javi

“How are you doing, baby?” Your hand caresses his sweaty cheek and immediately the rasp of his stubby whiskers rake against your palm. Nuzzling into you and seeking more contact from you. Wanting you to touch him.

“Please, please, amore.” He pants softly, that broad chest heaving and the stretched skin showing the details of his sternum as he grips the headboard as if it is a life raft in a storm. “I need to cum.” 

“Ssshhhhhhhh, Ssshhhhh.” You coo softly, the hand that isn’t caressing his cheek, squeezing his cock and slowly starting to pump it again. “You’ll cum, sweet boy, I promise.” Your thumb presses against the heavily leaking tip and you smear the wetness around to add to the lube and pre-cum that coats his cock and drips down onto his balls from his hair around the base. “Just not right now.” 

He looks fucking glorious. His tanned skin seemingly even darker as the blood flushes underneath. Normally warm, butterscotch eyes darker than rich coffee as his pupils are blown wide with desire and need. Every time his chest heaves, his cock twitches in your hand, his hips jerking up to beg for more. Even as you dispense the most intense pleasure of his life. 

He wants this. Had begged for you to take control and make him feel. Nothing beyond the two of you and this moment. He wants to see what it is like to be denied an orgasm. To be pushed beyond the dull ache and the gathered tension in the pit of his stomach. His mind is free of everything but the slick crevices of your hand curled around his cock as you slowly slide your hand back down from the head and to the base. 

“It’s so good, so bad, oh it hurts amore.” He has been rambling for long minutes, unable to decide if it’s pleasure or pain when it’s both. Mingled together and wrapped, twisted and fused until you’re unable to differentiate if you want it to stop or last forever. The broken groan slips from his mouth as the breath catches in his lungs, sounding almost like a sob. 

Squeezing the base of his cock, you let go. Watching his body melt into the bed, deflating and withering from the contact of your hand. 

“No, no, no, no,” his head whips back and forth across the flat pillow behind his head, pushing his hips up off the bed as if he could reach your hand, like you haven’t pulled it towards your body. “I need it, touch me, amore. Don’t- I can’t- I need-” 

His words are broken, unable to complete a single thought beyond the loss of your hand. Of the pressure that you have made him crave through the torturously luxurious strokes to his cock. 

“You want a minute?” You ask gently, giving him a moment to collect himself, to cool down. Your hand still pressed down to his jaw, a reassuring, grounding presence. Letting him take a few breaths, feeding the oxygen back to his body to clear his head. 

Javi might have had lovers, he might have experience, but he’s never given someone control like this. Never felt that he could. There was this image that was expected, demanded, because of his name. Because of his family. Because of who he had been born to be and wasn’t. Not really. The facade that lovers, that the world saw, was not the man that was currently writhing in your bed and begging to cum. 

“I need you.” He whines, biting his lip and closing his eyes as he tries to breath through the feeling of loss and his body trying to balance itself back out. “Please, amore.” 

Leaning up, you press your lips against his. Smiling when his moan is followed by his eager tongue. Desperate for what contact you will give him. 

“Sweet boy.” You purr, slowly dragging your finger up the curved, thick length of his cock and wrapping two fingers around the protective foreskin to drag it down. Revealing the sensitive head of his cock to the air again. His shudder is sweet. “Does it feel good?” 

“So good.” Javi is immediately agreeing, nodding effusively and almost gasping for air again at the simple squeeze of your lubricated fingers on his scorched skin. “So good, so good, please.” He begs. 

You’ve kept him this way for nearly an hour. Poised just on the edge of giving in and cumming. Always managing to stop him before he orgasms and letting him calm down before working him up again. The reading and movies that he had watched about orgasm denial were no match for experiencing it for himself. Knowing that you would keep him safe and not judge him for wanting this. It’s why you were in love. There was nothing that Javi Gutierrez couldn’t share with you. 

You twist your wrist slowly, letting him feel the tension of your fingers before moving back, slowly starting to guide the skin over the hardness up and down his length with sure, firm strokes. 

“Oh yes,” He cries, closing his eyes and tensing his entire body. Despite needing to cum, he had told you he wouldn’t until you gave him permission. Still not using the safeword that had been agreed upon. The headboard creaks as he pulls against it, resisting the urge to let go and jerk himself to completion. “Yes, fuck, yes!” 

He’s throbbing in your hand. The tattooing beat of his heart pulsing in your hand, so measured and quick that you could keep rhythm with it. Thighs shaking as you methodically work him closer to that impossible ledge again. Feeling his body jerk and spasm as he fights the urge to give in, to cum. “I- I- I can’t-” he gasps out, shaking his head again and scrunching his eyes up, entire face set in near agony as his toes curl. It’s the longest he’s ever been touched without cumming and he feels like he would cum if you just flicked your tongue over his nipple, or squeezed him again. 

“You want to cum, sweet boy?” He whimpers when you ask, nearly about to cry and you swear that one tear does leak out from his closed eyes as he tries to be good for you. Tries to deny what he wants most as your hand moves up and down, up and down over his nearly oversensitive cock. “You want to cum all over your chest like a dirty boy for me?” 

“Ohh fuuuuuuuuck.” He shudders out a breath, letting go of the headboard and clenching his fists as he slams them into the soft mattress, absorbing the blows with a soft thud. “I’m- I can’t-” 

“Cum for me.” You order softly, immediately feeling the way that his entire body bucks and bows up, feet pushing his ass off the bed and into your hand as he starts to cum. 

Shouting, Javi cums and cums, shooting rope after rope of his seed over his chest and stomach. A stray shot hitting him in the chin as he cums like a geyser and groans as his body shakes in the almost painful pleasure of release. Rocking his hips up until your grip until you have milked him dry and still, he keeps moving. Craving the relief, the pressure is gone and it leaves behind a gloriously empty feeling. 

He shouldn’t be here. Swallowing harshly, he squares his shoulders and shakes his head slightly, plastering a confident smile on his face. As if he belongs here. The card had been a gift, an admission to the coveted underground club that everyone whispered about and no one confirmed.

He’s inside. The music is not at an ear pounding level, letting the moans and groans of the participants fill the air. His skin tingles and he halfway wishes that he had taken the time to go home and change out of the bulky, boxy power suit that he secretly detests. It’s suffocating at times and he just wishes that he was wearing normal clothes. The suit seems like a coat of armor to him at times and that might be why he doesn’t like it. It’s not real. It’s a layer of division between him and the real world. Real connections. 

His eyes widen slightly as he walks around. The rules had been explained, anyone can watch or join if they so choose. Bodies are tangled up in pairs, groups, arms and legs wrapped around others. Holding them in place and the lewdest acts are being watched as if it were a ballet. 

Max Lord slowly peruses the room, wondering if he should just go home. He has no clue how to approach someone, until he catches her eyes. 

She’s gorgeous, her mouth stretched wide around a cock, taking it deep and then pulling back to kiss the flushed tip before it sinks back down her throat. On her hands and knees with her tits swaying beneath her. A cock buried in her cunt from behind while the man pumps into her furiously. 

He’s fixed to the spot on the floor, watching as she’s railed from both ends, filled with cock and yet her eyes are watching him. Lifting one hand from the cushion she’s propped up on to crook her finger to him. Beckoning him to her. 

You see him walk in. Busy with the men that are inside you, but you had seen the suit and it had caught your interest. Few walk into this club as professionally dressed as him. He’s handsome, in a square, clean cut kind of way. The type of man who has a bleach blonde wife at home, two perfect kids and never - ever puts his clothes on the floor. He’s stiff and it makes you even more interested to find out why he is here. 

When he looks over at you, his eyes dilate. He’s interested, wanting. You watch him watching you for a moment before you motion him over. Calling him to you if he’s interested and waiting to see if he will move. 

When he’s called over, Max almost wants to look around but he knows you are calling to him. Swallowing and reaching up to pull his tie loose, waiting for just a beat before he starts to move. 

He’s coming over. You can see that he is handsome. His hair is an unnatural shade of blondish brown for his complexion, he would look better if he didn’t put Sun-In in his hair. His lips look soft and his brown eyes are filled with repressed desire and hesitation. He needs this, probably more than you do. 

He walks over to the small group, there are others watching, not undressing around you. Reaching out when he’s close enough to cup your cheek, feeling your throat move as you engulf the other man’s cock. His pinky ring cold as he touches your skin. 

He starts to undress, slowly, methodically. Stripping away the layers of fabric, armor in the form of suspenders and buttons, shined loafers and socks. Laid bare and his cock is already throbbing as it juts from his body. Aroused by the rawness, the lack of judgment and the lust that is swimming in your eyes as you drink him in. He doesn’t even know your name, but he will be a part of you. He will sink into you and feel you from the inside. Know you more intimately than a random stranger on the bus. 

It is only a few more minutes before the man fucking you cums, groaning as he fills the condom he’s wearing and slaps your ass as he pulls out of you. It’s the newcomers' turn. No one else has undressed or sidled up to you, so you reach for the bowl of prophylactics and hand him a rubber to put on. You don’t mind someone cumming in your mouth, but they won’t fuck your pussy or ass without a condom. He’s got a good cock, and you hope that he will be willing to go two rounds with you. You wouldn’t mind sucking him off. 

Your mouth is still busy, but you manage to twist your neck and roll onto your back for a different position as Max tears the condom open and rolls it down his cock after pulling his foreskin back. He’s groaning as he pumps himself, watching your throat distend around the length of the other man and admiring the way you don’t flinch away as he crams his cock down your esophagus. His balls are tapping your forehead, but you are spreading your thighs for him and he can see that you are slick with arousal. 

Your pussy is pretty, wet, and ready for him, all he has to do is line up and sink into you. Still, his hands caress your thighs as he shuffles closer, his cock in hand as he slides the head through your folds. His heart is pounding in his chest as he pushes inside you and feels the hot clutch of your cunt suck him in. 

Others join you, a nipple being pinched by a stray hand, a squeeze of your other tit. Slapping your thigh as the man starts to rock his hips and fuck you. The pulsing of the other man’s cock on your tongue captures your attention and you have to start swallowing as he begins to pump rope after sticky rope of cum down your throat.

Max has seen porn, he’s watched the low quality videos in the dark like a dirty secret, his hand around his cock and profound sense of shame after he’s done. Now, he’s in a porn. One that is being acted out live and he doesn’t have anything but pride puffing up his chest as he thrusts into you, pushing your mouth onto the cock that is pulsing in your throat before the man that is well drained and groaning happily is pulling his hips back. Another magically takes his place and caresses your lips before feeding you his cock. 

It’s intoxicating and arousing. Never imagining himself in a situation like this in his wildest dreams. Your cunt is clenching around him like a vice, fluttering wildly as he rocks into you. Your hand reaches down, grabbing his hand from your thigh and sliding it up to your tit, encouraging him to touch you, to immerse himself in this experience. 

It’s been so goddamn long since someone has wanted him to touch them. His personal pitfalls prevent him from making a connection and that small movement is like a balm to his bruised and weary soul. Cock twitching inside you, he grits his teeth and rocks harder, hearing the encouragement of the crowd around you. Goading him on until your body is jiggling, jarring forward from his thrusts and the other man starts to match his tempo, spearing his cock into your mouth right when Max is bottoming out inside you. 

You apparently love it, moaning and gargling around the length, body arching in pleasure and your hands touching both of them as much as you can from your helpless pose. All you can do is take what they give you, and you take it so well. 

Max hisses, eyes slipping closed as others touch you, the other man gasps and groans like crazy from the workings of your mouth. He’s getting close and he doesn’t want it to end. He wants this feeling forever. This high. 

Your body twitches and starts to shake, your legs tightening around his hips and Max chokes when you clamp down on him. Unable to stop himself from thrusting deep and grinding his hips while the shudders run down his spine and his body erupts in pleasure. Riding out the sensations as you flutter around him with the aftershocks of your own orgasm, making it even better since he knows you came. 

He rocks his hips until he starts to soften, unable to stop himself from caressing your thighs as he pauses for a moment before he pulls out of you, carefully holding the base of the condom. Another immediately steps into his place as he shuffles off the cushion, but he catches your eyes again, seeing the pleasure and acceptance in them. 

Biting your lip, your eyes flicker up to see the slight frown on his handsome face. The split second of indecision as the zipper slides down with a rasp that seems to fill the lab. Herbie is off somewhere, sent by Reed on a task that will take the robot hours to complete. Giving you plenty of time to experiment. “Maybe-”

“Shut up and relax, Richards.” You release the top of his twill pants and reach down to cup the bulge that you are eager to see in person. You hadn’t been allowed to touch him since that fateful trip. He had been too worried about the ramifications. Words like ‘perforated uterus’ being tossed about in a rambling speech about the cellular effects of the cosmic radiation that the team had been exposed to. 

He would protest but it’s been so long since he had been touched by you that all he can do is groan your name as you tug down the fabric of his pants to reveal the stark white of his brief and the mouth watering contents underneath. Eyes watching as you hook your fingers under the elastic waistband and pull it out. 

You hum as you tease him, humming appreciatively as you look down, getting a look at his cock. He looks like he had three weeks ago before going up on the mission that had changed everything. Thick and decently lengthed, the thin thatch of curls decorating the base. “Well, he looks happy to see me.” You coo with a grin as he twitches. 

Reed huffs, the grey of his hair is sexy, a new addition since the mission. He says it was the stress, but you think it's just a physical change to add to the cellular one. His hand reaches down and he cups your cheek. “Don’t try to take too much.” He cautions you but you just smirk and wink. “Oh you think it’s going to be bigger now?” 

Reed doesn’t answer, but you don’t expect him to. He just waits for you to continue. Lifting his hips when you are ready to drag down his briefs and let the beast free from its cage. You wrap your fingers around his length and feel the warm hardness of it, twitching harshly in your grip. 

“I should stand.” He grunts as he takes a shaky breath. “I don’t want to- I can control myself more when I stand.” 

Which means he has experimented with his cock. You shift back slightly, letting him stand. Towering over you with his cock bobbing in your face. You smirk as you look up at him again, on your knees and you open your mouth and stick your tongue out. 

You can see the way his eyes darken, narrow. Focusing as the part of his mysteriously wonderful part of his brain that loves to discover new things. Loves to analyse and stretch the bounds of science, pun not intended. 

The first inch of his cock slides into your mouth easily, making both of you groan and he eagerly pushes his hips forward another inch. The last time you had his cock in your mouth you could take all of it down to the base. Only gagging when he held the back of your head and fucked into your mouth, when he lost himself. 

You want him to lose control, to get out of his head as he rocks into your mouth. You know he has to concentrate to stretch his limbs and you wonder if he has to think about stretching his cock, to send it down your throat. 

Reed grunts, his heavy cock on your tongue twitching. Chest heaving as you take him down to the base and start to slowly pull back. He’s already a mouthful, more than you can swallow, but you hold onto his hips as you start to bob your head. 

Sucking a dick isn’t dainty. Spit starts to leak out of the corners of your mouth, sliding down your chin as you swallow and take more. 

You feel the second that he starts to stretch. The feel of his cock starts to change on your tongue. Hard rubber, filling your throat and down past your tonsils. Your eyes widen as you look up at him, watching the way his brows pinch together, making some mental note about something. 

You feel your gag reflex start, the convulsions of your throat starting to swallow around his length, to try to gain some control as tears well up in your eyes and blur your vision. You can’t see the way that his gaze turns instantly feral but you can feel it and see it. The curl of his fingers tightens on the back of your head, the growl of his need rasping low in his throat. 

Breathing isn’t possible and you wouldn’t want to, it would take away from the ability to swallow around him. To swallow him down as much as you can. Feeling him push more, starting to bulge in your throat and he reaches down and wraps his hand around your windpipe, feeling his cock move through the thin skin. 

Still you want more, want to see how deep he can go. Reed tries to pull back for a moment but you make a sound of protest and pull his hips towards you, greedy for more. He groans your name, hissing it out and rocking his hips forward again. Giving you what you apparently want. 

You choke slightly, sputtering and blinking as you try to keep from throwing up. He’s deep, feeling like he’s nearly in your guts. Still not pulling back, moaning around his expanded length. 

He’s probably stretched his cock four or five inches, all of them down your throat and you want more. The tightness of your esophagus is amazing and he rocks his hips slowly so that he doesn’t do any damage. Amazed that you can take as much as you are. 

Tears stream down your cheeks, mixing with the spit on your chin and dripping down onto your thighs. Still you bob your head and swallow, moaning around his length and feeling your pussy clench in desire. 

His body tenses and pulls tight. His groans get louder and it’s the only warning you get before he is cumming. The head of his cock is buried halfway down your throat and there’s nothing to swallow. He’s just spurting ropes of cum into your stomach as moan in pleasure and his fingers tighten around your head. 

Rocking his hips forward until his balls are empty and his pants quiet down. You see him through your tears as he pulls back, his cock shrinking back down to normal size and you have to swallow to keep from gagging again. Proud that you had managed to take all he could give you. 

After dinner—which was cut short after what happened—Harry remained out on the deck of his parents’ villa. He was seated at the edge of it, staring down at the clear blue water. His eyes were red, tears continuing to trickle down his cheeks as he thought about you and the fact that he hurt you. 

Not only emotionally, but physically too. 

He just couldn’t do anything right. 

Maybe you had a point. Maybe this trip was clouding both your sense of reality. Maybe you two weren’t meant for each other and this trip—being so close to him like this—just made you both feel things that you wouldn’t have felt otherwise. 

But he had to believe that wasn’t true. 

Because if it was, it wouldn’t have hurt this much. 

Harry heard the sliding door open. It was already late. 

He should be asleep now. 

He should be with you. 

Harry didn’t have to look over to know that it was his mother who sat down next to him. She had ended the dinner after he confessed, after he admitted that everything with you was fake… until it wasn’t. 

“You should get some sleep,” she said softly, quietly.

“I’m not tired,” he muttered.

“Harry, honey…”

Harry looked at her. He was completely wrecked. Tears pooled at his eyes. His eyes were bloodshot, voice raspy, and shoulders slumped forward. “I don’t want to go to sleep… because tomorrow is the last day and I don’t—I don’t want this to end.”

She sighed. “Why did you lie? About her? About your relationship?”

Harry laughed bitterly. 

He looked away from her and out into the dark sky. “Because you guys wouldn’t stop bothering me. After Lucy, it was just nonstop. I’d hear about it at work. Or during our lunches. Or whenever I’d come over… and I was just tired, ma,” he admitted. “I couldn’t breathe. You, dad, and Peter tried to fix me up almost every week—do you know how exhausting that is?”

“Honey—”

“And maybe I should’ve been honest,” Harry interrupted quietly. “But if I had been, would you guys have stopped?”

She sighed quietly and shook her head. “I’m sorry. We didn’t know.”

“That’s the thing, isn’t it? None of you do. My breakup with Lucy hurt,” Harry confessed. “Because I had envisioned a future with her… but I knew she wasn’t—we weren’t meant for each other in that way.” 

His mother’s eyes softened. She reached out and gently rubbed his back. 

“So, to get you guys to stop, I asked—” Harry sighed, then said your name quietly. “I asked her to pretend to be my girlfriend. I figured… why not? You guys know her. She and I are friends. It would be easy.”

His mother listened. She didn’t interrupt. She turned her body to face Harry, lower lip pulled between her teeth. She knew Harry had always been the serious and sensitive one out of him and Peter, but she had never seen him this heartbroken over a woman before. Sure, he had been hurt in the past, but never did it cause him to spiral like this. 

“But that’s the thing… It was too easy, ma,” he whispered. “It was like—it was like something I had been missing. Something I had been searching for in other women. It had always been her… so why did it take this trip for me to see that?” Harry finally turned to look at his mother. His brows cinched together, tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“I don’t know, honey,” she finally said. “Life’s funny that way, you know? Maybe—Maybe you both weren’t ready for each other before.” 

Harry shook his head. 

Then, he continued. “Our relationship—it was always just sex. We never really did catch any feelings for each other. If she was seeing someone exclusively or if I was, we’d end it.”

“Maybe you should ask yourself why you both kept going back to each other, then.”

“What do you mean?” 

“How long was this physical relationship?” She asked.

“Years.”

“Right… and you had been with other women during these last few years.”

Harry nodded.

“And when you were single and she was single, would you both then continue that relationship?”

He nodded once more. “Yes.”

“Then, you’re asking the wrong question, honey,” she said, reaching up to cup his cheek gently. “You both kept going back to each other for a reason. Sure, you both can say that you didn’t want each other in that way, but your hearts—they yearn for each other.”

Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. He was trying to hold back the tears, tried to keep it together, but he couldn’t. Because this pain in his chest wasn’t something he had ever felt before. It was like the walls were closing in on him and the only one who could save him was you. 

“You weren’t ready for her back then… and she wasn’t ready for you either.”

“And now? Now, we are?” Harry asked.

“I’d like to think so,” she answered. “If you love her, Harry, don’t give up.”

“She doesn’t want me,” he muttered. 

“You don’t believe that’s true, do you?”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe,” Harry answered. “It’s what she said.”

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed and moved her other hand to cup his cheek. She stared into his deep brown eyes, glistening with tears. “If you let her go… it’s going to be the biggest regret of your life.” 

He pressed his lips together. The corners of it trembled. “I don’t—I don’t know how to fix this…” 

“You don’t have to fix anything,” she said. “You just need to tell her how you feel.”

“I tried.”

“Clearly not hard enough,” his mother teased. “Harry, she’s a strong and stubborn woman. I believe you know her better than I do, but she needs to hear you say those words that you feel deep in your chest. That pain you feel right now? That won’t go away if you let her go.” 

“P—Peter said I would have to just move on. I tried—I tried to get her to listen earlier and it didn’t work.”

She sighed. “Well, you shouldn’t have listened to Peter. That was your first mistake,” she laughed quietly.

Harry let out a quiet chuckle. It was a much needed relief after the tightness in his chest. It went away briefly, but it came back full force. Like it was reminding him of the person he was losing. 

“You don’t move on from this type of love, honey.”

“How do you know?”

“This type of love only happens once,” she said. “You let her go… and you’ll be chasing that feeling for the rest of your life.” 

Harry pulled back and away from her grasp. He turned to look back at the water. It didn’t feel right—trying to get you to understand and change your mind when you already told him what you wanted. 

“Harry,” his mother said. “You’re not forcing her to stay,” she reassured. “But she at least needs to hear how you feel about her.”

He didn’t reply. Harry just kept his gaze back onto the water. 

“Thank you, ma,” he finally said. 

She sighed. “Get up.”

“What?”

“Get up,” she stood from the deck and extended her hand out for him. “I know she said for you to stay the night, but I think she’s gonna be glad to see you at your villa.”

“Mom,” he sighed. 

“Get up, Harry.” She repeated. “And don’t make me ask you again. I know you’re hurting, but you have a choice here, honey… And I’m not going to let you choose to sulk here when you have a woman who loves you just as much as you love her.” 

Harry looked up at her. He sighed and stood from the deck, taking her hand in his and standing up. He towered over—especially since getting leg lengthening surgery—but he still had such a soft spot for his mother. Whatever she said goes. 

“I love you,” she said, moving a hand to his chest. “But you need to be stubborn right back.”

“I can’t make her stay.”

“You’re not trying to make her stay.”

“Then, what am I trying to do?” Harry asked.

She sighed. “Harry, you’re going to be completely and wholeheartedly honest with her. You’re going to put everything on the table… You were ready to do it with Lucy.” 

“That was because it was the most logical choice.”

“Do you hear yourself?” His mother asked. “Love isn’t supposed to be a logical choice.”

He sighed. “I know that.” 

“Good. So, go back to your villa. Be there when she wakes up,” she said with a soft smile. His mother leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Tomorrow is the last day. It’s now or never, honey.”

Harry had gone back to the villa like his mother advised. When he stepped inside, it was eerily quiet. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, especially when everything just felt unresolved. He tried to keep in mind what his mother told him—there had to be a reason why you both kept going back to each other, and it wasn’t just the sex. It had become more than that, even before this trip. 

He found comfort in you. After his failed relationships, you were the first person he wanted to see. Not because he needed you physically, but because you grounded him in ways that no one else could. 

He told himself it was only because of the sex, that you were just someone he could use as convenience, but this trip opened his eyes to so many things that he hadn’t seen before. 

Because Harry did love you. 

He figured he always did. 

And maybe his mother was right. Maybe you both weren’t ready for each other then, but you both were now. He had to be sure of that.

Because he couldn’t let you go. 

At least not without telling you how he truly felt about you. 

So, Harry walked down the hallway quietly, just to check in on you. The door had remained opened, which he found surprising, given that you had wanted your space. 

But when he stepped inside, Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. 

You were curled on your side, back facing him, but he could see the shirt you were wearing. It was one of his own. He glanced at his luggage and a small smile pulled at his lips to see that it was open—you had gone through his luggage just so that you could have something of his to sleep with. 

It made him hopeful. 

Gave him a bit of confidence. 

Maybe you did love him too. 

He stepped further into the room and carefully grabbed one end of the blanket to cover you. Harry draped it gently over your midsection, biting his lower lip at the sight of you. He leaned down and gently kissed your forehead. 

“I love you, baby,” he whispered. “I’m going to make things right. I promise.” 

You moved just a bit, but otherwise remained asleep. Harry gazed at you for a few seconds longer before he stood upright and left the bedroom quietly. 

He was going to fix this. 

Harry wasn’t going to leave this trip without putting everything on the table. 

Because he wanted you. 

Now, and for the rest of his life. 

The following morning, you had woken up feeling a bit restless. You looked around the bedroom and sighed. Harry wasn’t here, which you knew already, but part of you hoped that he’d at least come back. You reached for your phone and looked at the time, biting your lower lip when you realized that today was the last day of this trip. 

Watching that video last night opened your eyes to things that you failed to see before. Harry loved you; he admitted it on the video, and maybe that was what he was trying to tell you along. 

You knew that you had to talk to him at some point today, but that you also still needed to play the part as his girlfriend. With everything that happened, especially last night, you weren’t sure how either of you could continue this charade. 

Determined to speak to Harry before the party, you stood from bed, pulled on your sleep pants and walked to the bathroom to brush your teeth. You were determined—you were going to go to his parents’ villa where you told him to stay last night and ask to talk with him. 

Harry had woken up early that morning before the sun even came up. He hadn’t slept much, but for the first time since everything that happened, he was feeling positive. Seeing you in his shirt last night in bed, the conversation with his mother, it felt like things were much more clear to him now. 

He didn’t have to hide the fact that everything about this relationship was fake to begin with because at some point during this trip, he stopped being pretending. It also felt like a relief that he didn’t have to hide anymore from his family. 

So, before you had woken up, Harry decided to leave the villa only to surprise you with some breakfast and flowers. He didn’t know what he would say or how he would say it, but Harry knew that he was going to tell you just how much he loved you. 

The walk to his parents’ villa didn’t take that long. You were nervous, each step you took bringing you that closer to the man that you had been in love with. It terrified you—the thought of being in love. It had always been difficult for you, which was something both you and Harry had in common. 

Knocking on the door, you fidgeted with your hands. You were expecting Harry to open the door, but felt a bit of relief when it was his mother instead. She looked at you and smiled warmly—it managed to calm down the nerves that settled in the pit of your stomach. 

“Morning,” she smiled. 

“Morning,” you replied. “Is—Is, uh, is he here?” 

His mother furrowed a brow in confusion. “No, I told him to go back to the villa last night. Is he not there?” 

You shook your head. “I didn’t see him…” you looked down at your feet and sighed. “Then again, I wasn’t really looking either. I just—I wanted to come straight here before I talked myself out of it.” 

She nodded and opened the door even further. “Come in, let’s talk, yeah?” 

“Are you sure? I know you have to get ready and—”

“A cup of coffee won’t delay the party,” she laughed quietly. “Besides, the party can wait. Come in.” 

You sighed and nodded, stepping across the threshold and into the villa. You felt severely underdressed compared to her—it was still quite early and she looked so put together. 

“I’m an early riser,” she said, leading you away from the front door and towards the kitchen. “His father, on the other hand, still asleep.” 

You laughed quietly and followed her quietly. “Harry’s also an early riser,” you pointed out. “At least from what I’ve noticed.” 

She nodded in agreement. “Yes, he says that he can get a lot done in the morning.” 

“Always so efficient,” you smiled. Sitting down on the stool, you watched her pour your a cup of coffee before setting it down in front of you. 

“How are you?” She finally asked. “Were you able to get some sleep?” 

You shook your head and looked down at your mug. “Not really, no. Last night was… intense. I’m sorry that happened.” 

She waved her hand in the air dismissively. “We all have our disagreements,” she reasoned. “There’s nothing you need to apologize for.” 

“He didn’t mean to push me either,” you added. “It was just—wrong timing.” 

“I know,” she said softly. “Because if it had been on purpose, I would’ve made a bigger scene, believe me.” 

You glanced at her and smiled. 

Then, you shifted your gaze back down to your mug after taking a careful sip. 

“Are you excited for your party?” 

She nodded with a smile. “I’m excited to celebrate with my husband and family, yes.” 

“Fifty years,” you said quietly. “That’s… that’s amazing.” Then, you thought back to the first day of this trip. The words Harry said when you went out to lunch with his family since arriving.  

“Imagine where you’ll be in fifty years, Harry,” you said.

“Hopefully with you,” he blurted out. 

“It’s nice to have someone go through life with,” she said softly. “We’ve had many ups and downs the last fifty years,” she continued. “But I can’t imagine my life without him. That’s a bit cheesy, no?” 

You shook your head and allowed a smile to curl your lips. “I think it’s beautiful. I think you’re lucky… you found someone to spend all those years with.” 

“You have too,” she said. “And I think you know it.” 

You bit your lower lip. “I think I love your son,” you whispered. “But I’m terrified. I don’t know what that looks like or how that changes.” 

“I think being scared is a good thing,” she replied. “It means your feelings are real.” 

You sighed. “I really messed up,” you whispered. “I broke him and I didn’t—I just—” You felt tears sting your eyes. “Last night, I was going through my camera roll and noticed a video he recorded. He said he loved me, said he always did.” 

His mother smiled. 

Then, you straightened up. 

Because to you, his mother still wasn’t aware that any of this was fake. “What I mean is that—we just haven’t said those words yet in our relationship.” 

She reached out for you and placed a hand over yours. “I know.” 

“What?” 

“I know “ she repeated. “Harry told me everything last night.” 

“He did?” 

“Said everything at first was pretend… until it wasn’t,” she said. “And I’m sorry that he dragged you in this, that you both felt the need to lie.” 

You shrugged. “I’d do anything for him,” you said. “He knows that… just like I know he’d do anything for me.” 

She smiled. “You know, I told him last night, that both your hearts yearn for each other. Why else do you think you both kept going back to each other?” 

You chewed at your lower lip anxiously. “He told you everything…” 

She laughed quietly and nodded. “Listen, I’m not here to judge. What my son does on his own time is his own business, and I’ll only step in if I absolutely need to.” 

“It really was just a physical relationship,” you said. 

“Honey,” she smiled, squeezing your hand. “It stopped being just a physical relationship when you said you’d do anything for him.” 

You sighed and looked up at her. “I’m sorry… that we lied. I didn’t expect that it would turn out like this,” you said honestly. 

She shook her head and moved to sit next to you. “You’re family now. I hope you know that.” 

You bit your lower lip. “Can I stay here just until I’m done with my coffee?” You asked. 

She smiled. “Of course.” 

“I’m just nervous,” you admitted. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone.” 

“Good,” she said, reaching up to gently rub your back soothingly—reassuringly. “Hold onto that.” 

Harry was mumbling under his breath, practicing what he was going to tell you, when he stepped into the villa. He let out a nervous breath and walked into the kitchen, setting the tray of food down with the two cups of coffee. He looked around and furrowed a brow. You would’ve been awake by now. 

So, he called out your name. 

Quietly. 

Hesitantly. 

You didn’t answer. 

He walked down the hallway and into the bedroom. You weren’t there. You weren’t in the bathroom. Harry sighed and sat at the edge of the bed. He glanced at the nightstand and noticed your phone—it wasn’t like he could give you a call to ask where you were either.

The hope and confident he felt last night slowly diminished. 

He was ready. This morning, Harry was ready to tell you everything. 

He had it planned, all the way down to what he wanted to say, what he wanted to tell you. 

Thinking that you wanted your space, Harry stood from the bed and grabbed his suit that hung in the closet, gently placing it down onto the bed and grabbing other necessary items to get ready. 

He reached for his phone, sent a text to Peter, and then grabbed the small notepad that rested on the nightstand. Harry wrote a brief note for you—simple and straight to the point. 

I’m sorry about last night. You probably still need your space, so I’ll be getting ready at Peter’s villa. 

I’ll see you at the party, baby. 

Harry ripped the piece of paper from the notepad and set it on the nightstand, right near your phone. He sighed quietly and grabbed his things before leaving the bedroom and then the villa. He glanced at the breakfast he had gotten, suddenly not hungry, but decided to bring it over to Peter and Charlotte in case they hadn’t eaten yet. 

Peter opened the door to his villa when Harry knocked just a few minutes later. He sighed at his older brother and opened the door further, allowing Harry to step through the threshold. 

“Thank you,” Harry said. “You didn’t have to agree to letting me get ready here.” 

Peter shook his head. “I overstepped,” he replied. “I shouldn’t have and I’m sorry.” 

Harry nodded. “I’m sorry, too. I was just—just upset.” 

“I know. Come on, let’s put the food down and I’ll pour you a cup of coffee.” 

“And Charlotte?” Harry asked. 

“She doesn’t know,” Peter answered. “I didn’t tell her. It’s not—it’s not something that she needs to know.” 

“Thank you,” Harry sighed. He followed Peter further into the villa, carefully setting the food onto the kitchen counter before walking into the living area where he set down his suit and shoes. 

“You talk to mom or dad today?” Peter asked, walking into the living area with two mugs of coffee. 

“Not yet,” he answered, taking the mug from him and following his younger brother out onto the deck outside. “Talked to mom last night though.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Told her the truth.” 

“You did? How—how was that?” Peter asked. 

“Freeing,” Harry answered. 

Peter sighed. “I am sorry, you know. I just wanted you happy.” 

He nodded and glanced over at him. “I know.” 

“And getting into… whatever you have going on right now, I shouldn’t have made it bigger than it was.” 

“What’s done is done,” Harry said. “I don’t know if I would’ve had the courage to admit how I felt about her if you or Charlotte didn’t get involved.”

“So, you love her,” Peter smiled. 

“I do,” he nodded. “But I don’t know if me telling her how I feel will even change anything. It might just make her run further away from me.” 

Peter shrugged. “But at least you could say you tried, right? I think that’s better than just letting her go.” 

Harry looked down at his mug, biting his lower lip as his mind drifted to you. “What do I do… if she doesn’t want this? Doesn’t want me?” He asked quietly. 

“I don’t know,” Peter answered honestly. “I think we just have to hope that she does.” 

Harry sighed. “Last night, when I came back to the villa, she was—she was asleep in my shirt, Peter. Curled up, snuggled to the pillow, and I just—it was like I was looking at my future, you know? My heart just raced faster at the sight of her.”

Peter nodded. 

“I’ve always loved her,” he continued. “And I think it’ll break me if—if she doesn’t want this.” Harry glanced over at his brother, tears filling his eyes before he looked away. “I don’t know if I can take it, honestly.” 

“This trip—it showed you what was right in front of you all this time,” Peter said softly. “And maybe it did the same for her. I would have a hard time believing if she said she doesn’t feel the same way, Harry.” 

Harry nodded and then took another careful sip of his coffee. “When did you decide that Charlotte was it for you?” He asked honestly. 

Peter smiled. “I don’t think there was just one single moment,” he answered. “It was many small moments… then I started imagining my future and what that looked like. And I knew that I wanted it with her.” 

“I just—I don’t know why it took me this long,” Harry said.

“Maybe some part of you always knew,” Peter reasoned. 

“Yeah, maybe.” 

“Do you know when you’ll try and talk to her?” 

Harry shook his head. “I was going to talk to her this morning, but she wasn’t at our villa when I got back. So, I think maybe she just needs more space.” 

“Today’s the last day, Harry,” Peter said. “You don’t have to wait for the perfect moment.” 

“I know that,” he sighed. “I’ll—I’ll talk to her after the party.” 

“Good,” Peter said, reaching over and squeezing his brother’s shoulder reassuringly. “She loves you, Harry. Maybe she’s just thinking about her way of telling you.” 

“I hope so,” he whispered, looking up the sky and noticing the clouds coming in. “Guess we should get ready, huh?” 

Peter nodded with a smile. “If we’re late, you know we won’t hear the end of it.” 

By the time you made it back to the villa, you were expecting to find Harry there. You could feel your heart beating out of your chest when you got closer, but when you finally stepped inside, disappointment filled your chest. 

He wasn’t there. 

You walked to the bedroom to retrieve your phone when you noticed the note he left you on the nightstand. You sighed to yourself and glanced at the time. You knew you had to get ready, so talking to him would have to wait. 

Instead, you pulled up his contact name and sent him a text message. It was a short message. You didn’t want anything to get lost in translation. 

YOU: I’ll see you at the party, Harry. 

You watched the message go from delivered to read. Harry hadn’t replied, so you set your phone down back onto the nightstand to grab the olive green dress from the closet. You had bought this dress in this color specifically because you knew it was Harry’s favorite. 

Now that you were holding it up, it all made sense. 

It was always Harry. 

It had always been him. 

You looked at yourself in the mirror, biting your lower lip. The dress fit perfectly along your curves—an ankle length dress, sleek satin that hugged every inch of your figure. It was also a sleeveless cowl neckline with a ruched front bodice and another deep cowl back with a dainty strap across the shoulders. 

Your makeup was light—like it always was—but your hair was pulled up in a high bun with strands of curled hair falling in front of your face. 

You looked at your phone briefly. Harry hadn’t replied. You sighed and took a deep breath before leaving the villa and into the main ballroom where the party would be at. You looked up at the sky once you stepped outside—the clouds were coming in fast. 

Harry hadn’t been able to send a text back to you. After he had gotten ready, he and Peter had to go to the ballroom to make sure everything was set and ready for his parents. It also didn’t help that it looked like it was about to rain outside too. 

“Everything good?” Peter asked. 

Harry nodded. “Yeah,” he answered. “Got the DJ set up. Bar is open. Food along that table there. We’re good.” 

“And you? You good?” 

Harry shrugged. “Nervous,” he said. “But ready to see her too.” 

Peter smiled. “She texted you first. That’s a good sign.” 

“I haven’t been able to reply.” 

“That’s okay,” he said. “Better to say the things you want to say in person.” 

Harry nodded. He turned his head to the doors when people started coming in. He took a deep breath and felt Peter’s hand on his shoulder. 

“You got this, Harry. Let’s just get through the next few hours. Then… she’s all yours.” 

By the time you stepped foot into the ballroom, you could hear the loud chatter mix in with the music. Suddenly, you felt so out of place. Harry was supposed to be by your side, grounding you. Comforting you. Making you feel like this was where you belonged. 

You took a deep breath and stepped further into the ballroom. The nerves slowly disappeared when some of his family members greeted you like you had always been part of the family. You smiled, gave them a hug and kiss on the cheek, as you looked around the room. 

Searching for him. 

“She’s not here yet?” His mother asked, holding a glass of wine as she and his father stood next to Harry. 

“No,” he answered. “I should probably give her a call.” 

“Give her a few minutes,” she said. “Maybe she’s still getting ready.” 

Harry nodded. “Right, maybe.” He reached for his own drink and sipped on it quietly. He was only limiting himself to one glass, especially after what happened last night. It still horrified him that he had put his hands on you, even if it was unintentional. 

Then, the DJ transitioned into a song that caught his parents’ by surprise. They looked at each other with a large grin and set down their own drinks. 

“Will you excuse us, honey?” His mother asked. 

Harry nodded and looked over at his parents with a smile. “Yeah, go. Dance. Have fun.” 

His father reached up and gently patted Harry’s cheek. “She’ll be here, Harry.” 

“I know,” he whispered. “I know.” 

His parents moved onto the dance floor, as well as other couples in the family, while the song slowly played in the background. 

Times were tough, we made it through  We wasted the rough, so let’s savor the smooth  All the time I was hurting you Got to believe that I was hurting, too

Harry looked around the room, biting his lower lip as he tried to search for you. 

I was born to love  I was born to I was born to love  I was born to 

You watched some more people move to the dance floor when the song continued. You felt your heart beat out of your chest as you scanned the room. 

You're the only one I can talk to

The only one I can really read

I know you give because you want to

Don't you think it's time you learn to let yourself receive?

Harry turned his gaze towards the entrance and then he spotted an olive-green colored dress in the midst of mainly black and white. 

There you were. 

You were looking around the room, almost like you were looking for him too. 

I was born to love I was born to I was born to love I was born to

Then, you saw him. His eyes were already on you. 

You felt your breath catch in your throat. 

Harry met your gaze. 

Everyone around him disappeared. 

I was born to love you I was born to love you

You walked closer to him. You didn’t break the eye contact either. It felt like you were holding your breath, navigating through the crowd of people as the song continued to play. 

Harry straightened up. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. The dress, the color of it, the way it clung to your figure—you were breathtaking. 

Now that you finally stood in front of him near the bar, Harry cleared his throat nervously. 

“Hi,” you whispered. 

“You look great,” he said quietly. “I love the color.” 

You let a small smile line your lips. “Knew you would,” you replied. “It’s why I got it.” 

“Because of me?” 

You nodded. “I know it’s your favorite color… and it matches that ring you always wear,” you pointed out, nodding towards the emerald green ring that sat on his pinky. 

Harry looked down at his hand. He finally allowed himself to relax. “You notice that.” 

“Hard not to,” you teased. “You wear that thing everywhere.” 

Harry chuckled. “Do you want a drink?” 

You nodded and turned your body away from him to face the bar instead. Just as you were about to open you mouth to ask the bartender for a drink of your choice, Harry chimed in on your behalf. 

“A glass of moscato, please,” he said, not taking his eyes off of you. 

Slowly, you turned back to face him. 

The air between you thickened with tension. 

You both knew there were things that needed to be said, things that have been lingering for days now. 

“You look great too,” you complimented. “I always did enjoy seeing you in a tux like this.” 

Harry felt his cheeks warm. “Yeah?” 

You nodded and stepped closer to him. You heard him inhale sharply. Then, you reached up and straightened his bow tie. “You look handsome… you always do.” 

Harry bit his lower lip as his eyes softened down at you. “Baby,” he whispered. 

You looked up at him. 

“I know,” you said, moving your hands back down to your sides. 

He sighed. 

The bartender quietly interrupted to set your glass of moscato down on the counter. 

You turned to face him and offered a polite smile. “Thank you.” 

“Baby,” Harry repeated. 

You looked at him. “We’ll talk before this trip ends,” you promised. “There are things I want to say too.” 

Harry let out a relieved breath. “Okay,” he said quietly. He didn’t want to push it either, so despite the need to want to ask when you both would talk, he just nodded. 

“I’m going to say hi to your parents now that they’re done dancing,” you replied. 

“Oh, right, yeah,” Harry said. “We’re seated at that table together and if you’re hungry, I’ll get you a plate.” 

“That’d be great, thank you,” you smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek lightly. 

When you pulled away, Harry’s hand darted out to rest on your hip. His touch—like always—grounded you and you hadn’t realized how much you missed it, how much you missed him. 

“Will you dance with me later?” You asked. 

Harry nodded. “Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “Whatever you want, baby.” 

“Okay, good. I’ll remember that.” You smiled and then slowly stepped back and away from him. 

Harry watched you walk away from him, his eyes never leaving you. He sighed to himself, the flutter in his stomach becoming much more noticeable now. 

You walked to where his parents were, seeing the delighted expression on their faces when they saw you. His mother pulled you into a tight hug before his father did the same. You couldn’t help but feel Harry’s eyes still on you, so when you pulled away from them both, you turned to look over your shoulder. 

And sure enough, he was still looking at you. 

His mother smiled to herself. 

“You look amazing, honey,” she said, pulling your gaze away from him to look at her instead. 

“Me?” You scoffed playfully. “Look at you,” you smiled. You glanced at her husband. “Lucky man.” 

“Don’t I know it,” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist. 

She smiled and leaned against him. “Have you talked to him?” His mother asked. 

“About everything? No,” you answered. “But we did have a brief conversation earlier. Nothing serious.” 

She nodded. “He wasn’t back at the villa when you left ours earlier?” 

You shook your head. “He thought I still needed space, left me a note saying he was going to get ready at Peter’s, so… just a few minutes ago was the first time I saw him today.” 

Her eyes softened. So did her husband’s. 

“How are you feeling?” 

You shrugged. “I’m okay. Right now, I’m okay. I’m having fun, celebrating the both of you.” 

They smiled. 

“Well, make sure you leave enough time to talk with him,” she said. “If not now, then maybe when you two are back in New York.” 

Harry was holding two plates of food when he finally sat down at the table. You were still mingling with his other family members, greeting them politely, laughing genuinely. It made his heart beat even faster. You always fit in with his family—that should’ve been another sign that it had always been you from the beginning. 

When you managed to excuse yourself, you walked over to Harry and sat down next to him, your glass now empty but your stomach quietly growling at the sight of food before you. 

“Want me to get you another glass?” Harry asked. 

You shook your head. “I think I’m good for now,” you answered. “Don’t want to drink too much,” you said. 

Harry bit his lower lip and nodded. “I didn’t know what you wanted, so I just got a bit of everything.” 

“This is great. I’m starving.” 

“Didn’t eat breakfast?” 

You shook your head. “Wasn’t all that hungry this morning.” 

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek. “Where—where were you this morning, by the way?” 

“I went to go see you,” you answered. 

“Me?” 

“I thought you were at your parents’ villa… considering what happened last night and what I said.” 

“Right,” Harry nodded with a sigh. He wanted to forget last night, wanted to forget that he ever put his hands on you. 

You could tell that Harry was still beating himself up for what happened, so you reached out and rested a hand over his. “It was an accident, Harry.” 

“Still. I should’ve been more careful.” Harry look down at your hand. He didn’t want to move, afraid that if he did, you’d pull away. 

“I don’t blame you… and I know you’d never hurt me like that.” 

Harry looked at you, eyes soft and broken. “I came back to the villa last night. Slept on the couch.” 

“I didn’t see you when I woke up…” 

“I—I left to get us some breakfast and coffee. When I came back, you weren’t there.” 

You sighed. 

Harry continued. 

“So, I thought you were out for a walk or something, that maybe you still needed your space.” 

“Which is why you got ready at Peter’s,” you finished for him. 

Harry nodded. “Yeah.” 

“We just kept missing each other this morning,” you said quietly. 

“Guess so.” 

“We still have time,” you reassured him. “I promise. We still have time.” 

Harry looked at you again. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, could see how he was so close to the brink of tears. 

You cupped his cheek, watched him lean against your touch. To anyone else aside from his parents and Peter would see this as normal, but there was so much more. So much pain and heartache that lingered between the both of you. 

As you were about to lean in to peck his lips, the music suddenly stopped and you heard both his parents’ voices come through the microphone. 

Harry stared at you. 

You did the same. 

They started talking, so you pulled away. 

Harry sighed and turned his attention to his parents now. 

“We just want to thank you all for coming this week and celebrating with us,” his father said first with a smile. “It’s been nice to spend time with family like this.” 

Harry’s mother smiled and leaned into him. 

You looked at Harry for a moment—he was beaming with pride.

“It’s been fifty years with this man,” his mother chimed in. “Fifty amazing years.” Tears filled her eyes. “We’ve been through… everything together. We built all of this… together.” 

His father pulled her closer and leaned over to kiss her temple. “I’m ready for fifty more,” he said into the microphone. 

His mother laughed quietly and reached up to wipe her tears. Then, she glanced at you and Harry and smiled. “When you find that special someone, hold onto them… that kind of love doesn’t come around very often.” 

You bit your lower lip and subconsciously reached for Harry’s hand, gripping it tightly as you kept your eyes locked with his mother’s. 

Harry looked down at your hand for a moment and squeezed it in return. 

“Love can be scary,” she continued. “But when you find the right person—your person—everything else just falls into place.” 

Harry turned to look at you now. He released your hand only to reach for the end of your chair, pulling it close to his. You gasped quietly, looking over at him and biting your lower lip. 

“Life works in mysterious ways,” his mother said, a small smile curling her lips. “Sometimes, the person we needed was right in front of us all along.” 

The microphones turned off and the music started playing again. 

Harry looked into your eyes and moved his hand from the chair to rest gently on your knee. 

“Would you like to dance with me?” He asked. 

“Yes,” you answered with a quiet breath. 

Harry stood up slowly and took your hand in his, gently leading you towards the dance floor once everyone started to join as well. He didn’t pay attention to anyone else around the both of you—all he could see was you. 

He pulled you to his chest, one hand keeping your own close to his chest and the other resting on your lower back. 

There goes my heart beating 'Cause you are the reason I'm losing my sleep Please come back now

You moved your free hand to his shoulder, eyes staring up at his. Everything that neither of you said lingered—you both didn’t need to say it out loud, at least not right now. 

I'd climb every mountain And swim every ocean Just to be with you And fix what I've broken Oh, 'cause I need you to see That you are the reason

Harry was the first one to speak. It was quiet, just enough for you to hear. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget this trip.” 

You bit your lower lip and nodded. “Me too, Harry.” 

“I—I don’t know what this means for us,” he continued. “But I don’t want to let you go. I don’t want to go back to New York and go our separate ways,” Harry admitted. 

“Neither do I,” you said quietly. 

Harry felt his heart race even faster. 

He pulled you closer until you were flush against his chest. 

There goes my hands shaking And you are the reason My heart keeps bleeding I need you now

“It’s always been you,” Harry finally said. 

You felt tears trickle down your cheeks. You knew what he meant. 

“I watched the video.” 

His brows furrowed. “What?” 

“You took a video… on my camera.” 

His brows relaxed. 

His eyes softened. 

Harry’s lips parted. 

“When did you watch it?” 

“Last night,” you answered. 

And I'd climb every mountain And swim every ocean Just to be with you And fix what I've broken Oh, 'cause I need you to see That you are the reason

Harry released your hand only to wipe your tears away gently. 

You leaned into his touch. No one else mattered. He had always been the one you wanted. The one your soul and heart yearned for. 

I don't wanna fight no more I don't wanna hide no more I don't wanna cry no more Come back I need you to hold me (you are the reason) Be a little closer now Just a little closer now Come a little closer I need you to hold me tonight

“I meant every word,” he whispered. “And I’m sorry. For everything that’s happened… for it taking me this long to see it.” 

You moved your hand now to his the back of his neck, gently playing with the curl at his nape. It didn’t feel real. This didn’t feel real. 

He leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours. 

“How do we do this?” You whispered. 

“We do it together,” Harry answered. 

I'd climb every mountain And swim every ocean Just to be with you And fix what I've broken 'Cause I need you to see That you are the reason

Everything finally felt like it had fallen in place after that. You felt relief, felt free, now that it seemed like both you and Harry were on the same page. Still, you both hadn’t exactly said those words, but you both knew what it meant. 

What that dance meant. 

It was a step in the right direction. 

And after this party, once you were both alone, you’d tell him how you truly felt—how it had always been him too, and how much you loved him… like you never loved anyone else before. 

Harry had kissed your temple before excusing himself to share a dance with his mother. You smiled to yourself, watching them briefly with loving eyes before you turned your gaze to Charlotte and Peter who sat at your table. 

“We want to apologize,” Charlotte said. “We shouldn’t have ever gotten between the both of you.” 

You looked at her and then glanced at Peter. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “We both know it came from a place of love.” 

“Still,” Peter said. “We shouldn’t have meddled.” 

You nodded. “What’s done is done, right?” 

“Right.” 

Then, Charlotte smiled. “You both look… happier,” she pointed out. 

“I think we are,” you said, turning to glance at him. He was holding his mother close, laughing quietly with her and you felt like your entire world just stopped. “I think I always have been… happier with him.” 

Charlotte grinned. “You two are just so perfect for each other,” she said. 

Peter smiled. He noticed a shift in Harry’s demeanor throughout the party. He wasn’t as tense or nervous as that morning. Whatever you two talked about, Peter was hopeful that it was something good and enough for his older brother to be less stressed. 

“I hope we’ll be seeing more of you,” Peter said. “Outside of working our events.” 

“I hope so too,” you replied. 

The song shifted. 

Charlotte looked at Peter expectantly. 

He chuckled and then stood up, extending his hand out for her. 

“Excuse us,” he said. “I promised her a dance.” 

You nodded in understanding and smiled, watching them both walk away from the table. 

You had gone to the bathroom after your conversation with Charlotte and Peter. Anticipation simmered in the pit of your stomach when you thought back to the brief conversation you had with Harry. You both would still have to go back to the villa and the thought of being alone not only excited you, but brought relief too. 

Because you just wanted him all to yourself now. 

Wanted to tell him how much he meant to you. 

How much he always meant to you. 

The fear of putting yourself out there lingered, of course it did. You wanted so badly for this to work out because you wanted what his parents had—fifty years of being by the side of the person you love the most. 

And you knew you wanted that with Harry. 

So, you were determined to find him after you were done in the bathroom. You were going to ask him if it would be okay to leave—to go back to the villa and talk. Alone. 

After washing your hands, you looked at yourself in the mirror and took a deep breath. 

You opened the door to step outside and heard his voice immediately. 

A large smile lined your lips. 

Then, you heard her name. 

Your heart dropped. 

The smile disappeared. 

“Lucy, I can’t talk right now,” Harry sighed. 

Tears immediately stung your eyes. You stepped out and saw him. His back was turned until he moved to face in your direction. 

When he noticed you, his eyes widened. Then, he noticed the look in your eyes, the look on your face. Harry hung up the phone immediately. He knew how that looked, how it sounded like. 

So, he pocketed his phone and tried to take a step closer. 

“Baby, it’s not—”

“God, I’m fucking stupid,” you whispered, shaking your head. “I’m really fucking stupid.” 

“No,” he shook his head. “No no, just—”

“I’m… I’m tired, Harry,” you said, tears now trickling down your cheeks as you took a step back and away from you. “I should’ve—I should’ve listened to what my head was saying all this time.” 

“Let me explain—”

You shook your head and then turned on your heel immediately. You didn’t bother saying bye to his parents or the rest of his family. Instead, you stepped outside. The walls felt like they were closing in on you. The weight on your chest felt like it was crushing you. 

And of course, it was raining. The clouds that had come in that morning were now thick and dark grey in the sky, strong droplets of water coming down hard. You were soaked immediately after standing outside for a few minutes. 

You heard the door open behind you, followed by his voice. 

Harry looked at you and when you glanced over your shoulder at him, he felt a sinking feeling in his gut. You looked at him like you were utterly broken. 

He called your name. 

You shook your head and removed your heels. 

Then, you ran. 

Harry yelled out for you. 

Then, he followed—he was now completely soaked too. 

You were dripping wet by the time you made it back to the villa. Your dress clung to your body and your hair was a complete mess, so you pulled it from its bun as you dropped your heels at the doorway. Tears streaked down your cheeks as you felt your throat tightening. It felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

You left a trail of water as you walked down the hallway and into the bedroom. You grabbed your luggage and set it on the bed. You wouldn’t wait to leave until tomorrow. 

You would leave tonight. 

Separately from him. 

Harry stormed inside instantly. He was breathing heavily and he called for you again. He looked around the villa, immediately noticing the trail of water leading down the hallway into the bedroom. 

He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his wet curls, slicking it back and away from his face. 

The dread he felt in the pit of his stomach became more noticeable now. He had been feeling hopeful before you heard him on the phone and he knew how wrong it looked. 

“Baby,” he said breathlessly, standing in the doorway. 

Your back was turned, but he could see your shoulders trembling. 

You were crying. 

You heard his voice. Your hands shook. You didn’t turn around. 

Then, you heard him take a step closer. 

You took a deep breath. 

“What you heard—I was about to tell her that she no longer could call me,” Harry reasoned. “I’m sorry… so fucking sorry that I keep messing this up.” 

You didn’t say anything. 

Then: “I love you,” Harry finally said out loud. 

Believe it, I need you by my side Yes, I know you know, know you know, know I've been a sinner, baby I've seen it, I've seen you high and dry Yes, I know you don't, know you don't, know you don't need me to say it But if anything happens between us Does everything change? I know you feel it too, I can see it in your face So tell me now not to get too close 'Cause it always happens

You stopped moving, but you didn’t turn around. Tears continued to move down your cheeks. 

“I don’t want anyone else,” he continued. “It has always been you,” Harry repeated. “I love you and it fucking terrifies me.” 

One, two, three, four How much longer can this go Oh, babe? Don't break Every single breath you take Kills me softly, chills my body But, when we reach the limit We're really giving 'cause

He took a step closer. Harry could hear his heart thumping in his chest, the beat of it filling his ears. 

“I always loved you,” Harry said quietly. “I was searching for something that had always been right in front of me.” 

You inhaled sharply—shakily. You brought a hand up to your face to wipe your tears. You hadn’t turned around yet. 

“I’m done pretending. Every moment I spend with you—I yearn for it, fucking crave it. And it’s not only the sex. I think it stopped being about the sex a long time ago,” Harry confessed. 

Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah I wanna cherish you Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah I wanna cherish you

“You’re the first person I want to talk to when I get good news, or when I have a bad day, you’re the one I want to run to,” Harry felt his own tears move down his cheeks slowly. “Baby, please…” 

You turned around slowly, but you didn’t look up at him yet. 

Then, he reached out for you. Harry gently cupped your cheek. 

“Look at me,” he whispered. “Please.” 

Slowly, you gazed up at him. You still had tears pooling around your eyes. 

“I’m tired too,” he said softly. “I’m tired of making myself believe that I don’t want this. We blurred the lines long before this trip,” Harry sighed. 

Harry took a step closer. 

It's so clear we're right on the edge Both in, we're over our heads But I'm ready to take this fall You say, "Baby, I want it all" I want it all

“I want fifty years with you,” Harry admitted. “I want you on your good days, on your bad days. I want every moment in between.” His voice trembled, almost like saying this out loud was giving you permission to take his heart and break it. “You make me laugh like no one else can. You frustrate me like no one else has before either,” he whispered, lips curling upwards just slightly. 

“But I love you… everything about you. The way you always bite your lower lip when you’re in deep thought or when you’re working hard on editing your pictures.” Harry’s thumb moved to brush across your lower lip. “Or the way you hog all the blankets at night and then complain that it’s too hot when you wake up,” he chuckled quietly. 

You were breathing heavily now. You didn’t realize that you had finally let out a breath you had been holding in since he said those three words. 

Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah I wanna cherish you Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah I wanna cherish you

“You think about everyone else before you think about yourself,” he continued. “You have the kindest heart, the most comforting smile, and—and when I’m with you, nothing else matters in the world.” 

You nodded slowly. A silent response. Then, you moved closer until your hands moved to his chest, feeling the drenched weight of his suit jacket against your fingertips. 

Harry inhaled. 

“I love you too,” you finally confessed. “And it scares me too because—because I think I always have loved you, Harry.”

He couldn’t hold back his tears anymore. He moved his other hand to your hip and pulled you closer. 

“It’s always been you,” you repeated. “I thought—I thought running away would be better. Would make me believe that this wasn’t what I wanted… because why would you want someone like me?” 

He shook his head in protest.

But it was your turn to talk now. 

“Then, I started noticing the way I felt whenever I was around you. Started understanding what everyone was saying because you look at me like no other man ever has. You make me feel safe, protected... no one’s ever made me feel like that before.” 

Harry bit his lower lip. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest. 

And now we finally reach the limit, babe But you know you can trust, don't be afraid 'Cause all you need is just a little faith A little faith

“I want fifty years with you too,” you continued. “You stopped being someone I wanted to use to just pass the time with, and started becoming the person I wanted to spend every minute with instead.” 

Harry smiled. His hand on your cheek moved to the side of your neck, thumb running along your jawline as he tilted your head up to look up at him. 

“You were right in front of me all along,” you whispered, stepping closer to him now until your bodies were pressed against each other. 

Despite both your clothes being wet and cold against your bodies, it felt anything but that. Your bodies were hot—two hearts and souls yearning for each other and mere centimeters from one another. 

One, two, three, four How much longer can this go Oh, babe? Don't break Every single breath you take Kills me softly, chills my body

“I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love you too,” you replied. 

Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah I wanna cherish you Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah I wanna cherish you

Then, Harry leaned in. 

He cradled your head and pressed his lips firmly against yours. 

You melted into him, gripping the lapel of his jacket as you stood on your toes to return the kiss. 

It felt different this time. 

It wasn’t a kiss out of convenience or a kiss out of habit. 

It meant so much more. 

It meant a new beginning. 

The kiss continued. It went from slow and tentative and eased into something familiar. Harry moved his hands to your hips now and your hands wrapped around his shoulders. Neither of you cared that you were both still soaking wet and dripping on the hardwood floor. 

It wasn’t until your hands started to push his jacket away and off his shoulders that you both pulled away to look at each other. 

You were both looking at each other more freely now—like you both no longer needed to hide how you felt about each other. 

He shrugged his jacket off, a quiet wet splat hitting the floor. Harry then reached for his bow tie to loosen it around his neck, watching you carefully when you turned around. You pulled the zipper down carefully, allowing your dress now to pool around your ankles before turning back around to face him. 

You both had countless sex with each other, but this time—this time it meant something entirely different. 

Harry let out a breath at the sight of you. You hadn’t worn a bra with your dress, so you were just clad in a seamless thong and your nipples had hardened at the cold air. 

His pants were becoming increasingly uncomfortable and the fact that it was drenched didn’t help either. He let his bow tie hang loose around his neck before he reached down to undo his belt, followed by lowering his zipper and unbuttoning his pants. 

Neither of you said anything. 

You both just stared at each other. 

Anticipation lingering between the both of you. 

Harry stepped out of his pants and boxers with ease, letting out a sigh of relief before he felt you begin unbuttoning his white dress shirt until you pushed it off and away from his body. 

He felt his hardened manhood brush against your body. He licked his lower lip and then watched you slide your thong down your legs. 

Now that you both were bare and completely naked before each other, Harry reached for your luggage and shoved it to the floor. 

“Hey,” you protested playfully. 

“We’ll stay another week,” he reasoned. 

Your eyes widened. “What?”

Harry nodded. “We both can afford another week,” he answered. “Besides,” he said quietly, lifting you onto the mattress carefully before he settled himself between your legs. “I want to spend some more alone time with you here… is that okay?” 

“Yes,” you answered, legs wrapping loosely around his waist as your hands moved from his damp chest and up to his cheeks. Slowly, you pulled him down on top of you as you felt the tip of his length brush against your inner thigh. “I don’t think I’m ready to leave yet either.” 

“Good,” Harry smiled, leaning in to press his lips once more against yours. 

You smiled into the kiss, warmth spreading between your legs. His lips moved with yours more aggressively now—fueled by the sudden urge to be inside of you, the woman that he loves. 

You moaned against his lips, feeling his hand move lower. Harry grasped himself, running the head of manhood across the length of your sex now, gathering your slickness along his tip. He’d brush over your clit teasingly, feeling your body react immediately. He pulled away from the kiss to gaze down at you, moving his free hand to prop himself up. 

You kept your eyes locked with his. You could feel the throbbing between your legs, whimpering impatiently at the feel of his hardened length running along you teasingly. 

As much as Harry wanted to look down between your legs, he just couldn’t look away from you. He leaned down and rested his forehead against yours, slowly sliding his tip inside of you before pulling out. 

“Harry,” you whimpered. 

“Yeah, baby?” He asked innocently, sliding back into you before he pulled again. Harry continued that movement a few more times, applying more pressure to your clit with the head of his length once he pulled out. 

“Need you, please,” you pleaded. 

Harry smiled. 

Then, he slowly slid further into you. Harry groaned loudly at the feel of your warmth surrounding him immediately. He forced himself to slowly ease himself inside of you, despite just wanting to slam further into you. 

Your hands abruptly moved to his shoulders, gripping it tightly as your legs remained locked at his lower back. You always felt so full of him—his girth filling you. Without the added protection of the condom, you felt every inch and ridge of him slide along your tight walls. 

There was no way either of you would be able to go back to using condoms and you knew it wasn’t safe to not use them, but maybe that was a different conversation for a different day. 

Right now, you’d cherish the way he felt inside of you. 

As Harry filled you to the hilt, he released his hold from himself and instead kept himself propped up with both hands on the mattress now. He didn’t move for a few seconds, wanting to just feel your warmth and wetness around him.  

“Always so wet for me,” he whispered. “Aren’t you?” 

You nodded, arms wrapping around him to pull him down flush against you instead. “And only for you,” you moaned quietly, feeling his hips pull back just a couple of inches before pushing back into you. “Fuck,” you muttered. 

Harry smiled and pecked your lips lightly, slowly beginning to pick up his pace. He kept his eyes locked with yours and his body pressed against your front. Sex had never felt like this and he just kept hearing your words echo in the back of his mind, timing it with his thrusts. 

I love you. 

I love you. 

I love you. 

You couldn’t hold his gaze any longer, so you shut your eyes and let out a loud moan. Harry kissed your cheek before burying himself to the side of your neck, panting heavily into it as his hips repeatedly slammed against yours. 

The sounds of skin slapping against one another echoed throughout the villa, followed by the sounds of just how wet you were too. He could feel a rush of wetness against his lower abdomen as he continued to thrust forward into you. 

He moaned your name into your neck, teeth and tongue brushing along your pulse point. His hands moved to your ass, gripping onto it as if it could give him more leverage to thrust into you. 

You held onto him, arms tightening around his shoulders as you felt the pressure in your stomach build. Your moans mixed in with his and it felt like neither of you were holding back now. 

Your lips were near his ear, panting heavily as you felt every ridge and inch of him slide into you. You whispered, breathlessly, as you felt your orgasm loom closer and closer. “I love you… I fucking love you.”

Harry delivered a hard thrust as a response, pulling back just enough to look down at you. “Say it again,” he pleaded, feeling the pit of his stomach tighten as well. “Tell me again.” 

“I love you!” You moaned aloud, legs tightening around his waist as you felt your walls tremble around him. Your body shook slightly as the dam finally broke. 

“Fuck,” Harry groaned, feeling your walls tighten even further around him. He sat upright, moved his hands to your hips, and delivered quick and sharp thrusts. He was close, so fucking close. 

“Baby, fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Come inside,” you interrupted, lips parting as you felt him move in and out of you. “Come inside me, Harry.” 

He gasped loudly. Harry’s grip around your hips tightened. He looked down at you and nodded, watching your breasts bounce with each thrust he delivered. 

“I love you, baby,” he said quickly. “Iloveyouiloveyou,” Harry blurted out in a rush, his hips slowing down but his thrusts becoming more pointed as he felt himself get closer and closer to the edge. He delivered a couple of more thrusts until he slammed into you, his come painting your walls and filling you up. 

His own body shook and even as he pulled his hips back, Harry couldn’t help but slide back in further. Knowing that you’d be full of his come only excited him further because he slid out of you only to gather some of his come on the head of his member to push back into you. 

You gasped. 

Harry smirked. 

He stayed inside of you, despite his manhood softening. 

You tightened your legs around him, kept him close too. 

“So, another week?” You asked, panting quietly. 

Harry nodded. “Another week.” 

“What do you have planned?” 

“Everything we didn’t get to do. I plan to do it right this time,” he answered, finally pulling out of you with a quiet whimper. 

“And when we get home? Back to New York?” 

Harry smiled, reached up to cup your cheek gently and kissed your forehead. “When we get back to New York, we’re not going back to what we were. No… everything’s going to change.” 

“I think I like the sound of that,” you smiled, leaning into his touch. 

“I love you, baby,” Harry said once more. 

You felt your stomach flip. Your smile grew. “I love you too, Harry.” 

He was right. The lines were blurred long before this trip and it took this long for you both to realize that the person you both had been searching for was right in front of you both all along. 

“I can’t get it,” you whisper, frustration trickling up your spine. “I just- Joel, I can’t.”

He makes a little frown, his brows raising. “You quittin’ on me?”

“No,” you say quickly, puffing your cheeks out. “I- okay. Tell me again?”

Joel gives you a look, having sensed your thought process a mile away.

“Alright,” he says, shifting closer.

He reaches over and taps your wrist lightly. “Loosen up. You’re holdin’ it like it’s gonna run off on you.”

You let out a small breath through your nose, half a laugh, and ease your grip just a little.

“Better,” he says right away, like he noticed the second it changed. He scoots in closer on the porch step, the guitar settling between you both. His arm brushes yours as he adjusts your fingers on the fretboard one at a time “This one here,” he says, pressing your finger down where it needs to be. “And this one right here. Don’t fight it. Just leave it there.”

You glance down. “It feels wrong.”

“Yeah,” Joel says simply. “It’s gonna. For a bit.”

You look up at him. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”

A faint smirk pulls at his mouth. “Wasn’t tryin’ to reassure you.”

He sits back a little, but not far, a faint smirk pulling at his mouth. He’s still close enough that you can feel him there, his body heat and leather. “Alright. Strum slow. Not like you’re tryin’ to set somethin’ on fire. Just… like you’re talkin’.”

You nod, swallow, and try.

The sound comes out uneven, one string buzzes, another rings clean. You immediately flinch at it.

Joel doesn’t react.

“Again,” he says.

You try again. Still messy, but less so this time. A little closer to something that almost makes sense. He gives a small nod. “There you go.”

Your shoulders drop without you even noticing they were tight.

“See?” he says, softer now. “It ain’t about it soundin’ pretty right away. It’s just your hands learnin’ what to do.”

You stare down at the strings. “My hands feel like they’re working against me.”

“Yeah,” he says, leaning back with a creak of wood. “Mine did too. Still do sometimes.”

“Really?”

“Really, honey.” Your cheeks heat, warmth pooling in your belly as you lean forward, and the scent of the oak guitar fills your nose. Joel leans forward, and his chest brushes your back. “Ready to try again?”

-

“Come on, baby girl, just a little longer.”

You nod frantically, tears slipping down your heated cheeks, babbling out broken pleas for more as Joel’s cock nearly splits you in two.

Nearly.

His hand cups the back of your head, forcing your mouth against his shoulder as he fucks into you at a slower and deeper pace, until your vision blurs and your thighs shake. You gasp, eyes squeezed shut as your walls flutter, your nails digging into Joel’s back.

“Can you give me one more?” He murmurs, his beard tickling your cheek. “Cmon darlin’.”

Your lips part, and Joel groans at the sight of your pink tongue, wet and hot, before shoving his mouth against yours. He kisses you hard, his cock thrusting in and out faster, the sound of skin slapping on skin echoing against the walls of his cabin.

“J-Joel.”

“Yeah, baby?”

The hand in your hair trails down your neck, pawing at your breast before Joel leans up on one arm, the other pressing right below your belly button. When he presses down you gasp, squirming.

“Awh baby,” he hums, and his eyes flutter. “Can feel me in ya. See that? Feel that? That’s me, darlin’.”

Your eyes roll but you try to sit up, try to watch the way his hand presses to your stomach as you pant. He grins, all teeth, before leaning back down and kissing you. The hand on your stomach moves to your hip bone and grips, pressing you down into the mattress as he fucks you into it, his whole weight squeezing the air from your lungs. You can’t breath, can’t think right, and your walls tighten around his length as you come, a moan and a sob exhaling from your throat.

Joel mumbles something, some praise that you can’t make out, and when his hips get sloppy you register it half way, a haze of bliss settling over your sticky skin.

“Did so good baby-“ he murmurs, pressing a reassuring kiss to your neck, your jaw. He’s warm as he slides out of your puffy lips and you whimper, curling into his side. His arm comes around you immediately, and you nestle your head to his chest. “Need to clean ya, baby.”

“In a minute?” You murmur. You know you’re a mess, that you need a shower and to put on your clothes; but all you want as your breathing evens out is to be in his hold.

Joel hums, his mouth pressing to your hair line. “Course, baby. Take all the time you need.”

x

Divider @cursed-carmine

As the early morning sun creeps along the floorboards of the bedroom, you turn in the sheets. “Tommy?” you mumble sleepily when you find his side of the bed empty.

You stretch out, adjusting your eyes to the light as you scan the room. The house is quiet, and you remember now that he told you he had to leave early this morning. You sigh, for once you have no errands to run and no patrol to get ready for; you have yourself a free morning, but Tommy isn’t here to enjoy that with you.

Throwing the sheet off you, you feel a chill against your skin so you pad over to the dresser, taking out one of Tommy’s flannels. You wrap it around you, appreciating the warmth, the softness, and just how snuggly it feels against your skin. You don’t remember ever seeing Tommy wear this, but you recognize it, so naturally the thought leaves your mind as you exit the bedroom and head downstairs in search of breakfast.

"Mornin'," he grumbles, his back to you as he washes dishes in the sink. You pause in the doorway when you realize that you aren’t in fact home alone.

“Joel. Hi.” The hesitation is clear in your voice. Why is he here?

“Don’t mind me; we were out of anything good to eat. Tommy said I could call by here and raid the fridge.”

“Right, of course.” You fiddle awkwardly with your sleeve, unsure what to say, and even though he hasn’t turned to look at you yet, you feel a little exposed dressed in nothing but his brother’s shirt.

Joel fascinates you. He’s significantly older; he’s quiet, never says much, and he always radiates a grumpy energy that keeps you on edge whenever you are around him. But you can’t deny that when you are in the same room, especially when it’s just you and him, there’s a feeling that washes over you that fills your belly with butterflies.

If you were truly honest with yourself, you’d admit that you’re drawn to him; there’s an all-consuming attraction to the older Miller brother that you know is so wrong, and yet you can’t seem to stop. You care deeply about Tommy; what you have with him is good, it’s nice, but sometimes you find yourself wishing for more than that.

There are even nights when you fall asleep beside Tommy and dream of Joel instead. You wake up in the middle of the night, an overwhelming ache between your legs that even when Tommy attempts to relieve, you find yourself closing your eyes and imagining it’s his brother inside you instead. Of course it makes you feel bad; the guilt often eats away at you, and yet every day the craving for Joel only grows and leaves you desperate to know if he feels anything for you too.

Walking over to the cupboard beside Joel, you search for something to ease the pang of hunger in your tummy. In the corner of your eye you notice him glance towards you, pausing his movements at the sink as you feel his eyes examining you. You try to ignore him, turning away as you pad over to the opposite counter.

“What are ya doing?” His voice breaks through the tension. Can he feel it too?

“Making pancakes.”

He scoffs. “No, I mean… why are ya wearing that?”

You look over your shoulder, narrowing your eyes at him. “What do you mean?”

You watch him carefully as he allows his eyes to fall down your body, drinking you in as he leans back against the counter, the bob in his throat noticeable as he swallows.

“Joel?”

“That’s mine.”

“What?”

He nods towards you. “That’s mine.”

Your heart rate rises a little then, your eyes going wide as you realize what he means, and you pull the material further around you.

“I… I don't—" You laugh nervously, the redness creeping up your neck and into your cheeks. “But I found it in Tommy's room?”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell ya, sweetheart, but that’s my shirt.”

“No. No. This is Tommy’s. I’ve seen him wear this.” You haven't; you’re just scrambling to convince yourself that this isn’t happening.

“You’re mistaken. I’d even been looking for that this mornin'. Guess I left it here when I came over the other night.”

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

He tilts his head to the side, a smirk appearing on his lips as he pushes himself off the counter, taking a step closer towards you. "Ya trying to tease me, is that it?”

You blink, your mouth going dry as you try to process what he just said. “What? No, of course not.”

“I think you are. Want to torture me, don’t ya?”

You swallow. “I swear, I didn’t realize."

"Relax, don’t worry; it looks fuckin' good on ya."

You look away, trying to suppress the way he’s making you blush. “Joel…”

"Yeahhhh." His voice deepens then. “Say that again; I like hearing my name on your lips."

You meet his eyes, his words starting to take effect between your thighs. "Don't," you warn. This isn’t happening; he can’t be saying these things.

He takes another step towards you. You feel somewhat intimidated, small even, and yet you want him to continue; you want him as close as possible.

“What?” He asks. “Shouldn’t I say that? Jesus, you’re so innocent it’s adorable.”

“I should go change.” You say quietly and yet make no effort to move.

He ignores you. “Wearing anything underneath?”

“Stop.” His eyes drop down, noticing the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

“Why? Just tell me.”

You swallow again. Don’t do it. “…just panties.”

"Shit, darlin’. You've got my imagination goin' crazy.”

“That’s enough.”

“Fine.” He holds his hands up. “But if I see you wearing it again, I’ll have no choice but to take it off you myself.”

“You wouldn’t do that.” You smile, almost daring him.

“Wouldn’t I?”

“What about Tommy?”

“What about him?”

He makes the final steps towards you then, his hand coming to your waist, guiding you back until you're trapped between his broad frame and the counter. You try to speak, but nothing comes out.

"God, look at ya, such a sweet thing. All flustered, pretending like you don’t want this just as much as I do.” His lips hover above yours. “I’ve seen the way ya look at me… ya just too scared to admit that it’s me you want, not him.”

“He’s your brother, Joel.”

“Quiet.” His finger comes to rest on your parted lips to shush you. Slowly he inserts his finger into your mouth, your lips instinctively closing around it to suck. His eyes turn black then, and he pushes his hips into you, letting you feel what you’re doing to him before he withdraws his finger from your mouth with a pop. “We all desire things we probably shouldn't; that’s why it’s so hard to resist.”

“I can resist you.”

"No, ya can’t. If ya could you’d have left already.”

He’s right. You want this; you're aching for him to touch you.

He doesn’t take his eyes off yours as you feel him reach up between your bodies, his fingers fiddling with the buttons torturously slow until the fabric falls open. He waits a second, a smug grin on his lips before his eyes flick down to take in the sight before him.

“Fuuuuck, you’re so beautiful.” He bites his lip. “If you were mine…” he groans with a shake of his head. “I love my brother, but he doesn’t know how to treat ya right; he doesn’t know how to do the things only I could do to ya.”

The need for him between your legs is becoming overwhelming now; this might be so wrong, but it feels so right.

He reaches up, his finger stroking over your cheek, tracing down your jaw, your neck, until it grazes down over your nipple, making your breath hitch. He pauses there, his tongue dipping out to wet his bottom lip.

"More," you whisper.

“Patience, I’ll give ya more, don’t worry.”

His hand travels further down your body, over your tummy, and finally between your legs and over the damp lace.

“Jesus Christ," he pants. “You’re soaked, sweetheart.”

You move your hips against his fingers, desperately seeking more.

“Let’s get these off.” He pulls at the flimsy material, peeling it down your legs until you're completely bared to him.

He swipes a finger through your juices, up to your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your lips part and your head tip back.

“He doesn't get you this wet, does he?”

"Please,”

“He doesn't have ya fuckin' beggin'."

He teases you, brushing over your clit again and again, watching the way your body grinds against his hand and the way you pant his name.

“Don’t stop,”

He leans in to kiss you, pushing your mouth open with his tongue as he finally inserts a finger inside your tight walls. You cry out between kisses, the intrusion deeper than anticipated, especially when he adds a second.

“Good girl, doing so well for me.”

He knows it’s not going to take long; he can tell by the way you’re rutting against him, your whimper steadily getting louder as his fingers thrust quicker.

"Like it, huh?”

You nod.

“Wish it was my cock filling this tight pussy up instead?”

You nod. “Mmmh, I need you, Joel.”

“All in good time, baby girl.”

Then you hear it: the key in the front door.

“Someone’s here!” You panic, reaching down to grip his hand in an attempt to stop him, but he doesn’t let up.

He shakes his head, refusing to give in until you give him what he wants. “Almost there, just a little more.”

You hear the front door swing open as his free hand comes up to cover your mouth. “Don’t make a fuckin’ sound.”

“Hey, I’m home!” Shit. It’s Tommy.

By some miracle, something takes Tommy straight upstairs instead of the few steps into the kitchen, and relief washes over you as Joel continues to drive you towards your orgasm.

He leans in, pressing his bulge into your thigh, his lips tickling your skin as he whispers into your ear, “Cum for me.”

On his command, you grip his bicep so hard as your body begins to jolt violently against him, his palm successfully muffling your moans as he watches you fall apart around his fingers.

He doesn’t stop until he can see you can take no more, finally pulling away from you as Tommy's footsteps begin to descend down the stairs.

Tommy calls out for you again as you scramble to button up the flannel. You turn your back to his voice, hoping he won’t see how flushed your face is when he comes in.

Then you feel it, your boyfriend's hand smoothing along your back as he brushes past you, kissing your cheek in the process, and you hear Joel clear his throat on the other side of the room.

“Heyyyy, you okay?” Tommy asks.

“Mmmh.” You smile, but don’t meet his eyes as the guilt courses through you.

“You look a little flustered; are you coming down with something?”

“Yeah… maybe. I think I’ll go shower and freshen up.”

He tilts his head, trying to get you to look at him, but you don’t. “Want me to join you?” He winks.

“No.” It comes out too fast. Suspicious even.

Tommy frowns. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”

The growl of his stomach quickly turns his attention to food, and he turns to Joel. "Have you eaten yet, brother?”

You catch Joel’s eye then, watching as he brings his fingers to his mouth, slowly licking those that were just deep inside you moments ago, low hums escaping him as he tastes you.

“Yeah, just finished up.”

He says it so casually, and you can’t help but think how cruel you both are; Tommy doesn’t deserve this.

Yet despite the guilt, the way Joel still refuses to take his eyes off you starts to stir something inside of you all over again, and you worry that if you don’t leave the room now, it’ll become obvious.

"Wait." Tommy grabs your sleeve as you move away from him, and he frowns at you. “Baby, that’s Joel’s.”

“What?”

He laughs. “You’re wearing Joel’s shirt.”

You look down. “Oh…” you giggle nervously. “Silly me.” Before he can say anything else, you quickly leave the room and run upstairs towards the bathroom to wash away the evidence.

Exiting the bathroom, you fail to see Joel standing right outside until you bump into his chest. You look up at him, a startled look on your face as once again those dark hazel eyes search yours.

“Here.” You whisper, holding out the offending garment that caused all this.

"Keep it," he grunts.

“Are you crazy? I’m not sure Tommy would be too happy about that.”

His jaw tightens. “I’m not sure he’d be too happy if he knew I just made you cum in his own goddamn kitchen whilst he looked for you upstairs.”

You look away, the blush creeping back in. He reaches into his back pocket. "You keep that and I keep these.” You both look down to see your panties scrunched up in his palm.

You shake your head, pushing the shirt against his chest. “You can keep them, but we can never do this again.”

His nostrils flare as he takes your hand, pulling you into the bedroom you share with Tommy, pushing you back against the door.

“What are you—" His lips cut you off, his tongue pushing into your mouth as he grinds his hips into you.

You whimper softly before pushing him back hard, desperate for air. “I mean it, never again.”

"Ya don’t get to tell me I can keep your underwear like some fuckin' souvenir and then tell me never again.” He growls quietly. "Friday. He’s on patrol the entire night, and he’s taking Ellie with him. Come by my place once the sun goes down.”

"No.”

“Excuse me?”

“This isn’t right!”

“I won’t tell ya again. Friday. I’ll be waiting.”

this is an idea i've had since i started my rewatch of one tree hill. tonight, inspiration has really hit and im setting up for this fic. as of right now, it has 8 "episodes", but that may change.

it takes place in the 2000s, everyone's in high school and dealing with the ugly side of senior year. no one knows where they're going, but they're figuring it out together. it's written in second person, though the reader has a nickname that everyone calls them ("GG") it's quite literally just their initials lol

all of the triple frontier boys (even Tom) are included in this story and i'm excited to write this out. not entirely sure when it'll be posted, but i don't want to post the first chapter until i've written everything in my outline.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heck, you knew he was a pervert.

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

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

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

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

Uncle Joel.

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

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

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

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

A slow, crooked smile spreads across his lips.

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

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

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

Uncle Joel...uncle Joel...

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

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

You clutch the pie tighter. 

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

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

Jesus Christ, what was wrong with you?

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

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

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

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

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

Then he drops onto the sofa besides you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you sit. 

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

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

You loved Tommy. God, you loved him. 

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

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

You swallow. 

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

He pauses, and the silence stretches.

Until—

"Thinkin' about me?"

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

"You wanna show uncle Joel?" 

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

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

"Yes," you whisper. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please...uncle Joel."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A whine escapes from your throat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?@

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

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

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

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

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

You will.

Poor Tommy lmfaooooo😭😭

But then you started sleeping in his bed. Nightmares used to plague your rest, causing you to wake up with sweat drenching your hairline and tears staining your cheeks. You didn’t find peace again until his arms held you tight against his chest, his soft mutters reaching your ears. 

I’ll take care of you, kiddo. Don’t you worry. Go back to sleep, I got you. 

And he took care of you. Kept you fed, clothed, and safe. Made sure you were happy, eager, and bright-eyed. 

You were no fool either. A smart girl, more than willing to learn. He taught you to shoot, even though it made his heart race when he saw you holding a shotgun for the first time. The longer you stayed with him, the more he realized that you were far from helpless. While you hesitated to even point your gun at a deer, you were more than capable of shooting an infected from a good fifty yards away. 

The more sunrises you saw together, the more Joel grew to think of you as an equal. He didn’t keep you like a miniature housewife, destined to press his shirts and keep his shoes by the fire—no, you were every bit as tough as he was. 

Still, seeing you sitting in the sun reminds him of your innocence and how much he hates that you had to sacrifice it at times for your survival.  He would do anything to keep the light in your eyes lit for as long as possible. Even treat you like a kid from time to time when you’re so much more.

By the time the moon had taken the sun’s spot, Joel had been left with his own thoughts for too long.  You’re sitting opposite him at the dinner table, picking up four peas with your fork, one on each prong, and telling him about the ladybugs you found today.

“They were much more orange than red,” you recall eagerly, “And I don’t think they were the seven-spot kind—I counted at least nine.”

“Mhm,” he mumbles some kind of acknowledgement while his eyes find the ribbon in your hair again. 

“Like, I mean, of course they were still ladybugs,” you go on, oblivious to his feeble attention, “But, like, they looked real different than the ones we had last summer.”

He’s noticed before that his way of speaking has bled into your vocabulary. You never used to say those kinds of things back when the walls of Jackson still surrounded you. It makes his teeth hurt to see the influence he has over you. 

“They were pretty, right?” he grumbles. 

You roll your eyes, a half-grin tugging at your mouth corners.

“’Course they were,” you reply.

“Then it don’t matter, kiddo.”

Dismay turns your face sour, and you huff softly. “Guess it don’t.”

“Doesn’t,” he corrects. 

“You just said ‘don’t!” 

He doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but he does anyway. “Yeah, well, I’m grown, I can say whatever I want.” 

Your eyebrows furrow angrily. “What’s with you today?” you mutter. 

His eyes snap to yours. “Nothin’,” he replies gruffly, “Now, eat your peas. And quit playin’ with ‘em.”

You stare at him for a few seconds before you grab your fork and go back to piercing your peas one by one.

“Christ,” he mumbles to himself, then rubs a hand across his face. The dinner continues in silence, lingering uncomfortably thick. When he’s in a bad mood, you can usually cheer him up, but once you start sulking, the day might as well be over.  He knows it’s his fault—he approached the whole thing wrong. 

It takes you forever to finish your plate—you’re too busy frowning—so Joel is half tempted to send you to bed to sleep it off. Knowing that it would only make things worse, and frankly, it’s not his place, he holds off on that. 

Your chair squeaks loudly as you push it back, empty plate in hand, and make your way to the sink. Your footsteps fall heavily when you walk to your room without saying goodnight. 

Joel knows you want him to follow you—you’re waiting for an apology, one that you deserve but won’t get. Instead of indulging you, he starts rinsing the dishes, then wipes the counters clean. He hears the sink in the bathroom run, then two doors shut within seconds of each other. At least, you’re not slamming them. He takes that as a good sign. 

Once there’s nothing left for him to clean, he sighs to himself, then leaves the kitchen. He stands in front of your door longer than he likes. You painted it a couple of weeks ago, colorful flowers and berries decorating the frame. He had worked his ass off to find you paint that was still somewhat usable, then even managed to find some thinner so that the acrylic wouldn’t be so thick. 

He traces one of the flowers for a few seconds, following the delicate line that you had drawn, before he rolls his hand into a fist and knocks.  There’s a soft shuffle behind the door, then your voice follows. “What?”

Sometimes, Joel has to admit to himself that he misses the shy you. The one that didn’t talk back. 

“It’s me,” he calls out. 

“Yeah, I figured.” You and your sass. 

He rubs his eye once, twice, then sighs.  “Can I come in?”

Silence stretches for a few moments, and his heart drops. You couldn’t be that mad. Could you? But then your reply echoes through the oak wood. “Yeah.”

His fingers press against the door handle, and it swings open with ease. You’re sitting on your bed, bedsheets pulled up to your navel. The shirt you’re sporting belongs to him—old and worn, but soft to the touch. Its neckline is so stretched that he catches a glimpse of your collarbones. It’s a comfort to him that you’re at least still wearing that, despite the disgruntled expression etched into your face as you look at him.  The red piece of silk is still tied in your hair, sitting there like a warning sign. He ignores it. 

Joel flicks his hand, signaling you to scoot over, and you do. When he sinks down on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaks softly.  It’s quiet as neither one of you speaks for a moment. Then Joel clears his throat.

“So…” he mumbles, “Ladybugs, hm?”

He can tell that you don’t want to smile, but the corners of your mouth twitch. 

“Tell me ‘bout ‘em,” he encourages quietly. 

“Thought it don’t—doesn’t matter,” you argue. The disappointment in your voice makes his old heart ache. 

“It does,” he murmurs. His hand rests on your knee, the blanket disconnecting you. “If it matters to you, it matters to me.” He tilts his head to catch your eyes and sees them softening in real time. 

“A whole bunch of ‘em were down by the creek,” you say, “On that one tree stump, you know?” 

He nods. You continue.

“Do ladybugs have families?”

The question is so tender—so you—he has to close his eyes for a few seconds.

“Mhm,” he muses, “Dunno much about bugs, but I figure they do. They all gotta come from somewhere, and where you come from, that’s your family, right?”

You shrug softly.  “Then I guess I don’t have one,” you say blankly.  Joel shakes his head instantly. 

“That ain’t true, darlin’,” he disagrees, then rubs his jaw.

“Guess I didn’t explain that one right,” he mutters to himself, then goes on, “There ain’t just one type of family. Sometimes, it’s the place and people where ya come from, and then other times, it’s the people who wish ya came from the same place as them, you know? The ones who wish they had known ya all your life.”

“So you wish you’d known me all my life?” you ask tentatively.

He winces.

“Sometimes,” he replies cautiously, “But it’s good that I didn’t.”

“Why?”

He should’ve expected this. This is why he never explained the heavy stuff. 

“You know, sweetpea, it’s real late, don’t you think?” he states, looking out the window. His joints groan as he stands up, but he doesn’t get far. Your hand finds his biceps and holds him back. 

“Wait,” you plead, “You can’t just… please, what do you mean? Why only sometimes?”

Joel feels himself growing grayer by the second. As the words get stuck in his throat, he gestures vaguely between him and you. 

“This whole thing… it’d be—it’d be bad if I’d known ya since you were a little girl.”

“Because…?” you prompt quietly. 

“’Cause I’d be—people would think…,” he drifts off, muttering under his breath, “Goddammit.” 

Joel struggles to meet your eyes; he grabs your hands, both of them, and slowly brings them up to his lips. The kiss on your knuckles is soft as a feather, like a butterfly’s wings.  He doesn’t look up as he continues, “Knowin’ you back then would mean I wouldn’t be allowed to like ya the way I do now.”

The sweet look of confusion on your face makes space for realization. 

“Oh,” you say softly. 

He nods, still not reciprocating your gaze.  “Yeah.”

“Well, then I’m glad you didn’t know me then. ‘Cause I like that you like me that way now.”

Finally, he drags his eyes up to meet yours. Honesty twists your expression into one he’d love to bottle up and keep for bad days—tenderness.

“What am I doin’ here?” Joel asks quietly, then brushes his knuckles across your cheek. You can’t help but melt into his touch, lashes fluttering shut.  It’s always like this. One of you pushes, the other pulls away, then you find your way back into the shadows of that grey area neither one of you wants to leave. No one’s done anything wrong yet. 

Joel’s hand moves to smooth down your headband.

“Shouldn’t be wearin’ that when ya go to sleep,” he mumbles, “Don’t want ya chokin’ on it if it slips down.”

“I’d wake up before that,” you reason.  He disagrees quietly, then undoes the bow and knot until it slips from your hair. The flimsy material stands out against his sun-kissed hands—his skin freckled and wrinkled, the silk smooth.

“You don’t know anything,” he says. It’s not intended as critique, so you don’t take it that way.

“I know enough.”

Joel wants to grab you by the shoulders and shake you until you understand just how wrong you are. Instead, he lets the piece of fabric dance around his fingers, wrapping and unravelling it consistently. 

“You should be runnin’ for the hills,” he remarks, “And I should be cuttin’ my hands off for thinkin’ ‘bout the things I wanna do to ya with ‘em.”

There it is—your breath hitches, and Joel is left to wonder whether that was one step too far, the one that just secured his place in hell. But you’re moving before he has time to take it back. You push away your blanket, exposing the smooth skin of your thighs, before you sit back on your heels in front of him. He forces himself to look you in the eye.

“Is it that bad that I want you to do whatever you’re imagining?” you ask. 

“Yes.” His voice trembles with restraint. He knows he should leave before he does something he can’t undo. But he stays—frozen in place, your knee almost touching his. 

Your bottom lip quivers.   “Then I don’t care about being good,” you reply. 

Joel has been holding back the flood for months now—and you just cracked the dam with one sentence. The ribbon slips from his fingers and falls to the floor. 

His hands cup your face and pull you in before his lips crash against yours. The soft give of your lips beneath his own draws him in deeper, chasing your tongue with his own. He tastes the remnants of toothpaste on your teeth, then something that is just you.  The guilt lingers deep in his chest as he kisses you, but something about the way your breath changes drowns out his doubts long enough. 

He’s the one to pull away first. With his chest heaving and his pupils blown, his gaze finds yours. He expects to see regret, or worse, disgust on your face. Instead, he sees pure, quiet, unfiltered adoration. 

“Goddammit,” he grumbles. 

A flustered grin lights up your face. 

“Again?” you whisper.

“God, no,” he mutters, “You kiss me like that again, and I ain’t stoppin’.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not asking you to stop.”

Before he knows it, your mouth finds his again. The vibration of your giggle against his lips sends shivers down his spine, and he should know better—but he doesn’t—when his hands come to rest on your waist. 

It starts with the slip of his fingers—brushing against your knee, then higher. Joel curses himself for continuing until you rock your hips, just a couple of inches, but it’s enough to snap away the last of his restraint. 

He leans forward, slowly guiding you back until your head hits the pillows, without your lips ever leaving his.  Situated between your thighs, he peppers soft pecks down your neck, then drops his forehead against your collarbone. 

“Tell me to stop,” he pleads, “Now.”

You shake your head. “I want to keep going.”

A sliver of awareness spreads across Joel’s face. “Sweetheart,” he starts, “This is a big thing. Like… a really big thing. And we’re—I’m already doin’ enough damage just by kissin’ ya.”

Joel has spent more than enough time thinking about it: you undressed in his sheets, him kneeling between your thighs—the slow ruin of the thing either one of you called familiarity.  Everything feels as wrong as it feels right.

“I want this, Joel,” you insist quietly. His frown lines deepen. 

“You shouldn’t—”

“But I do.”

Joel wonders if this is a test from God Himself—he hadn’t paid that much attention to the man in the sky in the last few years. 

“You don’t understand how hard you’re making it f’me, darlin’.”

You sit up slightly, then reach for him. Your fingers interlock on the back of his neck, your grip tight and determined. 

“Do you want me?” you ask.

“You know that’s not the issue,” he responds. 

“That’s not what I asked. I asked if you want me.”

He takes a deep breath, then nods. “You know I do.”

“Then trust me when I say you can have me.”

“You’ll be the death of me.” Joel curses himself before he kisses you again. This time, he lets his hands dip under your shirt. His calloused fingers trace your smooth skin until they reach your ribcage, settling there. The kiss is clumsy; you grin as your teeth hit his, wild fervor evaporating from your every pore. 

Goosebumps spread across your body when Joel pulls away to meet your eyes. 

“I’ll do it right,” he declares, “I promise.”

Then his fingers find the hem of your shirt and pull it off of you. He discards the piece of clothing carelessly, too hypnotized by the sight in front of him. You hold your breath as his eyes wander, taking in every inch of skin laid bare. 

“Got the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen beggin’ for some old man right in front of me,” he murmurs. The nerves in your chest ease a little, and you shake your head at him. 

“Not just some old man,” you correct, then cup his cheek. His weathered skin is rough against your touch. 

He doesn’t reply, and you know he disagrees; instead, he presses his lips to your forehead before they wander further down. As he trails kisses from your breasts down to your belly button, his fingers find your nipples. He tugs and twists gently, eliciting gasps from you as warmth spreads through your body. 

You bite the inside of your cheek to stifle the noises, embarrassment flushing your cheeks. Joel notices and kisses your stiffened bud, then looks up at you. 

“Don’t hide those sounds, sweet girl,” he rumbles, “Wanna hear ya. If ya want me to fuck you, ya gotta meet my demands. First one is: You don’t get to hide.”

“What are the others?” Your voice grows more breathless as Joel’s fingers dig into the waistband of your panties. 

“Second one,” he begins, simultaneously tugging at the fabric that covers your core, “You tell me what you want me to do. And that’s all I’ll do.”

As soon as your panties meet the floor, he sits back on his heels. His eyes wander, taking in every bit of you. You look away, trying to escape his stare.

“And the third one,” he says, then catches your chin to tilt your face upwards, “Your eyes stay on me.”

With that, he settles between your legs, breathing in the scent of your arousal. His lips brush against your inner thigh, slowly inching towards where you want him.  You grip the sheets like your life depends on it and force yourself to watch. When he kisses the space where your thigh meets your hips, it makes you shiver. 

Your hands find their way into his curls, just tugging softly, hoping that it will lead him right where you want him. But Joel takes his time—his tongue drags over your sensitive skin, kissing one lip, then the other. He looks up at you and nods in approval when he finds your gaze already on him. 

“Don’t look away,” he reminds you before he spreads your legs even further and licks a broad stripe across your clit. Your grip on his hair tightens as pleasure sparks throughout your body. 

He is gentle at first, spending time exploring your body. Joel listens to the kind of movements that make your breath hitch, watches for the ones that make your thighs shake. When his lips encircle your clit, sucking slightly, and your entire body jerks, he chuckles in satisfaction. The vibration travels up your spine, causing you to tilt your hips.  Joel’s hands rest on your hips, encouraging you to lock him in between your legs.

Soft gasps tumble from you, growing more and more desperate as he laps at your core, his spit and your slick mixing.  You feel your chest heaving as his tongue draws figure eights on your throbbing clit. 

Lost in pleasure and the promise of him, you dip your head back into the pillows, moaning freely. You pull a little harder on his hair until he groans into your cunt. 

You feel yourself stumbling closer to the edge, a second heartbeat coming to life between your legs. Warmth pools in your lower belly, and you almost taste the sweetness of relief until Joel pulls away suddenly. 

“Hey—” his voice echoes through the room, “Where are those eyes, darlin’?”

You almost complain—your entire body is on fire when you force your gaze to snap back to him. The corners of his mouth twitch, and his tongue parts your folds again. 

“Joel,” you moan, so close to tasting the letters that make up his name. His grip on your hips tighten, firm enough that it’ll surely leave you a reminder in the morning. 

“I got you, baby,” he whispers before he goes back to circling your clit with the tip of his tongue. The sounds that filled the room were downright sacrilegious—his deep growls and your breathless whines mixing. 

Stars explode behind your eyes as you come on his lips, your arousal slickening his chin. He laps relentlessly, working you through your release until he’s drawn out every aftershock he can get. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he praises softly, “Lookin’ so pretty f’me when you cum.” Every part of you still pulses, oxytocin traveling through your bloodstream, as Joel pulls away. 

His hands travel up to your stomach, holding you down gently before he leans in to kiss you. You taste yourself on his lips, the sweetly tangy flavor blooming across your tongue. 

Joel lets you catch your breath and tenderly kneads the flesh on your hip as you come down. Seeing you rendered speechless, Joel prompts, “How’re ya feelin’, sweetpea?”

You look for words to describe the cocktail of emotions coursing through your mind and end up with the weak recollection, “Great.”

He chuckles, rather smug about himself. “Yeah?”

You nod, then blink through the heavy haze of release still clouding your mind. “Yeah,” you reply.

“Good,” he mumbles.

The mattress squeaks underneath you as he shifts his weight, and this time around, it’s your turn to stare. The bulge in Joel’s pants causes the saliva to collect in your mouth.  You reach blindly, fingers finding the edge of his jeans, but he stops you before you can pop the button. 

“Hey, easy does it,” he says, “We don’t gotta do any more today if you don’t want to.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. “I wouldn’t be trying to get your pants off if I didn’t want to keep going, would I?”

“Smartass.”

“Rule number two, I tell you what I want, and you do it, right?” you tease, looking up at him hopefully. 

“Well, I haven’t heard you say what you want yet,” he counters. 

You bite your bottom lip. 

“I… I want you,” you stammer. 

Joel raises his eyebrows, then cups your face between his rough hands. “You got me, don’t you?”

You glance at him pleadingly, but he shakes his head.  “Words, sweetpea. If you can’t say it, you don’t want it enough.”

You swallow your embarrassment and sit up. Slowly, your eyes find his before you say, “I want you to- to fuck me.”

He chuckles self-contentedly, then nods. “There you go, darlin’. If that’s what you truly want, I’ll do it.”

Then he starts to undo the buttons of his shirt, one by one. You feel the nerves prickling in your stomach, and you grow more restless with every sliver of skin he exposes. His jeans follow his shirt to the floor. Your mouth goes dry when his boxers drop—Joel is more than well-endowed. 

He feels your stare and meets your eyes, the cockiness on his face making space for a much gentler expression. “You’ll be fine,” he promises, “We’ll go slow.”

When your back hits the mattress, and you spread your legs to make space for Joel, he doesn’t immediately follow. Instead, his eyes drift to the cherry-colored ribbon on the floor. A mischievous sparkle in his eyes, so unlike Joel, makes the butterflies in your stomach jump. 

He reaches for it, then holds it up for you to see.

“You got any idea how pretty this looked in your hair today?” he asks. “Drove me damn near insane.”

A bashful smile steals itself onto your face. “I found it in the sewing kit.”

“You don’t say,” he mutters. His eyes dart between you and the ribbon until his face grows almost apologetic. “Would ya wanna wear it? Now? It’s been like a damn light signal, calling me in all day. Might as well have it with ya at the finish line.”

You nod slowly. As you lean forward, you expect Joel to fasten it at your hairline, but instead, he threads the headband under the lengths of your hair and then ties it around your neck. Not too tight—you can breathe easily. You almost feel like a present wrapped to be unpacked. 

Joel nods approvingly, his fingers resting at your collarbone, while he admires his handiwork. “Real pretty,” he murmurs. 

With light pressure, he guides you back into the pillows, then chases your lips with his own. The kiss steals the breath right from your lungs, and you barely even notice it when his palm finds its place on your upper thigh. With his other hand, he fists his aching cock and guides himself through your soft folds, collecting your arousal. The pressure makes you squeal slightly, but Joel swallows any sound instantly, his lips never leaving yours. Then his bulbous tip nudges against your hole. 

“Deep breath,” he instructs, right against your mouth, “And big stretch.”

You feel as if you’re being impaled—in a good way. The unfamiliar sensation of him splitting you open has your eyes rolling back, your fingers snapping up to wrap around his biceps tightly. Joel feels your breath ghost over his face as you gasp. 

“Easy, kid,” he mumbles, “That’s it. You’re okay. Want me to rip off the band-aid?”

You shake your head instantaneously and say, “You said we’d go slow. You said—” 

“Mhm, yeah, I know, darlin’, I know.” 

His jaw ticks with restraint as he rolls his hips just a little, advancing further into your warmth. You feel every vein decorating his cock; you’re sure he’ll mold your walls to his exact shape in no time. The burn aches and stings, but the pressure underneath makes you want more. Your eyes find Joel’s—yours pleading and needy, his cool and collected. A certain degree of smugness etches itself into his face as the hunger surfaces in your expression. 

“Ya ready?” he asks. 

“Yes, yes, please, I—”

The first real thrust knocks the air out of your chest. Your fingernails dig into his arms, leaving red, half-moon-shaped marks on his skin as you feel the coarse hairs at Joel’s base meet your pelvis. You’ve never felt so full, stretched, and fed at the same time. 

When he pulls back, his cock drags along the gummy spot on your ceiling, making you gasp as pleasure sparks and runs up your spine. 

“How’s that, pretty girl?”  Joel holds your chin with his free hand, forcing your eyes to meet his own. 

You can only nod, feeling the faint pain dissipate and turn into desire as he pushes back into you.  He chuckles and eases his grip on your chin. 

“How ‘bout some words, sweetheart?” he asks. 

“It’s good, Joel, it’s… it’s so good. Please, I need more,” you answer, almost frantic in your desperation. Your hips buck up all on their own, pushing to meet his. 

“So you don’t want it slow no longer?” he teases, still keeping still even as you writhe and pout. 

“Joel,” you whine, “C’mon, please.”

He snorts softly, then nods. “We’ll work on those manners, darlin’. But for now, you’re gettin’ off easy.”

While Joel finds his rhythm, listening for the spots that make your breath catch and your eyebrows knit together in pleasure, you feel the warmth begin to collect in your lower tummy. Even with your lips clamped together, you can’t help the sounds that make their way out of you—soft moans turn wilder, more eager, more uninhibited.

“That’s it,” Joel praises, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead, “Wanna hear you, pretty girl. Don’t you dare hide any of those sweet sounds.”

He fucks you deeper, the wet sounds of your cunt echoing sinfully through the room. Joel’s entire body is tight, running on pure adrenaline and need as his cock kisses your cervix. His deep grunts fill your ears, growing darker and more animalistic with every thrust. 

He drags his fingers through your folds and finds your clit. The first circle he draws feels like pure energy, pulsing throughout your entire body from your core to your toes. His other hand surprises you. At first, you think he means to cup the back of your neck with his big palm, but instead, he threads his fingers between the red ribbon and your skin. The added pressure on your throat makes your head swim. 

“That okay?” he rasps, his eyes searching yours. 

You nod almost instantly, feeling your walls flutter around him as the room grows quieter from the lack of oxygen. Joel’s eyes are glued to you—he makes sure not to overdo it. He takes in every micro-expression as his fingers adjust the pressure on the satin—a little more, then a little less. He decides when you breathe and how much. And you love it. 

 You’re not sure what pushes you over the edge at the end: maybe it’s the constant pressure on your clit, or the way his cock fills you up until you feel him in your guts. Or maybe it’s the delightful sensation of your airway being controlled by him. Or maybe it’s the praise.

“Look so sweet, baby, lettin’ me ruin you like this,” he groans, “God ain’t forgivin’ me for this, but I bet ya will.”

DBF!Joel who always stared a bit too much when you’d come down to get him and your father beers, fingers lingering against yours a second too long.

DBF!Joel who loves your chest beyond anything, he can’t stop himself from staring in the summer out by the pool.

DBF!Joel whose touches seem a bit too intentional to not be innocent, but him grabbing your hips as he walks by isn’t something for concern.

DBF!Joel who leaves clothes he thinks you’d look good in on your bed, already washed and folded, just how you would fold them to be put up.

DBF!Joel who helps you out whenever you need it, giving you rides home, making you dinner while your dad’s gone, cleaning up the place, anything to help you.

DBF!Joel who loves letting you sit beside him during game days, running his fingers through your hair while him and your father watch the game.

,,

DBF!Joel who bends you over your dads couch and fingers you rough, without a single care of being found out. He tells you to shut up, covering your mouth, but doesn’t stop rubbing your spot.

DBF!Joel who holds your arms away do you can’t tough yourself while he’s fucking you slowly, teasing and torturing you.

DBF!Joel who loves seeing the marks he left on you, purple riddled neck, and loves asking about them in front of your dad even more. “Who gave y’those sugar?” He drawls his words out, a smirk as you find an answer.

DBF!Joel who smokes cigarettes while he fucks you raw, saying condoms cost too much while a new pack of cigarettes lay in his back pocket.

DBF!Joel who pushes his whole length in at once, praising you while you take it all at once. Even while you cry and insist he’s too big he keeps fucking you.

DBF!Joel who makes you grind against his filthy work boots, saying if you really wanted to cum you’d cum on his shoe while you suck him off.

DBF!Joel who constantly talks about knocking you up, showing your dad who you belong to.

DBF!Joel who loves watching his cum drip out of you, even using it as lube when he decides you both aren’t exhausted enough.

DBF!Joel who easily manhandles you, enjoying tossing you over his shoulder then back onto your bed like you weigh nothing.

DBF!Joel who sneaks you into your bathroom and fucks you relentlessly while your dad calls you asking about dinner. He even makes sure to make noises of his own.

DBF!Joel who gets drunk and becomes a puddle for you, even crying underneath you while you ride him. “Please…I need to taste you” He begs like he isn’t normally fucking you like your a fleshlight.

DBF!Joel who sends you pictures of his morning wood everyday, then a video when he finishes —if he even had the time to jerk off— asking if you liked it.

,,

DBF!Joel who no matter what, always makes sure to clean you gently and get you some water once he makes sure you cum. He’s rough, but not a douchebag.