Angel 🤍

He feels good. A little tired, maybe, because Wembley has its own weight, but the kind of tired he knows how to carry. The first two shows have gone well, better than well, and even with the pressure of ten London nights still ahead of him, something about being home keeps him steadier. His own bed, his own kitchen, even when it still carries the ghost of your three-in-the-morning jacket potato crimes, his own streets, and you.

You had an appointment in London late this morning, something you told him you preferred to do alone, and the plan is simple: he picks you up when you're finished, then the two of you head to Wembley together. It's practical enough, but Harry is already pleased by the thought of seeing you standing outside some building, probably checking your phone, probably pretending not to smile when you spot him.

Then he passes a small flower shop halfway there and stops. The display outside is soft and colourful, buckets filled with bunches that look more like they were gathered from a field than arranged by someone with a ruler. Yellow blooms, little white daisies, pale pink clusters, green stems tied with rough string, brown paper waiting behind the counter. Nothing too polished, but exactly the sort you love. Harry steps inside without thinking too much about it, because some decisions in his life have become very simple. If he sees flowers that look like you would press your face into them and smile, he buys them.

The woman behind the counter recognises him after about four seconds, though she handles it politely, a quick widening of her eyes before she asks what he is looking for.

“Something a bit wild,” Harry says, glancing at the buckets. “Not too perfect.”

“For someone?”

“My girlfriend.”

The woman smiles. “What colours does she like?”

Harry looks at the flowers again, trying to choose as if the bouquet is a sentence and he needs it to say the right thing. “She likes them when they look like they didn’t try too hard. Yellow, maybe. White. A little pink. Green bits. Sorry, that’s probably not very helpful.”

“It is, actually.”

A few minutes later, she hands him a bouquet wrapped in brown paper, stems tied with twine. It's beautiful in the exact unfussy way he wanted, daisies and little yellow flowers spilling out between softer pinks and airy greenery, the whole thing looking like sunlight gathered in someone’s hands. Harry pays, thanks her, and steps back outside with the flowers tucked carefully against his arm.

He makes it another few streets before someone calls his name. There are three girls near a bus stop, all of them freezing in that unmistakable way people do when they recognise him and are trying to decide whether they are allowed to approach. He slows, because they are already half-smiling, half-panicking, and one of them clutches her phone like it might escape.

“Hi,” he says first.

They come over carefully, excited but respectful, and tell him they are going to the show tonight. One of them asks for a photo, another for a signature on her ticket confirmation printed out because, as she admits with embarrassment, she doesn't trust phone batteries. Harry laughs at that and signs the folded paper for her, telling her that is “very sensible, actually,” which makes her look as if she may faint.

“Have a good night,” he tells them after the photos.

“You too,” one of them says, then immediately covers her face. “I mean, obviously you’re performing, so—”

“I’ll try to have a good night as well,” Harry says, smiling.

He walks away with a little wave, flowers still safe in one hand, his mood even lighter than before.

Then he spots a Lime scooter. It sits near the edge of the pavement, bright and ridiculous and, in Harry’s opinion, perfectly timed. He looks at it for a moment. There is probably a more dignified way to arrive at your appointment pickup, there is definitely a safer way to arrive at Wembley. He can already hear you in his head, asking him whether he has lost his mind, whether he knows how many people online already make fun of his attachment to Lime bikes, whether turning up on a scooter with a bouquet is truly the image he wants to project. The answer, unfortunately, is yes. And so he unlocks it, places the bouquet carefully in one hand, and sets off.

By the time he reaches the street where your appointment took place, he's far too pleased with himself. You're already outside the building, standing near the entrance with your bag over one shoulder, looking down at your phone. The moment you hear the scooter roll closer, you glance up. Harry slows to a stop beside you, one foot on the pavement, sunglasses on, flowers in hand, expression shamelessly proud. You just stare, and then you laugh. It's not a polite laugh, it's a proper one that makes you lift one hand to your mouth as if you might be able to hide it after the fact.

Harry raises his brows. “What’s funny?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“You look like a romantic midlife crisis.”

He gasps softly. “That’s how you greet the man who came to pick you up?”

“On a scooter.”

“With flowers.”

“On a scooter.”

He looks down at the Lime scooter, then back at you. “Efficient transport.”

“You are one helmet away from becoming a meme.”

“I’m already a meme.”

“That is very true.”

Harry steps off the scooter, leaning it carefully against the curb before he comes closer. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

He kisses you softly, brief because you’re in public, but warm enough to make your smile change. When he pulls back, he holds out the bouquet. “These are for you.”

Your teasing disappears immediately. “Oh,” you say, voice a little surprised.

You take the flowers with both hands, looking down at them like he has given you something far more valuable than stems wrapped in paper. Your thumb brushes over the twine, then over the edge of a yellow flower, and Harry watches your whole face open with quiet delight.

“They’re beautiful,” you say.

“Thought you’d like them.”

“I love them.” You bring them closer, smelling them gently. “They look like someone stole them from a meadow.”

“That was the brief.”

You look up at him, eyes bright. “Thank you.”

Harry doesn't answer straight away, because he's busy looking at you. He knows he's in trouble, really, he has known for two years. But there are moments when the knowledge arrives all over again, fresh and almost inconvenient, like now, with you standing on a London pavement holding a bouquet of wildflowers as if it might make your whole day better. He has played stadiums, he has heard crowds scream his name until the air shook, he has been loved loudly by people he may never meet. But this, somehow, still undoes him most. “You’re welcome,” he says.

You narrow your eyes slightly. “You’re staring.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t help it.”

“You’re being sweet to distract from the scooter.”

“Is it working?”

“A little.”

“Excellent.”

He climbs back onto the scooter, then nods behind him. “Come on.”

You blink. “What?”

“Get on.”

“No.”

Harry laughs. “No?”

“I am not getting on that thing with you.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a scooter, Harry. Not a tour bus.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“It looks unstable.”

“It’s perfectly stable.”

“I’m holding flowers.”

“You are holding flowers, yes.”

“I’m also holding my will to live.”

He laughs properly at that. “I’ll be careful. You just stand behind me and hold on.”

You look from him to the scooter, then to the road, then back to him. “Is this legal?”

“Yes.”

“Is it wise?”

“Different question.”

“Harry.”

“Love, we’re not going on the motorway.”

You hesitate another second, clearly torn between good sense and the fact that he's grinning at you with entirely too much confidence. Then you sigh. “If I die on a Lime scooter today, I’m haunting you.”

“That seems fair.”

You step on carefully behind him, your bag secure on one shoulder, flowers tucked in one arm. Your free arm wraps around his middle, and Harry immediately looks far too happy about that. “Hold tight,” he says.

“I am holding tight because I’m afraid.”

“That’s fine with me.”

The ride to Wembley isn't nearly as dramatic as you expect, mostly because Harry does actually go carefully, avoiding busy roads where he can and slowing whenever the pavement or path feels uneven. Still, you spend half of it muttering instructions into his back.

“Careful.”

“I am.”

“Pothole.”

“I see it.”

“Harry.”

“I saw it.”

“Bus.”

“It’s nowhere near us.”

“It exists, and I dislike it.”

He laughs every time.

By the time the stadium appears, you're still alive, slightly windblown, clutching the flowers and him with equal seriousness. Security lets you through into the secluded area after a few amused looks, and Harry pulls up near the back doors, stepping off with the air of a man who has achieved something heroic.

You get down immediately and exhale. “We made it.”

Harry turns to you, amused. “You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

“I’m a very safe driver.”

“You almost ran over a squirrel.”

“A squirrel? There weren't any squirrels, love.”

“There was one. It moved unpredictably.”

He laughs, taking your hand as you approach the entrance. “You’re never getting on one with me again, are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Shame. You looked cute holding on.”

“I was fearing for my life.”

“Still cute.”

Inside, the stadium is already alive with show-day movement. Crew members pass with headsets, instrument cases roll along corridors, radios crackle, doors open and shut. You and Harry separate almost immediately, like you so often do on workdays, with a quick kiss and a quiet promise to find each other later.

He has a briefing with the band and the extra musicians, strings, flute, saxophone, the whole expanded arrangement that makes this tour feel fuller and warmer than anything he has done before. Surprise song details need confirming, transitions checked, timing adjusted after the last show.

You go straight to his dressing room and the first thing you do is find a vase. It takes you a minute, and you end up borrowing one from a side table in the corridor, but soon the wildflowers are sitting in fresh water near the mirror, bright and soft against the professional chaos of the room. You look at them for a moment longer than necessary, smiling to yourself, then settle on the sofa with your MacBook.

Work finds you quickly. Anthony has sent over a folder from night two, stage shots first, then backstage impressions, small moments of Harry laughing with the band, his tie being adjusted, Shania on stage from the wings, crowd shots from the back of the stadium. You make notes, mark favourites, think through captions that feel warm without sounding too polished. You draft an Instagram carousel, then scrap the first caption because it feels too corporate, then write another one that sounds more like together together is supposed to sound. You check the posting schedule, respond to messages from the PR group chat, approve a short TikTok edit, flag a few fan-shot videos that might be good for stories later, and update the list of possible show three content.

Two hours pass easily until entry starts outside. You know because the stadium’s energy changes. There's a different kind of sound when fans begin coming in, not the controlled movement of crew but the rising hum of thousands of people finding seats, buying drinks, taking photos, screaming when they see the stage for the first time.

Then your phone starts buzzing more, and at first, you assume it's just normal tagging. People posting their outfits, their view, their bracelets, the stadium roof, the stage from every possible angle. But then the tags become repetitive and more urgent. You open Instagram, then TikTok, then X, scanning quickly.

Restricted view

Section 551

Can’t see the stage

Paid full price

Not marked restricted

A video plays on your phone, shaky because the fan filming it is clearly upset. The seat is high up under the roof, facing towards the stage, but a PA tower sits directly in front of the view, metal framework cutting across almost everything, speakers hanging in the way. Another video shows the screen partially blocked by a second tower to the right. You watch three more, same section, same issue, and you know immediately that this is bad. It's not catastrophic, or unfixable, but definitely bad enough to spread quickly, especially after the ticket price discourse that followed the original sale. These fans didn't buy restricted view seats. Their tickets are digital, full price, regular category. The production build has clearly created an obstruction that should have been accounted for before entry.

You glance towards the door, Harry is in a meeting, Jeff is somewhere dealing with a hundred other things. No one needs another problem handed to them unless it is unavoidable, and this one has a visible, practical solution if you move quickly. So you close your laptop, slip your phone into your back pocket, and leave.

The climb to section 551 is long enough to make you regret every time Harry has ever made you run uphill and you refused to speed up with him. As you move through the concourses and up into the higher levels, fans recognise you. Some wave, a few call your name, and you smile, wave back, say hi when you pass, but keep moving.

When you reach the section, the problem is even worse in person. The seats sit almost directly behind the PA tower. From where the fans are supposed to watch, the stage is mostly a fragmented suggestion behind black metal and suspended speakers. The main screen is compromised too, another structure cutting across the angle. It's not a minor inconvenience, or someone exaggerating online, it is, in fact, a terrible view.

A group of fans spots you almost immediately. “Oh my God,” one girl says, hand flying to her mouth. “Y/n?”

You smile gently. “Hi, I saw the videos.”

The reaction is instant, relief and excitement mixing so quickly that several of them start talking at once.

“We didn’t know it was restricted.”

“It didn’t say anything when we bought them.”

“We paid full price.”

“We tried asking staff, but they said they couldn’t do anything.”

“I’m really sorry,” you say, and mean it. “Can I see your tickets?”

They pull up the digital tickets on their phones, one after another. Regular seats, regular price, no restricted view marker no warning. You check enough to confirm the pattern, then look down at the stage again, already calculating. “How many of you are affected in this block?”

They start counting rows. Around forty-five people, give or take, all with the same obstruction. You nod. “Alright. I’m going to see what I can do.”

The girl closest to you looks as if she might cry. “Really?”

“Yes. Stay here for a bit, okay? I’ll come back.”

“You don’t have to—”

“You paid to see the show,” you say simply. “You should be able to see it.”

That quiets them, before the thank-yous begin, grateful and emotional and overlapping. You smile, promise again that you will return, then make your way back down through the stadium.

Backstage, you find one of the tour’s guest experience coordinators near the production office, a woman named Leah who handles wristbands, guest movement, and the impossible little emergencies that happen every night without fans ever knowing. “Leah,” you say, slightly breathless from the stairs. “Do we have capacity in any of the pits tonight?”

She looks up from her iPad. “For how many?”

“Forty-five.”

Her eyebrows lift. “Forty-five?”

“There’s a full-price block in 551 with the PA tower directly in front of them. Not marked restricted. It’s already spreading on social media.”

That gets her attention and she taps through something quickly, checking capacity counts and guest lists. “Disco pit has room. Left front. Enough not to affect safety numbers.”

“Good. I need forty-five pit wristbands and lanyards.”

“VIP?”

“If that’s what gets them moved cleanly without arguing at every checkpoint, yes.”

Leah hesitates for half a second, then nods. “Give me two minutes.”

You wait, phone in hand, watching the videos gain views. When Leah returns with the wristbands and lanyards, bundled in neat groups, you thank her quickly.

“I’ll bring them down myself,” you say.

“Do you want security?”

“I’ll be fine. They’re fans, not wolves.”

Leah smiles faintly. “Good luck.”

This time, when you return to 551, the fans see you coming from several rows away and their faces change before you even speak.

“Okay,” you say, slightly out of breath again but smiling. “We’re moving you.”

The noise they make is almost louder than the pre-show music. You hand out the wristbands and lanyards one by one, checking that everyone affected gets one, making sure no one from outside the obstructed block tries to slip in unnoticed. It's chaotic, but happy-chaotic, the kind of emotional gratitude that reminds you exactly why fixing these things matters. One girl keeps saying thank you while trying not to cry, another asks if she can hug you, and when you nod, she does it carefully, as if you are the fragile one.

Then you lead them down. It turns into a small procession through Wembley, forty-five fans buzzing with disbelief behind you as you guide them through the correct route, past staff who check the lanyards and wave them through. When they finally enter the Disco pit, the stage suddenly close and visible in front of them, several of them scream.

One turns back to you with both hands over her mouth. “This is insane.”

“Enjoy the show,” you say.

“You’re the best.”

“I’m really not,” you laugh. “Just drink water, be nice to security, and have fun.”

They promise immediately.

By the time you return backstage, the online conversation has already changed. The original videos are still there, but now they are being followed by new ones. You watch from Harry’s dressing room sofa, laptop open but forgotten for a minute, as fans post their new view from the pit, the wristbands, the lanyards, their disbelief that someone from Harry’s team actually came upstairs, checked the tickets, and moved them.

y/n saw the videos and came herself

She was so kind

They moved us to Disco pit

Best team ever

Harry’s girlfriend really said not on my watch

You smile at their comments. It feels good, not because people are praising you, but because the problem was real, and now those fans will have a night they remember for the right reasons.

The door opens about an hour later and Harry steps in, hair slightly messy from whatever he has just been doing, face brightening when he sees you. “There you are,” he says. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” You close the laptop halfway. “Busy, but good.”

He crosses the room and glances at the flowers in the vase. “They survived?”

“They’re thriving.”

“Like me.”

“Debatable.”

He grins, leaning down to kiss you. “Wanna watch Shania with me?”

Your answer is immediate. “Obviously.”

“Thought so.”

A few minutes later, the two of you tuck yourselves into the back of one of the pit entrance tunnels, half-hidden in the shadow where the fans cannot easily see you. Shania is on stage, commanding the stadium with that effortless warmth that still makes you feel a little unreal. Harry stands behind you with one arm around your waist, chin occasionally brushing near your temple when he leans down to say something quietly and for a while, everything is calm.

Then Jeff appears in the tunnel. At first, you don't think anything of it. Jeff is everywhere on show days, moving through corridors with his phone in hand, making decisions before most people know there is a decision to make. He looks tense, but that's not unusual. “Y/n,” he says. “Can I have a minute?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Harry’s arm loosens around you, you glance back at him with a small smile, expecting nothing more than work, then follow Jeff farther into the tunnel, away from the fans and the sound spill from the stage.

The second you are out of earshot, his tone changes. “What the hell were you thinking?”

You stop, and for a moment, you genuinely don't understand the question. “What?”

“Moving forty-five people into Disco pit with VIP lanyards.”

“Oh.” You blink, trying to catch up with the anger in his face. “Jeff, they had restricted view seats that weren’t sold as restricted. There was a PA tower directly in front of them, and the videos were already—”

“I know what happened,” he cuts in. “It’s all over social media.”

“Right, but that’s why I moved quickly. It was negative PR, and they had paid full price for seats they couldn’t use.”

“You moved them into pit.”

“There was space.”

“You gave them VIP lanyards.”

“To get them through checkpoints cleanly. The wristbands were the important part.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

His voice is sharp enough to make you glance back towards the tunnel opening, checking whether fans can hear. Shania’s set is still loud enough to cover you, but the aggression in his tone unsettles you more than you want to admit.

“I spoke to Leah,” you say, keeping your own voice controlled. “She checked capacity. Safety wasn’t an issue.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“The point is that you made an operational decision without clearing it with me, without clearing it with venue management, without considering the precedent. Those people paid for seats in the upper level, and now they’re in a pit people paid hundreds more for.”

“They didn’t pay for obstructed view.”

“No, but you don’t just hand out upgrades worth hundreds because TikTok got loud.”

You stare at him, heat rising in your face now. “That’s not what happened.”

“It looks exactly like what happened.”

“I went up there. I saw it myself. They couldn’t see the stage, Jeff. They couldn’t even see the screens properly.”

“Then you escalate it.”

“To who? Everyone was busy, and it needed handling before the show.”

“To me.”

“You were in meetings.”

“I’m the fucking manager.”

“I know that.”

“Then act like it.”

You take a breath, trying to hold the line between professional and personal. “I was trying to protect the show, protect Harry, protect the tour from a ticketing issue becoming a headline.”

Jeff scoffs. “You were trying to play hero.”

Your eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair is you thinking you can walk around this tour making calls because you want his fans to like you.”

“That has nothing to do with it.”

“It has everything to do with it.”

You shake your head once. “Those fans were happy. The videos are positive now. The capacity was safe. The lanyards weren’t sold anyway, so there was no revenue loss from giving them away.”

“That’s not how any of this works.”

“Then explain it without yelling at me.”

For a second, Jeff seems even angrier that you're not folding and behind you, Harry notices. He's been watching Shania, or trying to, but you've been gone too long. When he looks towards the tunnel and sees you and Jeff facing each other in the half-shadow, his expression shifts. You and Jeff don't argue, not like that. You work together constantly, sometimes under pressure, sometimes with different opinions, but always respectfully. This is not how your work relationship works.

Harry starts walking over and he reaches the edge of the conversation just as Jeff says, low and cutting, “You don’t have the right to make decisions like that just because you’re sleeping with the artist.”

You freeze so completely it feels as if the stadium sound drops away for one impossible second. Harry stops too, a few feet behind you, he has heard every word. Jeff sees him almost immediately, but he doesn't take it back, that may be the worst part. The sentence remains there between all three of you, ugly and deliberate, reducing years of your education, your work, your talent, your effort, your hours spent keeping Harry’s public world alive, to the fact that you share his bed.

You cannot speak, for once in your life, nothing comes out of your mouth. But Harry can, and he does. His face changes in a way you have rarely ever seen before. He doesn't explode immediately, though. He walks to your side, close enough that his shoulder nearly touches yours, then shifts half a step forward, not pushing you behind him entirely but placing himself between you and Jeff just enough for the message to be unmistakable.

“Repeat that,” Harry says.

Jeff exhales sharply. “Harry—”

“No. Repeat what you just said to her.”

Jeff’s jaw works. “This isn’t about—”

“It is exactly about what you just said to my girlfriend.” Harry’s voice stays low, which somehow makes it worse. “So say it again. To me.”

Jeff looks between you and him, irritation still there, though something less certain flickers underneath it. “She had no authority to move those people.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“She gave away pit access and VIP lanyards to people who bought hundred-pound seats.”

Harry’s eyes don't leave him. “I don’t care about the lanyards right now. I care about you telling her she thinks she can make decisions because she’s sleeping with me.”

You look down at the floor, the words landing again now that Harry has repeated them.

Jeff lifts his chin. “It was harsh, but I’m not wrong.”

Harry’s anger sharpens visibly. “You are wrong, Jeffrey.”

“Would we have hired her if she wasn’t with you?”

The question is a low blow, and everyone there knows it. Harry steps closer. “Careful.”

Jeff laughs once, humourless. “Come on. You know how this looks.”

“I know how it looks when a woman does her job well and a man decides to call her position personal because he’s angry she made a call before he did.”

Jeff’s eyes flash with anger as he hisses through gritted teeth. “Don’t turn this into that.”

“You turned it into that when you said what you said.”

“She overstepped.”

“Then talk about the work,” Harry snaps, voice finally rising. “Talk about process. Talk about escalation. Talk about whatever you need to talk about without insulting her like she’s only here because of me.”

You glance up at him and he's furious, properly angry, shoulders squared, jaw tight, every bit of his softness folded away because someone he loves has just been dismissed in front of him.

Jeff points toward the stadium. “There are systems for a reason.”

“And apparently the system sold full-price seats behind a PA tower.”

“That’s a ticketing issue.”

“It became a fan issue.” Harry’s voice cuts cleaner now. “She fixed it.”

“She made it my problem.”

“No. She made it smaller before it got bigger.”

Jeff opens his mouth, but Harry doesn't let him take the space. “You’re angry because she made a decision,” Harry says. “And I’m angry because she had to make it alone.”

Silence follows that, sharp and uncomfortable. You stare at Harry, stunned in a completely different way now.

Jeff’s face hardens. “That’s not fair and you know it.”

“Neither is speaking to her like that.”

“She still overstepped.”

“Maybe the process needs looking at. Maybe someone should’ve caught those seats before fans got inside. Maybe tomorrow, when everyone’s calmer, you and I can talk about how decisions like this get handled properly. But right now, you are not going to stand in a tunnel at my show and treat her like she’s disposable.”

“I didn’t say she was disposable.”

“You implied worse.”

Jeff looks at you then, but not with apology. He looks frustrated, cornered, too proud to climb down.

Harry sees it too. “Go,” he says.

“Harry—”

“Go be useful somewhere else.”

Jeff’s mouth tightens and for a second and you think he might argue again. Instead, he huffs, mutters something under his breath that you cannot make out, turns, and walks away down the tunnel.

The moment he's gone, Harry turns to you, and his expression changes immediately. The anger doesn't fully vanish, but it moves aside for concern. He reaches for you with both hands, eyes searching yours. “Are you okay?”

You nod automatically. “Yeah.”

“No, don’t do that.” His voice softens. “Are you okay?”

You try to answer, but nothing comes out and that's answer enough. Harry pulls you into him, arms wrapping around you tightly, one hand at the back of your head. You go into him without resistance, your face pressing against his shirt, the noise of Shania’s set and the stadium and the corridor all muffling into the warmth of his body.

“I’m sorry,” he says near your hair. “I’m so sorry he said that to you.”

Your hands curl lightly into the fabric of his shirt. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

“You didn’t.”

“I thought I was helping.”

“You were.”

“I should've asked someone.”

“Maybe there’s a conversation about process,” he says, steady and careful now, “but that doesn't make what he said true. It doesn’t make it okay. Not for a second.”

You close your eyes, breathing him in, trying to push away the sentence still circling your mind.

Would we have hired her if she wasn’t with you?

Harry seems to know exactly where your thoughts have gone. “Stop,” he murmurs.

You let out a small, shaky laugh against him. “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You’re wondering if he’s right.”

You go quiet.

Harry’s arms tighten. “He’s not,” he says firmly. “He is not right, you hear me? You have this job because you’re brilliant at it. Because you understand the fans, because you understand me, because you know how to make it feel real without turning my life into content. Do you know how many people trust you now? The team, Anthony, the PR lot, me. The fans notice it too. You brought those accounts back to life.”

You swallow. “I didn’t want the ticket thing to become ugly,” you say.

“I know.”

“They paid to see you.”

“I know.”

“They couldn’t see anything.”

“So you made sure they could.”

“What if Jeff’s right that I shouldn’t have made that call?”

Harry pulls back enough to look at you, hands still on your arms. “Then we talk tomorrow about how to do it next time. That’s it. That’s the worst-case version where you made a process mistake. It still doesn’t give him the right to humiliate you.”

You nod, but your eyes sting. “I hate being the reason people fight.”

“You’re not the reason.” His thumb moves gently over your arm. “He crossed a line. I reacted to the line.”

“He thinks I’m only here because of you.”

“Then he can enjoy being wrong.”

Despite everything, the bluntness nearly makes you laugh, but Harry’s expression stays serious. “I mean it. You're never trouble to me. Not in this job, not in this life, not anywhere. I’ve got your back.”

You look at him. “I know,” you whisper.

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Because I’ll keep saying it until it sticks.”

A call comes from farther down the corridor, one of the assistants looking for him. “Harry? They need you for hair and wardrobe.”

Harry glances over, then back at you. “Two minutes.”

The assistant disappears again.

You wipe carefully beneath your eyes, annoyed to find them damp. Harry notices and kisses your forehead, lingering there, his hand warm against the side of your neck. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” he says. “Properly. When he’s not being an arse and I’m not two seconds from throwing him into a speaker stack.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I actually considered.”

You breathe out a small laugh.

He slips his arm around your shoulders and starts walking you back towards the dressing room area, keeping you close as the stadium noise swells again behind you. Shania is still singing somewhere out there, the fans are still cheering, show three is still unfolding, and in less than an hour Harry will have to walk on stage as if his blood isn't still hot with anger. But he will, and you will do your job, and Jeff will have to apologise.

For now though, Harry presses one more kiss to your temple as you walk. “You did good today,” he says quietly.

You lean into his side, flowers waiting in his dressing room, fans in the pit because of you, the show still alive around you. “Promise?”

Harry looks down at you, certain as anything.

“Promise, love.”

Taglist: @lizsogolden @avensgreenvans @maudie-duan @chocostyles @sparklejumpropequeen1113 @pops234 @lomlcamy

“I’m fine, Rafe,” you stop him before he can start. “How are you, baby? How was your day?”

He doesn’t answer, just walks toward you. Your hands dive back into the sink, scrubbing the next dish harder, faster in a feeble attempt to appear busy.

He wraps his arms around your body from behind, his large hands settling over yours before gently guiding you to set the dish back down in the sink.

One by one he pulls the rubber gloves off your hands. Your arms fall around your waist as he hugs you tightly from behind, tucking his face into the crook of your neck.

“Slow down, baby. You’re alright,” he murmurs softly against your neck, pressing a slow kiss there.

“Mom!” Winnie shouts suddenly from the top of the staircase. “When’s the pizza getting here?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Rafe beats you to it. “Soon,” he calls, vague enough for her to nod and walk away—vague enough that you could get away without admitting you forgot, but the way your shoulders fall in defeat after you hear her question tells Rafe everything he needs to know.

He hugs you closer still, nuzzling his face in your neck again, breathing deep. “Bad day, baby?” He mumbles.

“Work was… this. Just everything.” You gesture to the house as Rory and Poppy run across the wet, sandy mess Max left behind, slipping and falling to their bums, giggling it off before starting up again.

“I get it, baby, I’m sorry,” he soothes.

Your cheek melts against him as his arms tighten around you.

“I’m gonna get Max and those shitheads to clean up this mess, dishes too—the twins and I will go get the pizzas, and you… You go do whatever’s gonna make you feel good for the meantime, alright?”

“Rafe, I—”

“Yes, sir,” he chuckles softly as he kisses your cheek playfully. “That’s the only thing you should be sayin’ to me, pretty. No excuses.”

“Yes, sir,” you whisper, a small laugh slipping out of you despite the tears. “Really… I’m okay,” you whisper.

“You had a bad day,” he says gently, turning you into his chest. “This is the least I can do, baby—let me do it.”

You nod as he cups your cheeks, tilting down to press a lingering kiss against your forehead.

“Boat’s outta gas,” you sigh, trying not to laugh but Rafe’s already scoffing like he expected no less—like he’s tired but he wouldn’t change a thing.

“Of course it is. Story of our fuckin’ life, huh?”

“Mhmm…”

“You got plans for tomorrow?” He whispers as he pulls you close, letting his forehead rest against yours.

“Nothing,” you smile, your voice still trembling a little.

“Perfect,” he hums. “Gonna fill up that goddamn boat… Get you your favorite meal—some drinks. And we can just sit. Silence. Sunset. You and me.”

“I’d love that,” you sigh.

“Mmm… I love you, baby,” he hums, leaning down to meet your lips again.

“I love you too.”

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☆ Ellie has always been obsessed with your body — long before the pregnancies. She treats you like a subject of study, a poem in flesh.

☆ She’d spend hours worshipping you with her mouth, soft kisses to your stomach and thighs, whispering things like, “No metaphor could ever hold you.”

☆ Ellie had a ritual before bed: kissing your belly three times — once for you, once for your future, and once for herself. She said it was selfish, but necessary.

☆ When you got pregnant with Aurora, Ellie’s obsession only grew. She became more reverent, more possessive. “You’re carrying both of us,” she’d mutter against your skin.

☆ She was especially obsessed with your breasts. The way they changed. The way you’d cup them self-consciously, and she’d replace your hands with hers. “Don’t hide them from me,” she whispered once, lips brushing a nipple.

☆ After you gave birth, you didn’t want her to touch you the same way anymore. The sexiness you felt before — the desire — vanished.

☆ You hated the way your stomach looked. Hated how tender and saggy it felt. You flinched when Ellie reached for you under your shirt.

☆ Ellie noticed quickly, though she didn’t say anything at first. She just started memorizing the new map of your body in silence.

☆ She once got on her knees to kiss your stretch marks, but you moved away. “Don’t,” you said, almost harsh.

☆ That night, she cried in the bathroom. Quietly. Because she didn’t want you to hear how broken she felt for not being able to comfort you.

☆ You stopped letting her eat you out with the lights on. Then with the lights off. Then, not at all.

☆ Ellie went from practically addicted to your taste to starving. Not physically — emotionally. She missed the part of you that allowed her in.

☆ Once, she whispered, “I miss being close to you,” and you replied, “I’m still here,” but you didn’t meet her eyes.

☆ She studies you like literature. The way you change clothes. The way you keep your back turned. The pauses in your sentences when she says “beautiful.”

☆ She writes: “Reader tucks herself into silence. A woman who once let me in now folds herself like a letter never meant to be opened.”

☆ She quotes Toni Morrison during pillow talk: “Love is never any better than the lover.” She tells you she’s learning to love you better — in all the ways you need now.

☆ When you cry in her arms after a long day of mom-ing, she rubs your back and murmurs academic nonsense: “You are the arc of every heroine’s journey — not ruined, rewritten.”

☆ The birth of Arnold leaves you feeling even worse — heavier, more stretched. You can’t imagine being naked in front of Ellie ever again.

☆ You wear nursing bras to bed. You keep the bathroom door locked. Even showers feel like shame now.

☆ You stop initiating sex altogether. Ellie doesn’t push. But she notices every night you turn away, every sigh you try to swallow.

☆ She hears the way you talk to yourself in the mirror. “Ugly,” “used up,” “gross.” It guts her.

☆ One day, she pulls you into her lap fully clothed and cups your face. “Please stop talking about my favorite body like that.”

☆ Ellie starts buying you lingerie. But not lacy, revealing things. Soft, expensive, comforting things — silk and warmth and earth tones. “This one’s the color of your thighs when you blush,” she says, voice low.

☆ She makes it a rule: no more hiding. Not from her. If you change, she wants to be there. If you cry, she’ll hold you through it.

☆ One night, Ellie makes love to you slowly, under the blankets. You’re still in a nursing bra. She worships every inch she’s allowed to touch. “Let me earn the rest.”

☆ When she finally slides her hand down your panties again, you gasp and cry at the same time. She kisses your tears as you come.

☆ Afterwards, she whispers, “You’re mine, in every shape. In every stage. And I will never stop wanting you.”

☆ Ellie takes her time. She tells you she wants to learn your body again. Like a new language. “Every scar. Every dip. Every sigh — I want to read you until I memorize it all again.”

☆ She uses her mouth like a pen. You let her go down on you for the first time in months — only under the covers.

☆ She kisses your soft thighs first, whispering, “These carried our children. These make me feral.”

☆ She eats you like it’s an essay she wants to get an A+ on — deliberate, obsessive, unhurried. Her fingers gripping your hips like she’s grounding herself.

☆ When you finally come, she doesn’t move. She just stays there, lips trembling against your inner thigh, whispering, “Thank you. Thank you for letting me.”

☆ You sob in her arms after. She kisses your eyelids and says, “Let’s do this slowly. One night, one light, one layer at a time.”

☆ Ellie writes you a poem. Not a good one, but a raw one. You find it folded inside your nursing bra drawer.

☆ She whispers literary lines during sex: “I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.” You laugh, and cry, and kiss her harder.

☆ You let her take Polaroids of you — just shoulders and curves. No face. She keeps them in her journal, like talismans.

☆ One day, you ask her to take one with your full body. You say, “I want to see what you see.”

☆ She frames it. Not in your house — but in her university office. Her students think it’s abstract art. She knows better.

☆ You start having sex with the lights on dim. Then brighter. Then fully.

☆ You ride Ellie one night and cry when she won’t stop looking at you. “Why are you staring?”

☆ She answers: “Because you’re so fucking beautiful I’m afraid to blink.”

☆ Ellie becomes obsessed with your belly. She kisses it between orgasms. “This is where they came from. This is where I came from.”

☆ You let her use a mirror during sex one night. It’s overwhelming — but she keeps kissing your shoulder. “Look at how I love you,” she says, moving inside you.

☆ After, she cradles your face and whispers, “This isn’t sex. This is resurrection.”

☆ Ellie never rushes. Postpartum or not, she treats your body like a library she’s not finished reading. Sex begins with her eyes, tracing every new curve with gratitude. She wants to make you slow down and see what she sees.

☆ She always asks, “Can I see you?” — never demands it. The room is softly lit, but when you shake your head, she just nods and kisses your covered shoulder, working with whatever you give.

☆ Her oral fixation deepens after each baby. It’s like she gets more addicted to the idea of devoting herself to your body — especially the parts you try to hide. She’ll stay between your thighs for hours if you let her, mumbling, “This is my favorite place to be.”

☆ Ellie doesn’t let you say anything negative about your body during sex. She’ll stop, tilt her head, and say softly, “Say something real instead. Say you made me a daughter. Say you made me a son. Say you let me have a forever.”

☆ She gently pins your wrists above your head and kisses each stretch mark like a vow. “You stretched for love,” she whispers between every one. “Let me stretch you for pleasure.”

☆ Ellie sometimes coaxes you out of the baggy shirt or the blanket by undressing herself first. She lies back completely bare and says, “Now we’re both soft. Now come let me in.”

☆ If you try to cover your belly during sex, she kisses your hands and says, “Leave it. I want to feel what made them.” And she means it. She needs to feel it.

☆ Her favorite position postpartum becomes one where she can be under you — eating you out slowly with both hands gripping your hips, letting your softness weigh over her. She moans into you like it’s prayer.

☆ Ellie gets more vocal the more insecure you are. She praises you obsessively. “So fucking gorgeous. So warm. So full. I love your thighs, I love your belly, I love the way you drip when I talk to you like this.”

☆ If the lights are off, she’ll light one dim candle and hold it near your waistline as she trails kisses across your stomach. “I’m gonna learn every line like I teach sonnets. Over and over, until it’s sacred.”

☆ She never initiates penetration until you beg for it. The build-up is always about you. “I want you to ask for me. Not because you feel sexy — but because you trust me to hold you while you fall apart.”

☆ When you flinch from her tongue on your scars, she only presses harder — with reverence. “This is where you tore for them. This is where I love you hardest.”

☆ Sometimes she makes you ride her strap with a mirror behind you — not to humiliate, but to show you what she sees: flushed cheeks, soft belly, your hand around her throat. “Tell me you’re ugly now. I dare you.”

☆ Ellie groans like she’s in pain when you cum. Not from dominance — but from desperation. “That’s my girl. My body. My fucking heaven.”

☆ Her oral fixation turns obsessive during ovulation or breastfeeding phases. She says your taste changes — becomes sweeter, richer — and she wants to study every drop.

☆ Ellie doesn’t like when you apologize for being "loose" after birth. She’ll murmur, “It’s not loose. It’s made to take me. Just me. No one else gets this.”

☆ She kisses your breasts with pure awe after nursing. Even if they leak. Especially if they leak. She moans when you gasp, wraps her lips around your nipple, and whispers, “Still feeding them. Still feeding me.”

☆ She loves when you’re sore from motherhood. If your thighs ache, she’ll massage them with her tongue. If your back hurts, she’ll rub it while fingering you from behind slowly — whispering, “You give so much. Let me take over.”

☆ Ellie’s aftercare is half erotic. She traces the wetness down your thighs and says, “Proof you still want. Proof you’re still mine. That didn’t go anywhere.”

☆ She fucks you slow. Even with the strap, it’s like worship — not just sex. Her forehead stays against yours the whole time, whispering how good you feel, how much she missed you, how this part of you never left.

☆ When you're riding her, Ellie gently grabs your hips and holds you in place as she thrusts up with the strap. “Don’t run from what’s yours. You deserve to feel full.”

☆ She sometimes cries when you let her take you fully in the light. She doesn’t even hide it. “I missed you. I missed all of you. I never want to fuck with the lights off again.”

☆ She always starts by eating you out — slow, wet, tongue curling into you while her hand cups your belly, gently grounding you. “Don’t hide from me. Let me taste the parts you’re scared of.”

☆ Ellie teases your stretch marks with her tongue, dragging it over every curve like she's tracing poetry. “You are literature. You are lineage. Let me read.”

☆ She praises you like a professor giving a thesis defense. “Exquisite form. Provocative structure. Flawless conclusion.” She grins when you call her a nerd with tears in your eyes.

☆ Sometimes she teases you by saying she’ll write her next syllabus about you — “Unit 1: the architecture of your thighs. Unit 2: your cunt. Final exam: making you scream my name.”

☆ Ellie sometimes lays between your legs with her hands flat against your stomach and just breathes there, lips ghosting over your folds. “This is the most sacred text I’ll ever study.”

☆ If you try to brush her off when you're bloated, she tightens her grip around your waist and murmurs, “You think this turns me off? No, baby. This makes me feral.”

☆ She’s not rough — but she is unrelenting. Once you let her in, she doesn’t stop until your body breaks open with pleasure. “Let it go. Let it all go. I’ve got you.”

☆ Every orgasm Ellie gives you is earned with worship. It ends with her on her knees, flushed and wrecked, pressing kisses to your swollen thighs, whispering, “That’s my love. That’s the mother of my children. That’s my woman.”

☆ Aurora calls your stretch marks “mommy’s tiger stripes.” Ellie tears up every time she hears it.

☆ Arnold falls asleep on your chest after breastfeeding, and Ellie snaps a picture — the first one you don’t delete.

☆ Ellie keeps it in her office, tucked behind a book called The Motherhood Manifesto.

☆ Aurora starts drawing you as a superhero with big hips and wide arms. You blush. Ellie grins.

☆ Ellie publishes a paper on the literary absence of maternal beauty — and how academia erases softness. She uses quotes from your life. You’re anonymous. But you cry reading it anyway.

She writes: “If the canon cannot hold softness, then I’ll rewrite the canon with my hands.”

☆ You finally ask her to write something about your sex life. A private essay. She does. And you make love on the same desk she types it on.

☆ One quote haunts you: “Her belly, soft and divine, is the altar at which I worship. Each orgasm a prayer. Each moan a vow.”

☆ You catch yourself smiling naked one day. You don’t hate what you see. Ellie catches you. Walks over. Kisses your reflection.

“Told you,” she whispers, “You’d fall for her again.”

☆ The next time you ride her, you keep the lights on bright. She almost cries under you.

☆ “You’re not just back,” she says. “You’re reborn.”

☆ You write her a letter, finally. “Thank you for not letting me vanish.”

☆ Ellie keeps it in her wallet. Reads it on days when the world feels cruel.

☆ She builds a new bookshelf — and the base is engraved with: “Built by the hands that held our children.”

☆ She kisses your hands during foreplay now, every time. “These gave life. These take mine every time you touch me.”

☆ She tells you the shape of your hips haunts her when she’s teaching.

☆ She whispers how your weight on top of her makes her feel safe.

☆ She begs for you now — not just sexually, but spiritually.

☆ She wants a third baby, but only if you do. “I could spend my life memorizing your changes.”

☆ You say yes. Not because you’re perfect. But because you feel loved.

☆ When you make love after the decision, she touches you like she’s already thanking you for the future.

The air was hot and thick with the smell of Frank’s famous ribs on the barbeque that late Saturday afternoon, the sun still beating down despite the hour. Joel’s hand stung from the cold bite of the ice that floated in the cooler as he fished around for a beer, hoping it’d take the edge off the heat, and maybe the company, too.

He was only half listening to the conversation near the tables, the scrape of tongs on the grill, the low hum of voices rising every so often in laughter as the guys hovered around Frank like he was running a damn cooking show. Most of them were well past their drink limit already, and none of them seemed to be slowing down.

It was one of those casual get-togethers Tommy liked to throw now and then. They pulled in the whole damn crew from the job site, a few neighbors, and the usual handful of buddies Tommy had collected through the VA or just from being more sociable than his older brother had ever been.

Joel normally showed up late and dipped out early. But this time, he’d been here since setup. Grunted through the small talk, nodded through the backslaps and the bullshit, even ignored the flirty eyes and lingering hands from some of the wives who’d had one too many.

He was just cracking the tab on his beer when he heard Marcus ask, “Now where’s that cute little thing you always got hangin’ around you these days?”

Joel’s head snapped up before he could stop himself, eyes cutting to his brother like a reflex.

Tommy’s grin widened bashfully, cheeks coloring under the weight of Marcus’s arm slung around his shoulders.

The guys burst into laughter, light punches landing against Tommy’s chest and arms, jabbing at him like boys in a locker room. Joel didn’t laugh, instead, he felt his jaw tighten.

He didn’t really know you. The real estate girl Tommy had gotten friendly with, now that he was helping out more regularly with Miller Contracting. You’d become part of the routine, almost part of the company entirely if Tommy had his way. You were slowly turning into the face of the pitch, the one always talking to buyers with your bright voice and glossy folders and those heels that somehow never sank into the grass.

Truth be told, Joel thought you were actually pretty damn good at your job. You never over-promised. Never made excuses. You just smiled at the impatient homeowners and smoothed things over with that voice of yours, always steady, always sweet.

No worries, Mrs. Smith, the boys are workin’ hard, and your granite countertops should be done real soon. What’s that? You need it finished in two weeks? Don’t worry, I’ll ask ‘em to crank up the Constructo-Meter and work double-time.

Joel had to force himself not to smile the first time you pulled that one out.

Because you were a pain in his ass. Always wedging yourself into their business, always making friendly chatter with the guys—it drove him mad.

But still, that never seemed stop him from thinking about the way those little black skirts and low cut blouses hugged your curves, how your voice went syrupy when you talked on the phone, how your perfume lingered long after you’d left the site.

And it sure didn’t stop the way his blood started to run a little hotter now, just hearing other men talk about you like that.

And speaking of the devil in heels, there you were, the back door sliding open and your bright smile shining across the yard. But you weren’t in your usual business attire. Long gone was the little black pencil skirt, you had sandals instead of kitten heels, and instead of your clipboard tucked under your chest, you held a dish covered in a tea towel.

Instead, you wore a simple little sundress. Light fabric, floral print, the kind that clung just enough to your waist before fluttering out around your thighs. It moved with every step you took, catching the breeze as if made for days just like this.

Your legs were bare, glowing in the bright sunlight, long and smooth and dusted with the faint shimmer of the afternoon heat. You walked slow, easy, like you didn’t feel a dozen sets of eyes turn toward you all at once.

“There she is!” Marcus called, loud and eager, already moving to greet you like a dog off-leash. He bulldozed his way across the lawn, nearly knocking over someone’s lawn chair to get to you first. Joel watched as you smiled politely, extending your hand. You let Marcus take it, let him rest his palm on your shoulder like he’d known you more than a couple weeks. He led you into the yard like you were the goddamn guest of honor. 

But had Joel blinked just then, he would’ve missed the way your eyes flitted to him across the lawn, almost in a silent plea. What was it you were asking of him? To pull you away from Marcus’s grip? To save you from the onslaught of attention? Joel told himself he was overthinking it. You only glanced at him, anyway. It was only a second, quick and barely there, but he felt his ears go red. 

Then you were pulled right into the thick of it. The circle of men and smoke and beer breath and loud talk surrounded you and Joel’s eyes narrowed when you leaned up and kissed Tommy on the cheek in greeting.

What the hell?

Joel’s mind scrambled for any semblance of conversation he had with his brother about you recently. As far as he knew, you weren’t seeing each other, or else he knew Tommy would be bragging from the rooftops about it. So why were you kissing him on the cheek, and why in God’s name was his brother looking so damn pleased with himself?

The guys hooted, elbowing Tommy again, shouting some nonsense about keeping secrets and "oughta let the rest of us have a chance." You laughed. That easy, breezy kind of laugh Joel had only ever heard you use with clients. It was sweet and polished and meant to keep things light.

“You’re bad,” you said to Marcus as he playfully tugged at the edge of your dish towel-covered plate. “I brought peach cobbler. Hands off till it’s on the table.”

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” he grinned, “Don’t tell me you just came here to tease us like that.”

Joel clenched his jaw so hard his molars ached.

They fawned over you for a little longer, offering you a drink, asking about your week, making you promise you’d be at the site tomorrow. You laughed and nodded and let them talk at you while you balanced the covered dish in your hands.

Finally, someone called for plates and food, and the group began to break apart. You used the chance to step away, heading toward the folding table to set the dish down, hands smoothing the towel flat once you uncovered the cobbler.

Joel dropped his gaze down to the cooler as you approached, hyper aware of every footfall he heard of yours, the slapping of your fancy looking sandals. He could feel your approach, his nerves fraying the closer you got.

“You gonna guard that cooler all night, Mr. Miller?”

His jaw flexed again.

He could see your painted toes in his periphery, the slender straps of your sandals peeking through the grass as you stood beside him now, arms crossed loosely as you probably were eyeing the cooler. Joel didn’t answer at first, but he reached back into the ice and grabbed another beer. He knew which kind you liked. He offered it to you all the while barely looking at you. 

“Thanks,” you said, taking it from him and flipping the tab. “Didn’t realize it came with a side of brooding.”

His eyes finally flicked to your face, but you were already turning and walking away. 

Pain in his ass.

The fire pit was burning high, crackling steady in the pit as the night settled in thick and warm. Most of the crowd had cleared out by now, just a small group lingering in mismatched chairs and folding camp seats around the orange glow. Tommy was strumming his guitar across the fire from Joel, and someone had pulled out the s’mores kit, and now half-melted chocolate wrappers and graham cracker crumbs littered the little side table.

You were perched on the edge of a faded Adirondack chair, legs tucked under you, a roasting stick gripped delicately between your fingers. A single marshmallow dangled above the flame, the bottom already blistering black while the top sagged from the heat.

Joel watched you, his umpteenth beer in hand, his skin flushed and brow glowering at you across the fire beside his brother. But you hadn’t paid much mind to him all day. 

The thought of that being the exact reason he was glowering flitted across his mind before he shook it away with another swig.

He told himself he was only watching you because you were reckless with the fire. That someone needed to keep an eye on you before you set yourself or the whole damn yard ablaze. But even as the thought passed through, it felt thin.

“Uh-oh,” someone murmured, pointing at your marshmallow.

You lifted it too slowly, distracted mid-conversation, and by the time you noticed, it was already half-melted, sagging off the stick. But you just laughed, grinning as you brought it straight to your lips anyway.

It hit your mouth in a gooey, half-scalding mess. A smear of white stuck to the corner of your lip, the rest slipping down your chin in a slow drip before you caught it with your finger.

“Shit,” you said, laughing again, swiping at the melted mess before licking your finger clean with a soft, exaggerated pop. “Too hot.”

One of the women next to you snorted, covering her mouth. Another chimed in, “Girl, you’re gonna burn your tongue off.”

But the men… they were all silent, frozen, staring in awe as you finished off the white sugary syrup that dripped down your finger.

Joel’s pulse kicked hard in his neck, the bottle slick in his hand. His eyes narrowed across the flames, locked on you like you were a match yourself. He didn’t know what pissed him off more—how you didn’t seem to notice the reaction around the firepit, or how maybe the fact that you very much knew exactly what you were doing.

You were glowing in the firelight, hair messy and cheeks flushed, lips still sticky with sugar and heat. And you weren’t even looking at him. You were laughing with the others like you hadn’t just made every man in the circle forget what they were saying mid-sentence.

He hated it.

Absolutely fucking hated it.

He stood up suddenly, the legs of his chair scraping loud against the concrete.

Your eyes flicked over to him, a little startled. 

Joel didn’t say much as he stalked off, only muttering something about needing to take a piss as he moved off toward the house, shoulders tight and eyes storm-dark.

Pain in his ass.

The house was quiet in the way that always made Joel feel like he could finally breathe. Music still played low from the guitar in Tommy’s lap, something twangy and slow, and the hum of conversation from outside was muffled by the closed door. He stood in the kitchen with his back to the room, hands braced against the counter, head bowed. His beer sat half-finished beside the sink, piss warm by now.

He hated this.

He hated the way his stomach twisted every time you laughed at someone else’s joke. He hated how the sound of his own brother’s name on your lips made his shoulders tense or how you floated through the yard like you didn’t even notice the way people watched you.

And worse, hated how badly he wanted you to look at him.

He didn’t want to be that kind of man. The kind that glared at his own brother like a dog guarding a bone. The kind that let a little sugar-slick smile get under his skin. But here he was. Stuck in it. Damn near drowning in it. A grown man stewing in the dark over a girl that wasn’t even his.

Joel kept reminding himself that he barely knew you. Just a few months of day in and day out visits to the sites, or meeting him and his brother on new projects. Joel and you mostly only talked business, maybe a few jokes here and there if he was in a good enough mood. Sometimes you brought him coffee when you knew it’d be a long day. You’d learned how he’d liked it. He was kicking himself for never being all that nice to you. But it surely wasn’t enough to justify this ugly thing crawling up his spine every time you touched Tommy’s arm or shared a smile with one of the other guys.

If anyone deserved you, it was probably Tommy. He was good with people, charming and light on his feet and always seemed to know what to say. If you were gonna fall for someone, Joel figured it would be him. Maybe you already had.

But none of that stopped the way Joel’s blood ran hot just at the thought of it.

No. Joel wanted you.

And he wanted you bad.

He closed his eyes and took a breath, trying to settle the mess churning in his chest. He hated the way he got around you, how quick his temper flared, how easily his thoughts tangled. The jealousy slipped in quiet at first, but it had since settled deep, coiling tight in his gut until everything felt too hot. And beneath it, there was the want. Hot and blood boiling, it was impossible to ignore. It clung to him in moments like this, too loud for the quiet kind of life he told himself he wanted now.

And just as he was pulling himself together, the back door creaked open behind him.

He turned halfway, startled.

You stepped inside, lit from behind by the porch light, brows pinched and lip tucked between your teeth. You didn’t see him at first, just cradled your hand in front of you and headed for the cabinets.

“Can’t believe I actually burned myself,” you muttered, yanking one open and rummaging through it.

Joel blinked. “The hell you doin’?”

You jumped slightly, eyes snapping to him. “Jesus—I didn’t know you were in here.”

“Clearly,” he snapped, but then his gaze dropped to the way your fingers curled protectively around your hand. He let out a sigh, quieter this time. “Sit. I’ll get the kit.”

You hesitated, then nodded and moved toward the counter. Joel disappeared down the hall and came back a moment later with the first aid kit, clicking it open as you settled on the edge of the counter. Your bare feet dangled above the floor, knees drawn in slightly like you were trying to take up less space.

“I feel so stupid,” you muttered with a breathy little laugh, trying to break the silence.

“Yeah, well,” Joel grumbled, “shouldn’t’ve been playin’ in fire.”

“I wasn’t playing,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I dropped my marshmallow.”

Joel didn’t respond. He let the quiet settle again as he took your hand in his. He hadn’t noticed before how small it was. How his palm all but swallowed yours. You were so warm, so close. Closer than he’d ever been, really.

After a moment, you tilted your head, frowning at him. “What’s been your deal today?”

He didn’t answer, just dabbed on the burn cream. You winced, and he almost felt bad.

“You’ve been acting… weird,” you said softly.

“Weird?” he echoed, even though he knew exactly what you meant. He had been acting like an asshole, there was no doubt about it. 

“You’ve been…distant. All broody and quiet.”

He finally looked up at you under his brows. “I don’t brood.”

Your lips curved, amused in spite of yourself. “Joel Miller, you are the definition of brooding. What’s going on with you?”

He paused, focusing on wrapping the bandage like it was the most important thing in the world. He didn’t know if he was going to answer. Didn’t know if he should.

“You don’t even realize it, do you?” he said finally.

You blinked. “Realize what?”

He glanced at you, frowning. “The way you act out there with them. Letting ‘em fawn all over you. Laughin’, lickin’ marshmallow off your damn fingers like you don’t know what that looks like.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

“Maybe you don’t realize it. Or maybe you do. Maybe that’s the whole thing. Part of your little game.”

“I don’t play games, Mr. Miller,” you said sharply, jerking your hand from his. You stood abruptly, the scrape of your feet on the tile loud in the silence. Joel was already kicking himself for being such an asshole.

“And if you’re so mad about them lookin’ at me, you sure as hell don’t seem to care enough to do anything about it.”

His blood ran hot under your glare. You tipped your chin up at him, eyes sparking now, fire in them even here, far away from the pit.

“And what the hell do you want me to do about it, huh?” he seethed.

And that’s when he saw your eyes flitting to his mouth.

The air between you burned, thick and charged, like static right before a storm. You didn’t back down. You stood there, chest rising fast, glaring up at him like you dared him to move. Joel towered over you, the low kitchen light behind him casting his shadow across your whole body.

You were breathing hard, and he swore he could see your pulse pounding in your neck, right at the base of your throat. He wanted to touch it. Press his fingers there just to feel it.

“What the hell is goin’ on with you and my brother?” he asked, the words coming sharp, cut straight from the mess in his chest. It had been stuck in his head all night—that kiss on the cheek, the way you trailed after Tommy, how you sat beside him through dinner, through the firepit, stuck to him like glue.

Your head jerked slightly like you couldn’t believe the question. “Seriously?”

“You’ve been followin’ him around like a little puppy all damn day. Kissed him on the cheek when you got here,” Joel said, like that explained everything.

“It was a greeting, Joel,” you shot back. “You do realize people are allowed to be nice to each other, right? There’s nothing going on with me and Tommy.”

He didn’t say anything.

“You’d know that if you actually talked to me instead of just staring all day like you’re allergic to conversation.”

Joel’s jaw tensed. His hands curled into fists at his sides. But you weren’t done.

“He’s my friend. That’s it. Tommy’s easy to be around. He laughs at my dumb jokes. He introduces me to people like he’s proud I’m there.”

Joel looked away, the weight of that last sentence heavy in his chest.

You watched him, breath tight in your chest. Then you shook your head and took a step back.

“Besides,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him, “he’s not the Miller I’m interested in.”

He stood suddenly frozen in place. He stared at you like the words didn’t compute. Like maybe he hadn’t heard you right. Like his brain refused to accept it.

You turned, trying to slip past him, trying to put this whole thing behind you, but his arm came out fast. His hand landed flat on the counter beside you, cutting off your escape. The movement wasn’t violent, but it was firm.

You jumped back, breath catching as you looked back up at him.

“Say that again,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard. “You heard me.”

“I wanna hear you say it again.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and unrelenting.

And then, quieter, but no less certain, you said it again.

“I want you, Joel.” you said, and then breathing in deep as if gathering the courage, you added: “You’re just too dumb to see it.”

The words hit him like a slap to the face, and something in him broke loose.

He didn’t let himself think about it too long, didn’t give himself any time to talk himself out of it. He pushed forward, hands sliding to your ribcage, and lifting you effortlessly to the counter. You gasped at the cool tile under your legs, your dress hiking further up as he set you down. 

Then his mouth was on yours. And he wasn’t soft or gentle or even slow.

It was all heat and teeth and months of want compressed into a single kiss. His lips crashed against yours, greedy and rough, his stubble scraping your skin as his hands held you tight, thumbs digging into your waist like he was afraid you might take it back if he let go.

You gasped into his mouth and he swallowed it whole, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, hot and slick and searching. He kissed you like he was trying to devour you, like he could bury all the confusion and jealousy and ache in your mouth and come out clean on the other side.

Your hands clawed at his shirt, fisting the fabric and he could feel the way your knees hiked up around him, legs tightening to keep him close as your ankles crossed behind his back. His hips slotted between your legs, fitting there like he belonged, like this was where he’d been meant to be all damn day.

He groaned low in his throat when your teeth scraped his bottom lip. His hand slid up your back, fingers splayed wide, dragging you closer as his other hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face so he could kiss you harder. Deeper. Dirtier.

There was nothing careful about it.

You kissed him back like you’d been waiting for this too, like you were just as pissed off, just as tired of pretending there was nothing between you. Your lips were swollen, slick with spit and sugar, and when you broke away to breathe for half a second, Joel followed you right back in, mouths colliding again, sloppy and hot and wild.

Joel didn’t think he could get enough of you.

Every time you kissed him back, every breathy sound that slipped past your lips, it lit him up from the inside. His hands moved without thinking, one sliding down your thigh, fingers curling under the hem of that soft little dress.

You didn’t stop him, if anything–you leaned into it.

He dragged you closer, hands gripping the back of your thighs as he pulled you toward the edge of the counter. The slide of you against the cool counter top made you gasp but then he was there, pressing himself even harder between your legs, solid and heavy and wanting. 

His hands slid up, dragging the fabric with them until he had you bunched up around your hips, until he could feel the heat of you radiating right through the thin scrap of fabric between your legs. It made him groan, low and guttural, forehead pressed to yours.

"Christ," he muttered, his voice rough, nearly shaking. "You're fuckin' burnin' up."

Your hands were in his hair now, tugging gently at the strands as your hips rolled forward, slow and seeking. His grip tightened, and he pulled you flush against him, grinding the hard line of his cock up into your center. He could feel everything—the softness of your inner thighs, the damp heat of you through your panties, the way your body arched into him like you couldn’t stand being separate another second.

You whimpered against his mouth, fingers threading deeper into his hair. He kissed you again, this time slower but no less intense, tongues sliding together, teeth clashing a little when neither of you could stop chasing the other.

Joel broke away, just long enough to press his mouth to the curve of your jaw, then your neck, dragging his lips down to the spot just under your ear where your pulse jumped against his tongue.

“Want you, Joel,” you sighed, tilting your head back to give him more access to your throat which he gladly took, teeth and lips and tongue all dragging across your warm skin, “Want you right here.”

"I know, baby," he rasped, grinding up into you again, slow and deliberate this time, letting you feel every inch of him. "This what you wanted all night, huh? Wanted me to take you in my brother’s kitchen like this?”

Your breath hitched. Your nails scraped against his scalp.

"Yes," you whispered.

He could feel how soaked you were, how hot and needy. The ache in his gut tightened, like he was right on the edge of losing whatever restraint he had left. His hand slid up your side, curved around your ribcage, thumb brushing just beneath the swell of your breast.

You were trembling now. Chest rising in sharp little bursts. Your legs wrapped tighter around his hips, like you were trying to fuse the two of you together.

“Then let me in, pretty girl,” he groaned, his voice shredded with restraint.

Hands reached between your bodies, his fingers dragged up the length of your clothed heat, barely brushing where you needed him most. Then he hooked his fingers around your panties and tugged them down, rough and quick, letting them fall to the floor.

He didn’t waste time.

His hand went to his jeans, undoing them with one hand, hissing low through his teeth as he freed himself, hard and already slick at the tip. He lined up with no finesse, not bothering to say more. Just pressed forward and buried himself in you with one deep, desperate thrust.

You cried out, head falling back against the cabinet, legs tightening around him even more.

“Fuck,” he gritted, voice strained and guttural. “This what you needed, baby? All those fuckers flirtin’ with you and touchin’ you, but this is who you wanted, huh? This cock right here?”

You whimpered something that might’ve been his name.

He snapped his hips forward again, harder, driving into you like he needed to stake a claim.

“That’s right, take it. So—Jesus, so goddamn tight. And all them think they might’ve had a chance but now look at you—stuffed full of cock like you’re made for it.”

Your fingers clawed into his back as he rutted into you, the edge of the counter digging into your ass, his body flush against yours. His mouth found your neck again, biting at the skin there, hands gripping your hips so hard you’d have bruises in the morning.

“You feel that?” he growled, thrusting up harder, rougher. “That’s mine. This pussy’s mine now. You gonna walk back out there drippin’ with me?”

You moaned, hips rolling helplessly against him, eyes glazed and lips parted.

“God, I fuckin’ knew it,” he muttered against your throat. “Knew you’d be a perfect little slut for me. Knew you’d let me ruin you the second I got you alone.”

He was so deep inside you, every stroke sharp and punishing, dragging the sounds out of you, making you clamp down tighter around him like your body didn’t know what to do with all of him.

“Come on then,” he rasped. “You gonna come on my cock like a good girl, or you want me to talk you through it?”

Your hands shot up, fingers tangling in his hair, yanking him down into a kiss that was all teeth and need. You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed every bit of it, lips dragging across yours before he nipped at your bottom lip.

Joel groaned desperately into your mouth, the sound escaping from deep in his chest. He could feel the way you fluttered around him, could tell you were getting close. 

He pulled back just far enough to look at you, one hand still gripping your hip, the other sliding down between your bodies. His fingers found your clit in seconds, slick and swollen and begging for attention.

“Ohhh, there she is,” he breathed with a dark little grin, rubbing slow, lazy circles that made you twitch. “That’s what you needed, huh?”

“Joel,” you gasped, eyes rolling, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s it. Say my name again,” he muttered, thrusting up into you, rough and steady, fingers never stopping. “You gettin’ close, sweetheart?”

You nodded, panting, body arching into him.

“Tell me,” he said, voice wrecked but firm. “Tell me how good I make you feel.”

You choked out a laugh between moans, half-drunk on it. “You’re such an asshole.”

He grinned. “Really shouldn’t be sayin that while I’m rearranging your guts, baby girl.”

“You smug bastard,” you gasped, rocking down on him, chasing every stroke.

“Aw, I know,” he cooed with an evil, teasing lilt, and then he was kissing you again, deep and filthy, fingers moving faster now, hips snapping hard against you. “Now come on. Let go for me. Wanna feel ‘er squeeze the fuck outta my cock.”

Your head dropped back, eyes rolling up, thighs trembling around his hips.

“That’s it,” he growled. “There she is. Come for me, baby. Make a mess. I fuckin’ dare you.”

And just like that, you broke. Your body seized around him, jaw slackened with a cry as you came hard, clenching tight around him.

“Jesus fuck,” he groaned, hips stuttering. “You’re perfect. Fuckin’ perfect.” he kept saying over and over again as he was spilling into you with a deep, broken moan, hips pressed flush to yours as he pulsed inside, thick and hot and perfect.

He stayed like that for a moment, both of you tangled together, panting against each other’s mouths. The only sound was your breathing, the faint music still playing from outside, the thud of Joel’s heart trying to calm down.

Slowly, he pulled back. His cock slipped from you, still thick and wet with both of you. You squirmed slightly at the loss, but Joel didn’t let you go far.

“Easy, baby,” he murmured, leaning down to reach between your thighs once he tucked himself away.

You gasped when his fingers slid back inside you, two thick digits pushing his cum back in with slow, easy strokes.

“Just cleanin’ you up,” he said, voice too soft to match the filth of what he was doing. “Can’t have it all drip out too fast. Not yet.”

You huffed a disbelieving laugh, but you still pulled one leg up to sit your bare foot on the counter, giving him more access.

“Want you walkin’ out there feelin’ it,” he whispered. “Want you sittin’ there all sweet while Tommy plays his little guitar and you’re sittin’ full of me. Warm and messy. Gonna keep my come inside you all night, pretty girl.”

You moaned under your breath, shivering again as he eased his fingers out.

Joel reached down and grabbed your panties from the floor. He slid them back up your legs, slow and careful, tugging them snug over your soaked center with a quiet, satisfied hum.

Then he leaned in again, kissed you on the lips, slower this time, no fire, just something warm and heavy and full of something more than the lust that was slowly dissipating from his blood.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

And when you smiled up at him, all wicked with flushed cheeks and kiss-bitten lips, he knew this wasn’t going to be the last time.

“Girl, if you don’t hammer back that shot right now I will force feed you it, quit your moping!” Your friend, Claire’s, voice rang loudly in your ear, the music of the bar drowned out in the background as she spoke.

You rolled your eyes with a groan and took the shot from her nimble fingers, you brought it to your lips and knocked back the straight liquor; the burning sensation almost instantaneous as you swallowed it back.

“I am not moping, for the record. It’s perfectly reasonable for me to be pissed when your father wants to move across the country for a new job.” You grumbled, frowning at the thoughts of the life you were due to leave behind once you move.

Sure, you were in your twenties but that didn’t mean you had the perfect life you had planned out all those years ago when you were a kid. In your fantasy land, you would have been married, maybe even with a kid and living in a beautiful home all whilst you were running your marketing company.

But no, your reality seemed much bleaker; you were living with your single father, in your childhood home, working for a shitty, old white-man in a large corporation that made you miserable. Oh, and to top off your misery; you were pining after the one man you knew you could never have.

Joel, he was your father’s friend, one of the closest people to him and you pined after him, pathetically. You knew he would never look at you in that way, he was a decent man and you knew it was wrong to lust for someone who was almost double your age.

“Hey,” Your friend’s voice honed you back into the bar. “It’s shitty you’re having to move and you know for me, it’s going to feel like I’m losing a limb. We have been besties since we were born. Cradle to grave, remember.” She smiled sweetly, the alcohol causing her words to slur together and she held out her pinky finger for you to take.

You took it firmly and shook it with your own, nodding in agreement to her words.

“Hey, we are gonna miss you too! Just because I don’t have that weird freaky sibling thing going on with you.” Your other friend, Jess, teased, jabbing your side causing you to push her away with a hearty laugh.

“You’re just jealous.” You grinned after sticking your tongue out at her. “Now, if I can’t beat you bitches, how about I join you? Round of shots, on me?”

Your friends cheered in unison and you swiftly ordered the round of drinks for you all.

—

The night wore on, drinks flowed but you had stopped a little while ago; you had to start packing tomorrow and you couldn’t bare the thought of doing it hungover, especially knowing that Joel would be there to lend his best buddy a hand in a time of need. 

“Okay, okay!” Claire shushed you all, you and your friends were huddled round a table in the bar, many a scattered glasses and drinks covering its sticky surface. “I propose a game of… Truth or dare?!”

“Claire, babe, we are all grown women do we really have to play this? Especially here, it’s cringey!” You whined petulantly, almost immediately disproving your maturity. 

She shot a smirk at you, a menacing look settling onto her face. “You know what… Ms. Snarky, for that, you can go first.”

“No! No way!” You huffed, sitting back in your seat and pouting at your best friend. You shook your head and she just raised a brow at you in question. “Fine…” you sighed reluctantly with a roll of your eyes.

“Ha! Knew I would win you over.” She smirked. 

“Bitch.” You muttered and finished off your soft drink. 

“Yeah yeah, right back at ya. Truth or dare?”

“Ugh fine. Whatever. Truth.” You sighed deeply, looking at your friend with annoyance.

“Smile for once, it won’t kill you, I promise.” She teased, nudging your leg with hers. “Okay, ummm, what happened with Connor? That time on the school ski trip. Did you lose it to him?” She giggled, knowing it would embarrass you.

“Oh my god! Did I call you a bitch already? Oh I did?” You groaned as your friend’s giggled in your direction. “Nope, not going there. No one will ever know what happened, I am taking that embarrassment to the grave. I’m changing… Dare!”

“I mean technically not allowed but fine, you can change your mind… Hmm, dare… I dare you to text Miller, something stupid but a little sexy. Lay all your cards out on the table.” She quirked an eyebrow up in challenge and you flopped your face into your hands.

“Tonight is the worst, remind me why I’m not calling an Uber right now and leaving you all here? Snakes. What if he tells my dad?” You whined.

“Girl, you’re moving in a what? A week, even less than that!? What have you got to lose? Sure your dad may stay in contact with him but realistically when are you gonna see him again after you move?!” Claire reasoned.

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol comfortably thrumming through your body or just plain naivety but Claire’s logic was making sense.

“Fine.” You mumbled from behind your hands and your friend’s cheered in celebration. “What the fuck should I send him?”

“I don’t know… just do something dumb like some songs lyrics? Ooooh, what about ‘…Ready For It?’ By Taylor? You love that song and let’s be real, kinda suits your situation.”

“Oh fuck me,” you groaned as you pulled your phone of your pocket with shaking hands and found Joel’s contact card, you pressed on messages and began typing to him.

‘Hey Joel, been thinkin’ ‘bout you and well ‘bout me moving and stuff… I have some stuff I feel I need to say before I do move. You can totally ignore this message if you want… I get it…’ 

You hit send on the first message and began typing again before the two ticks even identified whether it had been delivered or not.

‘If you touch me, you’ll never be alone. Lights down low, no one has to know. In the middle of the night, in my dreams, you should see the things we do, baby. In the middle of the night, in my dreams, I know I’m gonna be with you, so I’ll take my time… Are you ready for it? ;)’

You hit send again and immediately locked your phone before throwing it onto the table.

“That was gross and possibly the cringiest thing I’ve ever done. Claire, I sincerely hate you and cannot wait to move.” You grumbled, she just shot you a middle finger as the girls continued to go round the table playing the game.

After a few minutes, you picked your phone up to peek at the screen, there were no new notifications but you unlocked your phone anyway; there it was, the two ticks had turned blue and under his name read the small ‘online’. You swallowed roughly, trying to calm down your racing pulse before it changing to ‘typing…’. Your hands shook as you watched the screen, waiting for his message to appear. What was he going to say? Was he going to screenshot the message and send it to your dad? Was he going to berate you for trying something on with him?

“He’s typing!” You announced loudly, causing your friends to whip their heads round to gawk at you. “I’m gonna fucking throw up. Claire, I hate you.”

“Yeah… You mentioned that already. What did he say? Oh my god!” She all but screamed.

Joel’s message appeared and he remained online as your eyes skimmed over the words.

‘Hi darlin’, uhh, think you may have the wrong number here? It’s Joel… Miller? Dunno if it was meant for another Joel. J x’

You swallowed back the dry feeling in your mouth and blinked a few times, relief washing over you as you realised he wasn’t angry.

You read the message out to your friends and chewed on the edge of your thumb as you flashed the phone to them to read.

“Wh-what the fuck do I reply with?!” You whined.

“Okay, okay, deep breaths. This is good!” Jess chimed in with an encouraging smile.

“Right… What you’re gonna wanna write is something along the lines of… Nope, knew it was your number, Miller. I want you. You should see the things I think about when I’m alone. The thoughts of us.” Your other friend Izzie piped up.

“That’s so-so, I don’t know, just seems so obvious!” You replied, staring blankly at your phone as your thumbs hovered over the keyboard. 

“Duh, that’s the whole point, do you wanna fuck him or not?!” She grinned proudly.

“Well… I mean, yeah but it’s more than that y’know. It’s not just sex…” You sighed, a pang of sadness striking your heart.

You shook your head and typed out your reply, agreeing that you had nothing else to lose and maybe this would lead to Joel seeing you in a different light.

‘Nope, Miller, knew it was you. That’s why I sent the message. It was intended… I’m just saying, you should see the things I think about when I’m alone… the thoughts that I have about us. It’s probably enough to make anyone blush.’ 

You hit send and immediately you felt your own cheeks heat up; you had never been this blatant or transparent with a guy before and it felt alien.

“I’m gonna go get some air out front.” You announced to the table.

The girls nodded and smiled in your direction before they went back to their conversations.

As soon as the night air hit you, you felt your cheeks start to cool and you rested against the wall of the bar as you slowed your breathing down again.

*Ping*

You stared down at your phone and blinked a few times to ensure you were reading the words correctly.

‘Make anyone blush? Is that right, darlin’… I highly doubt that. You at home? Where are you texting me from? J x’

The heat creeped back up your neck and you shivered simultaneously as you read his message.

‘I’m out at the local bar with my girls, it’s my leaving party… Had a few drinks and thought what the hell… What are you up to?’

‘Typing…’ flashed across the top of your screen again as soon as you sent the message.

‘Stay right there, coming to get you. Be 10 mins. Be good. J x’

You swallowed, your throat felt dry and scratchy as you read his words. Tingles ran through your body and sparked through your core before the nerves settled in. What the hell did Joel have in mind? Surely he was just going to pick you up and take you home, it was getting late after all.

You quickly shot a text to Claire to inform her of your plans and all she sent back in reply was an eggplant emoji with water droplets. You laughed fondly at your phone and shook your head at her playfulness.

The cool air of the evening started to prickle at your skin, you wrapped your arms around your waist tightly to draw in some warmth and shivered as you waited for the familiar rumble of Joel’s truck. This was such a stupid idea, you knew it was, part of you just hoped that he would drop you home, lecture you about messaging him inappropriate things and then never mention it again. 

You were seconds away from turning your back to the road and hiding in the bar, with the safety and familiarity of your closest friends but before you had another to think, you heard a faint honk behind you. The air felt like it had been knocked out of you and you looked up to see Joel in his truck, one of his eyebrows was raised at you and there was a look you couldn’t quite place on his features. 

“Get in.” He said curtly, winding his window back up. 

You nodded and headed to the other side of his truck to climb in; you not so gracefully clambered into his truck and pulled your short, sparkly black dress down to cover the modesty of your upper thighs. 

“Hi Mr Miller.” You said politely, fastening your seatbelt and staring down at your hands in your lap. 

“Oh drop the act, kid.” He huffed and pulled away from the bar. 

“So uh… bit chilly out there this evening, pretty weird for this time of year, huh?” You muttered, ignoring the tension in the air. 

“Seriously?” He laughed dryly. “You’re talking about the weather? Seriously. Not such a big girl now, huh?” He smirked, his eyes flashing over at you before reverting them back to the road. 

“I — uh, I, um. I can explain?” You tried to sound confident but there was an evident tremble to your words. 

“Yeah? You can? Well go ahead darlin’. I’m all ears.”

The words died in your throat, you swallowed roughly just to try and get some moisture back into your mouth. At this point, you were sure that the Sahara desert had more moisture to it. 

“Well?” He barked, making you jump slightly. “Explain away.” 

The gruffness to his voice took you by surprise and you couldn’t even pretend to hide the way it went straight to your core, you pressed your thighs together and bit on your bottom lip, still barely looking at the older male. 

“Pathetic.” He tutted as he saw your legs rubbing together. “You getting turned on baby girl? Like it when an older man raises his voice at you?”

“Joel…” you gasped, one of your hands gripping the door of his truck, anything to distract from the aching wetness between your legs. 

Joel’s truck pulled into a street and before you fully clocked it, you realised it wasn’t your dad’s house, it was his street. You would have known it a million miles away, it was a second home to you. 

“What’re you doing? Why aren’t you driving me home?” You mumbled, looking at the male with slight panic. 

“Well sweetheart, you wanna talk a big game on your little phone, why don’t you show me all about what you’ve been talking about. I think I recall you said you could make anyone blush, ain’t that right?” He cooed, looking over at you with a quirked eyebrow as he parked his truck on his drive. 

“You don’t have to… I was just, well, I was being stupid. I had a few drinks with my girlfriends and they were teasing me about me liking you and it’s so dumb, you’re my dad’s friend, I’m moving next week and well, Joel, you don’t have to okay. You can just drive me home and we never have to speak about this again. I’m… I’m sorry.” You mumbled, the words rumbling from your mouth so quickly you couldn’t stop them if you tried. 

Joel sat there, nodding at every word you said, with a smug smirk on his lips. He took your face into his hands and pulled you in for a kiss; it was clashing teeth and neediness, pure lust. 

“Right, now that you’ve shut up. I would very much like to go inside with you and give you my goodbye present.” He muttered against your lips before kissing you again. 

“Goodbye present?” You questioned, watching as Joel just winked at you and got out of his truck. 

You followed the man, your legs trembling as stepped closer to his house; somewhere so familiar yet right now, it felt like it was somewhere brand new. It was brand new territory. 

Joel held open the door for and you stepped into the warmth of his house, you stood somewhat awkwardly in his hallway as he took his shoes off and locked his front door. 

“Are ya gonna just stand there or do you maybe wanna take your shoes off? I mean, free will is a thing but you may be a bit more comfortable without those stupid heels on your feet.” He smirked, looking up at you as he finished untying his shoes; his eyes roaming the vast expanse of your legs as he did so. 

“God, you’re so bossy tonight. This usually only happens when you’re grillin’.” You muttered, rolling your eyes at him. 

“Oh darlin’ you have no idea just how bossy I can be.”

You felt your cheeks burning at his statement, you had never seen this side of Joel before, you didn’t even think he could be like this and the fact that he was speaking like this to you? It felt like the world had gone mad. 

As soon as your shoes were removed, Joel was all over you like a burning rash; he had you pressed up against the wall, his hands weaving their way into your hair to kiss you roughly. You breathed shakily against his lips and gently pressed his chest to separate the both of you. 

“Joel—“ you breathed, his hungry lips already making their way down your neck and exposed cleavage. “I’m being serious… what about my dad?”

“What about your dad?” Joel questioned, his large palms moving from your hair to stroke down your dress. “He’s not here is he?”

“I feel like you’re fucking with me.” You replied deadpan. 

“I’m not darlin’, feel, feel what you’re doing to me.” He whispered, grabbing your wrist to position your hand on his swollen cock in his jeans. “See, I want this. I’ve wanted this for the longest time but fuck, you’ve been forbidden, I didn’t wanna fuck anything up. You’re my best friend’s kid, you’re half my age… didn’t think you would want an old man like me.” Joel whispered, his lips still kissing over your cleavage like a man possessed as he spoke. 

“Are you kidding me?” You replied, pushing him away, creating a defined space between the two of you. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I met you, when I was seventeen, I felt so stupid ‘cause I was just a dumb kid lusting after an older man.” 

“Right, well now we’ve established how much we both want this, get up those stairs right now. Get into my room, I wanna get you out of this sexy little dress.” He hummed, slapping at your ass as you walked away. 

You yelped and ran away from Joel’s playful hands, this didn’t feel real, you honestly believed that you were going to wake up, alone and in your bed, throbbing and sweaty. 

You entered Joel’s room, you had been there millions of times before; mainly after long days with the rest of Joel’s family, or with your dad when they were watching a game and drinking too many beers; you were always allowed to come up here and crash but now? Those days were long gone. 

You stood awkwardly by the bed, one arm hugging your frame, you didn’t quite know what to do or how to act, you were just waiting. 

“C’m here.” Joel murmured, unbuckling his belt and undoing his jeans. 

You closed the distance between you both and Joel span you around so your back was facing him; he kissed softly at your shoulders as he gripped your zipper and slowly undid the sparkling fabric. 

You sucked in a deep breath as the material began to fall to the ground, exposing your bare back and small, lace thong. From behind you, you could hear Joel let out a small growl; the noise shocked you, it was animalistic. His hands pawed at your back, rubbing your skin softly before his palms gripped at the doughy flesh of your ass. 

You whimpered and couldn’t help the way your back arched so he could grip you harder. 

“Going out without proper underwear? No bra and just this tiny little thong to cover your modesty?” Joel tutted disapprovingly. “Bet you were hoping some guy would take you into the bathroom at the bar and fuck you, bet you would be thinking of me and wishing it was my cock. Am I right?” Joel whispered into your ear, his teeth nipping at it roughly. 

You shuddered against him, you could feel his hard t-shirt clad chest pressed against your bare back; his hands sliding around to the front of your thighs. 

“I said,” Joel spoke as he span you around so you could face him; your breasts bouncing before him. He wrapped a hand loosely around your throat and couldn’t help but enjoy the way your eyes filled with panic. “Am I right?”

He inched his face closer to yours, you could feel his warmth breath on your lips; a faint smell of smoke and coffee lingering. You nodded under his grasp and opened your mouth to speak but only a small whimper left your lips. 

“Thought so. Bet your daddy doesn’t know how filthy his little girl is; bet he doesn’t know how bad you’ve wanted his best friend’s cock.” Joel laughed, pushing your frame onto his bed; your breasts bouncing with the force once again. 

“Joel —“ you whimpered, with a low trembling voice.

“What’s the matter baby? Cat got your tongue? I thought you were a big girl, thought you were gonna tell me all about what you dream about?” He smirked, pulling his old T-shirt over his head and shirking off his worn jeans to reveal his tented boxers. 

Your mouth salivated at the sight; Joel’s broad chest was peppered with greying hairs, his slight tummy protruding above his waistband and god, his cock, even in his boxers you could tell it was heavy and thick. You rubbed your thighs together and it took everything in you to not trail a hand down to your throbbing cunt. 

“Lay back and spread your legs for me.” He hissed, watching as you obliged; you positioned your back against Joel’s pillows and willingly spread your legs for him. 

Between your legs, Joel could see how the pink fabric of your lace thong darkened with your evident arousal. 

“Oh fuck, look at you, so pretty for me, so wet. Take your panties off and show me that little cunt. Bet it’s so tight, gonna wanna bury myself in it forever.” 

Your cheeks flushed at his crass words but once again, you obliged and shimmied out of your thong and you threw the damp discarded fabric at Joel’s feet with a raised brow and gentle smirk.

He shot the same look back to you and bent down to pick it up, he grasped it in his fingers and brought it up to his nose to inhale deeply, his cock twitching as his senses were flooded with you. 

He stuffed the small piece of fabric into the pocket of his discarded jeans and just as you opened your mouth to protest, he smirked at you menacingly. 

“I’m gonna give you your leaving present, think of that as mine. Gonna need something to remember you by when you’re gone.” He shrugged as his eyes drank your body in. 

Joel towered over you from the edge of the bed and watched intensely as you spread your legs for him; his eyes roamed over your body and drank it in like it was the finest wine anyone could ever offer him. 

“Now, how about you play with yourself, show me how you touch yourself when you’re alone. Tell me what you think about. Make me blush.” He whispered, stroking his hand up your thigh before he sat at the foot of the bed and removed his boxers. 

You swallowed back a gasp when Joel freed his cock from his boxers, it bobbed up as the waistband freed his length and you fluttered around nothing; suddenly feeling impossibly empty. 

“Joel, I —“ you whispered. “I’ve never done this before, I… I feel stupid.”

“Oh sweetheart, there’s no need to feel embarrassed, come on, show me how you play with yourself and then, if you’re a really good girl I’ll give you my cock. Isn’t that what you want? Hm?” He cooed, his hand stroking his length as he spoke. 

You bit onto your bottom lip and nodded eagerly at the male. You felt so exposed, so vulnerable and you weren’t used to it; normally in hook ups, you were the confident one, the one with all of the control. 

You closed your eyes and slowly let your fingers travel down your body; they briefly paused to pinch at your hard nipples which made your back arch with a soft moan. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, you allowed your fingers to travel lower until they reached your wet slit. You rubbed two fingers through your folds with a whimper and let them settle on your clit, your eyes were still closed and you moaned into the silent room. 

“Oh fuck, Joel…” you whined, imagining you were alone in your room all worked up and pretending he was there with you. “Mhm, fuck, just like that. Love it when you touch me.” 

Joel watched on with lust-filled eyes, his hand was steadily pumping his length as he listened to you moan his name; your cunt wet and sticky for him. 

Your fingers circled around your clit, you kept your movements tight and fast. 

“Oh —“ you whined loudly, daring to open your eyes and watch Joel. “F-fuck, I imagine you fingering me under the table with people around. I imagine you getting so worked up over me that you take me to the nearest bathroom just so you can stuff your cock into my mouth and get your release.” You continued to speak and finally let your fingers stuff into your aching hole. 

“That’s it, just like that. Good girl.” Joel groaned, squeezing his cock as his eyes were fixated on you. “Bet you would look to pretty with my cock fucking your mouth, cum spilling out until your cheeks are stained with your tears. Tell me more, what else do you think about?”

You whined at the thought of Joel fucking your throat roughly, making you gag and cry and it drove you crazy. You pumped your fingers quickly and brought your free hand to play with your clit. 

“I —“ you whimpered. “I think about you choking me whilst you fuck me; wrapping your big hand around my throat and making me beg just so I can cum around your cock. I think about you bending me over so I can just be a hole for you. Fuck I want you to use me so bad, daddy.” You whispered the last word, it tumbled from your lips before you could take it back. 

“Shit.” Joel groaned. “You’re filthy, princess. Fuckin’ filthy. You this dirty for other boys? Or am I just extra lucky.” He teased. “Call me that again.”

“I — daddy, fuck, I’m gonna cum. Please can I cum?” You pleaded, looking at Joel with wide, begging eyes. 

Joel nodded, watching your wet fingers pleasure yourself. “Call me that and cum for me, baby girl. That’s it. Faster.” He instructed. 

You nodded, your bottom lip clamped between your teeth painfully as your fingers worked yourself to your impending orgasm. Your mouth fell agape, your lips creating a perfect “O” as your orgasm crashed through your body like rough waves lashing a shoreline.

Your back arched and you moaned loudly, a soft ‘daddy’ falling from your plush lips as you worked yourself through your intense orgasm. 

Joel jerked himself off quickly, groaning with each pass of his hand over the tip of his hard length; he was already leaking precum, the clear liquid beading at his slit before his rubbed it down, using it as his own personal lube. 

“Such a pretty girl, such a good girl.” He purred. “You fuck yourself like that at home and think of me, pretty girl? So naughty.” 

Your eyes fluttered open as your chest heaved. Your cheeks were softly flushed and you laid there, exposed and messy for Joel to admire. That’s what he did, he admired every dip, curve, felt and bump of your body as if you were the most expensive piece of fine art.

“I’ve thought about you too y’know.” He hummed, his large palms sliding up over your calf’s to land on your thighs. 

He dragged his dull nails over your flesh roughly which caused a gasp to tumble from your mouth as you stared at him dumbly. 

“I have, princess. So many nights been laid right there where you are.” He spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he laid on his front between your legs, his fingers still stroking over your thighs. Slowly edging up, up, up. 

“I’ve laid there, my fist wrapped tightly around my cock and fucked it, thinking about how your pretty cunt would look hugging him as you bounce in my lap. Makes me cum so hard, every single time.” Joel’s breath fanned over your soaked folds, his lips threatening to kiss you there. 

You looked down at the male, trying to piece together what he was saying. You still couldn’t believe this was real life. 

Maybe it wasn’t, you thought, maybe you were in a coma… a really sexy coma. Or maybe you had drank too much and blacked out… wouldn’t have been for the first time either, embarrassingly. 

You were harshly brought back down to earth, to the moment when you felt the tip of Joel’s tongue lick through your slick. You couldn’t help the pathetic whimper that vibrated through your chest, your hand immediately found its way into Joel’s hair and like a woman possessed, you tried to grind your hips down onto the males face. 

“So needy.” He teased. “Don’t worry baby girl, I’ll give her what she needs.”

“Please.” You managed to squeak out, your voice barely recognisable to yourself. 

You held Joel’s hair roughly and pushed your hips forward, trying to bury his face into your greedy heat which only made the man laugh menacingly. 

“Look at you, pathetic baby.” He growled. “Trying to grind onto my face like a horny little mutt.”

You bit your bottom lip as your cheeks flared with embarrassment. He was right. You were pathetic. You were sure come tomorrow, come the clarity of a new day and undoubtedly a small hangover as a reminder of this evening, you would be wholeheartedly ashamed of your actions. But right now? Right now, you couldn’t care when Joel Miller’s face was millimetres away from your pussy, with a hard cock between his legs and he was admitting to lusting over you. 

Not for the first time, you were harshly dragged away from your thoughts as you felt Joel’s finger pushing into your tight heat. A moan roared from your throat as he twisted his hand upward and curled his finger in a come hither motion, right at that second, his tongue lapped over your already-throbbing clit with fervour. 

Your fingers tightened in Joel’s salt and pepper hair, tugging at the soft locks roughly which only seemed to spur him on and encourage him. He pumped his finger steadily before adding a second and suddenly, you were seeing stars. Your back arched with intense ecstasy and Joel looked up at you with those darkened brown eyes as his face was buried in your cunt. 

You already knew another orgasm would be taking over your body soon. Already you were worked up, your body barely having time to recover after your first orgasm and here Joel was, licking at your clit like a starved animal and his fingers pumped into you perfectly. It was the perfect assault on your senses. 

Joel performed like it was the most natural thing in the world to him and you knew that would come with his age. As a man in his fifties, this was nowhere near his first rodeo and somewhere in your pleasure-filled mind, you cursed all the women that got to experience this before you and jealousy thrummed through your veins at the thought of anyone who would get to experience this after you. 

“Come on baby, come on baby.” Joel growled lowly, his tongue leaving your body momentarily to speak. “Give me another one, come on, that’s it. You can do it. So good for me.” He whispered before his lips sucked around your clit gently. 

The praise made warmth bloom in your chest and your eyes squeezed shut as your fingers pulled at his hair; you knew it was probably hurting him but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about that. 

Joel pressed his fingers into your hole as deep as they could go and curled them upwards repetitively as he sucked at your clit, his tongue swirling the bud as his spare hand pressed down on your lower tummy.  

“Look at me as you cum, I need to see your pretty face. Need you to remember who this cunt belongs to now.” He groaned before attaching his lips to you once again, his eyes were hooded with pleasure but he kept his gaze locked upwards on you. 

You noticed the way Joel’s hips were rutting against the bed as he pleasured you and it was the thing that sent you tumbling over the edge. You came, hard. With Joel’s fingers buried deep in you and his plush lips on your clit. Your walls clenched and pulsed around his digits and your eyes fluttered as you looked down at him. It wasn’t a slow build up of pleasure, it wasn’t a soft romantic moment; it was an instant snap of intensity and lust. A stream of explicits tumbled from your lips as his fingers worked you through your pleasure. 

“Such an obedient little girl for me, aren’t you?” He hummed, leaning back to rub his fingers through your folds. 

“Joel.” You breathed, trying to suck in more as the aftershocks of your orgasm rippled through your body.  

Your thighs shook with pleasure and you rested up on your forearms to look at him better. 

“That…” you murmured. “That was incredible. What the fuck.”

Joel laughed, his fingers still idly playing in the wetness of your folders. He occasionally ran the pads of his fingers over your sensitive clit which made you jolt with overstimulation. 

“See you’re trouble,” he hummed, kissing over the soft skin of your inner thigh, his teeth nipping at you playfully. “Got me all obsessed on your taste, your smell, the way you feel and now you’re gonna go and leave me?” 

You chewed on the inside of your cheek as sadness puckered through you sourly. Joel was right though, you were being shown a glimpse of heaven and soon enough, it would ripped from you as you left with your father. 

“Promise me something,” Joel said, still kissing over thighs tenderly. “Promise me that this pretty little pussy belongs to me. Fuck, dunno how this’ll work but the thought of any boys being near you, being near this, driving me mad. Need you to be mine.” He hissed, his voice oozing with possessiveness. 

You just nodded at the male, dumbly. You had no idea how on earth it would work but right now, you didn’t care about logistics. You weren’t even positive Joel knew or meant what he was saying.

“Say it.” He snarled. 

“I belong to you.”

“Good, now tell me, who does she belong to?” Joel’s hand roughly cupped your mound, his fingers pressed roughly against you. 

You gasped out a weak, “You.”

Joel chuckled darkly and lifted his hand to place a slap to your spread pussy; the way your fingers gripped tightly at the sheets made him smirk. 

“Say it again.” He demanded. “Who do you belong to? Who does she belong to?”

“You.” You whined, watching the male. 

Joel slapped your pussy again, rougher this time and you moaned as the vibrations hit your sensitised clit. 

“You… who? Tell me.”

“Y-you, daddy. Fuck. I belong to you.” You spluttered out as a sob. 

“Ain’t that right, doll.” He hummed, feeling pleased with himself as he slapped your pussy once more. “I’m the only one that’s gonna fuck this tight little cunt. You’re only gonna be a hole for me. No more silly little boys, you just need daddy’s fat cock. Ain’t that right?”

“Yes.” You sobbed, pleasure toying with your emotions as your whole body shook. 

“Good girl.” He cooed, coming up to press his lips to yours in a quick kiss. 

You sighed happily as your lips locked, you could taste yourself on the male which only fuelled your pleasure. 

“How ‘bout I make baby girl’s fantasy a reality?” Joel cooed, pressing his forehead to yours as one of his large palms pawed roughly at your breast. 

His skin was rough, fingers calloused from his work and age. It sent shocks of arousal through you. 

“Hmm?” Joel questioned. “I can’t hear you? You want me to bend you over, choke you as I drill my cock into your cunt?”

“Yes. God. Yes. Please.” Every word that fell from your lips felt less intelligible than the last. 

Joel pinched roughly at one of your nipples before he took your hips into his hands and flipped you onto your stomach. You yelped in shock as you pushed yourself up to be on all fours, your back arching to allow the male better access. He flipped you like you weighed nothing and once again you were reminded that Joel felt so much larger than yourself, so much more mature. So much more in charge.

“Good girl, getting in position for me without even asking.” Joel hummed. 

The praise made the same warmth spread through you and you realised that was the only thing you ever wanted to hear going forward. 

Joel took the base of his engorged length and positioned the tip of his cock right at your entrance. He fought every sense inside himself to just bury himself to the hilt and instead he notched his fat cock head inside of you. It felt like he entered you with a pop, your intense heat and tightness hugging the head of his prick. 

Before Joel was even halfway inside of you, your fingers gripped at his sheets below and practically threatened to rip the soft fabric. 

“How does it feel?” Joel asked, his hand stroking up your spine tenderly before he brushed your hair away from your face and over your other shoulder. 

“I feel so full.” You breathed, relaxing under his touch. 

“Yeah? Not even halfway in right now baby, still got some way to go. Think you can take all of daddy?” His hand stroked over your neck, his fingers tickling over your pulse point. 

You nodded eagerly. “Yeah, I want all of you, daddy. Please give it to me. Just use me as your little hole. Need it. Please.”

Joel could have wept at that. The way your usually-soft spoken voice was ripping from you in pleasured sobs made his cock twitch and his heart beat a little faster than before. 

One of his hands gripped your hip, his fingers dully pressed into your skin hard enough to bruise you as his other hand wrapped around your throat; his thumb resting at one of your pulse points and his fingers on the other side, he gave you a testing squeeze which elicited a drawn out moan from you. 

That was all he needed as confirmation. Joel squeezed your neck harder as he thrust into you roughly, stretching you around him. Your mouth fell open, no sound able to escape as you tried to adjust to Joel’s size. Joel groaned deeply, the sound coming deep from inside of him as he drew his hips back to push into you once again. 

He started a steady rhythm; his hips snapping feverishly. The empty room was filled with the sounds of your wet cunt squelching with each thrust and the echo of Joel’s heavy balls hitting your mound. It was pornographic. Downright filthy. 

You were in love. 

“So wet for me, aren’t ya doll?” Joel groaned. “Wet for your dad’s best friend? Filthy little bitch.”

You whimpered, tears were rolling down your cheeks as Joel squeezed your throat. 

“Fucking talk to me.” He demanded. “Tell me how much you love my cock. Come on, you’re not that cock-drunk already are you? Silly little slut. Poor little girl. Barely had me and you can’t even speak?”

You shook your head to say no as a sob fell from you, the noise proof of the raw intensity of pleasure. 

“Oh it’s okay baby, it’s okay, I know.” Joel cooed. 

He removed his hand from your throat and you wanted to grab it and put it back instantly. Instead, Joel knotted his fingers roughy in the back of your hair to pull you up so you were purely knelt as Joel thrust into you; your back was flush against his chest. 

Joel’s hand found its way back around your throat once again as he thrust up into you and you wailed in pleasure; his cock nudging at the soft spot inside your spongy walls. 

“Oh I know baby, that’s it. Taking me so well. Ya reckon ya could cum on daddy’s cock?” He breathed into your ear. “Looking at you now, all spent and drunk on my cock… fuck, I keep imagining how you would look half asleep and swallowing my cock, bet ya wouldn’t mind if that’s how you woke up. Bet ya would be thanking me for waking you with my cock down your throat.” He groaned, his dark fantasy playing out in his mind deliciously. 

His fingers still gripped your hip tightly and his hand squeezed at your throat. You gave a weak nod.

“I’m not gonna last long baby girl, needa get another one out of you. I need to know how you feel cumming on my cock. Bet you feel heavenly.” He purred. 

“I-in.” You cried out. 

“Huh?” Joel groaned, his hips snapping up in a rough thrust. “In?”

“Cum,” you whimpered against him. “C-cum inside me. Please”

That was Joel’s undoing.

He wasn’t planning on finishing inside of you, no, he had planned to spill his hot seed across your tits, ass or face, like a gentleman. You hadn’t discussed birth control, protection or anything safe; like adults should. No, instead you were both so clouded by your blind arousal. 

Joel’s cock twitched inside of you, he pressed himself deep into you; your bodies flush together like if there were any gaps, you would both die. He held you tightly and your name fell from his lips as his cum coated your insides. 

You shook against Joel, his hand was squeezing your throat harder than before to the point where your head became light, you clenched around him and as he came inside of you, you came around him. Your body was spent, you were wrecked and you were sure if Joel wasn’t holding you so tightly, you would have just fallen onto his bed in a pile. 

“Good girl. Fuck. My good girl.” Joel bit onto your shoulder roughly as he gave a final few thrusts to work you both through your orgasms, letting you ride that wave of pleasure for as long as possible. 

You couldn’t speak, even if you wanted to. You were sure Joel had scrambled your brain with his skilled tongue and punishing cock. You were a ruined woman and you were sure you wouldn’t feel the same again. 

“Gonna pull out now, I’ll lay ya down and get you a cloth to clean you up, baby girl.” This time the pet name rolled off his tongue like it was the most normal thing to say. It was safe, it was tender. 

“Uh-huh.” You breathed, your eyes feeling heavy with sleep. 

Joel did as he said, he laid you down gently and disappeared for a moment. You didn’t even hear him come back, next thing you knew, you were being cleaned up by the older male. 

-

Your eyes opened, it took a second to come around before you sat up abruptly with a deep gasp. 

You were fucked. 

Your eyes scanned the room, it was Joel’s room. Okay, not a dream then, you thought to yourself absently. 

You squinted in the dark and saw the clock on Joel’s bedside table. 

3:48am. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You hissed, standing up and stumbling across the room to try and find your strewn items of clothing. You found Joel’s shirt and pulled it over your body to cover your modesty as you looked for your underwear. 

Then you remembered, the way Joel shoved your panties into his pocket and all at once, the activities of hours previous flooded your mind. 

You perched on the end of the bed and breathed shakily. You were so fucked. 

“Darlin’?” Joel groaned sleepily, his voice thick with tiredness. The kind of sound that only made your heart ache.

He flicked his lamp on and sat up. He was clad in his boxers and he shifted down the bed so he was sat next to you. 

“You okay?” He asked softly, looking at you carefully. 

“Joel,” you sighed, tears pricking your eyes. “What the fuck have we done?” The tears fell and trickled down your cheeks. 

They were a shocking contrast to the pleasured tears of earlier and your chest shook with panic. 

“Oh fuck, I knew it was a bad idea. Fuck. Should’ve been better, darlin’. I’m sorry. God, this is gonna make me sound like such an asshole but please don’t tell your dad. I’d be a dead man walking.” Joel pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“I don’t…” you breathed, placing a calming hand to your chest. “I don’t regret it.”

Joel’s heart fluttered, like a little girl with a crush, it fluttered at your words. 

“Then… Then what’s the matter?” Joel questioned. 

“What’s the matter?” You laughed bitterly and looked at the older male with wide eyes. “Joel, I’ve been pining for you for fucking years. To the point where I couldn’t even get a boyfriend because it felt wrong. And here I am, finally, had sex with the person I’m in love with and I have to leave, I have to walk outta this house. Go home and leave with my dad across the fucking country. I’m — I don’t regret it but fuck it, I’m broken.” As you spoke your admission, the tears fell quicker and freely over your cheeks. 

What was the point in hiding it anymore? You had already crossed that boundary when you stepped foot into his house tonight. 

Joel took your chin in his fingers gently and tilted your head back so he could kiss you. It was tender, soft and the most natural thing in the world; like you had both done it a thousand times before, like you would be able to do it again, and again, and again. 

“I don’t have the answers right now. Fuck, I’ll be damned if I could even pretend that, princess.” Joel said softly, tucking hair behind your ear as he pulled away. “But… I meant it earlier, might sound a little different now considering we’re not y’know… but seriously doll, I’m obsessed with you in all the ways that matter.” He took your hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. 

You blushed, hard. You assumed earlier Joel was rattling those words off in a haze of intense arousal, not out of sincerity. 

“We’ll make this work, you go with your dad and we’ll stay in contact. We’ll text, call and video chat, might need to help an old man out with that part but we can make it work. Your dad is my closest friend, I’ll come visit, you’ll come visit with him and we can sneak off and share time together then.” He said surely, smiling at you. “I’m not saying it’s perfect baby girl, but we can figure it out as we go. And well, if things don’t work out, it’s fine, you’re young and you’ll go off and live your life. You don’t have to worry about that.” He kissed your hand again before you fell against his chest and he wrapped his arms around you tightly. 

You kissed his bare chest and breathed in deeply, trying to ingrain the way his arms felt as he held you, the way he smelt and the way he looked down at you like you were the most precious gem in the world. 

“We can make it work.” You hummed, agreeing with him. 

“Now, how ‘bout I give you one more leaving present before I take you home.” Joel teased, his fingers tickling your sides. 

You giggled and playfully slapped his chest, looking up at him. 

“You’re a dirty old man, Mr. Miller.” You laughed. 

“Ain’t that the whole reason you love me?” He bit back. 

Joel caught your lips in another kiss, his large hand holding your jaw tenderly. 

Yeah, you were so fucked. 

———————————————

You heard his huffy grunt from the kitchen, quickly followed by the dull thud of his boots hitting the wooden planks.

Your attention returned to the pile of dishes and pots in front of you, scrubbing them clean with a sponge and bare hands.

“What do I always tell you?” Joel gritted right behind you, his broad hands palming either side of your hips.

You giggled, rolling your eyes. “To wear gloves, I know. But I won’t be longer than five minutes, I promise.”

“You’re gonna ruin your hands,” he tutted. “And you know I like ‘em soft.”

Looking over your shoulder, you saw the deep crease between his prominent, silvery brows. Joel wore a downcast expression, the crows’ feet around his eyes kissing the corners. His pepper-and-salt curls were wildly pointing everywhere, a testament to how windy it was outside.

“How’s patrol been?” you asked while you focused on the task at hand again.

“Shit. It’s been a rough day,” he husked out, shaking his head. “I hate patrols with Ellie and Tommy. They always do my head in.”

Your lips curled up in a smile—it was good for him to spend time with his family. Deep down, you knew he enjoyed their company, although all the banter left him exhausted by the end of the day.

“No, you don’t,” you retorted with a giggle.

“Yes, I do,” he growled in your ear, his calloused hands smoothing out over your tummy. “They don’t know when to shut up.”

The energy emanating from Joel’s body was intense, charged with frustration and a hint of exasperation. Without asking for permission, his meaty fingers found the button of your jeans, undoing it expertly quick before he pulled the zipper down.

“They fucking bully me any chance they got,” his chest rumbled with a contained grunt before he unceremoniously pushed your pants down to your knees. “Ellie and her puns drive me crazy as it is, but Tommy always has to chip in.”

You gasped, eyes fluttering for a second, when Joel’s left hand dove past the elastic of your underwear and his fingertips stroked the unruly curls on your mound. Squirming a little, breathing shallowly now, you scrubbed the pot harder. Your concentration faltered again when his ring finger wiggled through your slit to find your needy clit.

Joel nibbled at your earlobe, his tented jeans hard pressed against your ass. The heat of his chest warmed up your back, loosening the muscles, all the while his pad thumbed your nub lazily but determinedly.

“I wonder when they will run out of stupid jokes,” he went on, as if you were not melting under his touch. “I should burn those magazines in the garage.”

You hummed like a nightingale, your mind emptying of all thoughts. But soon his hand slid out of your panties, leaving you clenching for more. Before you could tell him not to stop now, Joel placed his hand between your shoulder blades and bent you over until your boobs were hanging into the sink.

“Old my ass,” he rasped before you heard him kneeling behind you. “I ain’t that old.”

You didn’t dare to point out how his knees had just cracked—you didn’t want to sour his mood anymore.

Still foaming the same pot, Joel’s fingers hooked around your panties, slithering them down your thighs until they tangled with your trousers on your knees. His broad hands grasped your ass cheeks and coaxed them apart—the cold air of the room kissing your wet pussy made your skin bristle, but soon enough the cold was replaced with Joel’s warm lips.

You sobbed audibly, arching your back, while Joel lapped at your entire fold, from your throbbing clit all the way up to your rimmed hole. Your breathing accelerated, heart racing wildly now, when he gently licked your puckered entrance before pecking it and returning to your creaming bundle of nerves.

“They said my aim is getting worse with age,” he complained, his lips talking against your inner labia. “Had to fucking show ‘em how it’s done.”

Joel then latched onto your clit and you moaned uncontrollably, your knees trembling with blinding pleasure. He suckled on it, the tip of his tongue circling around it from time to time, edging you to the summit of a much-needed orgasm. He paused for a breather and you grinded your crying cunt on his nose and mouth, silently begging for release.

“Tommy didn’t hit the can,” Joel huffed, nudging your clit with the tip of his nose. “Still had the guts to tell me that I am the one whose aim is getting worse? Clown.”

How he could ramble about his day while he was eating you out from behind was beyond reason. You barely had two brain cells rubbing together right now, forcing you to keep on scrubbing the same pot over and over again until the protective coating was coming off.

Joel sank his tongue in your palpitating opening, and right there and then you came. Wailing, you let go of the pot and sponge to grab at the rim of the sink, breathing heavily as he fucked you with his tongue throughout a shattering climax. Your creamy juices poured into his mouth and Joel drank from you like a man starved for water.

When you stopped shuddering with the afterglow, Joel got up to his feet behind you. Resuming your task with the dishes, you grinded your wet pussy on his zipper, the pull tab tickling your clit, asking for more.

Joel palmed your globes, squeezing them tight, before he took a step back to unbuckle his belt. Only a second had passed between hearing his zipper going down and Joel stabbing your cunt with his veiny cock, burying himself down to the hilt.

“Oh, f-f-fuck,” you stuttered under your breath, brows bunched up in concentration as you scrubbed the next dish.

Joel sighed heavily behind you, his hands clasping your waist to keep you in place. “Out of six cans, I only missed one. One! And only because the wind got a bit too strong as I was shooting! I had to listen to Ellie mocking me all the way back to Jackson and Tommy laughing his ass off.”

The way he was freeusing you had you gushing everywhere—Joel knew he always had your consent, didn’t matter if you were asleep or awake. You just wanted him pounding you hard until your brains and guts got fucked out into oblivion, just as he was doing you now against the kitchen counter.

Joel’s thrusts were sharp, deep and relentless. His hard cock stretched your inner walls impossibly so, a dull sting blooming into a very tight coil low in your belly. Your pussy hugged him, fluttering around him in uncontrollable waves, every time he was fully seated inside you.

For five minutes, he remained silent behind you, only his heaving grunts, your needy sobs and the squelching sounds of your cunt filled the musky atmosphere of the kitchen. When he rutted in, you pushed your hips back, eagerly meeting him halfway—your bodies in heavenly unison, as if your pussy had been made only for him. Only for his cock to ruin.

“Need this,” Joel muttered while one of his hands landed between your shoulder blades again, your back arching some more. “This sweet pussy of yours to blow off some steam.”

Before you could purr in approval, your drool falling off the corners of your mouth into the dish you were mindlessly scrubbing, Joel bunched your hair up in a ponytail and yanked at it. You gasped at the sudden, harsh tug that forced your head back. With every jerk on your hair, your puffy lips wolfed his pulsing dick down more eagerly, squeezing arrhythmically as another orgasm began to boil inside you.

You just couldn’t remain quiet any longer—when Joel jackhammered in and pulled at your hair, you moaned like a slut. He was fucking you so hard now, your breasts jiggled in the farmhouse sink, your underboobs hitting the ceramic. The clapping sound of your bodies meeting competed with your wanton whimpers, but you made a point of screaming louder.

Feeling a renewed rush of blood coursing through Joel’s girthy cock, you clenched your used pussy around him with a very tight grasp—so tight, that he was humming and ruggedly breathing while he climbed up to ecstasy. Joel tugged at your hair again, and this time he kept on pulling, your back impossibly arched like a bow ready to snap, until the back of your head was resting on his right shoulder.

“You know my aim is excellent, darling,” he groaned huskily, announcing his orgasm.

Joel pulsed one last time inside you before his cum filled you up in spurts, rope after rope of his white seed gluing to your inner walls and clinging onto every crevice inside your pussy. And when he did, you finally unravelled with him, an overwhelming euphoria drowning you as you sobbed and screamed your pleasure, leaving creamy rings on the base of his cock.

Joel kissed your cheek before letting go of your hair. Both of you were heaving now, trying to tame your breathing back to a normal pace and calming down your hearts. Joel always fucked you dumb and he did delivery this time—you only wished you were also cock drunk.

He pulled out sfotly, your pussy quivering one last time at the emptiness he left behind. You felt Joel’s tantalising fingers in your slick seam, gathering the leaking cum from your pussy lips to push it back inside you. You moaned again, biting down your lip, as he fingered you with his tacky spent, putting it back inside your cunt so it would take.

“Can’t waste it, sweetheart.” With just a few pumps of his thick fingers you came again, your thighs still shaking as you straightened your back.

You looked over your shoulder again to glanced at him stuffing his soft cock back in his boxers, with dreamy eyes and mouth agape, some drool still wetting your chin.

Joel snickered behind you, chuffed with himself. He swiped the spit off your chin with his thumb and licked it off his finger as if it was a little treat.

“What’s for dinner, sweetheart?” he asked, way more relaxed now, while he pulled your panties and jeans up and readjusted them for you.

“Lamb stew, but I wish there was cock on the menu,” you pouted, dreamily sighing as you rinsed off the dish and left it on the drying rack besides the sink.

Didn’t know he called your old landlord, then your boss, then your emergency contact—just to hear how they spoke about you. Didn’t know he watched your move-in through the hallway security feed. Didn’t know he started memorizing your schedule the moment you shut the door for the first time.

He never meant to get involved. Not at first. He just liked how you looked. Headphones in. Skirt too short. One hand wrapped around an iced coffee, the other tugging your apartment key free from your tote bag. You didn’t look at the camera when you walked past it, but you smiled at your phone. He paused the footage and watched it again. And again.

He told himself it was curiosity. A tenant check-in. Routine.

But curiosity became interest. Interest became obsession. And obsession meant he started making exceptions.

Like showing up when you submitted a maintenance request—even though he had a guy for that. Like walking past your apartment door every night at exactly 10:03, just to hear if your TV was still on. Like letting himself in when you weren’t home, tightening your loose bathroom knob before you even noticed it was turning wrong.

He never took anything. Never made a mess. He just needed to be close. That’s what he told himself. Until the night he let himself in just to stand in your bedroom doorway.

He didn’t turn on the light. Didn’t move past the threshold. He just stood there. Watched your sheets stir in the breeze from the open window. Imagined your body beneath them. Imagined crawling in. Imagined how warm you’d feel pressed up against his chest, whimpering his name into the pillow, not scared—grateful.

That was the night he installed the first camera. Just one. Hidden inside the old smoke detector in the corner of your living room. He only wanted to check in sometimes. Just a little. Just enough. And he didn’t think you’d ever notice.

---

You were dusting. Standing on a stool in a cropped tee and your underwear, hair piled on your head, humming under your breath. And then you saw it. That tiny red flicker. The almost-invisible eye. You looked up at it, still for several long seconds. Then you climbed down from the stool, stood in the middle of the room—bare legs, bare thighs, nothing but soft light on your skin—

And smiled.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t call the police. Didn’t even cover up.

You just walked to the window. Turned on the lamp. And pulled the curtains open.

That night, you stretched out on the couch like you knew he was watching. Tank top riding high. Panties clinging. You didn’t touch yourself. You didn’t have to. You let your legs fall apart slowly. Shifted your hips just slightly. Played with the hem of your shirt. Arched once when you yawned, and made sure your nipples pressed just right through the fabric. You looked directly at the corner of the room.

“Good night, Joel.”

---

He didn’t come that night. Not the next night, either. But your sink stopped dripping on its own. Your Amazon order—marked as delayed—showed up two days early. And the next rent invoice never came.

You left the curtains open every night. You didn’t stop performing. And he didn’t stop watching.

When he finally knocked, it was late. You opened the door in just your sleep shorts and a loose camisole, braless, warm from the way your body had been grinding quietly against your sheets just minutes before. Joel stood there. All six feet and change. Black shirt. Boots. Breath steady. He didn’t speak right away. Just looked at you. Then at your window. Then back at you.

“You left them open,” he said. “You been doing that for me?”

You didn’t answer.

He stepped inside. Closed the door. Locked it.

Then looked at you like you were the thing he’d been waiting to unwrap for months.

“You want to put on a show,” he said calmly, voice low. “Then show me. Curtains wide open.”

You moved slowly. Crossed the room, your thighs brushing, your breath shaky. You walked to the window and stood in front of it. He didn’t follow. You lifted your shirt. Let it fall. Your nipples tightened in the air, cool light catching on your skin. Then you looked over your shoulder.

“Are you going to touch me?”

Joel’s voice stayed flat.

“No.”

You blinked. Mouth parted.

“Then what—”

“You’re gonna do it yourself. That’s all you get tonight.”

You turned back to the window. Let your hand slide down your stomach, under your waistband. And he just watched.

No words. No breath. No movement.

He didn’t flinch when you whimpered. Didn’t speak when your thighs started to tremble. Didn’t say a word when you came with your forehead pressed to the glass and his name falling from your lips in a shudder. When you turned around, flushed and wet and panting—

He was already gone. The door left open an inch. The message clear. You want more? Ask for it.

---

You didn’t see him for three days. But the camera stayed on. You whispered his name every night. You got nothing in return. Until the fourth night, when there was a knock at 11:56 p.m.

You opened the door without hesitation—heart thudding, lips parted, soaked just from knowing he was on the other side—Joel stood there. Big. Still. Breathing slow. His eyes dragged down your body like they’d already been there. You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to.

“No more putting on a show unless I’m in the room.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stepped back—barefoot, braless, nearly trembling—your eyes locked on his as the door stayed wide open. Joel followed.

Slow. Calm.

Like he’s not walking into your apartment for the first time since you caught him. Like he’s been here all along.

The door clicked shut behind him. Locked. He set the key on your counter.

He’s not hiding it anymore. He never was.

“Bedroom,” he says.

Your body moved before your brain did. You led him down the hall—feeling his eyes on the sway of your hips, the hem of your shorts, the place where your thighs touched. You sat on the edge of your bed. You thought he’d come to you. But he didn’t. He just stood there. Watching. Like he always does.

“Take your clothes off.”

You reached for your shirt.

His voice sharpened—quiet, deadly.

“Slow.”

So you obeyed.

You lifted the tank top inch by inch. Your nipples hardened in the air. You heard his breath shift when they were exposed.

You stood to slide your shorts down. Stepped out of them. Left them pooled on the floor. You didn’t cover yourself. He didn’t move.

Then:

“Lie back.”

You crawled onto the bed. Laid there. Naked. Waiting.

He walked toward you—finally—tall and deliberate, shedding his jacket, then his shirt, slow as sin. His belt came off with a low scrape of leather. And when he pulled your knees apart, it wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t tender. It was inevitable.

Joel kneels between your thighs, one hand braced beside your head, the other sliding down between your legs, fingers slipping through the slick heat already waiting for him. You gasp at the contact. He smirks.

“Already wet?” “You been thinkin’ about this?”

He dips two fingers inside you, slow and deep. Crooks them just slightly until your hips lift, a needy whimper leaving your lips.

“Knew you’d be soaked for me.”

You arch into his touch, desperate.

“Joel, please—”

He pulls his fingers out and wipes them across your lower belly—marking you with it, like a warning. Then he leans down, voice hot against your ear.

“You don’t get to beg. Not yet.” “You invited me in. Now you take what I give you.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply. Just presses the thick head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you with shallow thrusts. You squirm, whimper, try to shift your hips forward—but his hands grip your thighs hard, holding you down. And then he sinks in—slow, deliberate, filling you inch by inch until you’re stretched wide and gasping.

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, voice strained. “Tight little pussy like this—and you were wasting it on your fingers?”

You cry out, back arching as he bottoms out. He stays there, deep inside you, grinding once just to feel how tight you clamp around him.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes meet his—dark, unblinking, possessive.

“I want you to remember what it looks like when someone fucks you right.”

Then he starts to move. Long, deep strokes that make the bed creak. His hand slides up your chest to grab your throat—not squeezing, just holding, guiding your gaze so you can’t look away from him.

“You like being watched?” “Good. Then watch me.”

He fucks you harder now, his hips snapping against yours, the wet slap of skin echoing around the room. Your hands grip the sheets, your mouth open and panting, the tension building fast.

“Joel—fuck—I’m—”

“You don’t come until I say.”

His hand moves from your throat to your mouth, thumb pressing between your lips. You suck it instinctively, your eyes fluttering.

“Good girl.”

His pace grows rougher, more punishing, every thrust hitting deep, knocking the breath out of you.

“Next time you wanna touch yourself in front of that camera,” he growls, “you call me first. Understand?”

You nod around his thumb, eyes rolling back as your body trembles beneath him.

“Say it.”

“Yes—Joel—yes, I’ll call you—”

“Damn right you will.”

He pulls his thumb free and presses your knees up toward your chest, fucking you deeper now, the angle brutal, relentless.

Your climax hits hard—a cry ripping from your throat as your whole body shakes. And Joel doesn’t stop. He keeps going, driving into you through your orgasm, chasing his own, groaning low and broken as his rhythm stutters.

“Gonna come inside you,” he grits, head dropping to your neck. “You’re gonna take all of it, yeah?”

You can’t speak—can only nod, sobbing with how full you already feel.

“Say it. Say it’s mine.”

“It’s yours—fuck—Joel, it’s yours—”

He buries himself one last time, grunts against your throat, and comes—deep and rough and full. You’re boneless beneath him, panting, your skin damp with sweat. He pulls out slowly, the loss making you whimper. His fingers slide between your thighs, spreading you open just enough to watch it drip out of you.

“Messy little thing,” he murmurs. “Better keep those curtains open. I wanna see this every night.”

He grabs your chin, makes you meet his gaze one more time.

“Next time,” he says, “you don’t wait so long to ask.”

He kisses your forehead.

Grabs his keys.

And walks out.

Like he’s coming back tomorrow.

your friends didn't like him all that much. they believed he was too controlling, too mean, too scary. but they didn't know the joel that you knew— the one that protected you, nurtured you, saved you. the man who worked all day, every day just so that you didn't have to. you owed it to him to listen whenever he told you no, considering all that he does.

but joel was working late. he called you during his lunch break to let you know that it was taking him longer than expected, which meant he wouldn't be back in time to say no.

still, he knew something was up. you were too quiet when he talked to you that afternoon- not doing your usual whining whenever he had to break the news that he wouldn't be home for dinner, again.

you didn't fuss or even try to beg him to come home early like he expected you to. it made him feel good when you did that, being a reminder of how important he was. you depended and relied on him because he molded you to be that way, but to hear how much you wanted and needed him made everything worth it.

now joel was concerned. he sat back in his chair thinking about the last couple of days and your behavior. he hadn't checked your phone recently, could you have met someone new, maybe younger? were you losing interest in him, moving on? the thought alone had him seeing red.

so he ditched the rest of his work, and headed home.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

you didn't hear him come in, too busy applying another coat of lipgloss and checking yourself out in the bathroom mirror as he stood leaning against the doorframe.

"where do you think you're goin'?"

his voice startled you, dripping in a tone that you almost didn't recognize as joel's. it was low and unsettling, nothing like how it normally sounded when he greeted you.

you turned to meet his expression to see his face firm and unamused, not a twitch of a smile. you swallowed, eyes wide in shock.

"wh- what are you doing home so soon?"

"who are you to question me? i asked you somethin' first, so answer it." he gritted through his teeth, finger pointed at you.

"my friends wanted to see me, since you were still working i told them i could." you replied hesitantly, stepping back as he walked closer.

"so you were trying to sneak out? while daddy's busting his ass so that you have warm meals and a roof over your head, you were planning to go behind my back?"

you shook your head, frowning at his words. you hated to upset him and that wasn't your intention. he was right, he always was.

"it's not like that, i promise! we wouldn't be gone long, i swear."

joel didn't respond right away, silence lingering heavy in the air. your heart was thumping in your chest as he stared at you, finally getting a moment to scan over your figure to notice what you were wearing.

an outfit you had no business in is what it was. one he told you that you were only allowed to wear around him. it fit you perfectly— meaning it was too short, too pretty, too innocent.

joel was getting angrier the longer he looked at you. he realized you also did your makeup, the apples of your cheeks pink from blush and your lashes dark with mascara.

"think m'gonna let you leave the house lookin' like this? stupid girl."

before you could speak he cornered you against the sink, grabbing your waist and lifting you onto the counter as if you weighed nothing to him.

"dressed like you're seekin' another man's attention, damn shame. after everything i do for you." he muttered to himself, his fingers digging into the flesh of your stomach. you could tell by the pressure that he would leave bruises there tomorrow— and the more you whined, the harder he pressed.

he was too far gone to calm down at this point. you could tell by coldness in his demeanor and how he eventually stopped responding all together. his pupils were dilated, the rich shade of brown now blown to be pitch black.

"i don't have to go anymore, im sorry! we can stay here, together, please."

"too late for that, sweet baby." he parted your legs, nudging himself between the gap and impatiently shoving up the fabric of your skirt.

that's when you felt it. a cold, flat object dragging along the warm skin of your inner thigh. the cool sensation sent a chill up your spine, making you look down to spot the source.

he had a pocket knife in his right hand, the tip of the blade so close that it was ghosting just over your cunt.

it was the same one he always used. he kept it with him at all times, whether it was to crack open beers or to whittle his wood carvings. now he had the idea to use it on you.

your breath hitched, your body tensing as you watched him slowly brush it past your clothed clit. "joel, what are you-"

you were interrupted by the sound of cotton ripping, the blade slicing through the thin material of your underwear. you choked on a gasp, your eyes meeting his face to find a smirk. joel was skilled with a knife. he had years of experience longer than you were alive for, so he was more than careful and capable enough to assure he didn't hurt you. not there, at least.

"how can i leave y'alone when i can't even trust ya to stay put, huh? keepin' secrets, not being honest with me. maybe i ain't made myself clear yet."

he cut into your skin. a quick, thin line on the top of your thigh just under where your dresses normally stop at. you whimpered with a wince, beads of red prickling out from the area.

"shhh, it's okay. daddy's gotta do this though, so you'll learn." he pulled what used to be panties from underneath you, balling it together and holding the piece to your mouth. "here baby, bite down. it'll help."

you reluctantly accepted it, teeth clenching down and bracing from what was to come.

he used his other hand to hold down your leg. "try and stay still, so it comes out straight. want it to look nice." you felt the next cut, this time it hooking with a jagged curve at the end.

you sniffled through the pain, squeezing your eyes closed while he did the rest, tears falling from them with each incision-like gash. as much as it hurt, joel was gentle— mumbling praises "doing so well, sweetie." and "being such a good girl f'me."

his words went to your core, heating in sensitivity from the tingling burn that was left after each run of the blade which soon turned into pleasure. "you're enjoying this, aren't you? it's okay if you do."

you nodded desperately, a muffled mewl spilling from your lips while you bucked your hips for more.

the knife was soon replaced with something wet, providing relief to the wound. your vision, still blurry from the strain of crying, adjusted into focus see joel's head of curls crouched in front of you— face down and tonguing at the tender area.

he was licking your thigh, cleaning up the blood that had risen to the surface of your skin. he moaned into it, sucking with greed as if he craved the taste, placing kisses after each spot that he finished. it was a filthy imagine, downright horrific. "i could eat you all fucking day, baby, i swear. drain you dry."

the feeling was visceral, unlike any orgasm you ever had before. your legs were shaking as he did so, soaking the marble beneath you in your slick. he brought his mouth to your pussy and repeated the same actions there until you came, the sweet of your arousal mixing with the metallic of your blood that lingered on his tongue. his pulled back, his beard stained maroon— a color that could pass as being from a glass of wine.

what joel had done was sacred, intimate, metaphoric. a carnal desire, more true than any other act of love.

he made sure that he didn't go deep enough for stitches, but enough to leave a scar. one that would be a permanent reminder embedded and branded on you, forever.

“SO PRETTY WHEN I’M IN YOUR THROAT, BABE.”

. . . .

what had started out as a few soft kisses—your girlfriend perched on the edge of the bed in just her sports bra and jeans, legs spread just enough to keep you close, the rough denim brushing your bare thighs—quickly turned into something else entirely. something heavier, more desperate. the air between you shifted with a jolt, thickening when she leaned up to press a quick kiss to your lips— then another. and another. you’d honestly expected nothing more than to press your lips to hers a couple of times, maybe smooth a loving hand over her jaw and through her hair, before disappearing into the bathroom to take the shower you had been looking forward to all day. some innocent kisses, that was all. but it seemed a few chaste pecks just weren’t going to cut it. it hadn’t taken you long to sense it—by the way her palms gripped your hips, long fingers smoothing over your hipbones as her tongue slipped into your mouth—that innocence wasn’t what ellie craved.

when you pulled away from the kiss and found her gaze again, you were met with the kind of transfixing glint that flickered in the mossiness of her irises and spiralled outward into the darkness of her pupils. without saying another word and barely even giving you enough time to take a breath, ellie pulled you back in—this kiss longer. deeper. her grip tightened on your hips for a moment before sliding down to squeeze and scoop at the fleshy roundness of your asscheeks.

the sound of her name twisted into the small gasp that climbed your throat and fell straight into her mouth, landing on her tongue as you felt it flick against yours again with that same feather-light touch. “gotta go shower…” you managed to whisper. ellie broke the kiss, only to press her lips to the corner of your mouth and trail slow, deliberate kisses across your cheek to your ear.

“mm-mm,” you felt her shake her head slightly against the side of your face, hands pulling you closer, until there was no space left. “stay…”

“come on, els...” you were putting up a terrible fight—honestly, it was pathetic. any tiny morsel of resolve that may have sprouted from your desire to step into a warm shower after being on your feet all day had withered immediately when you felt the warmth of your girlfriend’s lips graze against the curve of your earlobe. “...water’s on…”

“so let it run,” her voice poured into your ear, thick and syrupy. “…need you here.”

your eyes fell closed as she spoke, as she touched you. you gripped her shoulders, trying to steady yourself against the intensity of her hold. any time she alluded to wanting you first— with words that teetered on the edge of desperation, laced with such faux-submissive admittance—you became putty in her hands, and she knew it. that’s exactly why she did it. the only way she’d let you disappear into that bathroom was when she was finished with you—preferably with her in tow. but right now, she had you exactly where she wanted you, and you weren’t about to fight her off—not even if you tried.

“…need you on my cock.”

it wasn’t every day that ellie used her strap on you. she usually favoured fingering you— multiple fingers, knuckle deep in your pussy—until you were writhing around on the bed beneath her, the aftermath of your multiple orgasms spilling between the intricate ink on her forearm. but, on the days she chose to switch things up, she always referred to it as her cock. you loved it— the term always felt so rare, almost forbidden and charged with such explicit undertones that it made your skin prickle. her cock, as if the silicone toy was a part of her, connected to every nerve ending, every pleasure receptor. but ellie didn’t want you to be fooled—her inconsistency was never a sign of indifference, of disinterest. she loved being inside you; watching your folds envelop her length like it was made for you, your cunt swallowing every inch of it, right down to the base, greedy for the feeling of being stuffed full of her. and as the words left her lips, warmth bloomed in your lower tummy, a familiar tightness radiating in your clit.

the shadow of a smile pulled at your lips, barely visible as you chewed on the inside of your cheek. “but, my shower…” you turned your head slightly, the faint sound of running water hitting the tile creeping into the bedroom. honestly, the shower was now a half-formed thought compared to what ellie had just planted in your head, but your girlfriend didn’t need to know that. there you stood, in nothing but your underwear and a teasing smile, feigning interest in steam and suds while every nerve in your body was tuned to her. you threaded your fingers into the back of her hair, combing the strands through your digits and pressing a gentle kiss to the only part of her forehead you could reach.

“mm-mm. shower can wait,” she mumbled into your neck, her lips leaving open-mouthed kisses against your pulse point. she could feel it thumping against the thin skin, and this made her laugh wickedly against you. “yeah, you know as well as i do that this shower can wait.” she repeated, pulling away to look up at you while giving your ass a light slap. she smiled in response to the definitive grin that eventually settled on your lips, then moved one hand to grip your wrist in one fluid motion to stop you sliding your thumb inside the band of your underwear. “hold on,” she breathed. “will fuck you— want to fuck you— god, gonna make you feel so good—”

“—but...?” you probed her to finish, desperate to know what she was getting at, and that was the only time that she took a moment from her rambling to press a kiss to the valley between your breasts with a small sigh. then, she found your gaze again through her lashes.

“…but. i wanna put it in your mouth, first.”

her words hit low, hot enough to burn a hole straight through your lower stomach. your tongue flicked out to wet your bottom lip, and you swallowed hard, trying to soothe the scratchiness that was suddenly in your throat. to smother that feeling that bubbled amongst your insides. not nerves— you weren’t nervous. this was deeper, more raw. like adrenaline tangled with lust—fascination set on fire. but you weren’t going to let that show. instead, you simply tilted your head raised an eyebrow. “you do?”

ellie nodded slowly. “fuck, baby, you don’t know how badly i want to. know you’ll look so pretty…” she blinked up at you. “…think about it all the time.”

you couldn’t help but grin at that, teeth on full show as you nodded back at her. it only took four simple words to tip the moment into something heavier— “shower can definitely wait.", and you swore you had never seen that girl move faster— like your instructions had snapped the last thread of her mental restraint, or what was left of it. she stretched over the entire length of the mattress, her movements swift but purposeful, and you watched as she rummaged blindly through the bottom drawer of her bedside table before retrieving her strap-on— six inches of smooth, electric blue silicone that you swore almost glowed in the dimly lit room.

she rose from the bed, yanking off her jeans and plaid briefs quicker than you could really process, before stepping into the harness and adjusting it to fit comfortably around her hips and upper thighs. you watched, mesmerised, gaze lingering over every part of her. sure, you’d seen her do this before, but there was something about this particular instance that made your pulse pick up against your neck up all over again. perhaps it was the way the warm bathroom light trickled through the crack in the door, mingling with the steamy heat of the shower. or maybe it was just the way she was moving— a raw confidence in every extension of her limbs, every subtle shift of her feet, her body taut with anticipation. perhaps it was both of those things— perhaps it was neither. or maybe it was simply because you knew you were about to have your girlfriend’s cock in your mouth for the first time ever, and frankly, you couldn’t wait.

she had barely even made a dent in the mattress when you lowered yourself to the floor in front of her. ellie tilted her chin slightly, gaze fixed on you unapologetically while her tongue rolled against the inside of her cheek, drinking in the way you looked— so pretty, so ready for her. reaching a hand out, she pushed your hair from your forehead, the pad of her thumb smoothing over the soft skin. “is this okay?” she questioned, her voice low, barely above a whisper. even in moments like this — when she was so turned on she could barely catch her breath, arousal already threatening to pour out of her, she always wanted to make sure you were comfortable. raising an eyebrow as you nodded, ellie mirrored your movements. “yeah? and you’re okay?”

you shuffled a little closer on your knees, eyes locked on hers the whole time. “mm-hm. are you?” you teased, and jesus fuck, she was sure she had never been more okay with something in her entire life. you were a picture before her, pupils blown wide as your gaze flickered between her face and her cock. you looked so pretty and eager, she felt like she might burst. the light from the bedside table behind her cast a soft shadow across your face—the length of her cock stretching in silhouette over your chin, your lips, your nose—and the sight made her chuckle.

she eased back onto the bed, resting on her elbows, eyes never leaving you. she didn’t want to miss a thing. “go ahead, baby. go to town.”

and that was exactly what you planned to do. you took a breath, breaking eye contact for only a split second as you leaned in, letting the tip of your nose brush against her, then locking eyes with her again. you didn’t waste much time, licking a slow stripe from the middle of her cock and dragging it upward before encircling the wet muscle around the head. you did this once, twice, three times, your eyes never leaving ellie’s— watching as hers darkened at the sight of you.

she huffed, extending an arm to gather your hair in one hand, keeping it out of your face while muttering something about how she “knew you’d look so fucking hot like this”. you pulled back just a hair’s breadth before opening your mouth more, and enveloping the full upper third of her cock between your lips.

you took her deeper, humming in quiet surprise when you felt the tip of the strap skim the back of your throat already. pausing for a moment, you allowed your mouth to adjust around her before continuing, eyes never leaving ellie’s face— studying it. she was transfixed, watching as everything she’d fantasised about over and over again unfolded right in front of her. her grip tightened around your hair, the other fisting an abundance of the duvet beside her, and as you pulled yourself back, lips still enclosed around her, she spoke again, “that’s right, baby. do it just like that...”.

the praise sent heat spiraling through you, your cunt beginning to expel the wetness it had been trying so hard to keep in—arousal now shamelessly pooling in your underwear. her words just spurred you on further, just as she knew they would, and you sank back down again, taking even more of her into your mouth this time.

she was big—you knew that already from those few times she’d been inside you, but this was something else entirely. you could feel yourself starting to drool, saliva so apparent in your mouth that you weren’t surprised when began to trickle down your chin, wetting ellie’s dick in the process. you continued like that for a minute longer; letting her control the tension, letting her watch, secretly loving the way she kept gathering and re-gathering your hair in her hand as if she was frightened to miss a single second, before finally pulling back.

she slipped from your mouth with a soft pop, your jaw aching and the back of your hand coming up to wipe your chin. ellie exhaled, eyes fixed on your mouth before flicking up to find yours. “that’s the hottest thing i’ve ever fucking seen,” she whispered after a second, breathless and releasing your hair just to gently brush it back over your shoulders with the lightest touch. “view alone’s enough to make me cum...”

the ache between your legs was becoming impossible to ignore, leaving you with nothing to do but chew your lip in response. even though ellie wasn’t able to feel it—not in the way this little charade was mimicking, anyway—her reactions told a different story. the way her jaw clenched, fingers strangling the sheets, how her breath hitched when you swirled your tongue around the silicone tip like it was real. it was all so convincing—so much so, that it made your head spin. as if every motion, every hollow of your cheeks sent waves of pleasure through her body. you both knew it was all in her head, but fuck, somehow that only made it hotter. ellie’s brain couldn't seem to decipher between your mouth working the cool silicone of her strap, and your mouth on her—each time you sank lower, the base of her strap nudging her swollen clit, her hips twitched in response. it was clear to you that your few minutes of light work had her teetering on the edge already.

you watched her from beneath your lashes as you leaned down and whispered, flush against her cock, “hmmm—love having you in my mouth, els.”.

she chuckled lowly at that, chest rising and falling slowly, but still charged with undeniable urgency. she twirled a piece of your hair lazily around her finger, her other arm propping her up on one elbow. “yeah? knew you would. knew you’d be so good at it, too.”

the way she said it—so casually commanding—sent another throb of heat straight to your clit. you were surprised you weren't dripping onto the floor— shit, maybe you were. the tip of your tongue teased the underside of her now, slow but oh so deliberate, and you whispered again, “mm-hm. s’making me so wet...” you glanced up at her. “...wanna touch myself.”

ellie's eyes darkened immediately, and you felt her fingers tightening in your hair, sliding up to grip a handful from the back of your skull, enough to make your scalp sting. she pulled your head back just a little, gentle but firm, and her voice followed lowly. “oh my god.” she tried her hardest not to smile, head tipping to the side as she watched as your hand already began reaching for the space between your legs. “well, don’t let me stop you. know you’re desperate. show me what you do when you think i’m not around.”

you didn’t need to be told twice, hand slipping into the band of your underwear in one fluid motion. a long sigh left your lips as the pads of your fingers began working against your slick clit in tight, desperate circles, your head falling back very slightly.

ellie’s eyes darted between your face and the space between your legs where your fingers disappeared— just hidden enough to drive her crazy; too dark to see as much as she wanted to, and god, she wanted to. her hand didn’t leave your hair, guiding you back down almost immediately. she moved her cock toward your mouth, coaxing rather than demanding, and the tip brushed your bottom lip. you opened for her without hesitation, a needy sound slipping from you—a hybrid of a whimper and a plea—something ellie couldn’t quite place, but which made her jaw tense and her walls clench. you took her back into your mouth, inch by inch—then deeper down your throat, little by little, fingers still relieving your swollen clit.

you moaned around her, and the low vibration travelled through the silicone and brushed against her clit. the unexpected jolt of pleasure made ellie’s breath catch in her throat, eyebrows furrowing. “ohmyfucking—” her free hand flew straight to her mouth, teeth sinking into her knuckle immediately as she curled it between her lips. somewhere amid the wet sounds of spit around her cock and the sight of your fingers buried between your thighs, ellie was sure she was about to pass out. she kept herself propped up with sheer muscle alone, abs burning, arms trembling, but she was so desperate to keep watching you she didn’t care about the pain, she could not stop watching— would not. not when you looked like that.

her breath was shallow, teeth still biting into her knuckle as she watched you; the way you had begun whining around her, how your hips twitched, and the rhythmic dips of your hand between your legs picked up every time your mouth slid back down on her cock... were you—shit, you were. you were fucking yourself. she just knew, and god, was it a sight to behold. “so pretty when i’m in your throat, babe,” she breathed, hand dropping from her mouth as she propped herself up again on her elbow. “so sexy when you fuck yourself for me. mouth full of my cock, fingers in your pussy— god, that’s it, baby. that’s it, love makin’ me feel good, hmm?” she tilted her head to get a better look as you continued, her mouth falling open at the sight of you. “oh, fuck. wish i could cum for you, wish i could pull out and cum all over that pretty face.”

ellie wasn’t even entirely sure if she was talking for your sake or hers, anymore— either way, she couldn’t stop. she didn’t even know if she was making sense. she just knew that it was getting her off, and that it was definitely getting you off, basking in the moans that left you as she spoke.

your fingers were now pistoning in and out of your hole, so much so that both you and ellie could hear the squelching that was coming from your movements as you chased your release. you were so close— ellie could feel it, could see it in the way you were barely holding onto eye contact, your desperate sounds of an imminent orgasm vibrating against her cock. you pulled back from her, far enough to take a breath, but close enough to keep the ribbons of spit that stretched between the two of you intact, and gasped. “ohmy—god, gonna—gonnafuckingcum.”

ellie’s grip on your hair tightened, her fingers pressing deeper into your scalp. “fuck, yeah. lean back for me, let me see you.” her voice was caught somewhere between a command and a plea, but you did as she said and immediately shifed your weight from your knees to your heels. you leaned back just enough that your thighs spread wider, and the space between them finally became visible to your girlfriend. with your free hand, you hooked a finger around the edge of your cotton underwear and pulled them aside to reveal all. as if she didn’t think she could get any hornier, that action alone and the sight of your glistening pussy earned both a heavy sigh and a desperate moan from ellie— one she had no interest in covering up. “oooh— there she is,” the girl leaned forward, getting as close to you as she could without actually joining you on the floor. her eyes found yours, and that was where they stayed, dark and expectant. “go on, baby. keep going, don’t fucking stop. wanna watch you cum just like this.”

you didn't stop—couldn’t. even if you’d tried. your fingers moved faster now, curled, and slippery, and frantic, hitting that spongey spot that ellie had taught you to find. her voice didn’t let up, but instead pushed you further, right into the cusp of that white-hot edge. “oh my god, you’re so close. aren’t you?” “y-yes!” “yeah,” she murmured, eyes flicking between your cunt and your face, savouring it all. “god, wanna put my hands on you so bad. wanna put my cock in you so bad, make you cum again— all over it, baby.”

a smile spread over her face as she saw the effect her words had on you—well, the ones that weren’t getting lost in the haze of pleasure that clouded your mind. your moans climbed higher, getting breathier by the second as your head lolled backwards and forwards in a pathetic attempt at a nod. your hips stuttered against your fingers, walls clenching and the pressure tightening more and more in your stomach. ellie stared, like you might vanish altogether if she blinked, her chin propped in her hand and hips rocking against the weight of her strap at that perfect angle as she braced herself for what was about to come— literally.

and then it hit. your eyes clung onto ellie’s for as long as they could before rolling back into your head as your climax ripped through you. they squeezed shut, body trembling and breath catching on a long moan as your fingers continued to pump in and out of your quivering hole, which tightened with every stroke. ellie’s hips continued to buck, almost uncontrollably now, against her cock as she watched you cum, her own eyelids turning heavy as the long orgasm washed over you. you were gorgeous; the slightest sheen of sweat covered your forehead, chin still slick with spit, face flushed, and she could see the wetness that covered your fingers every time they caught the light.

the sight of you alone was enough to tip her over the edge, clit pulsating with every small brush of her strap as she fucked against it now. that alone was enough to send her hurtling into her own orgasm, which presented itself in a mess of frantic hip movements and heavy moans, most of which were sucked through gritted teeth. “shit— oh, fuck!”

your body crumpled with the weight of your orgasm, fingers slipping from between your legs as aftershocks rolled through your body in supersonic waves. every nerve was raw, and you let yourself slump forwards to lean the side of your face against ellie’s knee. the sight made her laugh through ragged breaths, and she watched your thighs twitch and listened intently as the small noises of relief and post-orgasm bliss left you.

“jesus christ,” she muttered through another laugh, her voice hoarse. she combed her fingers through your hair, unsticking the strands from your face and tilting her head to look at you. “hey, pretty. you alive in there?”

you nodded slowly, eyes peeling open to look up at her; lids heavy, rendering her a hazy, pulsating mass before your vision finally adjusted to her gorgeous features properly. “just about.” a breathless laugh left your lips, and you watched ellie’s mouth twitch in response. her long fingers continued to rake across your temple and through your hair, so gentle that it almost distracted from the shit-eating grin that had spread itself over her face. “good. glad i didn’t kill you before i got to fuck you again,” she wrinkled her nose. “kind of a mood killer.”

your eyes widened for a second, and you slowly lifted your head from her knee to look at her vertically now. “romantic,” you whispered, eyebrows furrowing as she slid her hand into yours, and you realised she had meant everything she just said. “babe, you’re serious?”

this earned an utterly casual shrug from the girl. “dead serious.” she rose from the bed, harness still secured around her waist, and helped haul you upright until you were on your feet— albeit on shaky legs. “but, if you’re too fucked out... i can always just shower with you. wash your hair, get between your thighs...” she lowered her chin. “...try real hard not to slip inside you.”

you exhaled, biting your lip; ellie’s eyes dropped, catching the movement— an undeniable tell. she grinned even wider. “see? you’re thinking about it, i know you are.” and her smartass tone of voice made you roll your eyes.

“ellie, i’m half a person right now—” you stopped yourself, still gripping onto her hand with a small smile. “—actually, not even half. a third, at most— and you expect me to go again?”

ellie’s eyes trailed over your face, checking for any signs of real doubt, but she was sure she knew you better than that. “can carry you. if you want?” she dipped her head into the valley between your jaw and your collarbone, peppering small, open-mouthed kisses to the skin that was still a little flushed from your orgasm.

“tempting, for sure.”

she pulled back, just enough to meet your eyes, free hand splayed across your stomach now and the side of her pinky just barely brushing the lace hem of your underwear— still tugged aside, still noticeably damp with your arousal. you inhaled, and ellie noticed, her pupils blown wider. “you’re still so wet, babe. just kinda feels like a waste, mm?”

this comment earned a genuine laugh from you, head falling back for a second as you feigned a groan of hardship — as if having your girlfriend inside you properly beneath a deliciously hot shower would really be such a chore. “okay, fine. but if i fall,” you pointed a finger at her. “it’s on you.”

ellie glanced over her shoulder, already leading you into the steamy bathroom as she spoke. “then fall, babe. i’ll catch you,” she laughed, her gremlin charm working its way out of the cracks as she spoke again. “and maybe— if you’re lucky— i’ll let you land on my cock.”