watch Joel’s face crumple, and you almost — almost — feel bad, when his eyes drop back to his coffee.
Not a great start to the morning, you think, when you drag Hayes away, down the hall and into the dining room and away from Joel Miller. 
But still. Could be worse.
And sure enough it gets worse, about half an hour later, when Hayes’s car won’t start. 
Your dad and Joel are finishing up in the breakfast room when you wander back in, a little sheepish, and explain the situation. You try not to look at Joel while you speak to your dad, which is difficult, because you can feel his stare prying at your peripheral. 
“I can’t give you a tow,” your dad says, not unsympathetically. “I have to work, otherwise I’d help—”
“It’s fine,” Hayes pipes up, from behind you. “Please don’t worry about it. I don’t wanna put you guys out. I can just call Triple A—”
“No, don’t—don’t call them,” your dad says, waving him off. “They’ll rip you off. Joel’s got a truck. He can tow you to the nearest place. Yeah?” 
You’re silent. So is Joel. Your dad turns to look at him. 
“Yeah?” he prompts, again. “You good with that, Joel?” 
You watch Joel’s jaw flicker. You watch his knuckles flex when he sets his coffee down. 
“Yeah,” he says, gruffly. “Sure.” 
You ride with them to the service place. Partly because you feel bad, leaving Hayes alone — and partly because you’re worried Joel might murder him. They might be evenly matched, height-wise, but you’re pretty convinced Joel would snap him like a twig. 
Which probably shouldn’t turn you on, when you think about it. 
You change your clothes before you get in Joel’s truck. You clamber into the backseat with Hayes and pass Joel his shirt back. You don’t want it anymore, you tell yourself. You don’t need it. You can borrow one of Hayes’s, if he ever offers. You can smell like him instead. 
Joel scowls when you hand the shirt back. But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything for most of the ride, actually: just drives in dead silence while his hands choke the wheel.
You see him glance back at you a few times, in the rearview mirror. You catch his eye once, in the lingering silence at a red light, and you slip your hand over Hayes’s. Joel tracks the motion like a hawk. You watch his jaw tighten in the mirror. 
And then the light goes green, and his gaze rips away. He hits the gas too hard and his truck lurches forward. 
“Fuck,” you mutter. “Take it easy.” 
He doesn’t respond. 
“Thanks for doing this,” Hayes says, during a particularly uncomfortable stretch of silence. “Again. I really appreciate it.” 
Joel is quiet. His fingers tap the wheel.
“It’s kind of embarrassing,” Hayes continues, chirping into the void, “my parents never taught me how to fix a car or anything, growing up. Like, all this school and I still can’t change a tire.” 
Joel grunts. You’re surprised to hear him speak. 
“Where’d you say you went to school?” he asks. 
“Oh, uh — I didn’t. But, Stanford? Out in California?” 
Joel grunts again. There’s no follow-up, no remark, no nod to acknowledge he’s heard. It’s the only question he asks the whole ride. 
He drops Hayes and his car at the nearest service station. You offer to wait with Hayes, but he insists he’s fine — and, to be honest, you don’t push the point. 
You’re not in the mood to wait around an auto shop all day. You’d rather get home, and try to forget about this morning as quickly as humanly possible. 
So you ride home with Joel, alone. In the front seat, this time. 
And — if it’s possible — he’s even more silent than before. 
You last valiantly for about ten minutes, until you simply cannot take it any longer. You’d rather bail out the window and take your chances on the highway than spend another minute in suffocating silence with Joel Miller. 
You lean forward. Click the radio on. A staticky Beach Boys song filters through.
Joel leans forward, half a second after you, and clicks it back off. 
“Really?” you clip.
He’s silent. You stare at him, seething, and he doesn’t look over. 
You turn it back on. The Beach Boys crackle back to life. 
“Jesus,” Joel mutters. He snakes his hand off the wheel, punching the music back off, and this time his hand hovers on the control. “Stop fuckin’ touchin’ it.” 
“I like that song,” you say. 
“So listen to it later.” 
“Move your hand.” 
“No, ‘m not gonna—” 
You’re not sure what comes over you. Maybe it’s pent-up frustration. Maybe it’s some petty need to show him how angry you are. Maybe you just want him to put you in your place. You reach for the volume dial and try to force his hand away, scrabbling at his fingers. He looks over at you, briefly, and the truck swerves dangerously close to the margin. 
“Goddamn it,” he hisses. He bats your hand away, correcting on the wheel. The truck settles back into the lane. “Stop it. Fuckin’—quit.” 
There he is. Just for a second. That rough, commanding snarl. His hand finds your fingers, snatching at the dial, and he wraps them up into his palm. He holds them there, briefly, and then he’s shoving your hand back into your lap. He drags his own hand away and puts it back on the wheel. 
“Fuck,” he mutters. 
You sit back against your seat, panting softly. 
“What the fuck is your problem?” you bite. 
“I ain’t got a problem,” he says. His voice has evened out again. Back to that infuriatingly quiet drawl. “Just want quiet.” 
But, of course, you can’t give him that. You have to poke the bear, because the bear is right here, grizzled and grump and scowling, and he’s so easy to poke, and his jaw is twitching in a way that tells you he’s this close to breaking. 
“Is this about Hayes?” you prod. 
He huffs. 
“Okay, so. That’s a yes.” 
“Kid is none of my business,” he says. 
“He’s not a kid,” you say. 
He huffs again. 
“‘F you’re lookin’ for approval, ask your dad,” he says, cooly. 
That lands like a slap. You look up at him, sharply, and he keeps his eyes on the road. 
He speaks again, unprompted. Bear successfully poked. 
“Smart kid,” Joel remarks. “Stanford. Can’t change a tire, but—”
“Don’t,” you mutter. 
“I wasn’t.” His mouth tightens. “Think he’s good for you.” 
You push yourself up. Look at him, again, even though he doesn’t look at you. 
“What are you doing?” 
“Not doin’ anythin’,” he says, evenly. 
When you don’t respond he takes his eyes off the road. Looks at you, for half a second. 
“What d’you want me to say?” he asks, quietly. “You want me to hate him?” 
“Oh, no. You’ve got that part covered already, I think.” 
He makes a low, angry sound at the back of his throat. The truck stutters to a stop at a red light and he slams the heel of his palm into the wheel. His head whips to face you. 
“What the hell is your deal?” he growls. 
“What the hell is yours? You fucking — the shirt, Joel? Seriously? In front of my dad? In front of Hayes? What happened to no one finding out? What happened to it’s too risky? You’re worried about me, when you’re doing shit like that? What the fuck, Joel?” 
He’s quiet for a long time. When the light turns green he drags his gaze back to the road. 
“Wasn’t you I was worried about,” he says, finally. 
You’re not sure what to say to that. It knocks the wind out of you, a little bit. Strips the anger right out of your throat. 
“I wasn’t thinking,” you say. Your voice is small. “It was on my dresser. I just grabbed it. I didn’t — I didn’t know you were downstairs. I wouldn’t have — it didn’t mean anything.” 
That’s a lie. It meant something. It meant a hell of a lot more than you’re willing to admit to him, right now, in the passenger seat of his car. 
“You fuck him in it?” he murmurs. 
You’re not sure you hear him correctly, at first. It’s low. Casual. He doesn’t even look you in the eye when he asks. 
“What?” You stare. When he doesn’t answer; when it’s clear that you heard him right — you push out a laugh. “Jesus — fuck. I’m not answering that.” 
He’s silent, still. Too silent. 
“No,” you say, when it’s too much quiet. “No, I—obviously not.” 
He nods. 
“But you fucked him,” he says. Not a question. 
Your face is burning. Your fingers dig into his seat. 
He doesn’t need the confirmation. Not really. He doesn’t need to hear you say it. 
“Yeah,” you say, anyway. “Yes.” 
He nods again. He turns onto your street and you can’t tell if you’re relieved, that your dad’s house is in sight — or if you’d rather be anywhere else. 
But he pulls into his driveway, not yours. He puts the truck in park and turns to look at you, with his fist around the gear shift. 
“And?” he asks. Deadly quiet. 
You blink at him. You try to stifle the way your stomach swirls. 
“And, what?” 
But you know what he’s asking. And when he’s too quiet, again, the frustration in your throat spills over. 
“Yeah,” you snap, “he was fucking fantastic. What the fuck do you want me to say, Joel? You want me to compare notes? You wanna know if his dick was bigger?” 
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “No.” 
He clears his throat. Shakes his head. 
“I was just—I just wanted—you’re good?” His voice is awkward. Strained. “He’s treatin’ you—you’re happy?” 
“I don’t know, Joel. I’ve known him two fucking seconds.” 
And you my whole life, you want to add. But you don’t. You sit in simmering silence, instead. 
“This isn’t my house,” you say, finally. You sound tired. 
“No,” he says. 
He looks at you. His eyes search yours. You feel that tug at the pit of your stomach: familiar, with Joel. You don’t feel that, with anyone else. You don’t feel that with Hayes. 
“Come inside,” he murmurs. 
You swallow. You look through the windshield: up his driveway, to the window by the front door. All of his lights are off. His house looks hollow. 
And then you look across the street, to your dad’s house. Up the drive, where his lights spill warm across the porch. You can see his silhouette through the window when he wanders to the living room. 
You drag your eyes away. Look back at Joel’s house with your pulse in your throat. 
“Sarah—”
“She’s out,” he says. “Friend’s house.” 
You look at him. Something fractures in dark eyes. Like shattered glass. Like his broken coffee pot. 
“Please,” he says. 
You’ve never heard him say please. 
You speak before you can do something smarter. Before you can think. Because he’s soft and sincere and he’s sad, and you still want him, and the anger you’ve plastered all over your heart is starting to flake. 
“Okay,” you say, quietly. 
He leans into your space. Unbuckles your seatbelt for you. When his fingers brush your side you shiver. 
“Okay,” he says.
You let him lead you inside. 
— 
The house is quiet without Sarah. It’s odd to cross the threshold and not see her on the other side. It’s odd to be here with just Joel. 
He lets you in and disappears into the kitchen. You wander out to the living room and sit perched on the edge of his sofa. 
There’s a knot in your calf, where Hayes had tossed your legs up over his shoulders. It had been a sweet kind of soreness, this morning. Now you want it gone. 
You bend at the waist and dig your fingers into your calf. Rub at the ache there. You don’t hear Joel when he steps out of the kitchen and rounds the back of the couch.
You see his boots, though. The faded blue of his jeans, when he comes to stand in front of you. Your fingers fall from your calf. You straighten, slowly, and sit back up.
He’s holding whiskeys. Two glasses. He sits down a few inches from you and offers one of them up. You accept. 
“Good?” he asks, softly. He nods to your leg. 
“Oh. Yeah.” You swallow. “Just kind of — sore.” 
You don’t miss the way his face falls. The way his eyes flicker when he drops them to his drink.
An awkward silence follows.
“Look,” he says, finally. “The other night—”
“It’s fine, Joel.” 
“’S not fine,” he says, roughly. “I was — wasn’t right, what I said. I was an asshole.” 
You look at him.
“Yeah,” you say. 
He huffs. 
“Is that why you asked me to come in? So you could tell me you were an asshole? Cause I — you know, I kinda worked that out, already.” 
His lip twitches. Any other time, he’d snarl at you to lose the attitude. Probably fuck you into happy silence. 
Maybe that’s why you keep prodding. Maybe you kind of wish he would. 
“If this is an apology,” you say, slowly, “it’s kind of terrible.” 
He pauses, drink halfway to his lips.
“Jesus,” he mutters, voice muffled in the glass. “You’re a pain in the ass.” 
You grab your own drink. Take a sip. You ignore the way your fingers tremble on the glass. The way the whiskey licks at your stomach, white-hot, and stokes the fire on your skin. 
“‘M sorry,” he says, after a beat. 
Your brow lifts. You look at him — keep going. 
“I shouldn’t have—” he sighs. He looks physically pained, and you wonder what it is that’s killing him: if it’s the apology itself, or what he’s trying to apologize for. 
“I shouldn’t have—shouldn’t have said it. Any of it. You didn’t — wasn’t fair. I was — shit. I don’t know. Fuckin’ — scared.” 
“Scared?” You almost laugh. “Of what?” Of — me?” 
His jaw jumps. 
“Of this,” he mutters. “It’s a fuckin’ — it’s a mess. It’s trouble.” 
Your face heats. Anger, the whiskey, something else. You don’t know, anymore. 
“There is no this,” you say. “You made that perfectly clear.” 
He’s silent. You press him.
“That’s what you wanted,” you say. “That’s — Joel, that’s what you fucking wanted.” 
“‘Course it’s not what I wanted,” he hisses. “You—fuck.” 
“Then why—”  
“Cause it’s too much,” he snarls. He sets his glass down, on the coffee table, and rakes a hand through his stubble. His eyes flash, black as sin. 
“It’s too much,” he echoes. His voice is dark. “You’re dangerous.”
“I’m dangerous?” 
“You don’t get it,” he says. “You don’t see what you — what you’re doin’. This — it wasn’t — it ain’t just nothin’, to me.” 
You’re silent. Your heartbeat rings between your ears. 
“It wasn’t nothing to me,” you mumble. “It was never — it was never nothing.” 
“No?” he challenges. “Moved on pretty quick.” 
You set your drink down opposite his. When you straighten your breath comes faster, harder. 
“Fuck off,” you say, softly. “You have no right.” 
He’s silent. 
“Hayes is good for me,” you say. You’re not sure who you’re convincing. “He’s good to me. He’s — nice.” 
“He’s nice?” Joel repeats. The word sounds empty, when he says it. It sounds like nothing. 
“Is that what you want?” His voice is dangerously low, now. You don’t remember him getting so close. “Nice?” 
Your stomach tugs. Your face flushes. The flame on your cheeks spills to your neck. But you stand your ground. 
“Yes,” you grit. 
Joel makes a quiet sound. 
“He fuck you nice, too?” he growls. 
“Joel,” you warn. But there’s no bite to it. Your resolve is slipping, faster than you can snatch it back, and he knows it. He knows it. He knows you. 
“Show me,” he says. 
You swallow. He’s so close you can taste him: his breath on your lips and his scent in your nose, honey whiskey and something else, something distinctly Joel. Like sawdust and sunlight and cedar. 
“Show you—”
“Show me how he fucked you,” he says. 
“I don’t—” Your heart clears its way up your throat. Your pulse is drumming at your wrist, stuttering under his stare, and the whiskey in your system makes you bolder than you feel. 
Fuck Joel Miller, you think.
And you want to. You want to. 
So you show him. Even though what he’s asking is wrong, and it’s twisted, and it’s fucked. You tilt into him, the rest of the way, and press your lips to his. His tongue flicks out to meet yours, slipping hot inside your mouth. Sparks settle in your core. 
Your fingers tangle in his hair. You tug, pulling his head back, breaking the kiss. Your breath mingles with his. 
You reach for his hand. It’s bigger than Hayes’s. Rougher. Broad and tanned and warm. Your fingers wrap around his and you lead his palm to your thigh.   
“Like this,” you say, softly. “He started like this.” 
He doesn’t move right away. He lets the heat from his palm seep under your jeans and settle into your skin. Testing you; testing your patience. 
When you can’t take it anymore you guide him higher. You urge his hand between your thighs and his thumb rolls a circle over your clothed clit. 
You make a small, desperate noise. He pauses with his fingers pressed to your core. 
“You make those sounds for him?” he breathes. 
Your face burns. He rubs you slowly, deliberately, and you rut into his palm. Your jeans dig into your cunt when you arch your hips, and the pressure is unbearable. You’re so tightly wound you’re surprised you don’t snap. 
When you don’t answer him he stops, abruptly. His fingers threaten to drag away. 
“No,” you gasp. “No. Only — fuck. Only you. Joel, please—“
“Please what?” he mutters. 
“Touch me,” you plead. 
“Am touchin’ you,” he growls. “Touchin’ you just like he did. Since you liked it so damn much. Since you want him so fuckin’ bad.” 
“I—fuck—I don’t,” you mumble, “I don’t, I was just—fuck, Joel, I w—“ 
You’re not even sure what you’re saying. You can barely hear yourself think over the roar in your ears. He’s moving so slowly that all bets are off — you’re ready to beg him, please, if it means he’ll stop teasing you and just pull your fucking pants down. 
But he’s not finished. You have a feeling he’s just getting started, when he pulls his hand back, and picks his drink up from the coffee table, and takes a long, quiet sip while you sink into his sofa. 
You hear his glass clink when he sets it back down. He leans back into the couch and doesn’t look at you. He looks at his hand, instead. At the bandage still wrapped around his palm. 
“Take ‘em off,” he says, quietly. 
You don’t ask him to elaborate. You know what he wants, even with his stare fixed on his hand. He doesn't bother watching as you lose your jeans and your underwear and kick them to the floor. 
“You leave your fuckin’ shirt on?” He toys with the gauze. Plucks at it on his palm. “For him?” 
“No,” you say, softly. 
“Then take it off,” he growls. 
You take it off. Your bra, too. They join the pile on the floor and you settle shyly into the sofa. 
It’s the first time you’ve been naked in front of Joel. You’re not self-conscious, usually, and it’s probably even sillier to be self-conscious now, in front of him, after you’ve fucked him in another woman’s house and on your father’s kitchen counter. But you can’t help it. There’s something about his stare, when he finally looks up from his hand. When he lets the bandage go and looks at you, instead. 
Hayes was so complimentary, last night. So…nice. He paused at every possible moment to tell you how beautiful you looked, how gorgeous, how perfect. It was sweet, you thought. A little saccharine, maybe, in hindsight. 
Joel, though —
Joel doesn’t say anything at all. He just looks at you, the way no one’s looked at you before — like you’re the only person he’s ever bothered to see. His stare rakes over you, over your body, and when he speaks his voice is hoarse. There’s something raw on the words that you can’t quite place. 
“Tell me,” he says, quietly. “Tell me what else.” 
“Joel,” you mumble. “We don’t have to—”
“Tell me,” he says. 
You hesitate. 
“He—” You swallow. Your throat is tight. “I was on my back,” you say, cheeks blazing, “and he was — he used his — fingers.” 
You watch Joel’s eyes go dark. Brown to black, like the color’s drained out. 
“On your back, then,” he says, quietly. 
You catch his eye. Your pulse skips before it settles. 
You scoot back. Lay down on his couch, with your back flat on the cushions and your neck propped on a pillow. Wetness drips down the seam of your thigh, soaking the seat of his sofa. 
He works his uninjured hand up your thigh. His fingers brush the wetness there and he hums. 
“This for him?” he breathes. “Or for me?” 
Your breath hitches. You lift your hips off the cushions, chasing his hand. He slides a finger over your folds, gathering slick, and presses the pad of his finger to your entrance. 
You squirm.
“You,” you whine, pushing your hips up, trying in vain to pull him deeper. “Fuck—you.“ 
You hear his rough agreement. His finger slips inside you. 
“One finger?” he asks, fucking into you with a crooked index finger. His thumb rolls lazy circles over your clit. Enough to make you crazy. Not enough to make you cum. “Or two?” 
“T-two,” you mumble. “He—fuck—two.” 
That’s a lie. For all his merits, Hayes had been terrified of a misstep. Good, but hesitant. One finger, even when you’d pressed for two. 
Joel can sniff out a lie like a bloodhound. But he slips another finger inside you, stretching you just right, bracing on his bandaged palm as he leans forward and fucks you deeper — so he either doesn’t notice, this one time — or he lets you lie to him. 
“He do it like this?” he growls. 
You moan. Something unintelligible. 
“Words,” he growls. “Use your fuckin’ words.” 
“He was — fuck, he was — s-softer. Gent—ngh—gentler, Joel, fuck—“
“Yeah?” He hooks his fingers, and you cry out. “That what you want, angel? You want gentle?“
He slows up. His movements soften and you cant your hips in frustration. 
“No,” you yelp. “No.“ 
“No,” he agrees. He crooks his fingers again and you come dangerously close to falling apart. The heel of his palm bumps your clit and the contact makes you see stars. 
Your head rolls against the pillow. Your vision swims when his wrist pumps faster. You can feel the cuff of his flannel, grazing the seam of your thighs while he works you with his fingers — and it strikes you he’s still dressed. Not sort of dressed; not half-undone, with his belt hanging off and his jacket shucked and his jeans unbuttoned at the waist. 
He’s fully, completely dressed. He’s got his fucking Carhartt jacket on, still, over his flannel. His boots are planted on the carpet. He’s dressed like he’s still on the job and you’re naked — totally naked — sprawled out on his sofa with his fingers inside you. 
The imbalance makes your head spin. You want to tell him to take some clothes off: to even the playing field, a little, but you can’t think that far ahead. Not when your muscles clamp down around his knuckles, and your breath steals out of your throat, and you try to tell him, desperately, that you’re—
“Gonna cum,” you gasp. “Please—“
“He make you cum?” he asks, roughly, fingers still pumping into you. 
You try to focus. Your head swims. 
“Joel—“ 
“He make you cum like this?” he repeats. 
You can’t lie, this time. No energy. 
“No,” you whine. “Fuck. No.” 
“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs. It’s almost sympathetic. “Thought you said he was nice.” 
And then he drags his hand away, right before you can cum, and the message is clear. Didn’t cum then — not gonna cum now.
You’re not stupid. You get what he’s doing. Fucking you the way Hayes did; exactly the way Hayes did, until you break, and beg him to fuck you the way you really want to be fucked. The way only Joel can do. 
But you’re stubborn, and you’re pretty sure you’re still supposed to be angry with him. So can hold out — a little longer, at least. Even when you writhe against the cushions, and whimper at the loss, and plead with him to just touch you again. 
“Focus,” he tells you. His voice is dark. “What else, pretty girl?” 
“His—” you breathe hard, trying to focus on the ceiling, “his—fuck, his—mouth.” 
He pauses. You can feel him pause. You tip your head forward, off of the pillow, trying to get a read when he doesn’t immediately respond. 
His bad hand flexes around his bandage. He looks … pissed. Maybe a little lost, too, if the way his stare flickers is any indication. But you’re so fucked out it’s hard to say for certain. 
“You let him taste you?” he growls. 
You look up at him. You’re panting. Short, shallow breaths. 
You nod. 
“Fuck,“ he swears. 
His jaw tightens. He rolls his shoulders; big and broad and ticked the fuck off. Then he sheds his jacket, and rolls his sleeves to his forearms, and gets up off of the couch with an angry sort of sigh. 
He sinks to his knees, facing the sofa. He grabs your calves with his hands and moves you like you weigh nothing, shifting you around until your back is flat and your legs hang off the couch. 
You let out a little oomph when your head slips off the pillow. He shuffles closer to the edge of the sofa, lifting your calves over his shoulders in a swift, easy motion, and drags his head down to your cunt. 
His breath puffs hot against your core. You squirm. You try to grab at his hair, but he’s too far away, like this — kneeling in front of the couch, work boots digging divots in the carpet. You settle for scrabbling at the cushions, instead. 
“He do it right?” His voice goes straight to your cunt. Your legs strain, digging into his shoulders. “Huh, baby? You cum in his mouth?” 
“No,” you whine. Your hips rise and then fall, chasing his lips, and you can feel your resolve waning. “No, he fucking—I couldn’t—fuck, Joel—I—please.“
“Couldn’t what, darlin’? 
Your head spins. 
“Couldn’t s-stop—ngh, Jo—couldn’t stop t-thinking about you.” 
“Poor baby,” he whispers. His teeth close around your clit. He applies gentle, gentle pressure, enough to make your hips go flying off the couch as you cant into his mouth.
And then his tongue is sliding into you, hot and wet and thick, curving inside you with a wicked hum. 
“Oh, fuck,” you mumble. “Joel, shi—fuck. You f-feel—god— feel good.” 
He slides his tongue out of you. Just long enough to ask you, in that gravelly whisper —
 “This what you wanted last night, angel? This what you thought about?”
You moan weakly. You nod, or try to.
“Dirty fuckin’ girl. Thinkin’ bout some other man’s mouth on you. Think about my cock, too, while he was fuckin’ you?” 
“Yes,” you whimper. You’re beyond caring, now. You can’t think about anything that doesn’t start and end with Joel. “Yes — fuck. Yes.” 
“You play nice, baby girl? You fake it for him?” 
“Yes,” you pant, again. “Ah. F-fuck. Yes.” 
“’N now? You gonna fake it now, sweetheart?” 
“No,” you punch out. “No, f—no. Joel, please, fuck, I need—“
“Know what you need,” he growls. He licks a stripe up your clit with the flat of his tongue. You let out a strangled cry and dig your nails in his sofa. “You can wait.” 
“Fuck,” you sob. “Come on, fuck—please, Joel—“
“Can’t, baby,” he murmurs. “Y’wanna fuck him so bad, I’ll fuck you the same. ’N you didn’t cum for him.” 
“That was diff—different,” you mumble. You’d kill him, if you could string two words together. But you can’t, so you writhe into his mouth, instead. “He wasn’t—ngh—wasn’t you.” 
He makes a quiet, hungry sound. His tongue slips back inside you and you grip at his hands, his shirt, the couch. You mark anything you can find with your nails, leaving crescent drags in his skin, and his sleeves, and his sofa. You’re loud — calling his name, over and over and over when he fucks you with his tongue but doesn’t let you cum — and he doesn’t shut you up, this time. Doesn’t clamp a hand over your mouth, or shove a belt between your teeth. He lets you whine his name. And when he drags his tongue from your cunt he murmurs yours against your core. 
He stands. You watch him dust his hands off on his jeans. 
And then he’s leaning forward, bending at the waist to slide his hands under your legs. He scoops you up easily, off of the couch and into his arms, and your head thumps against his chest. 
He feels good. Strong. Safe. Your nose buries in his flannel and you breathe in his scent. 
You’re not sure where you’re going. You don’t really care. You hear his footsteps, boot prints on the hardwood, and you feel his hands when they squeeze you closer. The gentle scrape of his bandage on the back of your thigh. 
Your arms come up to loop around his neck. He lets you cling to him, like that. Naked and shaking and completely, utterly fucked. You press your lips to his neck; to the soft stretch of skin above his collar, and he doesn’t go rigid, this time. You see his throat bob when he swallows. 
You hear the creak of a door as it opens and shuts. Cool air hits your skin. It smells different in here — like linen and leather. 
His bedroom, you think, aimlessly. You’re in his bedroom. You’ve never been in his bedroom, before. 
He sets you down on his bed. Grey sheets crumple where you land. 
Everything smells like him. Dark wood, and smoke, and pine. Masculine and earthy and Joel. 
He doesn’t join you on the bed right away. You hear the rustle of denim and when you crane your neck he’s undressing, finally, leaving his boots and his clothes and his boxers on the floor. 
And then he’s climbing on top of you, caging you into soft sheets, and your hands come up to skim his arms. 
“How?” he breathes. 
“Joel,” you mumble. You don’t want to think about Hayes anymore. You don’t want to think about anyone else. 
You want Joel. Just — 
“Joel,” you whine, again. “Please.” 
“How?” he echoes. 
You tip your head against the pillows. Your cunt throbs, aching and swollen and begging for him. 
“He was on top,” you tell him. “We were — it was like this.” 
He nods, slowly. 
He rolls his hips into yours. The head of his cock nudges your entrance and you whimper, arching back against grey sheets. 
“Like this?” he murmurs. He snakes a hand between you both. Fists the base of his cock in his palm and guides it through your slick.
“Fuck,” you gasp. “Y—yes.” 
“He talk to you?” 
“No,” you plead. “N-not like —” 
“Not like what, angel?” He moves agonizingly slowly, rubbing the head of his cock against your clit. Your fingers fumble for purchase in the sheets. 
“Not like you,” you say, breath tangled. “Not like—ngh—fuck, please. Please.” 
“’S a shame,” he murmurs. 
“Please,” you beg him, “talk to — fuck— talk to me.” 
“Can’t, baby.” He’d almost sound sympathetic. Almost. If he wasn’t being so goddamn mean. He drags his cock back over your slit, coaxing his name from your lips, and then he finally — finally — pushes inside you. You’re so overstimulated that just the tip of his cock makes you shiver. Your whole body tenses, seizing up under him when he bottoms out inside you. 
Your hands find his shoulders. Your nails dig in there, scratching at his skin, drawing tiny lines of blood when he pulls out of you and thrusts back in so hard you see black. 
“’S too bad, too,” he’s muttering. His mouth hangs by your neck. Close enough to kiss you, touch you — but never quite dropping that extra, desperate inch. “I’d tell you what a good girl you are, takin’ this cock. Tell you how pretty you look all stretched out f’me.” 
You moan. Your hips cant, chasing his cock when he grinds down into you. He drags himself out, dripping onto grey sheets, and you gasp at how empty you feel. 
“That what you want?” he growls. 
“Yes,” you whisper. You scratch at his shoulders, trying to pull him down, trying to tug him back inside you. “Fuck. Yes.” 
He’s stronger than you. He doesn’t budge when you scrabble at his skin, or beg him, or roll your hips against his swollen cock. Eventually you give up. You fall back against the pillows with a frustrated sigh, hands going slack at his shoulders. 
It’s only then he picks back up. He lines his hips with yours and thrusts back into you with a tight, shallow groan. He hits that spongy spot inside you and you whine into his chest. 
“Ah—god,” you mumble, “You f-feel so good, fuck, I—” 
Heat licks at your core. It spills to your skin and sets you on fire. You’ve lost track of how many orgasms he’s denied you. But the collective build-up is threatening to take you the fuck out. 
“Faster,” you tell him, urgently. Your fingers dig into his back, spurring him on, clinging to him when he snaps his hips and makes you yelp. “Please, Joel. Fast—ah. Faster.” 
He obliges, this time. He mutters darkly against your neck, pounding into you, and the slap of skin on skin punches in between your breaths. Your eyes roll. Your vision fogs, bliss-white. 
“Joel,” you mumble.
“Tell me —” he growls, hips flexing, “tell me he made you cum like this, pretty girl. Hate seein’ you all — ngh — all fuckin’ worked up.” 
“Joel,” you echo. Your voice breaks. Your cunt clenches around him, choking his cock and begging for release. “He—Joel—”
“Tell me,” he grits. 
“No,” you cry. “I mean, fuck, yes, but I—I had to use a—a, fuck, Joel, a toy—”
He groans. “You’re breakin’ my heart, baby.” 
And then he pulls out — and doesn’t fucking let you cum. 
“Fuck, Joel!” You writhe underneath him. You scratch at his back, his sides, his arms. Leave scrawled, desperate marks on his skin. “Please, I don’t—”
“I want you,” you sob. Tears sting behind your eyes. “Please. Please just — fuck me. Please. I want — fuck, Joel, — I want you.” 
His gaze softens. A sad sort of smile tugs at his lip. 
And then he bends to kiss you, soft and slow and not at all like the Joel you’re used to. You mumble into his mouth and his tongue dips to taste you. You lift a shaking hand to trace his jaw. Your finger trembles at the edge of his mouth, holding his lips to you. You keep it there when he breaks the kiss; resting gentle at the corner of his mouth. 
“‘M sorry,” he breathes. His eyes are lighter. Not black. They look brown, again. “For everythin’. I’m sorry.” 
Your breath snags. You stare up at him, lips grazing his, and your heart tugs. 
“Show me,” you say, softly. 
He rolls both of you over. He’s surprisingly agile, for being so big. His head hits the pillows and he holds you steady, hands on your waist as you straddle his lap. 
He blinks up at you. His bandaged hand skates up your ribcage. 
You blush. You’re nervous, for some fuck all reason. Looking down at him like this, it’s — 
It’s intimate. More intimate than your mouth on him on a bathroom floor, or your palms pressed to the neighbor’s door, or your cheek flat on the kitchen counter. 
This is something else. It makes your pulse hitch. 
“Um—” you stumble, “—this isn’t—” 
He looks up at you. His hand drifts up your ribcage, over your breast, tracing the contours of your skin. 
“Isn’t what?” 
“It’s not how he—how we—”
His gaze softens. His hand moves higher, over your breast and your collar, snaking under your hair to the back of your neck. He pushes there, gently, pressing your chest to his. His head comes up, off of the pillow, and his mouth closes hot around your neck. 
“Good,”he says. 
You melt into him. His hands skate up your back, holding you close. His stubble drags along your throat and nuzzles at the soft skin of your shoulder. 
“I need you,” you say, breathless. “Joel, pl—I want you.” 
“Okay,” he murmurs. His hands slide your ass. He lifts your hips and lines you with his straining cock. “Okay, angel.” 
He guides your hips down, onto him, and you bury your face in his neck. You hear his stilted groan when you sink all the way, choking his cock as he settles inside you. 
“Fuck,” he mutters. His head tips, creasing the pillow. His fingers dig for purchase on your skin. “You’re—fuck.“ 
You extricate yourself from his chest. You sit up straight, straddling him, and the new angle makes you whimper. His fingers fumble at the sheets. 
“Don’t do that again,” you tell him, bracing both palms on his chest as you start to ride him. “Don’t—fucking—tell me it’s too risky. Don’t walk away.” 
You grind your hips down onto him. He moans, hands gripping at your hips. 
“Fuck,” he pants. “Don’t fuckin’ — say that.” 
“Why not?” 
“Because,” he grits. “Won’t ever be able to l-let you go.”  
You lean down. Catch him in a kiss, as the heat in your core starts to swirl again. He nips at your lip and your breath stumbles to his mouth. Your hips stutter over his. 
“That’s kind of the — idea,“ you mumble. He matches your pace, thrusting up into you, and your eyes roll. “God, Joel—” 
“’S’okay,” he murmurs. He’s sitting up before you can process the motion. His arms are wrapped around your back, holding you steady, rearranging you both until he’s sitting up straight and you’re caged in his lap. Your legs wrap loose around his waist. “I got you.” 
He takes over for you. You rest your head in the crook of his neck, whimpering into his skin when he rolls his hips up into you — over and over, again and again, clutching you to his body and spearing you down onto his cock. 
Your breath comes quick. Shallow. It drips over his neck and breaks on his name. 
“I need—please.“ 
“Easy,” he murmurs. His hand comes up again to wrap around the back of your neck, clasping you to his chest as he picks up the pace. “Easy, angel. You’re okay.” 
“Fuck,” you mumble. “Fuck, Joel—”
“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs. “S’okay. I got you. You’re—fuck. You’re good. God damn. Such — ah — such a good girl.” 
You cum so hard your vision pulls blank. You stall out on top of him, hips jerking, strangling his cock when you bear down on his lap. 
He groans. He nips at your neck, your throat, your jaw — and then his mouth finds yours and he’s kissing the hell out of you. 
“Joel,” you gasp, when his thrusts falter, and he breaks your kiss to swallow a moan, “please. Fucking—please.” 
You know what you’re asking for. So does he. But you don’t expect him to oblige you. Not when he never has, before. 
But then his head tips, and his cock swells inside you, and his stomach tightens against yours. He’s close. You loosen your legs; start to make it easier for him, for when he inevitably untangles your limbs from his before he can cum. 
But he doesn’t. Not this time. This time he pulls you closer instead of pulling out. 
His hips jerk. He thrusts once, twice, and then he’s spilling inside you with a rough, brambled groan. 
His head rolls forward and thuds against your shoulder. His cock twitches inside you, still half-hard even as his breathing starts to level.  
Your mind is going a thousand miles an hour. And, simultaneously, nowhere at all. You speak with your lips to his skin, unwilling to separate yourself. 
“You—“
“Leave him,” he mumbles. 
You draw back, half an inch. You stare at him and he stares back. You roll your hips against his and he hisses your name through his teeth, cock still throbbing when you squeeze him dry.
“Leave him,” he echoes. The silence is thick when it stretches. It almost sounds like please. “Just — stay. With me.” 
You nod. He brushes a stray hair back from your face, and his thumb traces the hollow of your cheek. 
You lean into his touch. Rough. Warm. Safe. Your hand finds his and closes fast around his knuckles.
 “Okay,” you breathe. “Okay.” 
taglist (lmk if you'd like to be added!)
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purebarnes · 11 months
Text
masterlists
marvel, (mcu) marvel cinematic universe, top gun: maverick
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warnings:
❁ཻུ۪۪ ━ please don’t continue to read if you are under the age of 18 since my writing blog is 18+, it would make me uncomfortable if minors were to interact with it. please respect my wishes.
❁ཻུ۪۪ ━ much appreciated if everyone that lands on this blog would be mindful for those who like to read and write without be criticized. not everyone will like the same thing you like so just remember to be kind.
❁ཻུ۪۪ ━ under no circumstances can my works be translated, copied or pasted onto a totally different platform of writing. this is my writing and only mine, give credit to those who work hard on something like this.
masterlist: mcu
━ bucky barnes / sebastian stan
━ steve rogers / chris evans
━ natasha romanoff / scarlett johansson
masterlist: top gun: maverick
— jake seresin
— bradley bradshaw
— mickey garcia
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purebarnes · 11 months
Text
angst ━ ❁
fluff ━ ✧
fan favorites ━ ☻
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BUCKY BARNES
one shots
❁ the one where y/n finds out : as y/n’s birthday comes around, all she wants is to celebrate by having a party with her friends but when one secrets gets spilled, it turns out not in her favor at all.
the one with bucky’s girlfriend : after hearing about bucky’s feelings towards y/n, she hopes to reciprocate those same feeling until she sees bucky with someone that isn’t her.
thin ice mister: you leave bucky and sam alone with your toddler.. chaos.
series collection
courage to change | stark!reader
y/n stark, after losing her father when battling thanos in endgame— she thought everything was gone for her until a familiar face asks for help. she would do anything for sam, but when bucky sees her after six months, he’s not sure how to feel around her anymore.
one two three four five six
SEBASTIAN STAN
one shots
infinity war cast play: family feud | sebastian stan x fem!actress
during infinity war press, a whole lot of chaos with the whole cast of infinty war while playing a game of competive family feud
‘Infinity war cast on mtv news compilation | seb stan x fem!actress
taking a break from the stressful interviews, you and the cast of infinity war take a break and do some trivia and games with mtv’s josh horowitz
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purebarnes · 1 year
Text
keep your eyes on me
joel miller x f!reader
warnings: ANGST, stab wound, mentions of violence and blood, lots of violence actually, protective!joel, reader being moody and angsty, some gore (wound details), inaccurate stuff probably (definitely), inconsistencies for sure
word count: 6.63k UNEDITED
here’s the full version of ‘keep your eyes on me.’ i apologize in advance for the reader’s moody and angsty monologue in the intro and all that follows after. prepare the tissues?
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The mission was simple.
A quick in and out, a regular check for supplies in one of the surrounding buildings of the QZ and that was it. Nothing you hadn’t done countless times already, even before Joel entered your life, and it was relatively easy.
The hardest part was sneaking past the supervised borders and even that had been figured out when you started paying one of the guards to turn a blind eye whenever you went out for a run.
It just so happened that this run had to occur in the smack-dab middle of a feud you’d found yourself in simply because you associated yourself with Joel Miller and Tess Servopoulos. 
It didn’t help that Joel, in particular, rarely associated himself with anyone at all. Perhaps that’s what made you a prime target in his dispute with his former partner Robert Navarro. 
Because Joel went out of his way to join your side more often than either of you cared to admit, it made sense that, in turn, Robert’s fury would extend to you. 
Keep reading
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purebarnes · 3 years
Text
but you aren’t mine
summary: you are in love with your sisters fiancé and he is in love with you.
pairings: chris x female!reader
warnings: age-gap, cheating, mean sister
authors note: came back with a chris one!
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You were a young, beautiful actress so you had the opportunity to work with other actors and that meant you got burnish new relationship. One specific person, you really loved working was someone who was a tad bit older you. Of course you had a huge crush on him because he was Chris Evans.
A year later, you and Chris both would catch each other looking at them selves and you guys would just ignore or go back to what you were doing. One day on set, your older sister had stopped by to see you which you loved but you stopped once she started being touchy with Chris.
You know that you and him weren’t a thing but it always bothered you that she always pushed herself towards men even if she didn’t know if they were taken. But what could you do.
Doing your usual snack breaks as Chris, you saw him as you looked back at the water then went to go ask what he was doing. He looked to you to see if you asked something, you warned him that he would not be happy with her.
He obviously didn’t listen otherwise he wouldn’t be unhappy in a toxic relationship with your sister. They were on and off for a long time so when Chris first proposed he did it because he simply thought he was in love. After plenty of arguments and problems: everyone knew they were just doing this over again.
You grew upset one day about their second engagement so you went to go do something else without any of them. You didn’t tell anyone about where you were gonna head to. Pulling out your wallet, you reached a bar.
Pulling a stool, you saw an upset Chris entereing the bar looking for something or more importantly someone. He finally saw you with your drink, he walked over to you as you sighed. “What are you doing here?” You asked him as he took a seat.
“Can’t I get a drink?” He asked.
You knew why he was here, he confessed he had feelings for you but you told him that he shouldn’t of said anything to you. Nothing wouldn’t change the fact about that. “You need to leave. Chris, you can’t-" Chris went to grab yours hands lightly as you went to gently peel them off.
He was in love with and you might of had some feeling back but he was getting married and to your sister. “Please, I know that you feel someway towards for me and so do I.” He pleaded to you.
“It doesn’t matter what I feel. She is still is my sister. What would my family say? Probably that I’m a back stabbing- - if we are happy, shouldn’t that matter the most.” He looked up at you with those eyes that you adored. It pained you to see someone that wasn’t yours when you wanted them so badly.
Being in such a public place, you really couldn’t talk in front of people because people would talk. Chris told you to go to his car so that you could finally talk to him about everything. “We really shouldn’t do this. “ Chris interrupted you by grabbing your face with his two hands cupping them to look at you.
You went to look down at his eyes while biting your bottom lip to stop you from doing something that you would regret when you got home. He saw that as a chance to lean in to lock you into a slow, passionate kiss that was much needed from him and you.
You wrapped your arms around his neck as you went to pull him in closer to get more of him. You weren’t thinking about anything since all you wanted was him.
“No. I’m so sorry, I can’t.” You sobbed while pulling away from him while putting your hands in your face and sniffing at the actions you just did. Chris couldn’t understand why you guys couldn’t be together but he didn’t get that your parents didn’t care about your feelings and how you just wanted to be happy.
It was always them against you.
“They won’t understand. If I tell them that I’m in love with Y/s fiancé, then how does that make me look. Like I meant to hurt her.” You expressed to him as he look straight at the streets, you looked up and reached for his hand while holding it and bringing it to kiss his back of his hand.
“I can’t just pretend that what I feel for you is not there. I’m so crazy about alright, I love you. So if I have to make them understand that then I will.” He promised you while going kiss your lips softly.
You sat in the car explaining to Chris everything you wanted to tell but surely couldn’t because he was with her.
-
You sat down silently when your father told you to go back home and tried your best not to look or talk to Chris as you felt bad. You saw your sister shaking her head at Chris while he tried to explain that it wasn’t your fault. Your dad slammed a couple photos on the table while looking back up to you.
You gulped silently when you saw it was you and chris from last night, you had no idea how someone took pictures of you. “Just explain something to me. What in the hell is this?!” He yelled as you looked up at him and sighed, “Don’t. This isn’t her fault, alright. Look, y/s/n, we don’t work but me and her do. What I feel feel for y/n is different.”
You smiled lightly as your sister walked over and slapped chris to show how affected she was, you got up once Chris held his cheek. “What the hell! See, this is why I’m not in love with you. You lash out on people without understanding them.”
“If you think you will have a career after this stunt you played then mister-” You surely had enough of this thing your father played, he’d like to threaten people but you hated it. “Stop it, don’t threaten him or his career. If you want me to never see him again then I will but I’m done with you and this family.”
You went to grab your stuff and walked out before your mother and father could yell out profanities with your sister crying. Once you reached the driveway, you saw Chris running towards you. “Wait. We can’t just stop seeing each other. Why can’t we do this together?” You grabbed his hand and then pointed towards your family.
“Everything, you had worked for will be gone. And all because of some chick. I want to be with you more then everything but we just can’t risk this.”
Chris was done telling you why you should of been together, he let out a scoff. He was mad that you weren’t trying to figure some way out. He thought that you didn’t really feel the same way that he did and that was way off.
“What is so hard about this? What we had yesterday? Did you not feel anything, you tell me you want me but won’t do anything about it. Why are you so scared.” He asked.
You went in the grab Chris by his neck and pulled him in for a kiss as he placed his hands on your waist to hold you so you wouldn’t move. He ended up pushing you against your car while dropping the keys then going to kiss your neck but you stopped him.
“Not here. My place?” You asked him as he smiled widely then went to slam his lips onto yours while ruffling is beard on your face as you let out a giggle. “Please be mine.?” You nodded while hugging him and looking up to see your sister glaring at you.
You really didn’t care because he was all yours.
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purebarnes · 3 years
Text
the one with bucky’s new girlfriend.
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ➢ when y/n discovers bucky’s secret about her, she hopes to express how she feels back. that’s until she sees bucky with another girl, losing any hope between them.
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ➢ 2.1k
ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀꜱ ➢ angst, hurt,
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋꜱ ➢ friends is just amazing, i have been binging it when the friends reunion started. so happy many people liked this! i will start a tag list soon so if you want to join just be patient, i’m working on it.
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ever since sam told you bucky’s secret, you just couldn’t understand how to feel and also if he had liked you then why did he just show up with another girl by his side on your birthday. after going to bed that night, wanda made sure everyone left because it was too much to see all them at that moment.
wanda would knock on your door but when no answer she just suspected you were in bed. it wasn’t entirely un true since you did fall asleep while drinking that night of your birthday. you all didn’t even cut the cake which the android had bought you.
you decided to push pass everything since it wouldn’t changing anything anymore and maybe it was meant to be that way. when you went to work for the morning, you walked pass wanda and nat talking about yesterday. you don’t even stop to look at them as your headache from yesterday was getting worse.
walking into the kitchen while grabbing a cup of coffee, wanda looked you and stopped you—“hun. you work at a coffee shop.” she reminded as you sighed and put the mug to the side and thanked her. nat hummed looking up at you, “are you alright—yeah, just need to work.” you said grabbing your purse and heading out the door before saying goodbye.
as you did your morning shift that meant the some of the group would go in the morning to grab some coffee before working. you worked in the morning and then helped tony out in the compound on the afternoon or some days. while you whipped down as table the same thing bucky had said about you kept repeating itself in your head. “my friends and y/n.”
it wasn’t like you weren’t friends anymore and he might of said that to make it no sound weird. how could anything be like that as nothing had happened between you two. It just pained you to see bucky not include you into his friend group.
him excluding as you meant nothing to him was painful to experience, he meant everything to you but maybe not anymore. the door jingled when you saw bucky walking in with sam behind him. you looked up to see, “hey y/n, can i get a medium black coffee—yeah, sure friend.” you smiled looking up at bucky who looked at and smiling going back to sit back in the couch area.
you rolled your eyes and wrote down his order when sam walked over and looked up at you with his order. “hey y/n—did you talk to him?” you interrupted sam who told you that he didn’t as you told him no, “then no.” you spoke while staring back at sam when he put his hands up in surrender and walked over to bucky. you shewed him away as you went on making their coffee orders.
once sam went over to bucky, he sat down waiting to get his friends attention so that he could talk to him about them. sam coughed catching bucky’s attention as he went to look up., “so, what the hell happened dude? last thing that was happening, you were totally in love with… you know.. y/n.” sam chuckled pointing towards you, bucky sighed.
“i know. but you know, there was this little voice inside that kept tell me it was never gonna happen. move on. and you know who’s voice that was?” bucky said looking back at the man most responsible for everything that was happening, “uh god?” sam hoped biting his lip, hoping for him to not say his name. bucky shocked his head, “it was you, so thank you.”
sam kept trying to deny anything that bucky had said earlier, “well, maybe it was god doing me—no, there was no way she would even like me back.” sam clicked his tongue as he let bucky continue, “then i met laila. i mean, i’m happy and all thanks to you, this wouldn’t have happened with you.” bucky let out looking back at you for a quick second, you could tell he was staring as you looked back at him.
sam couldn’t feel but guilty at what he had caused, if only if he didn’t tell him to forget about you. none of this would have happened. you called over sam to come grab his coffee, sam leaving bucky to go near you. “so?” you impatiently asked your friends wanting a answer that would make you feel better.
sam could just tell you bucky didn’t feel anything towards you anymore but he also couldn’t just flat out lie. he sighed getting soft towards you, “he.. he said… he said they’re happy and he is happy. i’m sorry.” your faces dropped at the mention of bucky with someone else as kept going, “but the silver lining if you want to see it is that he made this decision all by himself.” sam nodded repeatedly showing he had no help from him at all.
you furrowed your eyebrows at him growing confused at what he was getting at, “how the hell is that a silver lining?—you have to really want to see it. look, i’m sorry ok. can i do anything?” sam asked wanting to help you in any possible in this situation.
after the morning shift, you ended up making it towards your apartment where wanda was already on the couch watching tv by herself. you entered and saw bucky and steve watching with her, “hey wan—we’re here too.” steve pointed out him and bucky as you nodded slowly understanding that you saw them. “yeah. i know.” you spoke putting away your purse on a rack while walking to wanda and sitting next to her as you laid on her shoulder.
wanda felt a vibration on the coffee table and went to go pick up whatever was making the noise and noticed it was bucky’s phone. “old man, uh it’s laila…” she said to him tossing the phone in his lap as he went over to answer the phone. a few minutes later bucky came back still on the phone and sitting next to you still having the conversation. “well, see you later… yeah right. ha…” you grabbed his phone and pressed the disconnect button smiling at him.
he dropped his smile giving you a small stare before chuckling at you, “oh. i think she lost connection.” you said getting up and walking over to sam and nat as they watch that all unfold. nat shook her head in utter disbelief from her friend since it has been so weird between them. bucky excused himself when walking out while nat reached over the table and gripped on sam’s shirt tightly pulling him close to her.
“you just had to open your mouth, wilson. look at her, fix this now.” she seethed annoyed at the thought of her friend and she has been off since the days sam told her his feelings. he nodded being scared as you told nat to put him down, sam fixed himself and coughed. “i know. i never meant to say anything. ok? it just came out and i didn’t know how to fix it.” sam apologized, as much as you appreciated him it wouldn’t change anything right now.
you sat down, squeezing next to nat as she moved to the side a little as wanda came over to sit next you on a free chair.
you were vulnerable and your friends have seen that before but that was with people that have deeply had an effect on you. how could bucky has this big one on you? “okay, okay, okay, how did this happen to me? two weeks ago, i was fine. bucky was just bucky. my friend. now, all of a sudden, he’s bucky..” you groaned his name showing how he had made you feel but you couldn’t help but want him.
sam and steve shared a concerned look as they thought they might have ruined it which they might have played a part in. was it so bad to want someone that is with someone else, you just couldn’t understand that. “oh, my best friend, a great guy that i can’t have.” you muttered to your friends as they all looked back at you. “honey, i wanted you to have him too.” wanda said rubbing your shoulders in comfort.
everything was finally fine until bucky came back still talking to his girlfriend on the phone, acting all cute around the phone. you couldn’t stand it so you sighed and got up when he left the corner, “i gotta get out of here.” you spoke up and grabbed your prize that was in the rack and opened the door to clint and scott laughing but stopped when they saw you. you paused, “ugh.” then walking out.
it wasn’t that you didn’t like them, you were just annoyed by bucky so seeing other mean made you more upset. scott looked back at you then yelled back a bye, “i don’t care what you guys say. something is bothering her.” he spoke entering the apartment with clint by his side.
-
the night consisted you of going through your head if it was the right thing to do, no surprise that were upset and you just needed to forget bucky. you ended up sleeping with your ex boyfriend that hurt you and also made a move on wanda.
you knew it was bad but you just hoped it would be a one time thing, “oh god.” you muttered softly and closed your eyes hoping if you would open then he would be gone. seemed to only happen in movies or fairytales, you got yourself up and walked over to go out a shirt on.
you didn’t even want to talk to him, but he insisted on doing the talking since he missed you. which you don’t care because you just wanted him out of your life, “shut up. just stop talking. just leave.” you demanded him as he huffed and walked towards his clothes.
bruce and nat did the usual bringing the bagels and cut up fruit as it was there turn to bring in breakfast, you closed you door fast and walked out when they saw you. “hey guys—morin’ y/n.” they all greeted you when you went to wave at them slowly, “so.. i did a thing.” you said quietly when they all looked back up to see you nervous.
you opened the door to your ex walking out as wanda groaned at him and walked to the kitchen to grab more coffee. nat widened her eyes at the thought of you being with your ex, “y/n, are you forgetting how bad he was to you. and the fact that you dumped him 'cause he hit on wanda?” bruce spoke biting into his bagel while wanda opened her arms in disappointment.
you knew what you did and you knew how and it was of you to do any of it, rubbing your forehand in distress from the thought of you betraying wanda. you promised you never see him again but here you are. “oh, god. i know. i’m so pathetic.” you cried as nat reassured you that none of that was true. “you’re not pathetic. you’re just sad—yeah, people so stupid things when they’re upset.” steve reminded you.
nat started to talk about her mistakes when steve stared at her blankly telling her stop talking which she did. “but this is about your horrible mistake.” she pointed to you as wanda went to pat her back as the door opened to bucky and laila.
bucky greeted them all when you told them hi, “sorry we’re late, we were doing things.” bucky teased to laila while she smacked his chest as you rolled your eyes and banged on the hard table and rested your head on the table. the door to your bedroom opened making you look up to see the person you thought had left.
he came out with all his clothes as you told him to leave but stopped when he saw bucky and stopped walking. he was obviously intimidated by bucky and you couldn’t help but look the other way. the day the jerk had cheated on you multiple times and you didn’t even know until wanda told you and you asked and it was true.
“i’m sorry, y/n.” wanda had finally told you everything and you just couldn’t even believe her you knew wanda and you knew she wouldn’t lie to you. it pained you because you just couldn’t stand how a man like him would just use you.
that same night, you didn’t want to have a movie night because of everything that you had dealt with. you remember lying on the couch turning on the tv just watching by yourself with a small tub of ice cream.
super cliche. but that’s how it was, you heard a knock at the front door and walking up to see bucky through your peephole. you sighed and opened the door to see him waiting patiently, once you saw him he went to come inside.
“bucky? what are you—look, y/n. he never deserved you, you will find someone so perfect for someone as perfect as you.” he finished getting closer to as you looked down and walked into your kitchen.
if you knew things like this were to be like this, then maybe you guys would of had a chance to be together. the men were both staring as you walked off, “what is he doing here, y/n?” you looked up to see bucky grabbing your arm as you yanked him off. “nothing. he was just leaving. don’t worry about me.”
bucky knew how much pain this man has caused you and he wasn’t going to just let him hurt you again. he still cared about her so much and maybe he still had these feelings for her but he needed to move on.
the feelings might have been endured in so way but time would have to tell. you weren’t just about to express what you have felt just when you saw him with someone else. maybe you didn’t want to deal with it anymore than you had to.
-
tags:
@harrysthiccthighss @vicmc624 @supernaturalcat7 @joons-expensive-gurl
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purebarnes · 3 years
Text
scarifice—natasha romanoff!platonic
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ➢ once thanos threatens to disintegrate half the population, nat, steve and the rest of the team go and ask for help from an old friend even if it isn’t convenient.
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ➢3.1k
ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀꜱ ➢ angst, losses, tears
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋꜱ ➢ i wanted to play around a nat romanoff platonic story because i had this idea.
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two years ago, would’ve been a good time for you if you didn’t have pick sides against your team but unfortunately you had too. to say you chose the side that you thought was right, never mattered to steve anyways. being like tony’s younger sister was even worse as you felt betrayed to what steve and bucky did to him. nat also letting them go, you felt hurt.
you promised him to never speak to bucky or steve ever again and that caused the avengers to split up. you living your own life in a small house with your daughter of 3 years old. doing your best to never give out your information so that no one could talk or be in contact with you. things might have changed with bucky if nothing happened but sadly it wasn’t like that.
changing everything about your appearance was different when you first had your daughter since she had no father. wishing to have nat or even bucky by your side but none of that mattered. losing everyone was painful but it was the right thing to do for her.
you worked with a guy that was a close friend, he wasn’t technically like the avengers but he was someone that would protect the people around him. carter is a good guy that you and mila loved. when you first met carter, he was everything a father figure would have to be.
the day was normally quiet for you, mila and carter while you all watched television upstairs and enjoying the night until you heard the glass shatter from downstairs. startling your daughter, she gasped at the sound as you went to get up immediately and pick her up while putting her in a safe room. carter looking at you for reassurance to see if he could go down, you have it to him.
“mila, honey. please be quiet for mommy. i will be right back alright.” you spoke softly when she nodded, both adults leaving to rush downstairs to see what would lead to it. quietly rushing out, meeting a couple of aliens while carter pushed you back. “you have about five seconds to tell me who you are.” carter demanded them.
they both looked at each other before looking at you, getting worried you started to let small orbs from your palm to get ready. “leave my house. now.” you roared when they went to attack carter with their weapons making him block them swiftly when you did a circular motion with your hands pushing them off of him.
the aliens started getting mad when you fought them off, you using you magic to elevate carter away when he was in pain from the attack. rushing up stairs with him when you got attack behind making you fall groaning down the stairs. trying to get up from the pain, you saw them rushing you. you kicking them underneath the legs making them fall and running back to carter.
“you alright cart? here, don’t move.” you told him using your healing ability and the orb to stitch him back up from the cut he had. one of the aliens throwing you across the room and pointing his sharp weapon to carter’s chest. seeing how close the weapon was to his heart, you whimpered. “no. don’t-give us the stone and he lives.” they threatened.
you looked down at the stone on your ring which you kept and you looked back at carter who kept shaking his head. “don’t y/n.” he whispered, you knew what the stone meant and how much power it had but you didn’t know that things like this would happen. you shook your head, immediately pushing him onto the wall with one hand and using the other to push the other one out the glass window.
seeing as it was a way to get away from them, you kneeled to carter and helped him up rushing to the room where your daughter was still quietly placed. you went to go pick up mila and grabbing a bag with her things and rushing out the window before helping carter. you sensed he was still in pain when you went to grab him and pushed him out of the window.
you were in a rough situation, you had your daughter who was clueless about everything and your friend who was in pain. “okay mila, go open that door.” she was well aware of things like this, so it wasn’t that hard for her to understand. you ended up pushing carter into the car then jumping in and starting the vehicle and leaving the home you once had.
“carter, you’re gonna be fine.” you said using your healing ability to take away the pain he had and carter chuckled. “mommy?” you would hear mila say and then turn your direction to her, she would ask what was happening. “bad guys. we just need to go somewhere safe, which i don’t know exactly where that is.” you’d mutter the last pet smiling at her and continue driving to wherever.
a few hours from driving, you heard snoring from the backseat and noticed it was mila and you got spooked by a phone call that was going through. raising your eyebrows, you see it’s from tony as that raised suspicion. “hey tony?—no, it’s uh... bruce.” the other line said when you froze as why he would calling you from tony’s phone. “hi, bruce. is something wrong?” you grew nervous to see if something happened to tony.
“nothing is wrong y/n. i need your help.” you kept quiet letting him know that he could continue with whatever he needed to say to her. “thanos is coming. he’s a plague, he wipes out half the population, he invaded planets. the attack on New York—that was thanos—whoa, slow down bruce. who is thanos?” you asked him confused on the outburst bruce was doing, “he is one of most powerful beings and wants to wipe out half of the population. to do that, he needs all seven infinity stones.”
you went to look down back at the ring when you sighed know that this would be it, this would be the start of war. “well we’ve actually met one of his pose then—who is we? what do you mean by that.” bruce asked when you went to tell him about the other aliens, “now vision is in danger. do what you can y/n, please.” you told him you’d do what you could.
seeing everyone sleeping, you drove up to where you could so that you guys could get to scotland to meet and help wanda and vision. everything about thanos was disturbing and explaining the whole thing to carter was easy as he went with anything you wanted. “she’ll be safe, i have someone.” you reminded him leaving to rush to see if you could find wanda and vision.
once you both figured out where they were, you and carter went on the plan on how to help them as you both saw the aliens from before. you spotted a few heads but nothing you could make out, “stay low. i’m gonna do what i always do.” you say flying up to see wanda fighting off the alien. you stepped down meeting wanda’s and visions eyes when he smiled at his old friend. “you don’t just stop. well lucky for you, me neither.” you said to them, pushing out orbs and dragging them across the concrete.
you stopped and went by vision to see him hurt as wanda looked down and nodded to tell you to help him. you started feeling around and once you sensed his pain, you went to start healing him. the next thing you knew, a staff was hitting your right cheek. you yelped falling backwards when someone caught you, you see natasha holding you when she smiled softly.
she helped you up before grabbing the weapon and handing it to you as you both went forward to hit the alien. you pushed the weapon towards the alien into the chest making him groan at the compact before jumping up and hitting the alien with your leg making him fall onto the ground.
“carter now.” you yelled when carter came running and catching the weapon to attack him before getting stabbed by the weapon from the other side by one of the aliens. you screamed when you saw him with the arrow in his chest, “carter!” you yelled when you grew red and used your force to push the alien backwards but nat pushing you back to stop you. “let me go, you will pay for this.” you seethed to the aliens as he fell onto the floor.
you went to start letting out orbs onto your palms and pushed everything in force to the aliens making them both scream in pain. “this is the last time, you step foot on this planet. see you again, i will kill you.” you breathed out to the aliens on the floor. “you’ll never get the chance again.” she promised you.
the next was where she was gone with her other alien, you and steve rushed down to carter who was on the floor with blood slowly gushing out of him. “carter, i’m so sorry. there is nothing i can do—just watch over mila, she needs you.” he breathed out while you cried onto his shoulder as steve went to grab your shoulder in comfort.
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after containing yourself from the loss of a dear friend, you went back to the car but you were left alone. not knowing how to explain anything to mila and how her only father figure had just died in your eyes. nothing could make up for that—you knew that.
you start the ignition until you saw a few faces on the other side of the car, steve, nat, sam, wanda and a highly injured vision. you got startled a bit and sighed and turned the car off and rolling the window. “i have to go... my daughter is waiting.” you mentioned wanting to leave the place, steve nodded as he understood. “i understand y/n but tony is missing. we need you, he needs you.” steve whispered.
he thought bringing up bucky would help ease you into helping them battle thanos. you grabbed the wheel and gripped onto it tightly not wanting to make a decision that would affect your girl. natasha looked over to try to soften up things, “please y/n. if it’s protection against your daughter—are you implying i can’t protect her.” you snapped scoffing at her which she shook her head softly.
“y/n, we know she’s everything to you—if you cared about me or her, you would of checked up. look, i’m sorry that ever is happening but i will not put my daughter in danger.” you breathed out towards natasha and steve as they kept pushing you to help.
from the corner of your eye, you could see vision struggling to being held up by wanda and sam. you mentially wince at his state he was in. he went to speak up, “please. y/n, you know what it means to help others when they need it the most. as a leader, just understand that we will do anything to help you and your daughter when this all over.” his British accent trailed off when you looked back at him while nodding. “alright. i will leave that you vision.” you chuckled while starting your car.
you ended up meeting your daughter in a safe house where she was sleeping on the couch with a close friend of yours. steve and nat both wanted to be there to help you with her things, you smiled when you saw her snuggling her favorite stuffed animal. you kneeled down in front of her to wake her up gently kissing her forehead. she slightly stirred when she saw her mom in-front of her.
“h-hi mommy..” mila yawned at you getting up and rubbing her eyes with her small palms of hers, she reached over to engulf you in a wide hug. you chuckled almost falling back at her. “how was your nap sweetheart?— was ok. can we go home? where is carder?” she would ask botching his name while you would look at her with pain. you didn’t want to break down but it broke your heart when she asked about him, natasha kneeled down next you when you put your head down.
she rubbed your shoulder to help you relax when mila gre confused on who the woman was next to you. “hi. i’m natasha, what is your name?” nat asked your daughter as she looked to her and smiled a little bit, “mila.” she responded back looking up at steve who let out a smile. “who are you?” she pointed up to steve as he looked back towards her, “i’m steve.” he said softly to her.
you had a chance to look back at mila with the same look from before, “honey, carter he uh... he is in heaven. he’s safe.” you whimpered grabbing her small face and hugging her, sobbing into her shoulder. “mommy. please don’t cry.” she pleaded wanting her mom to not be in pain. mila cared a lot and she knew what was going on but she wasn’t a crier. “we have to go. go follow steve.” 
steve went to grab her hand when natasha went to grab your hand and giving it a tight squeeze. signaling that everything would be alright, you got up when nat went to wipe away the small tears on your face. she pushed you out the door as you all made it back to the avengers compound.
it has been awhile since coming back and it all seemed like it’s usual self from the last time you saw it. looking up, you hear soft snores from mila that was on steve’s chest—that was a lovely sight. you saw the secretary speaking with rhodes when you went to grab her from steve’s arms.
she started to stir a little when she got off, you stayed in the front with steve and nat while walking to the secretary and rhodes. they both still didn’t see eye to eye about the accords, “mr. secretary.” steve spoke as he came near you all, “you have some nerve. i’ll give you that.” ross said to some of you.
“you could use some of that—you think all is forgiven.” trailing to steve who looked pretty intimidating towards ross when he looked at you in betrayal. “and you’re running with the criminals, i thought you were on the good side—the world is collapsing and you just lost your best defender.” you said to ross when he shook his head at how you were right. then went back to steve, “i’m not looking for forgiveness and i’m way past asking for permission. so we’re here to fight. if you want to stand in our way, we’ll fight you too.” steve finished.
ross told rhodes to arrest you all when he said he was all over it, you walked down with mila in your arms when you walked over to rhodes to hug him. “hey y/n and mini y/n... what’s her name?” rhodes asked pointing to your daughter—“mila.” you told him when he nodded smiling at how you turned into a mom.
he commented on the appearances of them all when a familiar voice was heard by nat and you, turning around rapidly to see the one and only bruce banner. “i think you guys look great.” bruce said walking out of a room to meet all of them, nat looked at him shocked that he was there in front of her. when they both greeted each other, things became uncomfortable for some of them.
bruce walked over to see you with mila in your arms and went to hug you which you handed mila to nat which she accepted while you went to reach to bruce. you smiled deeply when he hugged you as you inhaled when you were so close to a friend.
as you all were in the way to do a meeting about everything with thanos and also vision, you went to go ask rhodes about a room to place your daughter in. “is there a room so she can sleep?” you asked grabbing her bag from the floor when he told you to follow him. you brought her to a room and placed her down on the bed while rhodes left you both to give you guys a minute.
you moved the hair out of her face and kissed her forehead softly causing her to snuggle into the pillow. heading out the door, you walked out to shut the door slightly and made your way to a hall. you could already tell some arguments were brewing, they stopped when they all saw you enter. “well we just have to protect them—no, we destroy them.” nat started looking at you when vision interrupted them.
everyone looked back at vision to see if they heard exactly what he had just said. vision went on to explain what he meant as, though a few people kept refusing them to do anything like that. “let me destroy them—absolutely not.” nat rejected your choice that you wanted to make, you got up from your seat and went near her. “you know it’s our only way nat—no. just no. you aren’t sacrificing yourself just to help the planet. we have to think of a different direction.” she implied
“we don’t have another way! we do it this way or thanos gets the stones, wipes out half of the population and everything will be horrible.” you exclaimed to natasha when she shook her head in disbelief of how easy you were saying to kill you self in order to save the universe. “you would do that—if that meant protecting vision and many people then yes.” vision looked over and smiled at you.
nat sat back down fustrated at your choice, steve backed natasha in this—“we have to figure out a way to help you both with sacrificing any of you.” you sighed walking over to where wanda was standing after vision made the same thing.
bruce looked up as he thought about something so that none of them had to do so that no one would have to do anything. you would sacrifice yourself to save the world if it meant just one person would get hurt. “what if we could take out the stone without hurting vision—i know a place.”
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purebarnes · 3 years
Text
the one where y/n finds out.
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ➢ when you have your birthday party at your shared apartment, everyone arrives but only for sam to leak one of bucky’s deep secret. leaving everyone shocked and confused about everything.
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ➢ 2.3k
ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀꜱ ➢ angst, little too late, heartbroken
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋꜱ ➢ n/a
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you used to not liking celebrating your birthday but that was until you became an avenger and the friendships that evolved throughout the years. when you first moved to new york, you and wanda instantly clicked—you loved her and when she had the idea to be your roommate, you loved it even more.
tony helped you guys move in with the rest of the guys including nat and pepper. you loved them for helping you guys all in short notice, whenever you would carry a box that seemed heavy, bucky would intervene. he would make comments about leaving it so he could grab which you didn’t mind.
wanda would casually look over to see bucky and you talking but wanda would constantly tease you about it. telling her that you were just friends but she and sam wouldn’t let it go. tony would get comfortable and relaxing on your couch that they had just finished setting up but pepper scolding her husband.
when your birthday came around the corner, wanda insisted you to have a party if she would have to do it for you. that’s what she did. she bought invitations and got the decorations, made vision buy her a cake, told nat and bruce to bring in the drinks, demanded steve, sam and bucky to not mess anything up.
you told them not to listen to her but wanda made sure they all did something to make her birthday extra special. the morning, wanda went to the store to grab some supplies for the party while you got ready. hearing the keys jingle from the outside, you grabbed a towel and finished drying your hair.
when the door opened, wanda sighed putting the few bags in her hand. “i almost had to fight some old lady for this.” she said pointing to the bag as went to open the fridge for a drink. you chuckled at your friend as you sat down, “wan. you didn’t have to do this. i would of been fine if it was just you, me and nat—bucky?” she teased as you rolled your eyes grabbing a potato chip bag and opening it to hear the small tear when you opened it.
although he wasn’t boyfriend, sometimes you couldn’t help but feel a certain type of way around him, he had a shared apartment with sam so he understood what you meant by all that.
you popped a chip in your mouth when wanda went to check the time on the oven while she gasped—she grabbed the bag of chips as you groaned. “alright, we have 4 hours to—that’s probably enough.” you stated at wanda and her eagerness. she shook her head in denial as she kept pushing you out, “you, just relax and i will handle everything.”
she pushed you into your bedroom as you sighed turning around the your bed and plopping onto the soft white cushion. you started to feel your eyelids drop and started to fall back to sleep. a hour later you heard a male in your shared apartment and decided to see who it was.
you left your room and saw that it was vision and wanda talking about something like paprika or how she wouldn’t let him cook any food. when wanda looked up, vision got up to wish you happy birthday. “happy birthday, y/n.” he spoke walking over to give you a hug. “oh, thank you. vision what are you doing here so early. the party doesn’t start—i just wanted to see what i could help with.” he told her looking between the two women.
until wanda widened her eyes when she saw that you weren’t even dressed yet, “y/n! go get dressed, your boyfriend is almost here!” even though you did like him a lot, that wouldn’t change the fact. when you finally got dressed, you saw wanda finishing up some of the food with nat grabbing a beer.
the door suddenly opening to steve, bucky and sam as they all introduced themselves—“the men are here.” sam announced dropping his voice dropping the gift bag on the table as both of the girls narrowed their eyebrows. you went over to see what was happening, “I am going to stop you right now.” natasha spoke ripping the coal that was in sam’s hands.
you went over to hug them all fully stopping at bucky, “hi—happy birthday, doll.” he whispered wrapping his arms around your waist then letting when you hugged the rest of the guys. steve went to give you a gift as you accepted it placing it on the table. “where is the drinks?” Clint asked when he arrived already wanting to drink as you pointed to the blue cooler on the floor.
“so steve, how are things going with your girlfriend…” nat taunted taking a sip of the drink as steve rolled his eyes at her, “fine. you know how i’m doing the thing…” he let out signaling what they said before the party, “well the only problem is she now wants to have sex with me.” steve spoke as sam sighed sitting next to him, “crazy bitch.” sam said sarcastically at him as all three of them left to use the balcony.
when steve walked over to the balcony, bucky looked over to see you taking to some guy wanda brought over. sam and bucky noticed that you were flirting quite well with the guy, sam scoffed pulling his friend over into the balcony and grabbing a beer and opening it. handing it back to bucky, “dude. you need to forget her, move on with someone else… if she isn’t showing any interest then fuck her.” sam pointed out about you.
“buck, he’s right. but let’s not use such hostile words. have fun, meet someone else. stop letting her lead you on buddy.” steve said to bucky as he nodded at them while grabbing his phone and preparing to make a phone call. he turned around when he pressed on his contacts to call up a friend.
when everyone else arrived, wanda made an announcement about the food and how people should get some. you walked over to see bucky sipping on the cold beer in his metal hand as you took a seat next to him. “how’s the food—s’good. did you make it?” bucky asked you which you denied since you didn’t make it.
hours later of chatting and some people drinking too much alcohol, wanda decided to do gifts which you obliged. you got up rushing to the couch with everyone following behind you. when you saw bucky still at the table, you asked if he was coming. then excusing himself to use the bathroom, you grabbed a bag and shook it see if you could what it was.
“it’s heavy and rattles… and it’s two checkers.” you said plainly making you smile drop as you thank steve as he keeps smiling. “thank you.” you said handing it back to steve in his arms as his smile drops at your action then going to pick up a different gift. it was box shaped as you went to rip open the wrapping paper, you stopped smiling when you fully saw what was in your hands.
a action figure of sam, you close your eyes and have him a stare, “wow, thanks—that action figure will help you with anything.” sam said patting your shoulders while you put the you on the table as you picked up a small wrapped box.
the next you picked up was in a bag, you opened it and saw a farmed picture of you and tony bit it was sweet because on the bottom was engraved with your intials. you looked up at tony, “thank you.” you thanked when you picked up a small wrapped box with a red bow on it.
sam looked up and told you that bucky had brought you that, you nodded opening the wrapping paper and saw it was a jewelry box. you slowly opened it and gaped at the thing that was inside, you grabbed it lacing it around your finger tips. “oh, my god. this is beautiful.” you spoke gawking at the jewelry.
when you and bucky were hanging out one day, you both passed a shop and you guys saw on the window a ring that had gems like the one your mother gave you when you were a kid. you couldn’t believe how long that time had passed and he just remembered like it wasn’t a long time that had passed.
steve looked up, “sure but can you play it on a plane?” he asked motioning towards his checkers that he had given to you.
“i can’t believe he would do that, that looks expensive.” nat said getting up and examining the jewelry in your hand as wanda does the same when sam chuckled to himself. everyone looking at his direction when he did growing confused. he looked up and looked at everyone, “remember back in one of the missions when he fell in love with that one girl and bought her that ridiculously expensive figurine.”
steve widened his eyes at sam when he just let those words out of his mouth when you turned your attention to sam. shocked from what he just said, “what did you just say?” you asked when steve leaned back in his chair grabbing a beer to see how this would all unhold. sam finally recognized his mistake and widened his brown eyes looking at steve then back at you and everyone else.
bruce furrowed his eyebrows and looked at clint for help to see what was happening but no one knew what to say. everyone stayed silent and not speaking until sam cleared his throat and inhaling slowly to try to say something else instead. it wasn’t a way to help him get a easy way out right now. “figurine.” nat scratched the back of her head and winced at sam for exposing how bucky felt.
“no. no. no. the, um, the love part?” you explained holding up your thumb and pointer finger signaling about the other part sam spoke about. sam sat up straight and started stammering at your direction but then stopped as nothing was coming out. it took you a second to realize what that meant, bucky loves you. “oh, my god!” you covered your mouth when wanda went to run your back to comfort you.
sam rubbed his forehead together, it might of been a way to stop something from happening. steve got up and grabbed a cold beer from the cooler and and gives it to you—“yeah, just drink you problems away. works for me.” a comment from clint winking at you as you sigh looking back at sam to say something else. when he doesn’t you get up and put the cold drink down and walk to the kitchen.
“wow this huge, i don’t think any of our likes will be the same. and you’re screwed.” natasha spoke getting up and patting sam on his shoulders knowing the consequences that were about to happen when bucky would enter the apartment. you stood there waiting to see what you would do in this situation, wanda got up and squealed. “this is so great, you and bucky! see, i told you!” she said to you.
you rolled your eyes at wanda’s excitement about the thought of you two getting together. of course you felt happy finally understanding his feelings for you. but you were still shocked that he would even have feeling for you. after all the little flirting, you couldn’t finally tell him how you feel. you thought it would be too much for both of you.
“well we don’t know if he actually has these feeling for you… we shouldn’t be trusting anything sam is saying—yes! vision is right, don’t trust me. let’s all forget this, this is just small, minor, petite, meh.” sam spoke when wanda glared at vision who raised his hands up and sat back down watching the females. nat went to ask you if you know about anything, “i mean, my first night training, he mentioned something about asking me out but he never did. well, wh-what else did he say? i mean, does he wanna go out with me?” you asked sitting next to steve waiting to hear from him.
“well, knowing he’s like head over heals for you. i’m guessing yeah maybe some coffee would be nice.” scott shrugged as everyone looked back at him as he spoke about that. “did anyone else know?” you asked when some heads went down, scott, clint, steve, bruce, nat and tony as he hid his head way shamefully. you widened you eyes when you saw nat looking down and slapping her in the arm slightly.
she stepped back when you did, “ow. you hit hard—why didn’t you tell me nat?” you questioned you friend while she told that bucky made her promise to not tell you. you finally got up from the couch, “i need to talk to him—he’s in the bathroom—ours.” sam and steve both said rapidly to stop you from talking to him. you walked into your room to take a quick moment for yourself.
“what are you even gonna say to him? y/n.” nat asked you walking towards you as you shrugged at her, surely not knowing what to say walking over to her and putting off the drink. “i dont know--well if you're just gonna break his heart then maybe just hold off because that can wait till tomorrow,” sam said rushing towards you and grabbing your forearm and projecting his fake love towards you. “y/n, i love you! deal with me first!” sam announced as you furrowed your eyebrows and left your apartment to go ee bucky.
sam groaned in frustration once you left, once you turned the corner to see bucky’s door, your smile faded once you saw bucky kissing some brunette, you sighed. he seemed so into that girl and you didnt want to ruin any of buckys happiness for him. it pained you deeply to see some girl with the one person that you might actually were meant to be. 
you turn around quickly and run back to your apartment and shut the door immediately and fall back on the door blowing the hair out of your face. wanda goes over, “what happened?—he, uh, h-he was kissing and h-holding.” you stammered losing your breath from the running you did as they all grew confused with you. the next thing they heard was a knock on the door as you jump back getting startled.
“hey… it’s me bucky. can you let me in.” you close your eyes before sighing and opening the door to see bucky and the brunette from before hands on her waist as they all looked at them, shock throughout their faces as you coughed so that they wouldn’t stare anymore. “who’s this buck?” steve asked waiting for bucky, “this is laila, laila these are my friends and y/n.” you stepped back not understanding why he was leave you out like that.
“well this so fun. just peachy, you thirsty?” you taunted but not enough to make sure some one noticed, you grabbed a wine bottle and pours red wine onto a glass to help yourself. she refused your offer while getting closer to him as you say everyone looking at you with sympathy. you shook your head while speaking up. “you know it’s getting late. i have work tomorrow, i am just gonna head to bed—this has been so much fun.” you laughed at them.
you closed your eyes as sam went to grab the glass of wine as you stopped him and grabbed the whole bottle to do what clint had suggested from before. you heard everyone telling you to stay but you couldn’t bear look at bucky any different now.
you went to your room, shutting the door as you put the bottle on your desk and plopped onto your bed sighing for the millionth time. it would take you awhile to get used to something like this.
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purebarnes · 3 years
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the family feud fic was amazing, if you made a series with just reader in interviews I’d die
‘Infinity war cast on mtv news compilation
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ— during the release infinity war, you and some of the cast stop by to some trivia and questions with josh horowitz
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ— 1.4k
ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀꜱ— clingy seb, nothing but fluff here
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋꜱ— people seemed to like the other seb one that i did so here is another one. originally i was going to do more of these but you said you wanted more reader!interviews so here it is.
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with the pressure of doing interviews before any movie would come out would peeve you out because you had a trouble time not trying to spoil anything. obviously you were no mark ruffalo or tom holland but oh boy was it frustrating. in marvel, they would do their best to situate people with others because they want everyone to be together and also comfortable.
you never had a problem with they would place you in with because you were very friendly with everyone but it was so much like school—where you could pick but you need to have a balance with who you would be paired with. when you did other avenger movies sometimes it would be you and the chris’s.
for the interview you would get paired with sebastian, anthony and winston because your publicist would make the best way for everyone to be together. she knew what it was like if you anthony and sebastian would be together so obviously you didn’t mind and either did the boys which was fine if they weren’t close with you.
you see everyone gathering and did your best to greet everyone and when it was your time to get interviewed with the boys, you all left. “let’s go, you three.” you all three would end up making it to josh where he was getting set up. obviously greeting the man and the rest of the crew, you all started positioning yourselves. since they only had three chairs they had to bring you one, putting your seat next to sebastians.
as josh went to explain what they would do, you sat down next to seb crossing your legs and putting your head on his shoulder. you would notice that he would take off your name tag and switch it with yours as they all did that. mackie noticing you two switching them getting jealous so he would grab winston’s so he would match with the couple, scoffing at them.
grabbing seb’s hand until you heard the camera rolling starting the interview, “you could probably name all six of the infinity stones.” josh asked when everyone all looked at each other when you would answer right away. “uh, time, space, mind, soul, reality and power?” you would say when the boys looked at you impressed. “actually you got it.”
they would all cheer for you when he kept on going with his questions. “what’s the name of the guardians of the galaxy’s ship?” you would actually wouldn’t know that because you haven’t really remembered anything about that movie. “the, uh, millennium falcon.” anthony answering proudly but getting shut down by sebastian. “no.” you would shake your head in disbelief at mackie while winston would just agree with him.
“what are the names of the aliens that invade earth at the end of the avengers?” truth be told, you actually were in the movie so it might accuse that you should know that but you honestly forgot or just weren’t paying attention. “oh, oh, oh, the dudes that came with centipede dude.” you would be thinking on your own little world, “y/n, you should know this— was it the chitauri?” winston answered the question celebrating on his own without his boys.
winston getting upset that no one was cheering with him, “ay! i’m alone? celebrate with me!” he would tell them as you would watch him and chuckle as he kept going. then going on to other questions, “could you describe what y/c/n powers are?” josh asked and you would stay back and see if they honestly would know. the boys being them would go and raise their hands to be funny as they would like to say.
josh picking anthony as he would star his chaos already into this question, “see, i went to elementary school. i can deal with kids.” chucking at your friend then looking at seb to see what he was doing. “she had the ability to control space and time metaphorically—quantum.” winston would intervene him when he kept going with explains the powers you had. “with the quantumization of her hands.” he would also do some hand movements like you would do in the film but you thought he was so hilarious.
“and she does this pop-and-lock thing to make it happen.” anthony would say making you burst out in tears from the ridiculousness that came out of this mans mouth. he would turn to you to tell you he was right, “you know im right—i mean yeah.” you would agree rolling your eyes then focusing on the next question.
going to play another game with all the men, you loved to do those games since it would create a whole amount of fun with them. Josh’s team giving all four of you chris head outs to play the next game making you gawk at the chris’es. you’d play around with the heads as you still were a child at heart, “don’t break them y/n.” josh would joke around with you pouting and placing them on your lap while anthony would tease you constantly, “she’s always breaking stuff.” rolling his eyes at your direction.
sebastian chuckling then watching you with his blue eyes that made you fall for him even more, you two literally could have a conversation with just your eyes as weird and cliche that would sound. you two just knew each other so well that it would just work that way with you guys. “which chris like taxidermy?” josh asked and you grew confused as you weren’t sure what that meant or even was. “what’s that?” you’d ask him then him telling you what it was.
“uh, i don’t know...” you would guess putting up chris pratt’s head up as the other chris’s didn’t seem to be that way but not in a mean way obviously, you and mackie both putting up the right answer. sebastian and winston choosing evans as their answer as anthony would cheer on the side. “i know my weird people.” as the next question appears you all seemed to know the answer pretty quickly. asking who would be the most theatrical in high school, “him of course.” hold up evan’s face, “how does everyone know this—something about those tap shoes that lately have come out.”
josh asking another question and you right away just knowing the answer because of a past experience you had with chris. “you knew that pretty quickly y/n.” josh commenting at your speediness as you chuckle, “care to comment—so when we would work on a film together, he would like speak to me in conversational german.” fanning your self making seb look at you as he didn’t know that. “huh, didn’t know that—didn’t think it mattered.” you would mutter smiling lightly then leaning his stare.
“which chris won the fantasy football league?” you rolling your eyes and holding up evan’s head up when you knew the answer. “he never stops talking about it.” you’d mutter annoyingly at the thought of them both. finally getting asked which chris was the most charming and none of them picking evan’s, you picking evan’s. “you said evan’s—i just felt bad.” you would chuckle as they would all burst out laughing finally finishing the interview.
thanking josh, you all four left to go meet up with the others as you guys were all done. the rest of the day consisted of just hanging out and eating lunch with the cast since it would be that that time around. walking out to see sebastian walking out when you grabbed his arm to ask him if he was alright. “you good—yeah.” he would answer you showing that it he was fine, “are still upset about the Pratt thing, babe that was a long time ago.” you would remind him.
“you should of just told me, aren’t we supposed to tell each other everything.” he said looking down as you went to grab his hand and rubbed your finger against his palm reassuring him that none of that mattered. “you’re right. look, i’m sorry alright.” pushing yourself to him, kissing his cheek then leading him out to everyone.
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purebarnes · 3 years
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‘infinity war cast play: family feud
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ➢ following along the family feud that the cast of the avengers played during infinity war
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ➢ 1.8k
ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀꜱ ➢ fluff, sweet/jealous seb, funny marvel moments in general
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋꜱ ➢ wanted to start this idea but never got to write it, hope it gets love since it was fun to write and i just enjoyed it in general
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every time you and the cast would wrap up a movie was great because it meant you guys would have interviews and press tours to attend. for you, the games and trivia games were the ones you all really enjoyed because it just would be chaotic.
still it would a great time, you got along with everyone so no drama would surround you guys which was a good thing when you work with other actors. when you first started working with marvel, you hit it off with mackie at first, during captain america: the winter soldier.
your publicist makes sure you had time to move things around so that you could make it the live event with the rest of the cast.
you and sebastian were together but didn’t live with each other since you two were still waiting for the right time to move in together. anthony would tease you guys, saying you’re both married but not being committed. all jokes aside, you two did love each other but time would take it’s course and you would be happy soon enough.
when you arrived surrounding to the Los Angeles press junket, you met a few co-stars back stage. obviously you saw all the girls—with you adored. when you saw your boyfriend, you ran sneakily behind him before scaring him slightly. he jumped back from his seat where he was talking to anthony and letitia about something.
anthony looked up seeing your face, “you finally showed up. he was getting worried.” he chuckled before getting up to hug you while you hugged back letting go to see letitia and greet her as well. you turned to sebastian seeing that he was wearing something remotely similar to your outfit.
he wore a black and white stripped jacket which you wore one like that but it was a tad different with a matching skirt. he eyes you up and down seeing what you were wearing this time, letitia gawked at the couple matching even if it was accidentally. “you guys look so cute.” she squealed rapidly pointing at both of them as they both chuckled.
anthony hummed, “huh. what’s up with matchy matchy?” he questioned them as sebastian shrugged honestly not getting how they would of done that. the man obviously thought she looked gorgeous in that skirt and jacket so it didn’t bother him at all. “i think you look beautiful.” he admired you as you blushed and buried your head in his crock of his neck while thanking him.
anthony rolled his eyes until the russo brothers came telling everyone that it was time to start the family feud game and start the live broadcast. you walked towards everyone, where the russo brothers went to place you all in teams: blue vs purple.
anthony and joe did anything to keep mackie and seb from the opposite teams to not create that much chaos or to create it which didn’t matter. you went on the blue team with chris, scarlett, letitia, anthony and bautista. then the red team consisting with benedict, zoe, mark, chris hemsworth, pom and sebastian.
you greeted your team waiting for them to start as you made small talk with anthony and dave as you were in the middle of both of them. once the russo’s started—it was all chaotic from that point. “why don’t the blue team introduce themselves.” joe spoke looking at the blue team.
everyone from the team would get and when it got you mackie, he just was being a fool but so hilarious whenever he spoke. “i’m anthony mackie, i’m a libra.” bringing up his sign for anyone. “I’m y/n y/l/n.” you would smile when it would get to you.
the other team would do the same, then making the russo’s to explain how the game would work and all the rules. once you all got the hang of it, chris and zoe ended up being the first ones to make it and compete against each other. “which infinity war character would put on the best concert?”
zoe getting it first because pratt was slow, said his character which she got right being the first one on the answer board. benedict would repeat zoe’s answer not understanding the concept of family feud as the whole blue team would tease him on that. “good answer!” anthony laughed making you look up and chuckle as he defended himself.
“i’m english! whoa, stop.” joe explained it the english man and he looked relieved after he got the idea, getting the right answer again. when it got to sebastian he said dr. strange and got it correct then getting close to three strikes when it was at zoe.
the russo’s giving out clues and hints didn’t make the blue team wasn’t pleased because it was too easy for them. “what! you cheatin, you think steve harvey would give a hint?” chris would yell out to joe then you would agree with him. them all laughing at chris getting annoyed but not in a serious manner.
you would see that they would go and talk and you stopped them as they weren’t exactly playing the right way. “wait? you guys can’t confirm.” you spoke up pointing at zoe trying to talk to pom and the rest of her team. joe would confirm that, that would be true.
zoe trying to get another clue but the blue team interfering with her telling her no more clues. “okay, you know what. basta. i’m going to say rocket.” when her and benedict got them wrong it would be time for the blue team to steal.
chris would pull you guys together to confirm he answer but mackie kept repeating where their clue was—you would remind him that you thought that was the clue. “what? no, that’s their clue! who producing this?” you would look over to see them talking about who to pick. “well if it’s a guardian... then who did we already say? we said drax, already said star lord, we said rocket. so groot?” you implied.
letitia nodded when chris still wasn’t sure if that was the answer looking at the camera trying to get an answer from the fans. “feed me the answer. mackie says it groot but i don’t trust mackie—yes, you do!” mackie would say.
“i say trust him—thank you!” you would say making anthony hugging you when sebastian would glare at him making him laugh out loud looking back at him. letting go and telling joe that, they picked groot for the answer. “do they say groot for the win?” joe asked making the board ding causing the blue team to cheer for the win that they just got.
the next question being who would they take to prom... as letitia would take your answer, you’d have to figure on out when make chose his answer. “as much as i don’t like him. and his great hair.. uh bucky.” anthony paused. obviously getting the right answer and it being number one. anthony would look at sebastian but he would shake his head getting flustered.
it was your turn and you couldn’t say anything because you honestly had no idea, “alright y/n, you are up.” you hummed trying to see if you could think of someone on the spot. “look around.” they would try to help you to get a answer, anthony looking at you grinning.
“come on. imma look away cause you’re thinkin about me.” he would say looking the other way dramatically making you laugh then patting his shoulder clicking your tongue. “okay, i’m going to say uh... the falcon, sam wilson?” anthony grinning at you tilting his head while showing his bicep.
sebastians head rapidly going up when she chose anthony, “boo!” he booed putting a thumbs down and blowing raspberries at her direction. everyone laughing at his jealousy as you frowned feeling bad, “i’m sorry!” you quietly said as joe kept moving on. “alright facebook did you say sam wilson?” he asked the board and it dinged making anthony cheer at his name on the list.
almost finishing the questions, it was between mackie and hemsworth picking who would win in a staring contest. going around the purple team, they all started to get all the answer right and it went to seb. he looked around stoping at you and just staring, “i’m going with y/c/n.” you shook your head then waiting to see the answer. “did you say y/c/n, the sorceress?” he got that right making them all cheer.
they all go in a line getting all the answers right when seb was up again, “don’t screw it up bucky like you always do.” anthony yelled out making him stare up at him intensely, “what did you say to me—you heard what i said.” they kept going back and forth with each other.
you kept trying to contain yourself from laughing as they were so childish between themselves. “i’m gonna go with the falcon.” sebastian said staring at him continuously. when it came on the screen, you put your head down in disbelief.
the next round was you and sebastian and when you didn’t go up because you didn’t know it was your turn, joe told you to go up. you looked at him and walked to him. you put your hands in your pockets, seeing seb waiting for you. “oh oh. this is about to become intense, girlfriend vs boyfriend.” joe teased when you smiled and put you hand over seb’s.
you pulled away getting ready to answer your question and you probably knew it would work out because you hated being pressured. anthony russo looked at both of you and mentioned how you guys were matching, “you guys are matching, just noticed that—isn’t it cute!” letitia yelled but getting shushed by you.
“okay, which infinity war character takes the longest to get ready in the morning?” when he announced it you did your best to press the button by sebastian had quicker reflexes then you. you groaned watching him chuckle, “i swear my button is broken.” you complained but it was all jokes because you just lost.
“i think it works—mmh, no it’s broken. hurry say your answer.” you rolled your eyes wanting to hurry and leave, “downey. tony stark.” when the answer popped up you rolled your eyes, swatting your hand away. seb went over to hug you as you sighed but hugged him back anyway.
the ending was horrible because the opposite team won making you annoyed... you ended up having a good time with your friends. you walked passed all of them to use the bathroom and you went to open the door, you were tackled by some hands making you squeal.
you turned around to see sebastian and you sighed then when you composed yourself, you hit his shoulder. “don’t do that. i was about to hurt you.” he chuckled lowering his hands to your waist and pulling you close. “i missed you.” he mumbled kissing the side of your cheek. “we have to hurry for the press, then you can miss me even more.”
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