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It was innocent. Or at least you believed it was. Your crush on one of your father's closest friends, Dr.Abbot. 

It felt innocent when you first saw him those years back in that hospital, your dad introduced him as one of the best attendings he’s ever worked with and also one of the shittiest pool players, which earned a tight-lipped smile from Dr.Abbot that made your heart clench in your chest. 

“Your dad wouldn't have made it this far without me, sweetheart,” He offered back at you, voice deep and soft, eyes scanning and looking you over as he would his patients. 

His salted hair perfectly tussled back in little curls, spotted freckles up his neck with deep lines there to show his age and combat history. Handsome as ever. An astute observation, despite your youth. 

Once his eyes had landed on you, it was as if all the air was sucked from your lungs, barely being able to remember your own name when introducing yourself, hopeful you didn’t make yourself seem too incoherent, avoiding eye contact in fear of collapsing right in front of him. 

“Rob's been hidin’ you from us, it seems,” Jack’s brow raised at the accusation, challenging Robby on his chest of secrets, you being one of them. 

It wasn’t that your father hid you; your mother and he weren’t extremely fond of each other. You were the result of an impulsive one-night stand he had in his late 20s or early 30s. He wasn’t even present for the birth; he only found out you existed once your mother sued him for child support. 

This resulted in the school years spent with your mother & summers with your father. The courts decided he wouldn’t have as much time as a resident to provide the care and attention necessary. 

Sure, in your youth, you found yourself gravitating to your mother, having spent most of the year with her, including most major holidays. But, as you grew, your father grew on you too, becoming an attending offered him more freedom and more of a chance to make you his priority. 

Although the years in school took you away from him, abroad overseas as well, a local internship in Pittsburgh helped you find your way back to him. 

And also back to Dr.Abbot. 

“Her mom's fault,” Robby snorted, brows raising in a way they always did when he had to mention your mother or anything about her. You could see him tense up in his usual fashion, grasping the stethoscope around his neck to ease any tension pulsing through his body.

He would’ve regretted that night if it hadn’t brought him you. The reason he finds himself still breathing. 

Every summer, you’d see Dr.Abbot around, whether it was to drink and shoot the shit with your dad, or when your dad impulsively bought a new motorcycle and had to show it off to him. 

Every meeting seemed to be more difficult than the last, almost coughing on your spit every time he’d appear unexpectedly in your home.

Abbot was always kind, asked about school, work, and sometimes even boys or girls, mentioning that he’s “hip” and down for the cause. 

Your father would plug his ears and say, “La, La, La, not listening.” 

It pained you a little to shut him down dryly after every conversation, refusing to show him how ditzy he makes you, how weak you feel under his direct gaze. How you’d give anything to know what aftershave he wears so you could have your current boyfriend use it and dream of being had by him when your boyfriend was inside you. 

From then on, you distracted yourself from Dr.Abbot, pushing him further from your mind, understanding that it would be wildly inappropriate for you to pursue a relationship with your father’s closest work friend, especially at your young age. 

It didn’t work. Never did. Every interaction you had with Dr.Abbot only left you drifting further in your own desire. 

When you’d drop food off for your dad, Dr.Abbot was there, focused on some medical emergency where he was in his element, brows knit, focused, and shouting orders while delicately instructing. 

When he’d spot you near the nurses' station, he’d tease, leaning in so close you could feel his breath on your ear, “What’s a guy gotta do around here to get a sandwich too?” 

You didn’t know how to respond, falling back into a blushing state and a shrug, attempting to think of some witty response before he was pulled away to another emergency. 

It carried on like this, little remarks here and there, you assumed any of your father's friends would make to poke fun at his daughter, to create some sort of friendly bond. 

However, your feelings were never solely friendly, and it made you feel a bit perverted to think about the ways he could have you every time you caught a glimpse of him. 

Your feelings progressed into a state of complete avoidance. Keeping your distance from him to the best of your ability, refusing to become a silly schoolgirl in his presence, which you often found yourself reduced to whenever he was near. 

Luckily, college eventually took you far away, taking internship jobs over the summer as well. Bummed that you would spend so much time away from your father, except when he visited on family weekend or dropped in to surprise you. A large part of you was relieved, however, to not have to face Dr.Abbot for some time. 

Once you returned, after graduation, purposefully taking a job to bring you back to Pittsburgh after years of your father's pleading, you were able to avoid him. Not greeting him when he came over, often saying you didn’t feel well. Or Ubering food to your father's work so you could still show your love and not have the chance of seeing Dr.Abbot in fear for what not seeing that man in years could do to you..

It went well for months, your feelings tended to subside until you saw him, Dr.Abbot, on your front porch with your father, sharing a pack of beers. 

“Fuck,” You whisper under your breath, clenching the bag over your shoulders, digging your nails into the leather material, sucking in deep lungfuls of breath, attempting not to do or say anything stupid in front of Dr.Abbot. 

Dr.Abbot, who’s a war vet. Dr.Abbot, who helps the police from time to time. Dr.Abbot, who consistently saves lives. Dr.Abbot, who has defended a nurse or two against physical attacks from patients. Dr.Abbot, who, despite being closer to your father's age, was someone who drove you insane with desire. 

It was hard not to be stupid in front of him. Feels like your default state. 

Your footsteps gain their attention as they turn their heads to the right to see you approaching them, a tight smile on your face to hide your embarrassment, hoping you can get inside with just a hello, knowing it's rude not to greet the man you haven’t seen in years, but it might kill you.

“Thought your shift ended at 4?” Your dad checks his watch, worn every day, visibly beaten up by another hell of a shift. 

“It does, went out with a few co-workers,” You nervously bite at your lip, knowing it’s well past 4 and you wouldn’t have an issue with this conversation if it wasn’t in front of the most intimidating and attractive man you’ve ever seen in your life, one who you’ve refused to look at since you’ve approached. 

“Well, you should text and let me know. Also, shouldn’t be walking home alone at night, especially after a drink or two,” He continues, seeing through your facade to look as sober as possible. 

“I like walking,” You shrug, trying to ignore the way Dr.Abbots eyes burn into your side, always forming eye contact as if he’s programmed to. You can’t do it back, you’ll imagine you’ll melt. 

“Well, I like it when my daughter’s returned to me in one piece, crazy people out there- just today I saw-”

“I know, got it, I’ll make sure to use your card to Uber next time,” You respond a little sassily, earning a chuff from your dad, who blocks the entrance to your home with Dr.Abbot. 

He gestures over with his head to Dr.Abbot, instructing you silently to greet him. Noticing your hesitancy. 

Truth be told, he noticed your hesitancy a month or two ago after your 15th excuse to not see Abbot and confronted you on it. Asking if anything was wrong with Jack, which you immediately shut down. Mentioning you just tend to be shy, grateful that the answer was accepted. Not wanting your father to know the reality of the situation, quite accustomed to your father's temper. 

“Hi, Dr.Abbot.” You turn to him, taking calculated breaths to control your breathing, eyes connecting right where his were staring at you, locking there. It’s hard to ignore how they seem to take in your full appearance, not necessarily knowing if he’s judging you or not. 

“The prodigal daughter returns,” He takes a sip of his beer, holding eye contact there as you realize you aren’t breathing, heart on absolute fire - still to this day not knowing how to match his wit, watching as he throws his hand up, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh, and still with the Dr.Abbot?” His fingers flex around his beer, lip twitching up in a challenging, teasing manner, his default, it seems, as you try to gulp down a looming whimper. 

“Thought you worked nights?” You question, an attempt to match his tone, trying to gesture to your father to move so you can get out of this conversation. He doesn’t, knowing very well all you want is to go inside. 

“My day off, and your dad can’t seem to function without me either. Seem to be called in every time.” Jack turns his focus towards your father, grateful that you don’t have to be under his burning spotlight as he smiles towards your dad. 

“Ahh, not true. You’re an adrenaline junkie who practically begs me to call him in.” Your dad finishes the beer, moving to a new one, easily fitting into this routine conversation.  

“But you love it.” Jack brightens his smile, tilting his head before turning his attention back to you, right lid dropping down in a quick wink that almost sends you tumbling back. 

“Sure, I do.” Your dad shrugs with an eye roll, as if all three of you don’t know how important Jack is to him.  

“Hate to break up this love fest, but can I go and sleep now?” It’s a cry for help, desperate to be away from Dr.Abbot and his flirtatious winks, and how his bicep bulges from his shirt when he lifts his beer. You feel 13 again, just finding a new boy band to obsess over. 

“Go on, kid, sleep well.” Robby acquiesces, sliding over to give you some space as you eagerly pass him up the stairs towards the front door. 

“Night, Dad.” You sigh, opening the door to finally free yourself from this torment. 

“Am I chopped liver?” Jack's voice, graveled with a tinge of jealousy that you can’t make out, is real or not, stops you in your tracks, head whipping around to him as you can’t fight the heat flooding your cheeks. 

“Goodnight, Dr.Abbot.” It comes out in a puff of breath, hurrying inside so he doesn’t see your reaction, the door closing behind you, where their conversation continues. 

He’s good for your father. He needs friends, needs people to rely on, and it can’t always be you. You know he suffers silently, and it would be shitty of you to jeopardize that, but when you go upstairs, you do find yourself spreading your legs and touching yourself to the thought of something occurring with him, one day. 

-

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” You murmur outside of your home, the sun high above your head where it’s beating down on you. The mixture of the heat and brunch mimosas settling into confuse your hazy mind. 

Your keys were gone. Maybe left inside, maybe dropped in the street, they were gone, and you were exhausted. It was a co-worker's birthday, and you agreed to join a group for a boozy brunch, which led you outside of your shared home, calling your dad's phone. 

Of course, being the senior emergency attending physician meant he was rarely able to take your phone calls, which led to multiple texts about your current situation and a few voice notes complaining if he could hurry because it’s hot and you’re still drunk. 

Eventually, you settle on your porch step, drifting off into a sleep that you don’t awaken from until you hear your name being called out. 

“Ya?” you murmur back, less drunk than before but still buzzed, assuming it’s your father who snuck out on a break to scold you but also open the door. 

To your surprise, once you peel your lids back, you see him, Dr.Abbot, in front of you with a silly grin on his face, his body shielding you from the sun, creating a shadow over you as you imagine this was the worst-case scenario. 

“Why’re you here?” Is all you can get out, mortified by how you look on this porch, one heel off your foot, legs spread in the most unladylike manner in your brunch dress. You think you took your bra off and shoved it into your bag on the way home, too. You don’t remember. 

“Not the reaction I was expecting…” He chuckles, taking you all in, eyes roaming once more in a way that makes you feel judged, closing your legs in a hyper-aware manner, attempting to straighten yourself out. 

“I have a house key- being Rob's emergency contact means I get the duty of doin’ things like helping his daughter get in the house when she’s locked herself out.” He continues to look you over with a sly smile, brows going up where your strap has fallen off your shoulder. 

“Huh, funny, don’t you sleep during the day?” You’re a bit meaner than you intend to be, moreso angry at yourself for revealing yourself to him in this way, wishing you had reapplied your lip combination before this meeting. 

“Don’t sleep at all, I'm a vampire,” He hums dryly, reaching up past you to turn the key in the lock before pushing the door open with ease, granting you a whiff of his classic aftershave. 

“Bite me,” You mumble under your breath, grasping the wall to help you stand up, tripping a bit over your feet as one heel is on, giving you zero balance as you squeak out a giggle, dropping your purse with an oops. 

“Let me uh-”

“I got it,” You snap a bit back, trying to overcompensate for the fact that you probably look a mess and you don’t want him to see you looking more of a mess than you already do, reaching over to pick your purse before stumbling forward. 

His arms are around you in no time, fitting around your waist to hoist you up to him before plunging, in one motion, cradling you up to his muscled chest as you connect with the scent of him there, fear rising in your throat as you come to realize your predicament, reacting quickly before you can map out how his arms feel when he holds you that tight. 

“I can walk,” You push him away quickly, like a bratty 3-year-old,  legs fighting to find their place on the ground. 

“Then walk.” He grumbles irritably, voice gone low and hushed as he sets you firmly on your feet in front of him, placing his hands on his hips in an expectant way, insisting you walk since you’re clearly able to do so. 

You do walk, you walk one step then two until you’re falling over, forgetting to kick off your other heel as he grabs you once more, hoisting you up. 

“No- Dr.Abbot!” You whine like a toddler who doesn’t want to leave daycare as he skips the cradle hold and throws you into a fireman's carry, your stomach connecting with his shoulder as he holds your leg and arm firmly to him, mumbling about something as he treks up the stairs, your voice caught in your throat as your world is physically turned upside down. 

“As stubborn as your dad.” He huffs out, making it to the top in seconds as if he isn’t carrying a person, finding your room before throwing you onto your bed aggressively, back bouncing off of it as he does. 

“He just told you to let me in, didn’t say anything about this,” you challenge petulantly, a frown swirling on your face to distract from the desire brewing in your core, the last thing you desired being Jack Abbot in your room. Maybe the first thing you desired, you can’t tell. 

“Yeah, no, I’m sure if I left you on the porch, he’d have been just keen with me.” He snorts a bit, looking around your room curiously, making you hyper aware of the fact that you have Dr.Abbot in your fucking room. 

“Don’t have to take care of me, m’an adult,” You throw your hands over your eyes, rubbing them eagerly to wipe away any haze, feeling as if this is some sort of dream, trying not to slur your words. 

“Should act like one.” He speaks in a hushed tone, eyes falling on something on the floor.

“What's that supposed to mean?” You don’t care to look at what he’s staring at, curious as to what he could mean. 

“Been avoiding me.” His eyes dart to yours and focus in, as if he’s a bloodhound sniffing out the truth, your own eyes going wide as you come to understand you’re not as sneaky as you want to be. 

“I'm not-”

“Been avoiding me for years, you have, and you still are. Why?” He questions. You can’t sense if he’s irritated; his voice is soft with questioning, but his face tells another story, hard set on you, as if you lie, he’ll know. Somehow, like he knows you. 

“Can I have some water?” You turn your attention to your ceiling, not being able to take this line of questioning, preferring to play damsel in distress and send him on his way as quickly as possible. Maybe if you weren’t slightly drunk, you’d feel a lot better about any answers you have. Attribute your avoidance to anxiety or something. 

You hear him exit the room and go downstairs, grateful for some space that’ll clear your mind, but it isn’t long until he’s returned with an arm full of things, along with water, looking to your bedside table where he’s leaving coconut water, crackers, aspirin, and multiple water bottles. 

Eventually handing you the water first, you mutter a quick thanks ignoring how thick his fingers are before downing half of it, expecting him to get bored and see himself out. 

He doesn’t, still watching you in a way that makes you insecure, where you lie, “How are you feeling?”

It makes you wanna scream, every neuron remains on fire in your body, lit with desire for the man before you, who’s taken care of you in every way possible and seeks to help you more. 

“Really?” You gasp out a laugh, absolutely bewildered by him. The mix of desire, embarrassment, and drunkenness is a lot for this moment where he stands above you, next to you, trying to figure out if you need anything else. 

“Yes, really.” He pushes, clearly not leaving without some clarity on your well-being, which makes you burst then and there.

“I feel like I want to kiss you.” You shield your face with your hands, completely mortified once the words leave your mouth, overwhelmed by your newfound blunt nature, motivated by the alcohol in your system, not ready to hear his response. His rejection, you imagine. 

It’s quiet. You think he left, maybe hope he’s left, until you hear him break the silence on a cracked voice, “I know.”

“You know?” Your hands immediately drop from your face, tears welling in your eyes where you look to him to see he’s looking back to the same spot on your floor from earlier, not at all disturbed by your admission, his reaction similar to a reaction when you tell someone that their shoe is untied. He actually reacts less than that. 

“Can sense it. You get to my age, you can feel it…” His eyes hold there, a strange thing for him not to make eye contact with you, even stranger to not be baffled by your confession. 

“Also heard you touching yourself the other night when I was leaving, heard my name slipped in there a few times. You call me Jack when your fingers are inside you?” His eyes land back on you, brow raising in confusion. Not confusion that you’d masturbate to him, but confusion that you use his real name in your fantasies but not with him. 

You could die right now, you think, you wish the room would swallow you whole. You know, you probably look insane to him, eyes wide, color gone from your face, not knowing what to say when he holds your attention. 

His gaze softens on something, maybe your fear, you think when he starts up again, but you’re quick to interrupt him, not wanting to hear rejection or hear him let you down gently, “Please go- get out.”

You cover your face where tears have begun to spill from your eyes, a lump caught in your throat as you don’t hear movement or the door being opened and closed.

“Jack fucking go.” You curse, against your nature, needing him to not see you, how you’ve tried so hard to not be seen. 

There's a dip next to you in the bed, and you find yourself letting out a sob, keeping your face covered despite his presence, nauseated by this interaction.

“I think of kissing you, too.” He murmurs, sweetly as if he’s scared to scare you away, your fingers creating a slit for your eyes as you realize he’s looking down to where you’re crying, eyes focused on what he can see of your face.

“Y-you do?” You hiccup, still on edge. Not yet knowing if this is real. Could be just saying this so your dad doesn’t come home to find you in tears. 

“Uh-huh,” He hums, reaching for your hands, his large, warm, dry ones wrapping around yours to pull them off your face so he can see you there, eyes glistening as you look to him, seemingly showing zero reaction, only a certain tenderness between his softly furrowed brows.

You imagine he’s probably faced more to warrant bigger reactions; a young girl saying she has a crush on him isn’t too high on his shocked list. 

“I want you, believe me, I do- fuckin’ jacked off outside your window once I heard you that night, swear I saw stars when I came, believe me, I want you.” He laughs a bit at himself, shaking his head despite you lying there in complete shock, his hands still gripping yours tightly. 

“Y-you can have me.” It's desperate, a little immature, you know that, but you’re far from being coy with Dr.Abbot; it’s all or nothing. Might as well. 

He laughs, dryly, as if you know why that would be silly, but you can’t think of why it would be. Two consenting adults, it wouldn’t be bad. 

“We can’t.” He insists, sternly, gripping your hand tighter as he clicks his tongue in his mouth, decidedly. 

“Why?”

“You know why.” His eyes set sternly on you, narrowing in to show you he’s serious about this, his head shaking no decidedly. 

“Do you know what you are to him?” He asks you, leaning over in the shared space, as you realize this is the closest you’ve ever been to him, eyes searching yours for some resolution you can’t give him.

“You’re everything to him, the reason he goes into work day in and day out. The reason he’s breathing…” He mutters, breaking eye contact as his eyes shut closed, “And I’m one of his closest friends- hell, more like a damn brother.” 

He releases your hands, his fingers pinching at his nasal root as his eyes scrunch together, deep in tense thought that you can’t quite meet in your inebriated position. 

You reach out to him instead, hands connecting on his thigh where he’s sat next to you, fingers swirling in a silly pattern as you shrug, “Jack?” 

His eyes shoot open to you, darkened with the fact that the only other time he’s heard it off your lips was when you were deep in the throes of pleasure, “Just once...please.”

“Fuck it.” He mumbles harshly, filling the space between your bodies with himself as he leans into you there without warning, your mouth opening on a gasp that allows him to waste no time slipping his tongue in as your lips connect on a starved kiss - your thirst quenched after years and years of pining.

You moan, too loudly there, trying not to understand how your dreams came into fruition. His body weighing down on yours as he’s over you, chest pressed to yours when he deepens the kiss, arms snaking around your waist as he hoists you deeper to him, the kiss continuing as your lips glide against his. 

“Need you,” you mumble into his mouth, feeling his puffs of hot air slide into your mouth as your tongue wraps around his, feeding into your own pleasure, legs wrapping around his hips as you connect yourself to one another fully clothed. 

It’s hard to miss, that press that strains through his pants, his hard on that pokes where you’re covered in your underwear, a whine sliding out of your throat as your hips eagerly connect onto it, desperately trying to find it fit onto your nub between your legs. 

“Easy, sweetheart,” He chuckles out, a little thrown by your sudden forwardness, enjoying this different side to you as you press your body to him, your lips connecting with his chin where he’s stubbled and gray. 

He breaks away then, untangling himself from you as he stands, running his hands through his hair a little breathless as he smiles down to where you’re laid out expectantly, waiting. 

“What are you-”

“Touch yourself. Like you did that night.” He commands, nodding down to you, backing away until his back hits the wall, undoing his button to his pants. 

“Wh-what?” Your breath hitches in your throat, a little thrown as your eyes widen when he’s stuffing his hand in his pants. 

“Do it. Lemme see it,” His brows go up, a little impatient at the fact that he had to say it again. 

You’re hesitant at first, never having done this with someone watching, let alone Jack, but you do, at least try to remember what you did that had you moaning his name out of your bedroom window.

Your hand dips below your dress, where your legs are spread, sinking between your thighs to press three fingers over the material in a soft moan as they connect with your clit, rubbing them in a motion that has your hips rolling. 

You can hear his labored pants from here, hear how he’s vigorously clutching himself in his briefs, feeling his eyes burn where your fingers are pleasuring yourself, ushering a subtle ‘uh’ from you. 

Your other hand reaches up to grasp your chest, tweaking your nipple as you shudder, goosebumps forming as you squeeze yourself there, a cry leaving your mouth as you pick up the pace. 

You’re lost in your own pleasure once you feel his hands on you, roughly tugging the dress from your body, ripping at it in a way where you can feel the zipper break, your hands going up to allow him to take it off. 

“Get this off,” He murmurs harshly, tearing it from your body and flinging it to the side, leaving you sprawled out in just your underwear before he finds himself against the wall again, your hazed eyes making out that he’s fucking himself in his briefs again. 

You continue your motions, giving him a better view of how you cup your naked breast, his eyes stuck on your chest as he drools a bit animally, a smile forming on your face at having this sense of control over him. 

“Jesus, you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me, what you’re turnin’ me into-” He breaks off on a deep, subtle moan that has you biting back a smile. 

It’s a sudden thought, but you find yourself slowly removing your underwear, starting with the hem, then tugging it over your knees, then ankles, throwing it to the side where you often throw your panties in the middle of the night when you wake up extra needy. 

You realize suddenly that’s what Jack had been looking at on the floor. Your pair of lacey panties from the night before, when you’d used your vibrator. 

It fills you with pools of desire that overflow as you spread your legs to him to reveal your glistening center, your hand sliding back down to offer him pleasure as he’s locked onto it from across you. 

He doesn’t seem like his usual cool, calm, and collected self. He’s hungry, practically snarling where he’s touching himself while eyeing your pussy, watching the way your fingers slide through the folds, up and down ever so sweetly. 

“Go on, baby, touch yourself, more,” He growls, spit on his lip where he’s salivating for you, pleasuring himself to you, pleasing yourself. 

You give him what he wants, placing your middle finger down down down until it catches on a hitch, sliding into you as your toes clench on a cry, throwing your head back to feel how your hole sucks at your own finger. 

“Fuck- do that to yourself again.” His voice is hoarse when he speaks, more animal than man, as he doesn’t make eye contact, completely focused on where his finger has disappeared into you. 

You pull out of yourself, before swirling your middle finger around your hole, pressing in once more as you both groan at the same time, feeling your pressure give to the intrusion easily as you lay your head back. 

He releases a sort of snarl-like growl once you hear him disrobe, hear the way his pants drop to the floor, and it soon happens in a whir. 

“Open,” He turns your head to the side, where you barely have a choice to register his cock in front of you before it’s pushed past your lips into your mouth, sliding against your tongue, hitting the back of your throat as you gag. 

It doesn’t take him long to find the back of your head, pushing himself down your throat with a jut of his hips and push from his hand which ushers out the deepest moan you’ve heard thus far, eyes blinkin back tears as you eyes focus on his greyed bush of hair at the base of his cock- large enough to have you desperate for air. 

He doesn’t give you much time before his other hand greedily slips between your legs, where they're still sprawled outwards, where he stands beside you, playing with your pussy as his fingers rub that sweet spot that has your legs clutching closed. 

“So shy, still so shy for me,” He mumbles in a teasing manner, your thighs not strong enough to cease his hand movements as he continues to rub you there, thrusting deeply into your throat until he’s had a nice test of your mouth, removing himself, leaving a trail of spit from his cock to your mouth.

You gasp and cough, not having expected him to be so rough when he had been so sweet earlier, fighting to catch your breath as he climbs over you into the bed, pressing your legs back as you try to understand what might be happening next. Feeling like a rag doll under his pleasure-filled might. 

He maneuvers you, pushing your legs back to your chest and out so he can fit in between them on his knees, hosting you up as the back of your thighs land on the front of his, your legs loosely hanging around his hips as you get a better view of his cock now, watching as it twithces furiously between his legs, glistening with your spit as he positions himself. 

“Won't hurt your leg?” You murmur concernedly, looking down to where his prosetheis is, wanting him to know you can take it slow if you need to. 

He laughs then, a sweet thing as if that’s the most juvenile thing you could’ve asked. “Worry bout yourself, baby.” 

He’s correct as his tip finds your notch, nudging there and pushing through without much time for you to adjust, filling the space with his mass as your core gives and gives to his pressure and hip push, finding his limit and yours as he buries himself in you, your head thrown back in a shuddering manner. 

“Oh- Oh fuck!” You cry as he finds a comfortable pace for himself, giving you zero time to adjust, hips fucking out his pleasure as he fills you repeatedly over and over and over with a jut of his hips, looking down to where you’re reaching up to claw at his arms, nails sinking into his bicep as they soon position on his shoulders where hes leaned over, eyes focused on where you’re connecting. 

“That’s it, let it out, sweetheart.” He smiles a bit, finding pleasure in your surprised nature as he thrusts deep into you, rolling his hips after every thrust to deepen himself so you can fully feel his girth as you grip onto it ever so tightly. 

“I-I can’t,” You cry out, legs gone like jelly as they hang loosely over him, your breasts bouncing lazily on your chest as tears spill from your eyes at the overwhelming pleasure granted. 

He leans over then, nuzzling his nose into your tear-stained cheek, “Yes, you can.” He mumbles back over your lips, kissing you there sweetly before burying his face in your chest, his hand connecting with your nub sweetly as he keeps his pace. 

It’s a brutal thing, your orgasms. You tend to live in a state of pent-up emotions, so when it happens, it’s intense, it’s blinding, and it’s why you insist on fucking with the light off often, too ashamed to see the mess you turn into. But it’s too late. 

“I-I-,” Is all you make out until your back arches on something unexplainable, a knot forming in your core that unfurls with every pump of himself in your tight, warm cunt that has you screaming out his name as your legs and hands grip him, certainly leaving marks where you’re fingernails dig in as the pleasure washes over you like waves onto shore. 

“That’s what I was lookin’ for, great job, baby.” He mumbles above you fucking out his last few thrusts that get you to your high before ceasing his motions. 

He didn’t finish. It makes you freeze, eyes peeling open to ask him why he’s stopped before he’s removing himself and flipping you, landing on your stomach as you screw your brows together. 

Your hips are grabbed and hoisted up as you land on your knees, the lower half of your body still sunk into your bed as you murmur confusedly, until you feel him poke you from behind, nuzzling into the same spot as before, as you give in to his pressure. 

 “Oh my god- Jack!” You cry into your pillow, feeling his hands tug at your hips to meet his brutal pace, realizing he was taking it easy earlier for your shared first time, that this is his natural pace.

The headboard of your bed pounds against the wall with each push, that has you screaming and crying, wondering how you’ll explain to your father how you put a crater into the wall. 

It’s brutal and unforgiving, the way his hips slap onto your ass with every thrust, your hands gripping at your comforter as you clench your teeth, grateful he had taken it easy on you at first, your poor cunt shuddering around his mass as it forces its way into you repeatedly. Twitching inside you. 

“Almost there, sweetheart,” He mutters behind you, pace quickening as you wonder if you’ll be able to walk the next day, feeling him dig into your depths with his mass, your hole clenching around him to mold against his cock that’s jittering with anticipation. 

Three big thrusts have your knees collapsing and him pressing his full weight onto your backside, hips nuzzling in as deep as they can go to bury himself in your sweetness.

He bites at your shoulder, teeth sinking in a claiming mark as he moans against your skin, fucking out his orgasm, shooting loads of his seed deep into your womb, coating you from the inside with him as his hips thrust out the last of his throws before rolling off of you, your head turning to face him. 

His chest is furiously rising up and down as he pants out the remainder of his pleasure, hands on his face, rubbing out his pleasure and exhaustion as he sighs out, cock going soft again, as you realize it’s not just him post-orgasm. He’s upset. 

“What’s wrong?” You question quietly, confused, wondering if you did something that made him feel so torn. 

“Fuck- this… this was not good.” He mumbles where his hands are placed over his face in distress, shaking his head no as he sighs out, your stomach dropping around ten stories. 

“This was bad?” Your voice cracks on horror at the fact that he didn’t enjoy fucking you, didn’t enjoy being with you. Which was worse than rejection. 

His eyes snap open at that, landing on where you’re shaking, staring at him, nude and vulnerable, eyes watering as he murmurs ‘no, no, no’, taking your face in his hand, swiping at a tear with your thumb. 

“Not this, baby, not this. This- was the best thing I’ve done in… shit, I can’t even remember.” He murmurs to you in the small shared space between your bodies, as if you’re the only girl in the world. 

“I just mean- I’m Rob’s friend, his brother. You’re his… prized possession. He gets crazy when it comes to you, and I mean, well fuck, I clearly get crazy when it comes to you.” He corrects himself, huffing out, eyes searching over your face for any hint of discomfort, it seems. 

“He won’t know… it’ll be a secret.” You shrug softly, a bit immature about the situation, but you need him to know you wouldn’t do that to him, jeopardize his relationship with your father. Never that. 

He opens his mouth to respond before his phone rings from his pile of clothes, rolling off the bed to grab it in his jeans, looking at the caller ID before looking back at you and answering.

“Hey Rob… yeah, no, she’s good, she’s in bed now…. Yeah, tucked her in myself.” He mumbles into the phone, earning a little giggle from you as you watch him pace around the room, a little exacerbated. 

“Yeah, I can head in, knew you missed me,” He mumbles into the line before hanging up, giving you eyes before slipping on his briefs, coming over where you're still nude in the bed, on your back now, looking up to him like he hung the moon. 

He’s sweet when he presses two kisses to your lips, short and lingering, knowing you just heard the conversation, not feeling the need to explain it anymore. 

“I’ll see you ‘round,” Jack mumbles making eye contact in a simple way, as to tell you he’s not trying to fuck and leave, slipping his pants on, looking around for his shirt. 

“Mhm, see you around, Dr.Abbot,” You tease, watching him get dressed like he’s a freshman in college, who just got laid. 

“No more Dr.Abbot,” his eyes narrow at you, as a warning, before placing his shirt on. 

You think for a moment, recalling his brotherly relationship with your father, “Okay, Uncle Jack.”

You’re unsure what brought you to this place. What necessarily triggered you, but you’re triggered. It’s an uncomfortable place for you to be in, total irritation. Usually, it’s soothed by him, by Joel. He tends to catch it before you do and stop it, usually with food or attention, depending. 

He isn’t home yet, though, and you’re in a mood that you don’t enjoy being in but are in nonetheless. You do your best to soothe your soul, pulling out all the relaxing tools that’ll get you feeling less fussy. 

Pulling the blanket from the cabinet, getting your markers, and a coloring book from your sensory bin before throwing the blanket over yourself, leaving a little room for light and air. 

It’s a simple thing that allows you some peace away from the chaos of the world, especially when Joel isn’t there to protect you from it. Sometimes a good book helps, or some tea, but the agitation that pumps through your veins seems only to be soothed at this moment where you’re shading the picture and concealed due to the blanket. 

He’s home after that, you’re unsure of how long you’ve been covered, your mind gone with a lack of concern for that, more concerned with finishing the coloring page before you. 

You hear him call for you, a usual occurrence that has you scampering towards the door to jump on him in a full bear hug, where he envelops you into his arms and asks about your day while you sit on his lap. 

Not today. You can’t bring yourself to do it, just concerned with the page in front of you, eyes squinting eagerly down to it. 

“S’cuse me, little lady?” His southern deep voice beckons from above you. You can see his boots poke out from the small opening that has you murmuring something incoherent, continuing to color. 

The blanket is soon ripped from above you, earning a juvenile cry from your lips as you reach up to bring it back, glaring up at the love of your life as if he just strangled a puppy with his bare hands, watching as his hands fit over his hips scoldingly, brows knit, eyes narrowed down where you were once crouched over. 

“Ain’t gone greet me?” He juts his bottom lip out in a teasing manner, knowing good and well he’s very serious. There are rules you have, one of which is to greet him. It’s his favorite part of the day, the part that makes everything worth it. 

You don’t really care about the rules, stuck in your stubborn, irritable haze that has you non-verbal, grumbling as you pull the blanket back over yourself, only to have it pulled back as you cry out. 

“Hey now, don’t be like that, darlin’.” You can tell he’s trying to see how far you’ve gone, crouching over to get a good look where you’re whining about the blanket, trying to pull it over you. 

There are levels to your overstimulated mind, he’s aware. If you’re reading, you’re okay, just need some time. If you’re curled up watching a movie, it’s usually the same. When the coloring book makes an appearance, he’s well aware of the state you’re in, and he knows how long it’ll take you to get out. 

“Okay, alright, finish the damn page, last page, then you’re outta here,” Joel grumbles back, matching your irritation before placing the blanket back over you. It’s rare you ever get this far or this deep. Usually, he’s there to stop it, becoming a sort of shield for every inconvenience. 

He enjoys looking out for you, treating you like the doll you are. Hates to see you get this way, all irritable and pent-up. That’s not how his dream girl usually acts. 

It’s enough for you, giving you the space to finish up swiftly, grateful he allowed you the time to, eventually peeling the blanket back to find him sitting on his reclining chair, sipping at a beer, watching a game on the TV.

His eyes focus on you eventually, drifting away from the television to find you there below him, a half smile lopping on his face as he finishes the bottle, “There you are, baby girl.” 

You smile at that, head going up in a sweet way as you tilt your chin up, grateful for his praise and affirmations, lifting your book up to show him your work as his eyes go a bit wide, feeding into your desires. 

“That’s beautiful, baby, should put it on the fridge, huh?” He smirks down at you, warm broad hand wrapping around the side of your face to pet you there as your eyes shut, leaning into him there, nuzzling as he holds you. 

“Lemme see you,” He mumbles, softly, deeply, so as not to scare you away as you peel your eyes back, blinking up at him where he stares down at you. The freckles on his crow's feet make you giggle at his age, remembering your dynamic. Makes something in your belly swirl as you move away from him, standing up. 

You don’t know why, but you twirl a bit to the fridge, book in hand, ripping out the paper before placing it on the fridge yourself, signing it, To: JoJo Bear. A stupid nickname, you know, is not his favorite, but it makes you laugh. 

He follows you there, scoffing at the name, about to scold you before you begin to twirl again, laughing away from him until he grabs at your wrist, forcing you to twirl into his chest as you land there with a thud. 

Laughs spill from your lips as both his hands grab your face, cupping you there as he tilts your head up to meet his gaze, eyes connecting on something sweet as you blink up to where he’s looking at you, concernedly. 

You wish to tell him you’re fine, you’re okay, but your tongue feels heavy and fat in your mouth as he looks you over. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t here, baby girl… I’m here now,” He mumbles over you, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then your nose, then your other cheek, causing you to laugh at the scrape of his graying beard over your skin. 

You hum without a care in the world, feeling completely protected under his gaze as his lips find yours on a sweet kiss that has you whining for more, leaning up into him on your toes to get a deeper angle. 

“I got you,” He murmurs onto your lips as sweetly as possible, deepening the kiss as he tilts his head, putting more pressure on your lips as you whine desperately, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him in deeper, biting at his bottom lip there. 

It’s a certain craving when it comes to him. You find you could consume him whole, biting, nibbling, sucking, you need him. Need to consume him the way he consumes you, your mouth waters at the taste of him. 

He tries to move you down the hall to the bedroom, he tries, but you give up down the hall, collapsing to your knees, gripping at his jeans, trying to pull them down as you rise a bit, tongue lapping over his bulged crotch, desperate to feel him, taste him, satisfy your natural urges. 

“Baby, easy, I got you, I know,” He’s sweet and tender when he talks to you in this state, knowing one wrong move could set you off as he unbuckles his jeans, pushing his briefs and jeans down in one full motion as he bobs up and out, the familiar figure in your hazy eyes alerts you that your to be satisfied. 

You don’t waste time, your hand grabbing a hold of his hairy base as you settle his throbbing mass that leaks pre-cum, bulging with veins that yearn to be stroked as it strains in your face, your mouth wrapping around the salty tip, your tongue licking like a lollipop there - your very own sucker. 

“Oh Christ,” He mumbles out, usually fully in control, but when you get like this, you have to get what you need. 

His cock slides down your tongue, hitting your throat as you gag yourself on his girth, never having gotten used to it, moaning as your saliva coats him, feeling pleasured with the feel of him on your tongue, remembering not to use any teeth as he instructed in previous times. 

You’re unsure of what happens to you in this state, completely attempting to fit his cock down your throat, something that you’ve never been able to accomplish, wanting to make him happy. Wanting to feel his excitement slide down your throat. 

“Baby, easy, gon’ make yourself sick,” Joel warns, taking hold of your head to slow your movements as you uncontrollably gag at the intrusion, as it’s happened before- Joel didn’t mind much, but it made you feel icky. 

You whine on him, tears spilling down your cheeks for whatever reason, maybe it’s the overstimulated day, maybe because you’re overstimulated now, you don’t know what you want or need, desperately blinking up at the man above you, hoping he can tell you. Or show you. 

“I know, darlin’, I know, just lie back, go on.” He removes his cock that glistens with your saliva once it hits his clothed abdomen, a giggle on your lips as you feel satisfied with your claim to him, lying on the carpet in the hall, remembering that Joel at least tried to get you to the bedroom 

“I’ll be right back,” He murmurs, walking past you, back to the living room, as you pout, ready to whine and complain about his desertion, before you see him return with something in his hand, brain buzzing in confusion. 

He doesn’t wait for you to register what’s happening before he’s fitting something rubbery into your mouth, teeth clenching down on it as you suck once, then twice, moaning on realization as you sink your teeth in, realizing what it is. 

He moves your skirt above your hips while you’re distracted with the foreign object inside your mouth, knowing you’re not one for panties, already dripping onto the carpet from his cock being in your mouth, it’s easy for him to get your hips up, placing the back of your thighs onto the front of his for elevation before positioning himself. 

You suck at the object in your mouth, moaning, careful not to slobber too much as you blink up at him under the dim hall light, feeling his tip nudge at your crest before pushing in, lubricated with your spit and slick wetness between your thighs. 

“Mmmm,” You moan, biting down, sucking more aggressively as your mouth salivates at the feeling of being filled to the brim with Joel’s cock. You had never gotten used to this feeling, the feeling of being stuffed. 

Sort of feels as if he’s splitting you in two, the way his mass buries and rips deep into you, your small hole widening to take him as it gives and gives and clutches around him tightly and innocently, you enjoy flexing on it, love watching how his eyes squint shut when you do. 

“Jesus baby, always feel so damn good,” He mutters in a hushed, cracked tone, as you know he’s as broken down from the day as you. Makes you want to please him as much as he pleases you as you wiggle your hips on him.

He’s in his own heat of pleasure once he roots himself deeply, nudging his hips once, then twice to earn a strangled whine from you before picking up the pace on a subtle thrust of the hips, nice and slow to get you ready for the real show.  

His hands connect with your hips, gripping too tightly, bringing them down to meet his thrusts that begin to pick up the pace, faster, always showing that despite his age, he still knows how to fuck like he’s in his 20’s. 

You cry a bit, your feet flexing where they’re behind Joel, nibbling down on the rubbery end as your man uses you how he sees fit, forcing your hips down to meet his brutal thrusts, his bushel of hair tickling your skin every time you both connect as deeply as possible. 

He’s grunting and groaning from above you, beads of sweat on his forehead as he whispers sweetly over you, how good you are to him, how good you’re doing, that you’re gonna make him fill you like a damn balloon. 

It only makes you giddy when he talks to you this way, excited to see him unravel in his pleasure, all you do is lie back and enjoy the show. 

It’s a pleasure to see him get this way, the way he bites back his bottom lip when he’s about to curse from desire, the way he adjusts himself to rut deeper into you like a wolf, the sounds he makes solely from being inside you has your cunt fluttering around him. 

“Fuck baby, almost there,” He chokes up on himself, hips slamming down into you as he finds his ruthless pace that’ll leave you sore and bruised tomorrow, but for now, you watch as he continues the motions, ceasing as he finds his peak. 

“Shit,” He curses, cock twitching relentlessly, then pushing out hot globs of seed into the depths of you, giving you everything he has as his balls press against your ass, wringing up tightly, pushing to his limit as his fingers dig into your hips. 

It takes him a while to come down, you learn he enjoys savoring his orgasms, closing his eyes and letting himself feel all that he needs to… You always give him that time, no matter what. 

Once your jaw softens, you find what falls out of your mouth to be a pacifier. A pretty blue one that makes you smile, grateful for a man who understands how to satiate your oral fixation. 

You can also assume he was probably tired of you biting his fingers every time you both fucked. 

It makes you giggle then, that realization, Joel's eyes peeling back on concern for you, always concern for you. You wish to tell him he’s fine, you’re happy, you’re always happy with him. 

“Hi, daddy,” Is all you can make out once your eyes connect, feeling giddy at having your voice back as his eyes crinkle, a smile on his lips as he shakes his head, still rooted deep in you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve really been pushing your luck all day.

First, it was getting a fresh set of nails with your card, not his. Then, at work, it was questioning his orders. Giving him lip when he asks you to ‘hand me those forceps’ or ‘step back and let me do it’. Asking Dr. Shen or Dr. Ellis to look over your notes instead of him. Purposely ignoring his pointed looks across the ER floor when you’re charting or talking with Lena.

And you can tell your efforts haven’t been in vain. Dr. Jack Abbot is close to his breaking point.

Good. You think, feeling very smug and satisfied when you see that tense tic in his jaw. Let him stew for a bit.

You’ve been pissed off at Jack for the last few days. He’s been snappy and curt at work, and just as grumpy when you both get home afterwards. He gets like that sometimes, when he’s stressed or in his head about something, but you’ve reached your wits end with his moodiness. You’re pent up - Jack hasn’t touched you since he started brooding, opting instead to either go to bed or pout with his police scanner.

You’re sick of it. So, to knock him out of whatever fucking hole he’s decided crawl into, you’ve been going out of your way to be the worst brat you can possibly be. You even slept on the couch yesterday.

You can feel the weight of his stare from your seat at your workstation. Your new nails clack pointedly on the keyboard as you chart information from your last patient, your eyes fixed on the screen.

You feel a presence move in behind you. You don’t look up.

“Hey kid, walk with me. Do you have a second?”

There it is. Hook, line, and sinker.

“Sorry Dr. Abbot, but I need to finish my charting.” Your voice comes out cool and professional. “If it’s something important, I’m sure you can grab someone else to help.”

There’s a long stretch of silence. You keep typing.

“I’d much rather it be you.” There’s an edge to his voice that makes your stomach flip with excitement despite the fact that you’re currently charting about blood in stool. “You can step away for a minute, doctor.”

You let the moment drag out. Check your punctuation in the chart. Make sure the final period you type is sharp and final. Then, you finally swivel in your chair and look up at Jack.

“No, I don’t think I can.”

God, watching the way his face changes as he processes your words in real time sends a thrill through you. His brow quirks up in disbelief. There’s a flash of surprise in his eyes. Then, his entire face settles into something firm. Something dangerous.

“Oh yeah?”

Oh yeah, there it is. This is the reaction you’ve been looking for.

“Yup.” You pop the ‘p’ just to tick him off. “I’ve got a lot of charting to do. I’m sure Dr. Shen would be happy to assist you instead.”

You’ve never brushed him off before.

Jack blinks at you; he’s studying you, waiting for you to crack. You hold his gaze.

“Alright. Finish your charting.” He slaps the desk next to you once with his hand, light and quick. The little motion has your spine straightening just a hair as you recognize it for what it is - a warning. “We’ll talk later.”

Yeah, you will.

The promise of talking later is what gets you through the rest of your shift. The song and dance of defiance continues all night - it draws some attention from the rest of the crew and then the questions start. Why are you and Dr. Abbot acting so weird? Did he piss you off? Did you have a fight of some kind? Is he in a mood? Are you in a mood?

The entire thing amuses you, even as you meet Jack in the parking garage to go home after you hand off with the day shift. You sling your backpack into the back seat with his before getting into the passenger seat with a groan.

Jack is quiet when he gets into the car and buckles up. You busy yourself with texting a couple friends as he starts the car and begins to drive home. The silence is thick and charged, and it’s taking everything in you not to crack and say something first.

Finally, he breaks the silence.

“You wanna tell me what all that was about?” He jerks his right thumb back over his shoulder towards the hospital. His left arm flexes when he grips the steering wheel, and the sight of his forearm makes your mouth water. “Because what that looked like was twelve hours of you continuing to be a pain in the ass for no reason, babydoll.”

You sniff, examining your nails in the morning sunlight. Man, your tech did a stellar job. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jack reaches out at the next red light and snatches one of your hands in his, ignoring your annoyed little scoff as he examines your manicure. You can tell despite his stony expression that he likes them; he always does, which is why he always pays for you to get them done.

“And this?” He waggles your hand in the air between you before you snatch it back indignantly. “What the hell is this, huh?”

“Cut it out. I’m a big girl, Jack. I can pay for my own nails.”

“Yeah? And the coffee and bagel you had on your break? You pay for that too, Miss Big Girl? After you told me you weren’t hungry?”

“No, John got me those.”

You almost smirk at the way he gets all huffy and tense.

“So you let Shen buy you lunch but not me?”

“Yup.” You lean back in the seat, crossing your arms then your legs. “I didn’t want you to pay for me.”

“Is that right?” Jack shoots you a look that’s less than amused. “Why’s that, baby?”

“Because I’m mad at you.”

“Mad at me?”

“Mhm.”

He raises an eyebrow, an amused smirk creeping across his face that makes you want to smack him. Or kiss him. Maybe both.

“And why, exactly,” The way his voice dips make you shift, your heart skipping in your chest. “is my sweet girl mad at me, huh?”

You have to stand strong. You will not be the one to break first here. You’re gonna make him work for it.

“Figure it out yourself.” You snap a little bit meaner than you intend to on purpose, just to see the way he clenches his jaw. “I just worked twelve hours, I’m not in the mood to play twenty questions. God.”

You even throw in a little eye roll. Jack lets out a slow, controlled breath through his nostrils. You can see the cogs turning in his head - he’s probably wracking his brain for whatever he did to warrant your behavior these last couple of days. You don’t speak again, content to let him stew as he navigates morning traffic to your shared apartment.

Jack beats you to your bag when you park at the complex. You try to get it first, wanting to stubbornly carry it in, but he snatches it up and swings it onto his shoulder with his just before you can grab it. You give him a dirty look, but he just smiles.

God, he’s so sexy it’s frustrating.

You continue to ignore him in the elevator and stay quiet when you both trudge down the hall and get inside your place. He only just tossed the keys in the dish and put your bags down when you’re hurrying to the shower. Your plan is to keep being as frustrating and insufferable as possible until Jack does something about it; you can tell his patience is wearing thin, and you know his gentle, mild mannered facade won’t last. You’re banking on it.

Your shower is quick. Jack says nothing to you when you emerge and breeze past him; he just goes quietly into the bathroom after you. You go about your usual after work routine - pulling on a clean pair of panties and one of Jack’s shirts, filling your water bottle, taking your meds. Then, you grab your pillow and a blanket and set up camp on the couch like you did last night. You have no intention of falling asleep. You know Jack will come find you.

Sure enough, his shadow falls over you a few minutes after the water cuts off.

“What the hell are you doing?”

You crack your eyes open. He’s standing over you, those big arms crossed across his chest. God, you want to sink your teeth into his pecs so bad. Trace all his freckles with your tongue and leave him covered in bite marks. Too bad you’re still annoyed. You try not to let the sight of his bare chest distract you.

“Going to sleep.”

“I’m not letting you sleep on the couch again, babydoll.”

“You’re not letting me do anything.” You scowl up at him. “This is my apartment too. If I wanna sleep on the couch, I’ll sleep on the fucking couch-“

“Stop talking.”

Your mouth clicks shut. His voice has that firm, commanding undertone that makes your thighs clench together under the blanket. Finally.

“You know, I’ve really been thinking hard about what’s got my girl so fucking mad at me.” He starts, tilting his head as he looks down at you. “And I think I’ve finally figured it out.”

“I’m mad at you because you’re not letting me sleep, Jack.” A lie. “Can you just fuck off?”

“Realized I’ve been a little snippy this week.” He’s acting like you didn’t even speak, and you hate how much it’s turning you on. “In my head about shit. Haven’t really been here.”

Jack leans in just enough to brush some hair away from your forehead. You try to pull back, making a face, but he stops you in your tracks by grabbing your chin; his fingers dig into your cheeks just hard enough to make your lips poke out.

“And you’ve been missing me, haven’t you baby?” Bingo. He’s hit the nail on the head, finally, but you don’t dignify him with an answer. He doesn’t seem to need one. “That’s why you’ve been acting all mean to me, right?”

His grip shifts - he releases your face and grabs your bicep to tug you up sharply. You nearly fall off the couch, legs tangling in the blanket as you scramble to both right yourself and tear yourself out of Jack’s grasp.

“Hey - what the fuck, Jack?” You’re practically being dragged to your shared bedroom. Even though this is what you wanted, there’s a brief moment where, in a flash of annoyance as you’re pulled along, you consider kicking his prosthetic out from under him. “Stop, let me go-“

You’re hurled unceremoniously towards the bed. Catching yourself with your hands, you try to stand up to whirl around and give Jack a piece of your mind.

Key word being try.

A firm shove has the fronts of your thighs hitting the mattress, then you’re getting bent over by a big hand between your shoulder blades. You grab fistfuls of the sheets and give one half assed push back against Jack’s solid body to no avail.

“I’m sorry, babydoll.” He coos, rucking up your borrowed shirt so it’s hooked above your hips. He gently kicks your ankles further apart with his good foot; then takes his other hand and slaps between your thighs. You jolt when he makes contact with your pussy. The cotton of your panties is already damp. “I’ve been a bad partner. What kind of man doesn’t make sure his girl is satisfied?”

He slaps your pussy again and you cry out, the noise catching in your throat when he keeps his warm hand pressed against you. Your knees feel weak when he rubs you through the fabric, his fingertips nudging your clit just right. Fuck. Finally.

“It’s a man’s job to make sure his girl is happy and well taken care of.” Jack tuts, the playful click of his tongue making you clench around nothing. “And I’ve clearly been lacking. Lemme make it up to you, baby.”

All you manage is a weird sort of whimper. Jack chuckles, and the sound seems to tingle all the way up your spine and wrap around your brain. Oh, yeah. You needed this. You try not to seem too excited when Jack tugs your panties down to your knees. He drags his fingers through your slick folds, just barely dipping his middle finger into your entrance; you clench immediately.

“Christ, you poor thing.” The immediate loss of his hand makes you want to groan. You hear Jack suck his finger clean, then rustling as he shoves his sweats and boxers down. The thick head of his cock rubs against your slit and you moan.

“Jack-“

“Oh, I know, sweetheart.” He notches himself just inside of you, pushing in one, two inches and pausing just to hear you whine. “Just let me take care of you.”

You’d thought, given his sweet behavior, that you’d gotten off the hook for your behavior. That there’d be no punishment once Jack realized his mistakes, that he’d just give you what you want.

You’re proven wrong when he fucks into you hard - bottoming out in a single, rough thrust that makes you squeal and collapse forward onto the bed. You try to put a little distance between you, the stretch burning, but Jack presses his chest to your back and bends over, leaving you completely blanketed by his body.

“Ah ah ah - hey, where are you going?” Jack slides his right arm between your neck and the bed then flexes - and suddenly you find yourself trapped between his thick bicep and forearm. “This is what you wanted, right? Why you’ve been throwing such a hissy fit?”

The only sound that escapes you is a pitiful little moan as he constricts your airway. Jack’s choked you before, sure; but never like this. You can’t help but clench around him as he fucks you rough and deep, your vision going a little spotty as his arm keeps squeezing.

“Mm-“

“Fuck, baby, you’re tight.” He grunts, bracing his other arm next to you on the bed. Another harsh thrust makes you squeak, and you can hear the grin in Jack’s voice when your hands fly up to dig your nails into the arm around your neck. “Good girl, good baby. Scratching me up with those pretty nails, huh? You gonna let me pay for them next time? Like I’m supposed to?”

You nod as well as you can. It’s hard to think with his thick cock bruising your insides and his arm wrapped around your throat, but you’re trying your best. Jack moves his left arm down, wedging it between you and the bed to rub your clit as he pounds you from behind. You’re fairly certain you’re drooling. You can feel yourself getting close, the feeling spreading through your insides like wildfire, but you try your best to hold it back just to spite Jack.

“You’re close, aren’t you babydoll?” Of course he can tell. He always can. “C’mon, honey. Give it to me. Quit being stubborn and just let go.”

You couldn’t disobey him if you tried (and you were definitely trying). Your orgasm hits you like a brick wall, your pussy squeezing and gushing around Jack’s cock like a vice as he fucks you through it. Your eyes burn as a few tears escape them.

“Fuck, there you go.” His bicep is hot against your throat, squeezing tight enough to have you choking and gasping. God, it feels amazing. “There’s my girl. Shit, m’sorry for being such a jackass, baby. I won’t do it again. Gotta keep my girl happy.”

And boy, are you happy. There’s really nothing like being pinned to the bed as Jack fucks you like he’s trying to put you through the mattress, even if you are twitchy and overstimulated from your orgasm. A broken, weak little noise escapes your lips, and Jack hushes you.

“I know, I know. I’m almost finished.” His voice is strained, his breath warm against the back of your head as he pants. “Keep squeezing me like that, babydoll. Fuck, just like that-“

One more rough thrust forward and Jack’s cumming inside of you, his arm flexing so hard around your neck that you can’t even gasp for breath. The warmth of his release floods your insides and fills you (no pun intended) with an immediate, satiated sense of calm. Everything feels right in the world now. Your reign of bratty terror can finally come to an end.

Jack finally relaxes his arm and you suck in a big, desperate gulp of air. Coughing and gasping, your head falls onto the mattress as Jack pets your hair and leans down to kiss your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“You okay?” He murmurs. You manage to open your eyes and see nothing but love and concern swimming around in his gaze. “I didn’t break you, did I?”

“I’m not the one you need to be worried about.” You croak, voice hoarse. Jack lifts himself off of you; the skin of your back and his chest are tacky with sweat, your shirt sticking, and you miss his warmth as soon as the cool bedroom air prickles along your spine. “You didn’t throw out your hip, did you?”

That earns you a hard, firm smack on the ass. You yelp, your pussy fluttering weakly around his soft cock.

“Jesus Christ.” Jack pulls out slowly, hissing through his teeth at the feeling. “I thought you were done being a pain in my ass? Did I not fuck you hard enough or something?”

When he steps back you pull yourself a little more onto the bed, then roll onto your back to look up at him with a tired, shit eating little grin.

“Mm…I don’t know. Might need you to do that again. I still feel like buying my own dinner.”

Jack scoffs and shakes his head, but the look on his face makes your stomach flip.

“Well we can’t have that, can we?”

It had been a shitty shift, an incredibly shitty shift. Customers seemed to be as idiotic as possible; your co-workers didn’t seem to know their left foot from their right. Everything went wrong.   

All you desired was to come home, find Joel watching the Sunday game, and be in his orbit. You didn’t require much from him; just his presence was enough to soothe your soul…

Forgettingly, you return to find multiple cars blocking your driveway, remembering it’s the Super Bowl. Sunday Super Bowl…how lovely. 

Joel told you it was happening a few weeks ago, that he’d have a few friends over, maybe your Mom would have people over too. Wouldn’t be too many people, but just wanted you prepared for it, mentioning that his home was as much yours… 

You didn’t remember much of the conversation, just remembered how he made your heart race with the way he talked to you so sweetly, grasping at your wrist to get your attention… no wonder you forgot. 

It’s loud when you enter the front door - chatter fills the house with the game turned up as loudly as possible. The smell of beer, junk food, and some candle that makes the home smell like strawberries and cream is overwhelming as you adjust your gaze. 

Nobody seems to notice you as you enter the living area, an older crowd, maybe 15-ish, maybe closer to 20, people just sprawled out, drinking, socializing, some in the backyard smoking. 

Doesn’t bother you much, preferring only one person's attention as you spot him outside talking to two other men, dressed in a flannel that’s buttoned to show his peak of greying chest hair. In jeans that fall over his boots, always dressed like some lumberjack… You enjoy teasing him because of it. 

You think for a moment, thinking to re-enter through the backyard instead… act as if you’re just getting home, then to be able to greet him casually. It gives you a glimmer of anxiety, loving the look he gives you when he sees you. 

It’s unlike anything you’ve seen, very predatory… the way his eyes drop, how he tenses, tracking your every movement. Makes you feel hunted. Makes you wanna melt in his hold. 

You’re about to move until you’re struck with disgust, watching her, your mother, sneak next to him, her hand sneaking up his abdomen, onto his chest as she rubs there, greedily. 

He opens his arm to her mindlessly, still stuck in conversation with the two men, as she sneaks under, curling to him where she stands like a fucking 3-year-old, nuzzling into him as she rubs his chest. 

Your hands shake a bit as you control the rising rage in your body, biting down on the inside of your lip as she leans up to him, expectantly, her lips poking out where he looks down, granting her what she wants. His lips find hers and meet on a kiss, a quick peck. 

Satisfied, she rests her head on his shoulder as you realize how you look, standing there, in the middle of the party, fists clenched, snarling, raging. 

Your heightened heartbeat leads you to stomp up the stairs, away from the socialization, into the solitude of your bedroom as you slam the door loudly. Not loud enough to drown out the sound below, but loud enough to get out some of your aggression. 

“He doesn’t even fucking like PDA,” You exclaim in the comfort of your own room, stripping from your work clothing as you fling them carelessly. 

A couple of nights ago, they had returned home from a date, something your mother insisted they go on - grumbling about how they hadn’t had a night out in forever… which was true. Ever since he found himself in a relationship with you, he’d ignored a lot of his marital duties. Something you tried not to allow go to your head. 

You acted as if you were in bed, sound asleep, but truthfully, ear hustling - trying to make out the argument being had. 

“Just think it’s a lil’ sloppy to be all over each other like that - at our age.” You couldn’t see his face, but tell from his voice how annoyed he was - his words echoing down the hall. 

It had turned into an argument that soon went out of earshot as the bedroom door closed behind them. 

He’s told her, you’ve heard it. He doesn’t like the fucking attention, but he chooses someone like her. What's his fucking issue?

It isn’t a good energy to surround yourself with as you move back down the stairs, having dressed yourself in some oversized shirt and shorts that are probably too short, a distant part of you hoping it might gain his attention. 

It does not. He’s moved inside when you come down the stairs, sat in his chair, legs sprawled out in a way that makes your knees knock. 

It's pure man, the way his beer loosely swings in between his fingers, the veins in his arms flexing as he tenses, his voice booming as he argues over some football thing with another… You can picture yourself sitting there, at his feet in between his legs, maybe while he plays with your hair. 

But, like clockwork, she’s there interrupting your fantasy, planting herself right down onto his lap with a plop, drunkenly. Your mother was never one to hide her alcohol intake. 

You don’t pause to see his reaction, only head through the swinging door, into the kitchen, a private spot away from others. 

You don’t let yourself cry, don’t allow that at all. You’re better than that, you’re not her. You’re not pathetic. 

Instead, you remove your choice bottle of alcohol from the pantry and have at it. Maybe 3 shots, maybe 4. Who knows… all you know is your desire to numb your thoughts, refusing to think about Joel in the other room with another woman who should be you. 

It isn’t long until that warm buzzed feeling ripples over you, cradling you into a deep haze as you spin a bit mindlessly, knocking over a few glasses as they come down in a slicing crash. 

“Shit,” you murmur, bending over to pick up the pieces, accidentally stepping barefoot on a shard as it slices your foot - earning a soft gasp from you as you rip it out, watching the blood drops coat the floor. 

It isn’t long until another figure enters through the swinging door, your head peaking up where it’s bent over to see Joel's brother, Tommy, standing there, looking at the mess, then back to you. 

“Jesus, kid, you alright?” He questions, clearly knowing the answer, as he moves to the corner of the room, grabbing a broom there. 

“Never been betterrrr…” You slur into a slight giggle, trying to stop the bleeding with a press of your fingers, wincing at the touch - deciding to hop up on the counter for better support. 

He looks at you a bit curiously, then to the bottle next to you, then to the ground, sweeping up the debris, “Nursin’ that bottle, huh?”

You laugh a bit at his sarcasm, disregarding your injury as he only huffs out a laugh in response. You open your mouth to respond, only to be cut off by the door swinging open again. 

“Ain’t takin’ that bet,” Joel hollers behind him before entering, his soft smile immediately dropping into a frown as he spots you, then Tommy, eyes darting between you both for a moment. 

He’s quick to you then, coming over in three long strides, blocking the space in between Tommy and yourself as you avoid his gaze, refusing to meet his eyes - utterly pissed with him.

“Tommy, the hell happened?” He’s barking where he stands above you, his natural scent quite intoxicating as you’re tempted to lean into his chest where you’re sitting.

“Hell, ‘f I know, “Tommy shrugs, moving to the trash can to dump the pile of glass, “She’s bout three sheets to the wind though.”

Tommy snorts after making his accusation, pleased with pointing out how much of a drunken mess you are. You always wondered which one was older, but this interaction makes it quite clear. 

You can feel Joel's breath on your face as he inches closer, knowing he’s waiting for your response, waiting to see you fully, but you don’t look to him… only watch Tommy put the broom away. 

“Alright… thanks, Tommy, got it from here.” He murmurs a bit, his tone softening in your presence it seems as Tommy takes the hint and exits the room.

“Baby girl, what hap-” You cut him off with a kick to his thigh, attempting to push him away but failing miserably, watching where your foot slides off his thigh.

“Fuck. Off.” You slur, finally blinking up to him where he’s stood. 

He doesn’t really show any hint of anger. His face is stern but still soft as he looks to you, letting out a deep sigh as his shoulders rise and fall with his deep inhale, reaching for you again, your foot going up on another kick as he grabs it in his hand, observing the source of blood. 

“Quit that.” He mumbles scoldingly, voice richened by the alcohol he was sipping, sounding deeper than usual. 

You respond with a whine, watching as he removes himself from your presence and soon returns with some items to patch you up, blowing raspberries to him as he takes your foot once more. 

He cleans it with some antibacterial wipes while you ignore the sting, looking at where his eyes are concentrated on your foot - focused. 

“You don’t even fucking like PDA,” you huff out, irritably, as he presses a gauze pad to your foot. 

“Drunk as a skunk,” He chuckles out a bit, dismissing whatever you’re saying, his focus stuck on wrapping your foot now. 

Fills you with resentment as you desire then to hurt him, make him feel what you feel in this moment, “Not my dad… not my daddy.”

You huff it out all at once, drunkenly motivated by your bitterness to make it sting, convinced that you hate him, that he’s the worst thing to come into your life as you eye him for his reaction. 

He does pause. Dropping your foot there, his hands go to his hips as his head drops to look at the floor, giving you a good look at where he’s graying on his head. He looks to the door, then to you. Furiously, his mouth twisted as if he’s holding back words, his eyes locking with yours aggressively. 

“Get upstairs. Now.” It’s guttural, the words come out coated in abrasion, as you can tell he’s holding back - knowing he probably wants to lunge to you and put you over his lap like he’s done once before.

You know better than to argue, only sticking your tongue out at him in a juvenile manner before exiting the kitchen, maneuvering around different bodies, and heading up the stairs.

You think of locking your bedroom door after you enter, but decide against it, knowing his temper can only hold for so long as you lie back onto your bed, waiting…

He’s there, maybe five minutes later… probably to not draw suspicion, your door ripping open and slamming closed as the lock turns - your stomach dropping ten stories as you whimper, sitting up, aggressively throwing a stuffed animal from your bed to him - watching him catch it before looking down to it and then you. 

“The hell's gotten into you?” He’s whisper-yelling, his southern accent thicker whenever he’s pissed - something you try to ignore in an attempt to keep your fury. 

“What the fuck do you think-”

“Watch that pretty mouth, ‘fore I get the soap.” He barks back, cutting you off in a way that makes your thighs press together in submission, your eyes leaving his presence, finding your walls to be more interesting.

It isn’t long until he’s in front of you, his dry calloused hand coming under your chin, fingers pressing to your jaw as he forces you to look up at him, realizing just how angry he is. 

His jaw stern and set, clearly clenching, his eyes deep and dark, chest rising and falling with tempered breaths, “Try again without the potty mouth.”

His demanding tone causes your face to soften where it was once pinched, resolve moving in your chest as you desire to be done with this energy, needing to just be his little girl again as tears well in your eyes, “You’re supposed to be mine.”

It comes out as a confession you didn’t expect to make, your bones shuddering in response at the vulnerability, realizing the anger was disguised as the simple fear of not being his and him not being yours. 

You can practically see when he understands how you’re feeling, desperate for his time, touch, and attention. Watching as his brows lower and soften, his eyes drooping to match yours, his hand releasing its tight hold on your face. 

“Darlin’...” He collapses at that, moving next to you on your bed as you can’t help but want to hide your face, instead turning to press your lips to his on a needy whine, ignoring the tears that fall from your face to his, savoring the feeling of his beard as it prickles your skin. 

He responds by pulling you into his lap, forcing your knee over him as you settle face to face, your body melting and fitting into him like a puzzle as he kisses you once more, in a way that satiates your cravings as he kisses you as if he’s starved for you - arms holding you close where they enclose around you on a tight hug. 

It’s the typical dance your lips do, moving together on a soft pillow-like press, deepening as you both display your desire. 

“Can't be doin’ that, need to be good.” He mumbles into your mouth, neither of you desiring to break away as you trade hot breaths, your body slowly rocking onto his as you hum understandably. 

“I'll be good.” You murmur back, knowing what he means, knowing he doesn’t want to hear that language or hear you take that tone… a true, rare occurrence from you, motivated by the excessive alcohol in your system. 

A familiar hardness erupts under you as your cheeks flush with heat, realizing his reaction to you, something that has you deepening the kiss as your tongue sloppily moves into his mouth, forgetting all decorum. 

He, of course, entertains it on a soft chuckle, his arms tightening their grip as your ass nudges down on his mass, wanting to feel more of it. 

A soft groan exits his lips in response to your movements, his hips instinctively jutting up. 

He breaks away with a soft lean back as you cry at the loss of connection, looking at him with a pout as he hums lowly, “How d’you want it?” 

It fills you with butterflies as you think a bit, your brain bobbling in your head as you try to put together words - not expecting the question. 

“Can we?” you ask, confusedly, not expecting him to give you this, grant it to you. 

“Well… you got me worked up, princess.” His hand reaches to your face to remove a stray piece of hair there, tucking it behind your ear as you bite your lip back, hips beginning to rock in anticipation. 

You’d never chosen the position, usually Joel just turned you however he wanted you… not that you minded. This was a rarity. 

You think for a bit, holding back a moan as the pressure of him reaches your covered nub - a lightbulb forming above your head. 

“Awrf!” You bark, your head turning to the side, hoping he gets it as he does, laughing that rich Joel laugh that comes right from his belly as he sucks in air. 

“Jesus…” He huffs out, hands going to the side of him as he looks at you as if you’re the only person to ever exist, “You’ll be the death of me, girl.” 

Happens in a whir, the way you disrobe completely, wanting him to be able to see all of you. He only focuses on his jeans, unbuckling as he speaks, “Gotta be quick, told 'em I’m takin’ a call.”

“Uh-huh, quickie,” you giggle, getting on your hands and knees on the bed, deciding to move down to your forearms to give him a better view of your backside, your legs spreading slightly as you wiggle your hips. 

You gasp as a pillow is placed under your hips, giving your backhalf more height for him as you nudge yourself against it, realizing the pressure there grants you some needed relief. 

“Thank you, daddy,” you murmur softly, mentally moving around your drunken and now aroused haze.

“Ready, pup?” He grumbles from behind you, poking you forward with his swollen tip as your hips move with anticipation - feeling it slide down in between your folds.

“Awrf!” you giggle at the new nickname, immediately being cut off with the stuffing of his cock, feeling as it finds its depth within you. 

You moan together in sync at the newfound pleasure, trying your best to keep your angle as you twitch, sinking your teeth into your hand as one of his hands grasps at your hips, forcing you back to meet his press. 

You never thought to ask him how big he is, you just know it by the way he stretches you there, your hole giving way to the warm, veined, thick press there, hugging around him as you stifle your moans a bit. 

It’s in typical Joel manner that he enters slowly, preferring to allow you both to feel how you become one, allowing you to memorize every protruding vein that nudges at your constricting walls. 

He stops once your ass connects to his abdomen, holding you there, feeling you as you feel him. You can’t help but pulsate down onto him, wishing he could stay there forever, your feet flexing behind you as you gasp through the intrusion. 

“Jesus,” He’s breathless behind you, his free hand coming up to your behind, rubbing soothingly. 

You know he’s observing you in this way, memorizing you. You huff a bit, upset knowing you can’t see his face, second-guessing your position choice. 

A stinging slap lands on your ass as you're sent forward, Joel’s hand tightening around your hip to keep you to him as you whine, your head moving over your shoulder to see him there, staring at the new red mark he’s made, his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. 

His hips move back gently, then forward, ushering a soft ‘ooo’ from your lips as you roll your head, his thrust pace, slow and soft - your petal like walls fluttering around him. 

You can’t help it in this moment, jutting yourself back to meet his thrusts, then rolling your hips, his cock swirling inside you as you mewl and whine into the bed. 

“Fuck-,” He whispers, harshly, allowing you to play with him in such a way, his groans coming out at a quicker pace as you do, excitement burning in your lungs at the prospect of pleasing him. 

“Daddy…” You breathe out, “ ‘m your good girl?”

He stops his movements, both hands going at your hips to settle you before letting out a breathy laugh, “Have me actin’ a fool with people under my roof - got the nerve to ask me that?”

You shudder then, your legs shaking as you realize this is something he does not do. This is something he only does with you because he can’t help himself; he can’t control himself. He needs you that badly. 

“Yeah, you’re my good girl.” His hips snap brutally into you, sending out a pained whimper as he rears back and begins a stallion-like pace 

“Oh- Oh my god,” You cry out, as he slams into you with powerful force, his hands buried into the skin on your hips, pulling you back as the room fills with the decadent sounds of skin slapping and mutual pleasure. 

“Keep it, just like that, pup,” He mutters from behind you as your legs twitch and threaten to collapse at his ruthless pace - his cock coated in your wetness as the sloppy sounds only add to your arousal. 

It’s sudden, the way your hair is pulled, tugging you up as your hands flail out in response, feeling your back hit Joel's chest, his cock still pressed deep in you as it jolts. 

Your hands find their place on Joel's thighs behind you, where his muscle is tensing and relaxing with each thrust. 

His rough hands grope at your chest, cupping the meat there in a greedy, hungry manner. His face buries in your neck, nipping at the skin before kissing it, repeating the motion as his beard scratches you there. 

You’re held together as he moans deeply into your neck, his hips desperately attempting to find relief as his cock pushes and dives in as deep as possible - his barbarous thrusts matching his intense desire to find his pleasure. 

Your head spins from the alcohol and from the fuck, murmuring about something you can’t remember under your breath, feeling like a rag doll as he holds you to him. 

“You’re in my stomach daddy.” You giggle drunkenly, feeling as if he’s pounding into your depths, your helpless thighs jiggling against his abrasive humps. 

“Gonna make me- damnit-,” He groans into your skin, his face moving out of the crook of your neck, kissing there at your jaw before you turn your face to him in response, allowing his chapped lips to find yours on a kiss - trading moans between each other's lips. 

“In me, daddy, in me,” You beg, against his lips, his cock pulsating against your gummy walls as he sloppily thrusts, his hips meeting your ass, “wan’ feel it daddy.” 

You think about re-joining the party below, still dripping with your stepdad's seed. 

It’s too much for him, his grip tightening around your breasts as he sends himself forward, collapsing on top of you with the loudest moan you’ve ever heard from him, his lips pressed to your ear. 

He digs his hips into you then, bullying his cock as deep as possible, feeling his balls pulsate on your rear as he shoots out his seed, feeling it coat you, the hot spurts continuous as he continues to thrust his high out, his weight collapsing on you. 

“Aw christ-” He breathes out, thrusting through his orgasm, pressing you down with his full weight as your leg twitches from the pressure.

It’s a strange thing watching Joel come down. He isn’t in his right mind just yet, as he still softly thrusts into your hold, mumbling praises for you, discussing how good you are to him as he gasps and breathes through it. 

You realize suddenly you’re often on the other side, dazed and confused, realizing you’ve done to him what he’s always done to you. 

You try to bite back your smile as he catches his breath over you, kissing at your back, releasing his fierce hold on your breasts before rolling over with a soft ‘sorry’, realizing he was indeed stealing your breath with his weight. 

“Golly, girl.” He breathes out in the most southern accent, sending giggles out of your mouth as you repeat him. 

“Gol-lee,” you smile, his chest rising and falling in his flannel as he wipes at the beads of sweat on his forehead before turning to you. 

“Don’t think you know what you do to me, pup,” He hums out in a breath, his eyes searching over you a bit confusedly, as if he’s trying to make out if you’re real or not, shaking his head. 

His thumb moves to your lips, where you open and take him, sucking gently. It’s a bit salty, but you don’t mind, wrapping your tongue around him needily, loving every time he does it.

You both catch your breath like that, your eyes closing as you feel his on you, watching as your tongue swirls around his finger.  

“Two things…” He breaks the silence, your eyes opening. 

“Don’t wanna hear you talk like that again.” His eyes deepen as they connect with yours, an attempt to show his seriousness as you nod, realizing he means the words you shared in the kitchen. 

“Mhm…” you agree, batting your lashes to him apologetically, knowing you can’t promise it, but you’ll try. You think he knows that, too. 

“Number two. Change out of them damn shorts before you come back down.” 

In the mountains in the west, rests a small town hidden from plain view. Surrounded by towering trees and excessive greenery. Boroughs of lakes and ponds sprinkle throughout the land - the main town, quaint and quiet. A grocery store, diner, bar, laundromat, nothing too impressive - a town easy to miss on the map. 

Everyone knows everyone, a town full of locals, and the ones who do reside there know to stay away from Joel Miller, or otherwise known as Old Man Miller - coined by the kids. 

They speak of him as if they’re reading a folklore tale. Old Man Miller, who’s inhabited this town, residing deep in the mountain, for some odd years. No one really knows when he arrived, nor how long he’s stayed. 

Old Man Miller, who growls and grunts through his town interactions, only showing love to his dog, that’s usually at his side, preferring to treat the rest of the town as if they’re nonexistent. 

Old Man Miller, who scares away children when they see him stomping into town. Old Man Miller, who has a permanent seat at the local bar that no one dares to sit in. 

Old Man Miller, who has physical and mental scars from his previous lives. They rumored him to be ex-military, maybe even a hitman - everyone seems too fearful to ask. Old Man Miller, who has no issue beating the life out of any man aged seventeen to seventy-five if he deems it necessary. 

The town is aware, you don’t mess with Joel Miller. 

He prefers it that way; he’s lived long… way too long. Long enough that his bones ache in the morning with every stretch, his limbs pop routinely. Long enough that he has to ask people to speak up when they’re talking to him. 

His face slightly sags with age, sprinkled with scars and freckles - still tight enough to show his permanent frown lines. He can hardly even read anything without his glasses. He knows he’s old - feels it every minute of his existence. 

The last thing he desires is to be seen as approachable in his old age. He’s lived long enough to know people take advantage of the young and old, the weak. He’s refused to be viewed as weak ever since he left home at eighteen. 

The drive into town from his isn’t long - just meticulous. Purposefully, having built his home away from others, enjoying it to be difficult to be reached. Joel had purchased most of the land in the area, refusing to sell it for a dime, prioritizing his privacy. 

To reach his home, you’d have to memorize the excessive turns and veers that anyone but him would forget. He personally put up electric fences around the boundaries - along with strict ‘No Trespassing’ signs & the occasional ‘Trespassers Will Be Shot & Killed’ for a stronger effect. He didn’t take chances nor risks. 

Joel’s engine roars down the main road, a familiar sound that alerts the citizens of his arrival. The pick-up truck blows out heavy amounts of smoke as he pulls into the gravel-filled parking lot of a store reading, ‘Grab n Go’. 

He pets his dark-haired dog's head before exiting the vehicle, his boots colliding with the ground with a hard thud that seems to gain everyone's attention in the lot - immediately averting their gaze, a natural reaction. 

He snorts, stuffing his fists in his pockets before strolling in. 

He buys his usual supply, some milk, bread, peanut butter, eggs, cereal, coffee grounds, and orange juice - nothing too special as he plops his handbasket in front of the cashier, fishing out his wallet from his pocket. 

The boy jumps a bit, woken up by the slam of the basket in front of him, his eyes widening as he realizes it's Joel, adams apple bobbing nervously as he straightens up, “F-Find everything okay?” 

Joel doesn’t respond, irritated at the slight chance of small talk, his attention instead focused on you, where you’re leaning over the counter one cashier over, hips swaying in a tantalizing manner that has Joel blowing out hot air through his nostrils.

He narrows his gaze, grunting in an irascible manner, taking in your appearance, nothing but a small pair of shorts that show off too much of your legs, and some tight tank top that has the cashier, the Jensen boy, oogling at your chest - too distracted to notice how you slide a pair of sunglasses into your pocket - stealing right in front of him. 

It would be enough to send most men into a lustful state, he can’t necessarily blame the boy, you’re a sight to behold in this rinky dink town… so much so he doesn’t realize he’s been staring creepily for the last minute - unlike Joel to be caught in someone else's business. 

Joel interrupts in own trance, scoffing a bit, standing there, shaking his head lightly, as you immediately cut the flirty act once you get what you need, waving bye to the cashier as you exit the store.

He can’t help but watch you leave, ignoring the tightening of his muscles and heavy breathing, refusing to acknowledge any feelings in the moment. 

“Kids”, he thinks, sighing through the quickening of his heartbeat as his eyes follow you through the glass window. 

It ticks him off a bit then that he doesn’t know you. He knows everyone in this town as they know him. Why doesn’t he know you? 

“Um s-sir. Your total…” The checker mumbles, trying to gain back Joel's attention in the most polite manner - an attempt to not poke the bear. 

Joel snaps his attention down to the boy, throwing the total down to the cent, on the counter, before snatching his bag of groceries and storming out to his truck - the bell ringing as he pushes past the door. 

“Hi, Mr.Miller.” You speak softly, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. 

Feels like a sucker punch to the chest the way his feet screech on the ground, his head looking down to the right. He’s never approached, never talked to unless he speaks first, so to find you standing up against the wall, greeting him, leaves him in awe. 

He can’t help his natural physical reaction, the way his face screws into a snarling frown - his peace disturbed. 

You’ve got the sunglasses on, tag still hanging as he eyes you, harshly, refusing to show you how you’ve surprised him in this moment. A soft smile creeping up on your lips that has him faltering in his thoughts. 

You wave your fingers at him in a little giggle that makes his skin feel too tight & his balls feel too heavy, promptly ignoring you and continuing on to his truck. 

He doesn’t have time for this. Refusing to fall victim like the clerk in the store.

And no, he doesn’t mean to look at you through his rearview mirror when he’s reversing, he doesn’t mean to stare at your legs or focus on your chest rising and falling - nope, he isn’t memorizing your look - he’s just reversing out of this damn lot. 

-

Due to the vastness of his land, up-keep takes up most of his day, choosing a different route to trek to make sure everything looks good. Most days they do, today is not that day. 

He’s in his own thoughts, hands clenched around his shotgun, boots digging into the floiage with each step, taking in the scenery, planning on cooking the bird he hunted the other day when he hears it. A giggle. 

It's unmistakable, that giggle. That familiar giggle. 

He hears it plain as day - lighting a fire in his chest, a burning, irritable desire that has him seething. To hear something like that so closeby only means someone is trespassing. 

Moreso, a group it sounds as he gets closer, his shotgun in his right hand, ready to keep his signs promise. 

As he approaches, he finds you there… the girl from the store last week, flapping in his lake lazily, some boys watching from the side. Two of them, known as Burt & Joey, local burn-outs. 

It’s not the first time he’s found younger folk in this small lake - it’s peaceful, slips right under the sunlight, the trees offer enough privacy but are home to a range of birds that sing you to sleep with their melodies. It’s a great oasis… but it’s his. 

What’s his is his. Joel Miller, does not not share. 

In usual occurrences, he’d fire a warning shot, right above their heads to get them to scatter, but he doesn’t do it now, his eyes focused where your body floats angelically, creeping on you where he’s buried within the trees, out of your sight. 

The sunlight catches onto you, illuminating you in a way that causes Joel's heart to skip a beat - an action rare to him as he breathes out a deep grumble that vibrates within his chest. 

Your body easily gives into the soft pull and push of the current, tilting down and back, a typical giggle leaving your lips as your head goes underwater for a second. 

It puts Joel into a trance, his grip loosening on his weapon as he takes in deep pulls of breath through his open mouth, his jaw slack as he oogles you in a similar way in the store. 

“Should've gotten more beer, idiot,” Burt murmurs to Joey, pulling Joel from his hypnotic state. 

Joey tosses his empty can into the forest, “Maybe you shouldn’t drink so fuckin’ fast.” 

Joel cocks his shotgun then, a rough sound that has birds flocking from their nests nearby, the boys cursing in fear as they turn red. 

“Got ‘bout 3 seconds to get off my property till I start shootin’...” Joel doesn’t need to yell; his deepened southern voice carries with the wind, authoritatively and they know his voice. Everyone knows his voice and the weight it carries. 

It doesn’t take long for the boys to begin to trip over each other, yelling at you where you remain in the lake to ‘come on’ and ‘hurry up’ but you only shrug in response, doggy paddling and beginning to tread. 

“Just leave her, her funeral,” one of them breathily states before hiking back up the trail they came down in a hurry, stumbling on the way out. 

Joel is never baffled, but he is today. He knows you can’t see him where he’s hidden in the trees, but he’s used to a certain reaction when he asserts himself. A reaction that the collective tends to share, a reaction of distress - fright, what have you. 

You’re not scared, it seems, you just continue your motions, taking in a mouthful of water before spitting it out like a fountain. 

“Little girl,” He hollers, voice hoarse with age, simultaneously vexed and intrigued with you, “You’re trespassin’.” 

He doesn’t know why he’s giving you a chance, knowing his best bet was to shoot the gun in the water to get this over with - refusing to allow himself to think that he wants to prolong this interaction just to see the way your body moves with the water. 

“Can’t own water…” You giggle in that same giggle, completely careless and worry-free as your head swivels, trying to locate Joel. 

“Own the land around the water, smart-ass, still tresspassin’.” He challenges, his throat heavy with caution, ignoring how innocent you look as you squint into the bushel of trees - feeling like a damn wolf coming upon a fawn. 

“Well… not if I stay in the water,” You hum happily, feeling sure of yourself, having come to a consensus in your head - as you give up on your search, settling with the realization you won’t find him.  

“Jesus Christ, ya ain’t stayin’n the water.” His texan voice cracks with impatience, hands flexing, curling into a ball, refusing to be played by some silly little girl - especially on his own property. Unsure as to why he’s even entertaining this. 

“Guess ya have to come n get me,” You sing out, floating on your back again in a blasé manner, blowing out a raspberry in a teasing way. 

Joel wouldn’t do this… he doesn’t… but he does as he sets his gun down next to a tree, propping it up as he removes his utility jacket off, slipping off his boots. Leaving himself in some jeans and a t-shirt, finally stepping into the light, taking long, easy strides to the side of the lake. 

Your eyes finally catch on him, and they don’t fill with fear nor dread, moreso wonderment and amazement as you bite your lip back, continuing to tread as Joel approaches. 

“Hi again, Mr.Miller,” You grin delicately and politely, as if he’s not seconds away from losing his shit. 

“Drivin’ me up the damn wall,” He snarls as he sloshes into the lake, fully clothed from head to toe, your mouth dropping open in a bewildered shock as he swims to you effortlessly, grabbing a strong fistful of your upper arm before dragging you to shore. 

He knows he’s gripping too hard, digging his fingers into your wet skin as he hoists you out, but he can’t help the frustration he feels in the moment - needing to release it in some manner. He reduces it to just frustration with trespassing and nothing more. 

He releases you once you’re out, mumbling about how you’re on land now and you need to go, taking steps towards his inventory, turning to where you’re standing, dripping into the forest floor.

“Well…” You giggle a little nervously, a shiver running down your spine, “That was my ride, Mister Miller, so what do we do now?”

The way you say his name sounds like sex on your lips as it causes him to go rigid, shaking his head free from any unsavory thoughts, “We?”

“Uh huh, we,” you shrug confusedly, as if of course you would be his responsibility. 

“Ain’t no we, you got yourself here, get yourself on back.” His eyes can’t help but wander down to where your shirt is now see-through, displaying the skin on your breasts and the poke of your nipples through the shirt that has him quickly averting his gaze, blood rushing down to his crotch, his stomach tightening. 

He didn’t do this. He never did. He purposefully avoided anything that could be a turn on in his life, settled into a town of old people, and kept himself away from any temptations. The women around weren’t the best lookers, he made sure of it. He fucked his hand once or twice a day for the sole purpose of stress relief - he didn’t do this. 

“Can you show me at least?” It's unreal how soft your voice still is in Joel's ears, no hints of malice or irritation, mostly amusement it seems, at this situation, at him, he doesn’t know what to make of it. Doesn’t know what to make of you. 

“Goddamnit,” Joel murmurs to himself, knowing he’s gonna do what he shouldn’t do, what his brain is advising him not to do. “C’mon. Hurry up.”

He doesn’t wait for you, doesn’t look back to make sure you’re keeping with his stride; the shuffle of your feet behind him is enough. 

“We know each other?” Joel questions, wanting to know how it is you know him and he doesn’t know you. 

“You don’t remember me?” You pout behind him, slipping and sliding as your bare feet connect with the forest floor. 

It shouldn’t melt a part of Joel but it does, he knows you might be teasing but it disgusts him how his natural reaction is to turn around and soothe whatever concern you wear - incensed at how his needs seem intune to yours. 

“Well… everyone knows Mr.Miller…” You hum a bit, your eyes catching on a butterfly, “But! You might know my dad… he’s the butcher.”

It hits Joel then, remembering you in some distant memory, probably having seen you last when you were still in grade school - a sliver of embarrassment feeding up his spine, recalling his x-rated thoughts he held moments before for the girl he’s known since her childhood.

“I know him,” Joel mutters as if he isn’t still thinking about your breasts in that top, imagining that they’re bouncing with every step you take, “Your daddy’s a dumbass.” 

Truth be told, Joel had a fairly good relationship with your father up until last year, when he begged Joel for money to get him out of a bind with some loan sharks. Joel helped, letting him know it’d be the first and only time, and he didn’t do charity. He’d expect it back with interest. 

It does make Joel feel better about the situation, lusting after some young thing, knowing if anything were to happen, it would be a nice balance of the current situation; he wouldn’t even have the heart to charge your father. 

But nothing's gonna happen, the most is he’ll fuck the hard clench of his hand later to the thought of you floating in that water. 

You only laugh in response, probably used to your father's antics, Joel assumes. He hardly remembers when you left to go be with your mom; maybe that’s the reason he forgot you. No one really leaves this town. 

“Shouldn’t be hangin’ with burnouts,” Joel huffs, going up a steeper route, unsure as to why he feels the need to scold you, getting embarrassed by his own actions. 

“They’re just my means of free transportation and alcohol,” You breathe out, catching your breath, trying to keep up your pace. 

He disregards the feeling of relief that washes over his body, refusing to acknowledge his fading irritation in hopes that you weren’t involved with one of them or both of them… no, he doesn’t care about that. 

Instead, he attempts to vilify you in his own head, understanding you as a person who takes advantage of any situation, a fox. Sly and slinky, ain’t nothing tangible about you. You’re a user who uses people; he’s not gonna be used. 

He ignores your sighs of exhaustion as his home comes into view, a cabin for him and his dog, nothing more, nothing less. His truck parked out in the front as he walks to it, expecting you to follow. 

When he turns to see how far behind you are, he realizes you’ve left, gone. Only to spot his front door open, absolutely baffled as he grips his gun, storming in after you. 

You’re crouched down, petting his dog warmly, which gets him even more pissed than he already is, “Ya gotta sweet doggie, Mister Miller.”

He can’t control himself, completely thrown off by you in every sense, attempting to decipher if this is actually occurring, if this is reality. 

“You out of your fuckin’ mind?” His jaw locks into place, hands fitting on his hips as he doesn’t curse at women, but the situation calls for it - he knows how he looks, his face probably filled with anger - expecting you to dial it back, to retreat.  

“Whatdya mean?” You look up to him where you’re crouched down, unshocked, unwavering, still petting as your big innocent eyes blink up at him. 

It’s enough to make any grown man weaken, some pretty lil thing blinking up at him in the middle of his home - the things he could do in this moment. 

He can’t help but see you as some wild feral animal, didn’t have a solid daddy to teach you right from wrong, tell you not to go into some old man's home, especially when he’s had thoughts as perverted as his. 

It awakens something dormant in him, that dominant masculine gene that wants to teach you, show you… protect you. There are men even meaner than him out there; you should find yourself lucky. 

“You’re breakin’in, oughta shoot you-”

“Shoot me then,” You blink up, your bottom lip coming between your teeth as you sit on your legs, your posture straightening, the dog running out the front door. 

“Or… you could use your hands like a real man.” 

Joel freezes, for the first time in his life, he freezes. Some temptress sits below him, smiling at the prospect of Joel putting a bullet in her skull - testing him, he realizes. Trying to call his bluff. 

He doesn’t bluff. 

It’s primal, the way his eyes immediately darken down to you, his eyes glowing where you’re staring back, locked onto his… waiting. 

For a few moments, the only sounds in the room are the deep breaths that leave your two mouths… and then… he lunges. 

You’re quick, very quick, escaping his grasp as you run, deeper into his home. He’s old and slow, but smarter in his movements, the way he cuts you off forcing you back, squeals exiting your lips as you maneuver around him. 

It’s a silly dance you continue for some time, turning him every which way, working him up as you view this interaction like a game. 

For a quick second, he acts as if he’s going one way, turning the other way in a fake out before grabbing you and pulling you to him, hoisting you up to his chest as you kick your legs in the air. 

You’re slammed onto the wooden dining table, your back colliding with the wood in a hard motion as breath escapes your lips. 

Joel easily fills the space between your open legs, his dry, calloused hands wrapping around your neck, tightening their grip as you gasp for air, pressing down on your windpipe, thumbs massaging into the soft skin. 

“Wanted me to use my hands, like a real man, ain’t that right?” Joel teases you from above, ignoring the way his jeans feel too tight for his body, not just due to the water. 

Your throat constricts, your face losing color as he tightens, your legs loosely wrapping around his body there, your lips moving to say something. 

He releases slightly, not too much, only allowing you to get what you need out as he tries to ignore what he could do to you in such a vulnerable position, the wet material of your shirt clenched down around your natural curves - he wants to rip it off with his teeth. 

“Mister…Miller…” You gasp, blinking out tears, before letting your voice relax into a soft, melodic moan, legs tightening around his body as he stiffens. 

It hits him all at once, all that he’s denied himself, all he’s wanted to indulge in for years; it lies beneath him, like a feast, his last supper. 

You writhe there, young & sweet, soft & tender… ready for the taking. Conquered by him, waiting for him to use you as he sees fit. 

He’s known he’s been sick for quite some time, known he shouldn’t be getting into drunken fights every Friday. Known it probably isn’t healthy to seclude himself in the way he does, he knows - he’s never cared. 

He didn’t know he was sick in this way. Willing to fuck, someone he stills consistered to be a friends, daughter on his kitchen table. Willing to do the most despicable things possible to the young girl below him. 

He won’t, no, he won’t do that. Won’t cross that line… he’s a bad man, but he has his limits, his eyes focused where your breasts are on full display under his kitchen light, softly swaying with your breath. Your lips colored with desire and wet with saliva as your eyes patiently wait, slowly blinking up to him. 

“Screw it,” He breathes out, leaning over to where you lie, pressing his body over yours as your lips connect on a hungry crash. Years of pent up agression releasing in that moment as he turns into a feral animal. 

He can’t even recall the last time he’s fucked, let alone something as precious as you, makes his cock swell where it's trapped in his jeans, his vision blurry as he blindly kisses at your lips, eagerly dipping his tongue into your kind mouth. 

He could pass out, he thinks, with the amount of blood rushing to his cock, filling it like a damn balloon as his balls pulsate and beat below him, groaning into your mouth as he fiddles with his belt buckle. 

“Mr.Miller…” You whine into his open mouth, sending shockwaves into his creaking bones, forgetting his own age in this moment, only reminded by your words. 

It makes him feel insane, wanting a girl youthful enough to only know him by “Mr.Miller” and not Joel. It's enough to make him burst in his jeans. 

His pants fall around his ankles as he rips at your top, the fabric coming undone with his eagerness as the tatters fall around your body, showing no care for your belongings, only desire for his relief. 

Your shorts are then tugged down to your feet and discarded before Joel finds his place between your legs once more, hands greedily moving up from your outer thighs, up your belly, to cup at the soft mounds of flesh on your chest as you arch your back in response, placing your hands over his as he squeezes out his relief. 

“Goddamn… what am I doin’,” Joel whispers, enchanted with your body, face leaning over to press into your chest, kissing at the meat there hungrily, the wetness from the lake coating his beard as he drags his face between your breasts. 

You whine and whimper below him, hips swaying in response to his needs, watching as he takes pleasure in groping at your body, Old Man Miller.

“Need’t fuck you.” Joel breaks away, set on extinguishing the fire in his boxers as he drops them down, allowing his leaking cock to bob up and out, hitting his abdomen, taking himself into his hand to pump loosely, almost irritated with not being inside you. 

“Um..” You’re breathless below him, the only thing on your body being your white cotton undies. “You think that’ll fit Mr.Miller?”

He audibly groans then, pumping himself faster in his hand, his cock flexing instinctively, ready to blow with just your questioning. 

Joel ignores your words for now, pushing the panties there to the side to reveal your soggy mess, his fingers diving between your folds to expand them, getting a pretty view of the small hole there, lips licking in response. 

“Gon’ make it fit,” He huffs, shuddering while aligning his wide throbbing head with your entrance, pushing only the tip in, getting his arms under your legs to pull you to him as he thrusts with all his might, entering you with one slam. 

It’s enough to make him finish right there, and he has to close his eyes to prevent himself from doing so, the feeling of your tight, warm hold around him, how you pulse down onto his needy cock, taking root in you there. 

“Perfect fuckin’ fit,” He shakily whispers, knowing he’s pushed you to your limit where there's no room left, wishing he could feel apologetic for making you feel such a way, but only focused on your soft pulsing clench. 

He knows below him you’re catching your breath too, having screamed so loud it shook the house when he slammed into you like that, not being able to control himself, knowing by the end of this he’ll probably have beaten your poor pussy black & blue. 

“Jesus, darlin’, damn good pussy you got here.” He can’t help his crudeness, licking his own lips ravenously as he tugs his hips out then in, threatening to spill his seed as he ceases his actions, wanting to make the moment last as long as possible. 

“Oh god,” you gasp below him, your arms going out to grasp at anything, settling for the edge of the table as your chest rises and falls rapidly. 

“Ever been fucked by a man as old as me?” Joel challenges, needing to cover up the desire to cum too fast, deciding to poke at you. 

“N-no, Mr.Miller,” you cry, still adjusting to his size, tears streaming down your cheeks as your back settles, trying to find a comfortable position. 

It makes him feel more like a man, knowing that. Imagining that the boys your age couldn’t do it well enough, makes you need someone like him to get the job done & that sends him off. 

His thrusts are rapid and brutish as he holds your legs to force you to meet every pound, your walls quivering around him as he does, “Don’t think I’vever fucked anyone like you either princess. So young, so sweet…” 

It is incredible, the way you feel around him, your hole desperately clenching and hugging around him, refusing to let go. Tighter than most of the women he’s fucked in his lifetime, makes him wonder how he’s gone so long without you or how he’ll ever let you go.

“Ple-please, gentle…” You sob out, your head rolling back as you allow your body to be used in such a masochistic manner. 

It only encourages him to quicken his pace, feeling his hips pop a bit as he does, remembering he isn’t 20 anymore, not allowing it to stop him, motivated to fill your young cunt with his ancient seed. 

“Boutta drain my balls, baby girl,” He pushes your legs back, bringing your hips down as they slightly hang off the edge of the table, his hands finding their places, grasping onto your breasts as tightly as possible - makes him feel like a damn teenager, fucking you like this. 

You’re filled to your limit as he pushes past, his thick tree-branch-like mass bullying into you deeply and unforgivingly, tweaking your nipple in his hands - sweat streaming down his face at the most intense workout he’s gotten in years. 

“Da-Daddy…” You blabber, hazy-minded, feeling your body ravaged by one of the men you remember your dad playing poker with in the garage, completely at his will. 

“That's right, I'm your daddy now, baby girl.” Just hearing those words are enough for Joel as he twitches relentlessly inside you, his cock just begging for relief - teetering on the edge of ultimate pleasure. 

He loves reducing you down from that girl in the store stealing just to steal, that girl that has boys hanging around you thinking you’ll give them a chance… but not him, not Joel - he wins. 

It fills Joel's mind with pride and confidence that he’s got you right here, that he’s balls deep inside you, you’ve been conquered by him, and you’re his. You must know now that you’re his. 

“Fuckin’ belong to me-” He’s gone mad above you, his eyes squinting closed, hands molding your breasts, his hips locking up in place as his cock roots deep in your cavity, trying to memorize your incredible grip on him as his balls tighten where they once sagged, pulsing and shooting heavy amounts of seed into your womb. 

He can’t imagine how he looks nor the sounds he makes as he releases years of pent-up arousal into your available center, greedily pushing it forward to force you to take it all in, needing you to soak it up for him. 

He thinks he’ll pass out, maybe, his heart could give in, he imagines your cunt is enough to make young boys have heart attacks, he can’t imagine what it’ll do to him. 

To his shock, he remains hard. Something that hasn’t happened since he was twenty-three. As if his body knows that his whole life has led to this moment where he becomes one with you - that this moment was not yet meant to end. Your pussy driving him to utter insanity as he lies over you.

His hand snakes its way between your bodies, finding your soft nub, deeming you deserving of this as his thumb swirls romantically, causing you to buck your hips where you’re still full of him. 

“No more, daddy, can’t do more-” You whine out, your hands going to his shoulders, utterly overstimulated as he doesn’t cease his movements. 

Makes him wanna laugh, knowing that if he can handle another round, you sure can. 

“Shh,” Joel murmurs, pressing his lips to yours in a far less animalistic version than before, being able to feel the soft plumpness of your lips now. He moans, getting his second wind, his hips beginning to thrust less energetically, his age showing. 

It's tender this time, the way he allows himself to fully feel you, the way your walls flutter and falter around him, weak and sore at his intrusion, still granting him the most pleasure possible as he slowly thrusts. 

“Tell me who you belong to,” Joel commands over your lips, breathing in your shallow breaths as you try to not to cry out from the pressure of him and the relief of his connection between your legs, another finger swirling, pressing down in a way that makes your toes clench. 

“Oh god, you-you daddy,” You sob out, not being able to handle it, having never been with a man who can keep going, especially after the previous brutal fucking. 

“Say it again,” He growls possessively onto your lips, picking up his pace in hums and hand movements as he feels you contract around him, finding your own orgasm as it only encourages a tighter hold around his cock. 

“Ya- you, Mr.Daddy,” your words slur, the combination of Mister Miller and daddy falling out of your lips as you find yourself slipping from your mind with every relentless thrust, wondering if he slipped himself a viagra when you weren’t looking. 

Joel's cum is used as lubrication as he sloshes in and out of you. The vulgar sounds of the creamy wetness are enough to send you over, grasping at his back as your back arches, your chest served at his face as he takes his opportunity to once more worship your chest. 

Your orgasm is furious as it pulses down throughout your body and down on him, where he’s finding his next one, sucking at your breast, swirling your nipple in his mouth as he fucks out your orgasm, his arms fitting around your body for his final push. 

“I-don’t, I'm gonna- no,” You babble below him, completely gone from your mind as Joel uses the last of your orgasm to reach his peak, using the last of your pulses to bury deep inside you once more, tightening your bodies together, erupting once more. 

It’s less intense than before but takes him out completely as he collapses over you, slipping out as he catches his breath, feeling his bones ache and flex within him - too damn old for this. 

He loses track of time, where his sweaty forehead is pressed to your skin, listening to the way your heartbeat slows, eventually remembering where he is, who he is, what he was doing, etc. 

It shocks him to his core. The effect you have over him, what you did to him…He knows you’re the one lying under him half unconscious, but he’s the one who’s truly ruined. 

It’s in that moment he knows what you are to him and who he is to you. 

You’re carried to another room, tucked away in his bed. When Joel asks you to say your name, you only babble incoherently. When he asks where you are, you don’t respond, far from your own mind. 

He decides that it’s best for you to stay the night until you’re your usual self - until he can talk to you about this “relationship”. 

He starts a fire, piling firewood in from the hutch. Not something he does for himself, never. It’s only for you, watching as the glow illuminates your face where you’re sleeping peacefully, buried in the blanket. 

Eventually, he slides into bed with you, his body curving around yours naturally, naked skin connecting with each other, reminding himself he’ll need to call down to the pharmacy to pick up some of his pain medication for the ache that settles into his core.

He pays it no mind, his only cares revolving around hearing your soft intakes of breath and heavenly murmurs, promising himself there won’t be a day he goes without you - not now, not ever. 

.

.

.

It was around four o'clock in the afternoon when you woke up from your sick fueled nap, eyes groggy as they adjusted to the late afternoon light filtering in through your curtains. You picked up your phone off the beside table, no new notifications. How long had you been asleep anyway?

You unlocked your phone, doomscrolling for about fifteen minutes when the door to your bedroom creaked open. It was dad.

"Well good morning, sleeping beauty." He smiled, padding over to your bedside, reaching with his free hand to smooth your hair over your face. "Got these for you," He held up a pill bottle in his other hand, giving it a little shake, the white oblong tablets clacking around inside the plastic. "Some antibiotics, we'll start you today."

"What if they make me throw up like that one time?" You pouted slightly, always cautious, always weary when you were feeling this bad. It was like your brain hardly worked, set back to the base state of being a needy little kid again.

"They won't, it's a different kind." Joel unscrewed the cap, shaking one tablet onto his palm and holding it out for you to look at it closer. "See? Different color and everything."

"Still don't trust you." Your expression soured, moving to wipe some of the sleep from your eyes.

"Yeah you do." Joel shook his head at your defiant attitude. What was he gonna do with you? His eyes drifted to your bedside table, he knew he'd left a glass of water for you there during your nap. It was still untouched. "Open up." Dad prompted, to which you huffed, sitting up on your bed and opening your mouth.

He lifted the glass of water to your mouth, letting you sip some water first. Before he placed the pill in your mouth as well, the water doing its job at hiding the bitter taste of medicine. You swallowed, a slight grimace on your face over having to swallow a pill.

Dad lightly squeezed your jaw, making you open your mouth to double check you actually took your meds. He hummed in approval before giving you the command to scoot, his body moving to sit behind yours on the bed.

You settled against him, the warmth of his body and the beating of his heart against your ears was calming. Like a baby being lulled to sleep again. Dad wrapped his arms around you, stroking his big hands up and down your back, before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"You know, you got sick really bad once when you were little." He hummed, patting your back. "Got the chicken pox."

"I don't remember that." You huffed, shaking your head against him and burrowing into his chest.

"I wouldn't expect you to, you were four." Joel lightly tugged at your hair, shaking his head. "You got it real bad though. Even ended up givin' it to uncle Tommy, boy did he look bad." He chuckled, and the thought of it made you smile, just a little. "But it still scared the hell outta me. Always has when you got sick."

"Yeah, but I've always gotten better." You reassured, smushing your face against his torso even further, like the pressure was helping you calm down.

"Well I didn't know that. The first time you ever got sick was when you were just a few months old. A fever that bad on a baby... I don't even wanna think of it again." Joel remembered that nearly every time you were sick. How small you had been crying night after night in your crib. No sleep, no chance at rest, nobody to help him. You had kept him up worrying about your fever, your mucus covered nose, wailing like your lungs were going to give out which, who knows, they might have. Joel would never admit it to you, but he was so scared things would turn for the worse. That he would lose you after just getting you. Just becoming a father.

The memory made him hold you a little tighter. Just a little.

"You'll be alright though, sweetpea. Just gotta get all those meds in your system and you'll be good as new." He pressed another kiss to your head. The skin felt warm to the touch, and just a tad bit clammy.

"Too bad you can't just fix me with duct tape and some tools like you do everything else." You joked, squeezing his arm a couple times. That made dad smile, because he wished he could just get it over with that easy. But no, life had things like this for a reason. It was hard for everyone.

It was quiet for a long while. Your breathing evened out against his body, neither of you wanting to say a word. You just needed his warmth, his comfort. Like you had always needed since day one, and he would always give it.

After some time, he cleared his throat, patting your back.

"I'll make you some soup for dinner, maybe even throw in some saltines."

"Ooh, how fancy." You teased, which made him pinch at your side, making you give a light yelp.

"Well this ain't exactly the Ritz, now is it sweetpea? No, you've gotta deal with the kitchen of 'casa de Miller' til' the day you're outta the house." Joel smiled, shifting to sit up with you still held tight in his embrace. "Now if you'll let this... experienced chef... go to the kitchen, your dinner awaits." He gave one final squeeze before sliding out from behind you, giving a soft smile before heading out into the main part of the house.

So you waited. Your brain was still so foggy, so tired, so sick. But you could tell the antibiotics had already started to perk you up, just a little. You messed with your phone, fiddled with your hair, rolled around on your bed some more. Trying to find something to put your restless mind at ease.

After a few more minutes of waiting, you got out of bed with a big stretch, your legs tingling like they were made of jelly. And you set out to wander into the kitchen.

Dad was stood, bracing himself at the counter in front of the microwave, tapping his fingers on the laminate. He was distracted enough, you thought. So behind him you went, resting your head between his shoulder blades with a heavy sigh. He froze up for a moment, before reaching behind and gently grabbing your wrist.

"Hey now, no spying on the chef. This is a private kitchen, little lady." You could hear the smile in his voice, you knew he enjoyed the affection.

"Ain't spying, just bored." You murmured, and he spun around to face you, gently cradling your cheeks in his large palms. He messed with your hair again, pressing his palms to your face to feel your temperature.

"If you're that bored I can take you to the doctor. Maybe they'll stick a big ol' needle in your ass to fix you right up, then you'll think twice about bein' bored." He joked, lightly squeezing the chub of your cheek, the baby fat that still lingered after all this time.

"No, I don't think so." You sighed, pressing your lips into a line. He patted your back, turning back to the microwave just in time for it to beep. He opened the door, gently picking up the plate that had the bowl of soup on it and placed it on the kitchen island. You hopped up onto one of the barstools, swinging your feet as you waited.

Joel rummaged in the pantry for the saltines, and he emptied about half the sleeved onto your plate, before grabbing a spoon and bringing everything over to you.

"Dinner is served, madame." He smiled, trying his best to play his part in making you feel better. "Now it's still hot so don't go wolfing it down, ya hear?"

"Yes, dad." You gave a little mocking groan, and after a minute or two you were finally eating your soup. The warmth of it soothed your throat, comforting you in all the ways you needed. Once you were done, happy and full of soup, you hopped off the barstool and wandered back over to dad.

He gave you a soft smile, pulling you in for a tight hug and sighed.

"Feelin' better now?"

'Cause I'm not old, but I am tired / I'm not strong, I'm very weak / I'm not old, but I am tired / I'm not here, I'm somewhere else / I'm one hundred ninety-six in dog years / I have seen enough / I've seen it all — Halsey, Dog Years.

You haven't lived in the Boston QZ for your entire life, but it certainly feels like it— Your parents came in when you were eight years old, about a year after Outbreak Day, when the Quarantine Zone was still fresh, with FEDRA just starting to take over the country and people still willing to trust their government to keep them safe. It is the only life you know and, while it is not perfect, it's certainly better than facing the dangers outside FEDRA's protection: You grew up hearing stories of raiders and slavers and how the infected outnumbered people at an alarming rate, how it was utterly impossible to survive without the watchful eye of FEDRA and its harsh laws.

Things are comfortable, even though they're not good, and that's more than most people have. You mother died just before your tenth birthday, an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire between FEDRA soldiers and the freedom fighters. Your father, a violent smuggler with a penchant for booze and pills, spends more time outside the QZ's walls than inside the tiny one-bedroom apartment the two of you share.

You're used to being alone by now, working triple shifts at the speakeasy and having to sneak your way back home just as the sun is starting to come up, risking your life for a couple of ration cards — more if you're in pigtails, even more if your shirt is low cut — that barely cover the amount you have to pay to keep a roof over both of your heads.

Everything changes when, for the first time since your mother died, your father is gone for longer than a couple of weeks. Usually his smuggle runs last a week or two at most before he comes home, drinks himself to a stupor over the weekend and then leaves again by Monday morning. This time, when the two weeks are up and he doesn't come back, there's a small part of you that is happy for it. The bruises he's given you are just starting to fade, the cut above your eyebrow finally closing up when the doubt creeps in and you begin to wonder whether or not this is the time your father will not come back home at all.

By the end of the first month he's gone, you know something happened. You're not sure if he simply left you behind or if he's dead or injured somewhere, but you know this isn't normal. So, one early morning, you make your way to the northern district of the QZ, where you know Abe lives— He's the only one with a long-distance radio and no affiliations to FEDRA or the Fireflies, the man your father once said he'd contact if he ever needs to speak to you while he's gone. In over a decade of smuggling your father hasn't tried to reach out to you once, but he also has never been late, and you figure maybe Abe would be able to give you a proper answer.

You stay in line for five and a half hours, a handful of ratios stuffed inside your bra, but your meeting with Abe only lasts a couple of minutes: He eyes you with suspicion, scowling the moment you say your father's name, and then tells that he would require ten ration cards to tell you if there's a message, and then another fifteen to read said message if it does exists— With no refund of the initial ten in case your father hasn't contacted you at all. You know extortion when you see it, has faced it plenty of times — Most men are always eager to take advantage of a young woman with no one to back her up —, and twenty-five ration cards is simply not something you can afford without going hungry or risking loosing your apartment.

For the first time in your life, you're truly alone. There's no one to run to, no one to help you or save you in this situation and that is somehow worse than all of the beatings and offensive words your father has thrown at you for the past two decades, the financial weight of having to provide for yourself in a world that is rigged against your survival brings you the sort of desperation you have never felt before.

It is that desperation that brings you to Joel Miller.

Joel has always been a constant in your life; he had worked alongside your father when you were little, always a solid shadow at the edge of your childhood memories, but they had a rough falling out after your father double crossed him sometime during your teenagehood and had, since then, become competitors inside the QZ. Now he is mostly a looming threat, some dark nefarious figure that might take away your father's livelihood at any moment.

He is not the sort of man you ever want to mess with, especially because you're not sure whether he's the vindictive type— He may as well hold your father's wrongdoings against you and refuse to help or worse: he could rat you out to FEDRA, use the opportunity to usurp the loyal clientele your father has or use his absence to wipe him out entirely. But you hear from Joan that hears from Elizabeth that hears from Eric that Joel Miller is friends with Abe and you figure that, maybe, Joel would be decent enough to bargain with the man for you. So, with an offering of bathtub moonshine you steal from work and tears in your eyes, Joel makes the deal; the bottle is probably worth a lot less than what he could've charged you but he doesn't bargain, instead choosing to grunt, take the bottle and slam his apartment's door in your face. He shows up at your place two days later, just as you start to panic thinking that maybe he's conned you out of some liquor, with a blank face and bad news: There has been no message, and although Joel promises to check in with the radio guy periodically, your father doesn't try to contact you at all in the days after that.

After that, Joel becomes a constant fixture in your life: He walks you home from the speakeasy after your shifts, and he fixes your shower or reinforces your front door or drops by with new shoes or food after a successful run. You find ration cards in your coat pockets or slipped under your door whenever you start working the triple shifts again, though he has never admitted to being the one putting them there: Every act of care comes with stony silence or a scowl, but Joel is always there, solid and within reach whenever you need him. So, you do the stupidest thing you could possibly do: You repay him with stolen alcohol. It starts with the small bottle that you use to bribe him that first time, but you become bolder and bolter as the months crawl on, swiping bigger and more expensive bottles whenever you can.

The owner, a mean-looking man named Bryan, catches you red-handed on a snow-heavy night in December. The beating itself isn't the worst you've ever gotten — someone robbed you when you were fourteen, taking a whole's week worth of rations and your father had always blamed you for that, his punishment even more painful than the shiner the thief had given you — but it's close enough and, as you stumble home through the snow-covered streets in the skimpy clothes you wear for better tips, all you can do is think that you got luck: Bryan could've cut off your fingers, or raped you or killed you or a thousand other horrible things that would wield a lot more damage than what he did and most people wouldn't have batted an eye; Hell, half the people you know probably would've thought you deserved it.

You're halfway home when panic truly sets in, outweighing the pain and the cold as you start to do the math— You're fresh out of a job, with rent looming within the next couple of days and you still don't have enough cards to cover it, let alone all of the other expenses you have; the pantry is almost empty, a single loaf of stale bread that you've been rationing for a few days while you waited for payday, and you still need to pay your neighbor for the winter socks she's knitted for you.

You're so terrified at the knowledge that you'll be homeless within the next week that you don't even notice Joel approach until it's too late, his cracked hands grabbing your shoulders and pushing you away from the main street just in time to miss the FEDRA soldier patrolling the area.

You shriek, your brain taking longer than it usually would to understand what is happening. Joel pins your back to his chest, one hand wrapped around your middle while the other slams over your mouth— The rough touch to your tender face has you whimpering, pain blossoming all over.

"It's me. Calm down." He whispers, holding the position for a moment longer while the soldier walks past the alleyway the two of you are in before he lets you go. You try to keep your head down so your hair fall over the bruises that are already forming but your face is so covered in blood that you can see the red liquid has stained Joel's palm. He looks at it for a second as if he can't comprehend what happened before he's crowding you against the wall, his surprisingly gentle hands tugging your chin towards him.

"I'm fine." You say in the silence that follows, though that's very much not true. Joel takes in a deep breath, his entire face scrunched.

"Who did this to you?"

"Joel, it's—"

"Who?"

You bring a hand up, your fingers wrapping around his wrist; the touch is meant to stop him, your intentions on fully pulling his hand away but you find it grounding instead, as if simply feeling Joel's rapidly beating pulse point beneath your fingertips is enough to melt the anguish away.

"Bryan." You relent, because you know he won't let go otherwise. "I had it coming."

"He'll pay. He ain't got no right to—"

"I stole from him." The admission is small, the words barely coming out of your lips; you didn't mean to tell him, the last thing you want is for him to connect the dots and realize you had been stealing for him. "I'm lucky he didn't do worse."

Joel goes entirely still, his hand still gripping your chin, his dark eyes staring you down so intensely it makes you squirm. A beat, and then another, and you watch in real time as realization washes over him.

Joel drops your chin like you've burned him. "Goddamn it, kid. Are you really that fuckin' stupid? Don't cha think that—"

"Joel, please." You whine, your eyes welling up with tears. "I don't need this right now. I'm cold, and everything hurts, and I'm out of a job. Just… Just don't lecture me right now, okay? I don't need it."

For a second, you think he'll ignore and go on his tirade— He looks like he wants to, but then his jaw locks and his nostrils flare and that's it. Joel swallows his emotions down in such an efficient manner it awes you and you barely have time to register the blankness of his face before he's wrapping his own jacket around you.

"Let's get you home and cleaned up."

Home, as it turns out, is Joel's place. You don't have the energy to argue despite the fact that the only thing you want to do is to crawl under your blanket and cry until you pass out, and you sit by the kitchen table as he cleans your face and neck with a wet rag. The apartment is cold even though Joel does his best to insulate the windows, and you shiver in your wet clothes— both from the remnants of snow that seem ingrained inside your bones and the heatwave that followed from Joel's touch, your body burning up from inside out at every careful touch of his hands. Once you seem clean enough, he brings you a chilled bottle out of the freezer, the clear liquid sloshing inside and you're sure it's probably either moonshine or vodka; Most likely moonshine, illegally made by some of the people brave enough to cook up such a thing within the city's walls.

"Put it over your eye, or it's goin' to swell shut."

You do as he says, but your heart races inside your chest as Joel kneels in front of you, carefully unlacing your boots.

"Joel, what—"

"Need to get'cha out of these wet clothes." He mumbles, not looking at you. Joel helps you out of your shoes and socks, and then turns his back at you and busies himself on the stove while you change from your work clothes to his— boxer shorts, wool socks and a thick sweatshirt that you're sure must've costed him a small fortune. You're still cold by the time Joel sets a steaming mug of tea on the table, but you're more comfortable than you've been in months.

Something changes between the two of you that night, tangled together in Joel's bed, his heartbeat steady under your cheek and his hand in your hair as you cry yourself to sleep. You go back to your apartment the next morning but just to pick up your personal belongings, Joel as a bodyguard as you collect what you can inside his backpack; you don't have much anyway, and you donate all of your father's belongings to the family two apartments down— More out of spite than anything else, you keep his favorite pair of boots as a gift to Joel. He takes the boots with an expression that seems to know exactly what you're doing, presses a kiss to the top of your head as if he's done it a million times, and clears out a drawer for you in his wardrobe.

Bryan goes missing three days after you move into Joel's place, and then they find his body five days after that, his face beaten almost beyond recognition, every single one of his fingers broken. His son takes over the speakeasy and invites you back, probably because he doesn't know what you did— Joel doesn't let you go back, claiming he doesn't trust the son and that you deserve better than being harassed by drunk men all night. You take odd jobs here and there, wanting to contribute with your share of rations but eventually Joel convinces you to quit altogether: Between the smuggling and the temporary jobs he takes from FEDRA he's certain he can provide enough for the two of you, and that you shouldn't be risking and exhausting yourself over nothing. You try to pull your weight around the house then, keeping it cleaner than he ever did, stitching up his socks and jackets and trying to make a meal out of the crappy food FEDRA distributes.

Housewife is the word that Tess uses for you. She says it with a sneer, scoffing whenever Joel tries to deny it; he says you're just a kid, that you're too young to be on your own and that you need him. She says that you're too old to need a daddy, and Joel slams his fist down on the table and they don't see each other for a few weeks. By the time Tess is back, it's as if nothing ever happened— She doesn't apologize and neither does he, or maybe they've exchanged apologies somewhere you weren't privy to, but Tess doesn't quit with the insults. Kept girl, plaything, pet— All names she uses whenever Joel isn't around, and then ignores you completely whenever he is.

Truth is, you find that you don't mind the nicknames. Joel calls you kid, kiddo, sweet girl— Also only when the two of you are alone, using your name whenever there is anyone listening and you've come to understand that there is a lot about Joel that he doesn't show to the world: He's feared inside the QZ, most people crossing the street whenever he's around, doing whatever they could to stay out of his way and only coming to him whenever they needed something no one else could bring but with you he's the sweetest man you've ever dealt with, quiet yet caring in a way that you haven't seen from anyone else.

The first time the two of you kiss, it feels like you've been doing it for all of your life; Joel had been gone for a couple of days, a pill run beyond the QZ's walls that made you sleepless. Tess hadn't gone with him this time around, which only made everything worse— For all the woman hated you, you knew she'd give her life to protect his. He comes home so late it's almost morning, his clothes soaked in blood that isn't his and his knuckles scraped raw.

You're not sure which one of you moves first: He's crowding you the second the door closes, and then his lips are pressing against yours, hungry and desperate. He kisses you until you the both of you are breathless, the still wet blood from his shirt soaking into yours: A bond that no soap or water can wash away even after the proof of your bodies mending together is discarded.

Joel tells you about Sarah in the middle of the night, when his nightmare wakes the both of you and he can't hide the tears. He doesn't tell you exactly how she died, just that it happened on Outbreak Day, and you request stories of happy memories to get his mind off of it. He tells you about the soccer practices and early Saturday matches, about the hikes they used to go on with Tommy and about the time she begged him to paint her room pink and then had him repaint it with purple a couple of weeks later, when she decided she hated pink. Joel talks more than you've ever seen him do, long fully formed sentences rather than the short words and grunts you're used to and it's like you're seeing yet a new side of him— Something soft and sacred that he's been hiding from the entire world, even from those closest to him.

"She would hate the man I became." He says eventually, after a short lull between tales of Sarah's first day in kindergarten. "The monster I became."

You're not certain how to deal with the self-loathing in his voice, especially because you know it's true— Joel's a terrible man, broken and violent and capable of unspeakable things, and you doubt the little girl from his memories would be proud of him for it. You press a kiss to the top of his head much like he seems to enjoy doing to you.

"There's always time." You whisper. "As long as you're alive, you still have time to make her proud."

He leaves before you wake the next morning but greets you with a kiss when he comes home in the evening, his breath smelling of whiskey and pupils dilated from the pills he swears he isn't taking anymore.

The afternoon you run into Robert's goons beating the ever living fuck out of Tess, there is a brief second in which you consider walking away— She's been nothing but horrible to you even when you were at your most vulnerable, and you doubt she'd intervene in your favor if it was the other way around. But your feet move before you can second guess yourself, plucking a large plank of wood from a rubbish pile close to you and hitting the bigger of the men as hard as you can in the back of the head: You miss a little, hitting him in the back of the neck but he falls like a sack of bricks anyway, his skull cracking against the pavement. Tess is on the smaller guy before he can jump you, her knee pressing to his neck until he stops thrashing.

Tess doesn't thank you, but you can tell she looks at you differently after that, staring you in silence for long periods of time. When she calls you by your name rather than an insulting nickname for the first time, you're so stunned that she scoffs and walks away in the few seconds it takes you to respond.

"You should leave him." She tells you once, her eyes glued to the radio as she waits for the message from Frank. Joel's nowhere to be found, but you still feel his presence in the cramped apartment anyway as if his very essence loomed over your shoulder. "This is not healthy for either you."

"I would die without him." You mean it literally, too— Joel is your saving grace, the only person to offer you a hand and keep you warm and fed in this horrifying world.

"That's exactly why you should go." She says. "No man should own your soul like that."

You wonder if she's speaking from experience, and you wonder if it has anything to do with Joel but How Can You Mend a Broken Heart by the Bee Gees starts playing on the radio and then Tess is shuffling through the song book like a madwoman.

"80s?" You ask, worrying your bottom lip. You have yet to meet Bill and Frank, but you know how much they mean to Joel— Even if he would rather die than admit to it.

Tess shakes her head in denial, and the relief in face is clear as day. "1971. They got new supplies coming in."

"Do you think they'll have any yarn? Joel needs new socks."

"You deserve better than this." Disappointment washes over her face. "Better than a man that is using you to replace his dead daughter."

She's wrong and you know it; Joel doesn't treat you like your father ever did, there's nothing paternal about his touches and there is no replacing Sarah. But you'd be lying if you said you never envied her for having Joel as a father, even if she is dead now; the guilt you feel must show on your face because Tess' nose wrinkles.

"Or maybe you do. Maybe the two of you deserve each other."

The tone she uses is somehow more offensive than any petname she's ever used before. But the idea of belonging so deeply to Joel that even Tess can see it warms your inside so comfortably you can't find it in yourself to be offended by the implications of her words.

The first and only time Joel comes inside of you, you've been living with him for well over a year. It's been five months since the two of you shared your first kiss, and while you've both been using your mouths and hands on each other ever since, Joel's been hesitant to be inside of you— Pulling out is risky, and condoms expired for over two decades are probably even worse, so he pushes the idea away, making you come three or four times with his mouth until you're so exhausted you stop begging him to fuck you properly.

You're already two orgasms in, sprawled nude and sweaty on the bed while Joel fucks you slowly with his fingers. He bites and sucks at your neck, a collection of bruises of varying degrees of healing peppered all over your skin. Joel pulls his fingers away from you, rubbing his cock against your cunt.

"I'm going to put just the tip." He says, his voice just a little stern as if he's scolding you before you can even misbehave.

"Yes, daddy." You nod and, although you want to beg him to just fuck you already, you're afraid he might change his mind if you seem too eager.

Joel pulls back, leaning on his haunches, pushing your knee to the side. Your legs fall open and you push yourself on your elbow, wanting to see just exactly what he's going to do— Joel is a sight to behold, his chest flush and his breathing deep, his heavy cock gripped tight in his hand. You'd been intimidated by it at first, long and impossibly thick, but Joel has fucked your mouth so many times by now that you are certain you'd be able to take him anywhere he wanted. He presses the head of his cock against your clit and you moan as it slides to the side, coated in your slick.

"She's always cryin' for her daddy." He chuckles and you clench around nothing, his rough voice hitting you deep inside. "Winkin' at me like that, begging for my cock."

"Just for you." You say, so wet you can feel it sliding down to your ass. "Want you so bad it hurts."

Joel brushes his cock against your entrance, teasing, not yet pushing inside. " 'S okay, babygirl. 'M gon' make the pain go away."

The first stretch as he pushes the fat head inside is almost too painful, your head falling back as you mewl but Joel doesn't let you go very far, the hand not holding himself steady flying to your hair, pulling you up just enough so you can see where he disappears inside of you.

"Look at ya." He commands, thighs shaking from the effort of staying still. "Stretchin' so pretty around daddy's cock."

Joel rolls his hips, pushing just another inch inside before he pulls out, a string of your slick connecting the tip of his cock to your entrance. You clench, fingers digging into the mattress to stop yourself from seeking his hips with yours. He's just as wrecked as you feel, breathing deeply before he pushes inside of you again, just a little bit further this time, but still not nearly enough. You keen and give in, planting your feet on the bed to rock against him— His cock slides halfway in before his hand pushes you back on the bed by the hip. The two of you groan in unison, both from the touch and then the abrupt lack of it. His hand comes down onto your clit, slapping it so hard you almost scream, eyes rolling to the back of its sockets.

"Oh, you like that, naughty girl?" Joel asks, and then he gives your cunt another slap. He hums when you wail, sounding almost curious about this new thing the both of you have just discovered. "If you try that again, we're done for tonight, y'hear me? You'll take what I give you or nothin' at all."

You nod, eager, wanting nothing more than for him to be inside of you again. Joel gives your clit yet another slap and the sting makes your skin warm all over.

"Yes, daddy. I'll be good." You say as he rubs soothing circles to your sensitive clit. Joel brings his cock back to you, sliding in much easier than before; he fucks you slowly, no more than just a couple of inches— Just enough to drive you crazy, your entire body set aflame at the touch that is oh-so-pleasurable but still not enough. You hold your body taut, biting down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from pushing back against him.

"Fuck, she's stranglin' me, babygirl. Never seen a pussy so tight—" Joel grunts, his body flushed red from his thick neck down to his navel, sweat dampening the hairs on his chest. "She's just suckin' me right in, isn't she?"

"She needs you." You bring a hand to your mouth, shoving two fingers between your lips and wetting them before you slide your spit-slicked fingers to your chest, rolling your nipples between them. Joel groans at the sight, loosing control of his hips just long enough to push a third of his cock inside of you. "Please daddy, it's not enough. I need to feel you deep inside of me."

You can see the moment his resolve cracks. He hikes your legs closer to his hips and then slams his entire length inside of you— It makes you wail, your mouth falling open and your back arching. Joel topples over your, pushing his index and middle finger inside of your open mouth much like you'd done just moments before. You wrap your lips around his thick fingers, humming as he shoves them as far as he can; you've learned how to control your gag reflex in the past couple of months, Joel's cock big enough to slide down your throat with a single thrust, but the way his fingers push down onto your tongue make your throat close tight.

"Suck on 'em." He orders, hips pulling back until his cock is almost entirely out before plunging back in. "I wanna see you choke on your daddy's fingers while his big cock fucks you open."

You do as he says, mainly because there isn't much else you can do other than take his commands, giving his digits the same treatment as you would his cock, licking and sucking and taking them as deep as you can. Joel's cock hits the same spot inside of you again and again and you can feel him everywhere; you moan around his fingers until he seems to take pity on you, pulling his hand away from your mouth. He shifts positions, kneeling in front of you and hiking your hips on his thighs; you only miss the weight of his body on top of yours for a second, because then Joel is pushing your knees up to your chest and the new position make you even tighter, the pressure making it seem as if his cock has doubled in size. Joel also changes the pace of his thrusts, going slower now and yet somehow even deeper, making you feel every inch of him.

"I'm gonna come." You say, the pressure building fast.

"No you won't." You blink at him, disoriented by his words. Joel pulls back, slapping your clit just as he plunges back inside. "You're goin' to be my good girl and you won't come until I let ya."

"I can't—" You say, the words cut off by the power of his thrusts. "I don't know how—"

"Yes you do." Joel hums, and he sounds almost mean as he slaps your cunt again. "Fuck, she chokes down my cock when I do that. Sweetest. Fuckin'. Pussy."

The last three words are punctuated by slap after slap, the moans falling out of your mouth becoming more and more desperate; you weren't lying, you don't know how to stop yourself from coming but you do the best you can, trying to focus on the mold spots on the ceiling or the chipped paint near the window or anything that isn't Joel's cock pushing time and time again against that perfect spot inside of you.

"Please let me come." You beg, tears pooling on the corner of your eyes and trickling down to your temples. "I can't hold it in, daddy, please. Please please please, I can't—"

Joel pinches your overstimulated clit and you gush around him, body locking up as you come against your will. It makes you black out for a second, black spots dancing in front of your eyes but Joel isn't done. He slaps your tit this time, the flesh jiggling both from the slap and the power of his thrusts.

"Such a bad girl." He grits out, slapping your breast again but he doesn't sound angry at all. "Should punish you for that. Ground you 'n' everythin'. Gotta learn to listen to your daddy."

"I'll take it." You say, gasping for air. You blink at him, the tears still blurring your eyesight. "Whatever it is, daddy, I'll take it. Anything for you."

"Maybe I'll fuck that pretty lil' ass of yours next." Joel threatens, and you clench around him. "Or maybe I'll spank you so raw you won't be able to sit. Use a belt to make sure your not comin' from my slappin' you. Naughty lil' thing, bet'cha like that, huh?"

Your heart jumps to your throat at the mention of the belt, a thousand different memories — bad, terrifying memories — of your own father and his leather belt jump to mind and your eyes well with real, uncontrollable tears.

"Anything for you." You parrot yourself, your eyes locking with the place where Joel clutched to your thighs as if you were his lifeline. "I'm yours, daddy. Anything you want, I'll take it. I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm—"

Joel's thrusts become more erratic, fast and deep and not calculated as they'd been before. He comes deep inside of you, toppling to moan against the crook of your neck, his thighs flush with your ass. It's never ending, his sloppy thrusts slowing down but not stopping as he comes and comes and comes until you feel so full to pushes into your bladder.

"Mine." He says, his voice full of wonder as his aquiline nose traces your jawline. "My precious lil' girl."

It's not an 'I love you', but you're fairly certain it's the closest you'll ever get to one.

You've been nauseated for about three weeks straight by the time Robert steals Joel and Tess' battery. Joel's been toying with the idea of leaving the QZ for good for several months now, quietly planning your escape in the late nights were sleep evades him, trading the pills and the alcohol for something ever more addictive: Hope.

You're sitting cross legged on the bed, a worn copy of a James Patterson book on your lap as Joel cleans the injuries on Tess' face. You'd been jealous of their relationship at first, unsure if they were just smuggling partners or something more but Joel never looked at Tess the way he did you, never touched her with the tenderness he did you. You forget all about the adventure Alex Cross is going through on the pages in front of you as you watch them plan their — your — escape route, the dangerous plan of going after Robert and taking back what is rightfully theirs.

"We'll be back before sundown." Joel tells you, and then he waits for Tess to leave the apartment before he leans in for a kiss. "Get our bags ready, we leave tonight."

You nod, already missing his touch by the time he crosses the threshold after his partner.

It's pouring rain outside by the time they come back, and you've spent most of the day pacing around the cramped apartment. Your backpacks are ready to go, everything of value stuffed inside of it, but you keep checking and rechecking all of the nooks and crannies of the apartment, making sure you've taken everything out of every secret compartment that Joel has hidden around the place. You had been scared the first time Joel brought up the idea of crossing the country after his brother, terrified really, but you'd rather face the monsters — both human and not — outside of the QZ than stay behind without him.

In the months after that, the idea has grown on you, and now you can't wait to see what it is outside; you've seen the top of skyscrapers from the roof of some of the taller buildings inside the walls, and you've heard all of the tales, but seeing it with your own eyes seems like the most exciting thing to ever happen in your sad life.

Joel looks exhausted by the time he comes back, wet from the rain with Tess and a young girl in tow. You frown at her, and she reciprocates the gesture.

"Who are you?" You ask.

"Who are you?" She retorts, dropping her sopping backpack on the ground.

"Joel's wife." You don't even hesitate, the words you've been mulling inside of your head for weeks now falling naturally from your lips. Out of the corner of your eye you see Joel freeze, and Tess' head snaps towards you so harshly you think she might break her neck.

The girl squints. "Aren't you a little yo—"

"We had a change of plans." Joel interrupts the girl, dropping down heavily onto the couch. "Robert fucked us over, his battery was no good. Tess and I are takin' the girl to the Fireflies, and then we'll come back to get you."

"You don't smuggle people." You say, your heart dropping down to your stomach. Joel's able to get in and out of the QZ with relative ease because of the goods he brings for the soldiers, but smuggling a person — a child — out of the zone isn't something the soldier will easily turn a blind eye to.

"We do now." Tess is the one that replies. She exchanges a heavy look with Joel before sneaking out of the apartment, the door slamming in her wake.

"Joel." You say, sitting next to him. You see the girl look at you wearily before she starts roaming around the room, her fingers touching every little thing she could. "This isn't right. What do the Fireflies want with a child?"

"She's some bigwig's daughter or somethin'. Marlene is desperate, she's givin' us all we need to get to Wyoming."

"What's in Wyoming?" The girl asks.

"None of your business." Joel grits out, though his face remains turned to you. "It's too dangerous to take you with me but if Marlene does good on her promise, we're set, baby."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Then I'll come back home and we'll try again." He promises. "The girl is just another cargo, this is the same run I always do. The payout's just a hundred times' better."

You bite the corner of your thumb. This feels too reminiscent of your father's last smuggle run, a goodbye that doesn't seem final but feels like it— Like there's more, like Joel isn't telling you everything or perhaps making things seem less dangerous than they are. You nod, eventually, stomach still in knots.

Joel looks like he wants to reach for you, but one look at the girl makes him retreat; she's not even pretending not to stare, curled on the reclining chair and looking intently at the two of you.

"I'll talk to Abe. He knows how to contact Tommy— If I'm not back in ten days you're goin' to head to Abe's and tell him I sent ya. Hey, kid— Listen to me, this is important."

You nod, trying to focus on what he's saying. He watches you for a moment, making sure he has all of your attention before continuing: "If I'm not back in ten days, you're going to send a message to Tommy and tell him to meet you in Lincoln."

"Joel, how the fuck am I supposed to get to Lincoln on my own?"

"You're goin' to play an 80s song on the radio, and then you'll leave it playin' as you leave. Bill is goin' to meet you halfway there but you need to get out of the city first." He pulls your chin towards him, holding your face so he can look you in the eyes. "You have to get out of the city as fast as you can, y'hear me? You're goin' to follow the path on the map I'ma leave with you, and you're goin' to meet up with Bill. He's gon' keep you until Tommy gets there."

"You've never walked me through a contingency plan like this before, Joel." You try to blink the tears away. "If this is just like any other run, then I don't need this."

"Well, you never called yourself m'wife before, now have you?" Despite the call out, Joel has a small grin on his lips. You feel your face heat up with embarrassment, and you shrug.

"Tess calls me your housewife all the time."

Joel drops his hand, his eyes darting towards the young girl in the room as if he's just recalled her presence. "This is all hypothetical. This run is more dangerous than others, but I've survived worst. I been meanin' to tell you all'a this for a while now. Ain't gon' leave you on your own like your dad did."

Joel leaves an annotated map on the kitchen table— The same one he's been doodling over ever since he heard Tommy was in Wyoming, with escape routes from Boston and the safest and quickest ways to get to Tommy, the margins filled with extensive notes about the unsafe routes and places to avoid in the city; things are numbered and signed and there's a whole paragraph of symbols and codes Joel's come up with, the sort of detailed attention that means he's been working on this for far longer than you've noticed.

"How do I sneak out of the QZ?" You ask, staring at the map as if it's a bomb.

"James."

"The Jesus freak?" You frown. James lives a few doors down from you, a creepy-looking blond man that often has a bible in his hands and a superiority complex that makes you want to barf.

"He's cheap, and he knows his way 'round the place. There are two guns underneath the fourth floorboard by the wardrobe, you'll trade him one and keep one to yourself."

"Hypothetically."

"Yes, darlin'. Hypothetically. Only if I don't come back."

"You'll be here in ten days, won't you?"

"I will. Maybe even sooner than that." Joel promises again, holding your gaze steady. Still, you don't believe him. "I'll be here with a truckload of supplies, and then we'll skip town together."

They leave not long after that, a few hours short of sun up by the time Tess comes back with her pack and a clear exit for the three of them. Joel doesn't give you a prolonged goodbye, simply squeezing your waist and kissing the top of your head like he always does, but the terrible gut feeling that this run is unlike the others doesn't leave with him— If anything, it only seems to worsen in the dark, empty apartment.

You cry yourself to sleep and, distracted by your own anguish and the loud sound of your sobbing, you don't hear the song coming from Tess' radio.

The ten days are an absolute nightmare. You're sick most of the time, sleeping when you're not puking and crying when you're not sleeping or puking— It is Amelia, the young woman that manages the food bank closes to your apartment that brings up the possibility of you being pregnant; she catches you retching one morning outside of her food stall after a particularly strong waft of freshly baked bread, connecting the dots even before you can properly explain your symptoms; you have no proper way of confirming her hypothesis, not unless you want to go to a FEDRA-appointed doctor and alert them to your condition, so Amelia takes you into the backroom of her stall and offers you two different options: A ginger root for morning sickness, or a mugwort and pennyroyal concoction to make your problem go away.

You take the ginger root with shaking fingers, and Amelia simply holds you in silence while you cry.

When the ten days come and go with no sign of Joel, the dread settles so heavy it keeps you awake all night, and not even the bone-deep tiredness you've been feeling can make you get a wink of sleep. You give him some wiggle room, however, deciding to wait just a little longer before you contact Tommy— Joel is coming home any day, you're certain of it, and you'd feel silly to make a fuss just for him to walk through the door safe and sound. So you cry, and you vomit and you don't sleep and you wait.

For all of the despair you felt when you father went missing, you discover now that you never worried much about his safety— You worried that if he wasn't safe you wouldn't be as well, but it takes Joel leaving for you to understand the difference between worrying about someone to worrying about what will happen to you now that they're gone. A thousand different scenarios play through your head, from raiders to slavers to infected hoards to the fact that, maybe, he had simply left you behind: You're not certain which one hurts more, the idea of him being dead somewhere or the idea of him being alive without you.

You hold out hope for as long as you can but, by the fifteenth day, you know you can't pretend nothing happened anymore. You go to Abe early one morning, when the line is just starting to form and tells him exactly as you were instructed to: That you are Joel Miller's wife — which raises eyebrows from everyone in the room — and that you need his help. You give the codeword for Bill and Frank's home, and your estimated arrival there and, by the time Abe is done scribbling all of it down, you feel a little better about yourself; it's scary, and dangerous, but you've lived through scary and dangerous your entire life— And perhaps you haven't faced the outside before, but you've lived in a free-for-all war zone ever since you were a kid.

James isn't an easy man to find, but eventually you manage to track him down to an old building that is being used as a chapel— It's an old coffee shop that's been cleared out at some point, a few mismatching chairs stacked neatly in small rows. James gives you a warm smile when you walk in, your backpack clutched tightly to your chest, but it's visible that he doesn't recognize you.

"Joel sent me." You tell him. "Miller."

The smile slides off of James' face, and he takes a moment to regain his bearings; and despite being used to bad reactions when it comes to dropping Joel's name, the clear dislike on the man's face only increases your worries. James takes you to a backroom behind the church that he's assembled into something that might pass for an office, arms crossed over his chest— He's tall and lanky, non-threatening for most people but there's something about him that keeps you on your toes.

"I need out of the QZ." You explain, plucking the handgun from your backpack before offering it to him. "Joel said you'd help me in exchange of this."

The man squints, but eventually takes the weapon from you, carefully examining it before he puts it on top of the worn Bible on his desk. "Where are you headed?"

"Wyoming." The word slips out, and you wince, unsure if you're supposed to tell him or not— Joel certainly wouldn't have shared anything more than strictly necessary. "That's none of your concern, though. I just need your help to get past the soldiers."

"I got family on the Wyoming border, I've been meaning to head there. What part of Wyoming are you going?"

"I don't have anything else to pay you for chaperoning me. I can get there on my own, I just—"

"I just said I'm headed there anyways." James smiles, his fingers interlaced in front of him. "Do you know how to shoot? It's a rough path, I could use someone to help me."

You hesitate for a long moment, but James doesn't seem to be in any rush. You don't trust him, not one bit, but your mind goes back to the life you might be carrying, to the fact that you had no guarantee that either Tommy or Bill would get your message or even believe you at all; you had someone else to think about now, the fragile little thing you had growing inside of you— You still had no proof you were pregnant, but you knew it to be true. Could feel it deep in your soul, as if your body had been warning you about it before your brain caught up to the possibility of it.

You pluck Joel's map from your backpack, pointing it to the general area Tommy is. "I need to go here. Somewhere."

James hums, and nods. "My community is in Colorado, but it's close enough to that area. A couple of weeks on foot, less if we can get a car."

"Why are you so far away from home?"

He taps two fingers on the Bible. "Spreading the Lord's words."

You have to bite your tongue to keep yourself from snorting. "I don't believe you when you say you don't want anything from me. Nobody does anything without payment."

"The Lord teaches us to be selfless, and help those in need. A young woman like you, crossing the country by yourself? You'll die before you cross state lines."

"Your community. Where is it?"

"Here." James points to the map. "It is close enough to the place you're going, Joel might even be at Silver Lake rather than Wyoming by this point. We're a very welcoming bunch."

You open your mouth to say you're not after Joel, but decide against it; James doesn't need to know why you're going and, maybe if he's scared enough of Joel, he might think twice before bringing you any sort of harm.

"Alright." You say, shoving the map back into your backpack. "Take me to Silver Lake, then."