days of you & me

No curtains, no shades. There's not even a half-effort of an old sheet hung up over the glass pane. And at night? When he can't sleep, and the moths circle the flickering porch lights, and you've got those blue or red or purple LED lights on…well.

Pope can see right into your apartment.

Can see you, watching TV on the couch or cooking boxed macaroni in nothing but a loose tank top and a pair of lace underwear.

He thinks you might be the only good thing about the apartment that Smurf forced him into only three days after he was released from prison.

It's been a long time since he's looked at a woman, you know. Longer since he's seen one as pretty as you.

He's not lacking self awareness or anything. Pope knows your open windows and ever changing LEDs aren't an invitation to stare, but…sometimes it feels like one.

You fall asleep on the couch most nights. Which is good for him, because Pope can't see into your bedroom.

Some things, he begins to realize, are a sort of chaotic routine.

You tend to fall asleep with your phone in your hand and scramble to find it each morning (it's always under the couch, beneath the hot pink throw pillow you kick off in your sleep).

You don't eat breakfast because you don't wake up early enough to (don't you know it's the most important meal of the day?). Most mornings, you wake up with just enough time to doll yourself up in the bathroom, prioritizing glittery eyeshadow and shimmering lip gloss rather than the sustenance of a bowl of cereal.

He doesn't know what you do for work, but it's something with an inconsistent schedule. You sleep until noon on your days off, which could be any day of the week, Pope learns.

Work doesn't stop you from going out, though. Saturday nights are reserved for those miniskirts and stiletto heels and all your giggling girlfriends who get ready on your living room floor with a hand mirror. You share perfume and makeup and clothes with them before you all climb into a shared uber.

A few times, Andrew finds himself tempted to follow you. He tells himself it's not like he'd be doing it for his own satisfaction. He'd just be doing it to keep an eye on you, that's all. You're a young girl (too young for someone his age). Don't you know there are predators out there?

But he never does. Because that would be weird, right? You don't even know him. But…he certainly starts to feel like he knows you.

You and your friends always stumble back to your apartment, sometimes falling up the concrete steps to the second floor. One of them will make pizza rolls or messy peanut butter sandwiches and you'll pass around cold bottles of water and spill electrolyte drink mixes on the kitchen counter.

You'll share your things with them even after the club, selfless girl. Passing out hair ties and makeup removing wipes and big t-shirts for them to sleep in. On one particular night, when most of them are passed out on the couch, legs and arms tangled together, Pope even watches you you share a kiss with one of them under pink LEDs.

That night, Andrew has to force his attention away. It feels way too close to the beginning of that porno Craig left open on the family computer years ago.

But this doesn't feel erotic. Watching your mouth move against someone else's doesn't elicit any warmth beneath the fabric of his jeans.

No, it makes Andrew...upset. Angry, even.

It makes him jealous.

He tries not to think about it again. Tries even harder (and fails, repeatedly) to give you some privacy on Saturday nights.

But Sundays…Sundays are sacred.

Both for you and for him.

So much so that he pulls out on a job when his brothers plan it for a Sunday. Tells them he has to check in with his parole officer that day. Lies to their faces, because he doesn't want to miss out on you.

Because every Sunday, without fail, Andrew gets to see you naked.

You start by cleaning your apartment. Wiping down the counters and vacuuming the carpet and dusting the top of the cabinets. Then you light the candle on the coffee table (pink champagne, he's pretty sure, after looking endlessly online to match up the glass container. Twenty six dollars. Four day shipping. Currently sitting unlit on his nightstand).

And when you're ready, you strip off all your clothes and discard them in the bathroom.

You put oil in your hair and nineties R&B on your bluetooth speaker. You paint your toes (usually white or black, occasionally an electric blue) and glue artificial nails with sparkling gems onto your fingers.

Sunday showers are the longest, Pope knows. Sometimes thirty minutes. And when you emerge from the bathroom, steam rolls out from the open door and you've got your hair wrapped up in a towel. You balance yourself with a foot on the edge of the couch and massage lotion into your skin first.

From top to bottom, moisturizing your entire body. And then you repeat the motion with an oil, and it's during this particular step that Andrew starts feeling a little lightheaded.

He'd bet you feel all smooth and soft and smell so fucking good. Maybe like vanilla or cherry or coconut. And, god. He wants to touch you. He wants to touch himself.

But he resists.

The first three times, anyway.

By the fourth Sunday, though…well. His cock gets so fucking hard in his jeans that it's leaking. Making a big fucking mess in his boxers. It hurts, you know?

And it's not like you'll know he's doing it. He's had a little over a month to perfect his setup—lights off, chair angled perfectly so if anyone glanced into his apartment they'd have to really look in order to see him.

So, he takes his cock in his hand and imagines it's your delicate fingers wrapped around him instead. Imagines it's his hands rubbing oil into your shoulders, over the swell of your breasts, pressing into your hips, squeezing at the supple flesh of your thighs.

He'd make sure to do it just how you like. And Pope wouldn't need to be told how to, either. Because he's spent so much time watching you now that he would just know.

He wonders if your head would fall back, wet hair clinging to your slick skin. He wonders if he pressed just right into that tender spot at the small of your back that you're always so gentle with if you'd moan or whine or whimper. Maybe even say his name.

Andrew cums at the thought alone, grunting low, lips parted, his release spilling over his hand and down the hard length of his cock.

The shame doesn't take hold of him for a while.

Not until later that night, when your hair is blow dried and you're dressed in a pretty silk pajama set. You've got some trashy reality show on the TV, and you're eating the pizza you had delivered right out of the box.

Andrew takes the moment to clean himself up. To change out of his clothes and into something more comfortable. He brushes his teeth and climbs in bed, but lays with his head propped up by an extra pillow so he can still see clearly out of his window.

He knows it's weird. He knows he shouldn't be staring at a naked girl who's probably half his age and doesn't know there's some fucking creep across the courtyard who watches her every fucking day. He knows he shouldn't be fucking his fist watching you put lotion on your skin. He knows he shouldn't be changing his plans with family or friends around your schedule, just so he can watch you a little longer.

He knows he should stop.

The problem, however, lies in the wanting.

Andrew's never had much. Not when it comes to women. But you…god. You're so beautiful, and so pure and so different from anything he's ever seen. You don't belong to anyone but yourself, and once he sees you, he finds it impossible to look away.

Things change late one Friday night.

Andrew gets sloppy. He gets comfortable, here in this routine he's created around you.

There's music coming from your apartment, some electronic pop ballad that's at a volume so loud he can hear it from across the courtyard (there will be complaints to the office manager tomorrow morning, he knows. But you don't have to worry. Pope will take care of it for you, baby. He'll make sure you can keep having your fun).

You're wearing just a lacy bra and a pair of linen sleep shorts. There's a seltzer in your hand, and you're singing and dancing like you've somehow summoned all the energy from the club right there in your apartment.

It's a beautiful sight, truly. You're so happy and carefree. The warmest ray of sunshine that he wants to find himself basking under.

Andrew gets comfortable, posture relaxing in the chair that now lives permanently in front of his window. He watches you dance around your apartment, the easy smile on your face reflected back on his own.

He thinks he could really take care of you. Keep you safe. Protect all that girlish whimsy that lives in your heart. He'd make you real happy, Andrew thinks. Would watch you dance with your friends at the club, leaning against the bar. He'd take you shopping and add more of those short dresses into your closet. He'd make you breakfast in the mornings before work and Christ—he'd buy you a set of fucking curtains.

Pope is so lost in the fantasy of it that he doesn't register in time that your dancing has slowed. And you've put your seltzer down on the coffee table.

And you're staring right back at him.

His heart kicks up, pounding against his chest. He knows he should move out of sight, shut his blinds, pass this off as a mistake, maybe even pretend he hadn't seen you.

But he doesn't do any of that.

He's frozen in time, terrified and exhilarated all at once by simply being perceived by you.

Pope just…stares.

It seems to be the only fucking thing he's capable of these days.

He expects you to flip him off or maybe come barreling out of the door and across the courtyard to confront him. Or maybe you'll scurry away into your room. Maybe you'll order a set of curtains online.

But you don't do any of that.

You just stare right back.

Andrew tilts his head curiously. It's an involuntary movement.

In the end, you're the first to look away. You pick up your seltzer, dump it down the drain in the kitchen, and then disappear into the bathroom to brush your teeth.

Your routine remains the exact same. You find your phone beneath the throw blanket on the couch and turn off the TV. You turn the kitchen light off and turn on the light above the stove instead. You grab a water bottle from the fridge, and then go to bed in your room.

It's not rushed, and you don't seem nervous or fearful that there's someone watching you.

And Andrew thinks to himself, see. This is why you need him. This is why you need someone looking out for you. Don't you know how dangerous he could be?

He would never hurt you, Andrew knows. But you don't know that.

He doesn't sleep that night. He doesn't sleep often as it is, but his mind is running too fast. Cataloguing all the potential scenarios in which you cut off all access he has to you, severing the comfort he finds in his new favorite, voyeuristic hobby.

And Andrew wouldn't—couldn't—blame you for it. He thinks that's what you should do.

You don't.

The following morning, your routine changes.

On the nights you fall asleep in your bed, you're usually dressed in a pair of jeans with gems decorating the pockets and a low-cut top by the time you emerge from your room.

But not this time.

No, this time you're still wearing the same clothes you'd fallen asleep in. A lacy bra and cotton shorts.

Andrew watches, freshly emerged from the quickest shower of his life, hair still wet, as you stand in front of the fridge to find the fizzy energy drink you'd brought home with you last night.

He watches you struggle for a moment to crack the seal open (Those pretty nails of yours. He could help you with that, you know). You take a slow sip, put the aluminum can down on the counter, and turn your head just enough to let Pope know you see him.

You know he's there, in the window. You know he's watching.

And then, painfully slow, you drag your shorts down your thighs. The fabric pools at your feet, and Pope loses all train of thought.

Because this is no accident. You want this. You want him to watch you.

Your bra is next. You reach around to unclasp it and soon after the lace joins the linen fabric on the linoleum floor.

Warmth blooms beneath his skin as he watches you press your hands to your abdomen, feeling your skin, running your hands up your chest and over the swell of your breasts.

You try and play it off like a stretch, lifting your arms above your head and arching your back.

Andrew knows it's not.

You get ready the rest of the morning like normal. And Andrew…God. He doesn't know what to think.

He knows he should stop this before it goes too far. He thinks it already has.

It's…it's weird, right?

Everything about it is wrong.

He doesn't want to stop, but he knows he should.

He tries, though. For what little it's worth.

Tries to busy himself building a fountain at Smurf's. Tries to find small jobs he can do himself to pass the time. He still thinks about you all hours of the day, though. Like a thorn stuck beneath his skin, aching when he moves just the wrong way.

He overhears Nicky explaining to Deran what an 'everything shower' is and thinks about your Sunday ritual. He walks into a hungover Craig making boxed macaroni in his boxers and thinks of you. Smurf lights a candle called pink cashmere and even though it's not pink champagne, it still makes him think of you.

The pretty little girl in the apartment across from his, who he finds himself certifiably, insanely, obsessed with.

One Thursday afternoon, Andrew returns home earlier than he'd planned. He tells himself he just wants to get a little glance.

Just one look. You know, to soothe the ache the thought of you brings. To see if maybe he imagined the weight of your stare.

What he finds, though, is somehow more concerning.

You're pacing your living room, cell phone pressed to your ear, still wearing jeans and your sneakers. There's tension in your shoulders and even though he can't hear the conversation you're having with the person on the other end of the phone, he can see that you're shouting.

It drags on for the better half of an hour. The pacing, the frustrated hand waving, the pinching of the bridge of your nose. Whatever it is, Andrew bets he could help with it.

He hates seeing you stressed. Thinks you should be living your fun, carefree life like normal. You shouldn't be burdened with…whatever it is that's got you so upset.

But it's not like he can go over and just ask.

So, he chooses a different path instead.

Gets the key to the office of the apartment complex from Smurf. Rummages through the paper files until he finds the lease contract linked to your apartment number.

Andrew thinks he should've done this weeks ago. He learns an awful lot about you this way. Like your name, which he begins to recite like a mantra in his head. He learns your birthday and, regretfully, your age.

But, most importantly, he discovers (and memorizes) your phone number.

And that same day, he returns to Smurf's with a torn piece of paper with the digits scribbled on it. He hands it to his nephew and says, "Need you to get a few phone call records. Can you do that for me?"

J furrows his brows in confusion. "Who's number?"

Pope shrugs. "No one," he lies. "Can you get the records or not?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, probably. Anything specific you're looking for?"

"I wanna know about a call that happened today. Around two or so. Lasted almost an hour. Just get me the number of whoever was on the other line."

J hesitates for a single moment, and then nods slowly. "Alright. I'll get back to you on it."

In the meantime, Andrew spirals.

The thought of you having a boyfriend never really crossed his mind until now. You don't really have men over. Just your girl friends.

But there are some Saturday nights you don't come home, stumbling in early Sunday morning instead with sunglasses on and your hair a mess. So, Pope thinks you very well could have a boyfriend and he never would've known it.

Pope tells himself if it is a boyfriend, he won't…he won't do anything. It's not his place to make decisions for you, right?

Still. You shouldn't let a man stress you out so much. Whoever it is, they're not worth it. You deserve better. You deserve more.

You deserve someone who knows you.

Less than two hours later, Pope gets a phone call from J, who explains that the person on the other end of that phone call wasn't a person at all.

It was your phone company.

Your stupid fucking service provider who just so happened to put an extra two hundred dollar fee on your bill this month, claiming data overages.

All that stress wasn't over a boyfriend. It was over money.

And money is something Andrew can provide.

He waits until you leave for work, locking up tight behind you. But that doesn't matter, not now. Andrew has a key to the office, which means he has access to the spare key to your apartment.

He is fully aware that he shouldn't be doing this, but ten minutes after you leave he unlocks the door and steps inside anyway.

Your apartment smells sweet. Like sugar and citrus. He wonders if you smell the same way, and the thought alone makes Andrew's mouth water.

He moves slowly into your space, fingers tracing over the TV stand, feeling the wood beneath his calloused fingertips. He straightens the crooked throw pillow on the couch and puts the lighter for your candle back into the tray on the coffee table.

Andrew knows he should just…leave the cash and go. He shouldn't be snooping around, invading your privacy.

But you left a knife point-side up in the strainer in the sink. And you could get hurt doing something like that.

And once he's already in the kitchen, turning the knife over so the sharp edge is down, well…what will it hurt if he opens a couple of drawers?

None of your silverware matches. Andrew finds this little fact sort of endearing. Messy and chaotic in the same way you are, but that's okay. Maybe he can fix that for you one day, too.

Your bathroom is cluttered. There's makeup products littering the porcelain sink and the cabinet mirror is left wide open. Andrew picks up a few different products to read the labels and finds lip liners and leave-in conditioners and powdered blush with pilled pigment on the counter.

He finds that lotion you're always using on Sundays and opens the lid. Andrew brings the container to his nose, inhales deeply, and feels suddenly too hot.

The scent of it is sweet, like you. There's notes of syrupy amber and warm florals and it has the muscles in his abdomen squeezing tight as he thinks about how potent the scent would be if he were between your legs, freshly oiled, calves resting on his shoulders as he licks and sucks at your clit.

His cock has been half hard since the moment he stepped foot in your apartment, but by the time he makes it to your bedroom?

Pope is aching.

Your clothes are strewn all over. There's t-shirts on the floor and jeans inside out near the hamper and a dress you'd worn two weekends ago lying on the edge of your unmade bed.

It smells like you in here, too. Even more so. There's less perfume, but Andrew swears he can smell the scent of your skin. Sweet and intoxicating, sending sparks of arousal straight to his groin.

Your bedside table has a lamp on it and three half-empty bottles of water. There's one drawer, and he pries it open and gives a slow exhale to see all the silk and lace inside.

Going through your underwear drawer is, quite literally, the very last thing someone like Andrew Cody should be doing.

He does it anyway.

Rummages around until he finds that little black pair you like to sleep in. He runs his fingers over the lace band, feeling the softness beneath the rough pad of his thumb. His cock is throbbing, even before he brings the fabric to his nose and inhales the scent of laundry detergent and faint mahogany from the nightstand and—there. The scent of you.

As close as he can get.

As close as he'll probably ever get.

He needs to leave. Andrew is painfully aware that this is crossing a line of a whole new degree. Levels above simply watching.

This is obsession. This is addiction. Sick and twisted and perverted.

Andrew does not leave.

He climbs into your bed instead. Kicks off his boots and discards his hoodie until he's in nothing but his jeans. He slips beneath your sheets—satin, and pink, and filled with the scent of your shampoo and your skin and—fuck.

His cock is leaking by the time he undoes his belt. Andrew reaches beneath your blankets and shoves his jeans down just enough to free himself.

And it's almost enough to blow his load right fucking there, when the underside of his heavy length brushes against the fabric of your sheets. It's almost too much, being in your room, in your bed, breathing in your scent.

But he resists. Grits his teeth and takes his cock in one hand and uses the other to wrap the soft fabric of your underwear around his aching length.

This time, there's nothing slow about the way he strokes himself to the thought of you. He's desperate for it. Release already clouds the edges of his mind and he needs the relief it'll provide.

His brain feels hazy and his vision blurs, just thinking about you, lying here, hand between your legs. He wonders how you touch yourself, if you just play with your clit or if you fuck yourself on your fingers.

The thought crosses his mind that you might be using more than just your hand, and Pope finds himself sitting up. He leans over the edge of your bed and sticks his hand back into your panty drawer, reaching to the very bottom, feeling around until the tips of his fingers brush over silicone.

His heart is beating fast.

It's a small thing. Pink, of course. With only a small, almost hidden power button.

Pope leans back in your pillows and turns the little vibrator on. It buzzes to life in his hand, and when he pushes the button again, the intensity ratchets even higher.

There's only three settings. He turns it to the highest one and imagines holding it against your swollen clit. He imagines you lying under him, thighs around his waist, hips bucking wildly, chasing the vibration that he gives and gives and then takes away.

He turns so he's lying face down in your sheets now, nose pressed into your pillow. Pope puts the vibrator between his cock and the soft expanse of his abdomen, and he feels the sensation everywhere.

He's still got your underwear wrapped around his cock, and he gives a tentative roll of his hips against the mattress.

The groan he lets out is guttural. With his eyes closed, he can imagine its not your panties he's fucking but you. The tight, wet cunt between your legs. He can imagine it's the curve of your throat he's got his nose buried in and not your pillow. He can imagine that sweet, intense vibration is reverberating through your pelvic bone, little toy pressed hard against your clit.

Pope tells himself he'd make it so fucking good for you. He'd bury his cock so deep you'd never forget the weight of it inside you. He'd whisper how beautiful you are in your ear and make you look him in the eyes while he watches you cum over and over and over.

His release is…embarrassingly fast.

A few rolls of his hips against your mattress and he's cumming into the lace fabric of your panties, the vibration of the toy milking him until he's so overstimulated it almost hurts.

Pope rolls over, turns the toy off, and buries it back in the bottom of your drawer. He gives himself a few more moments to gather himself. To catch his breath, to wipe himself clean (never mind the couple of drops that now stain your satin sheets. That could be from anything, right?).

He tucks himself back into his jeans, pulls on his boots and his hoodie, and tosses your underwear in the pile of clothes next to the laundry bin.

There's a pair of your jeans in the middle of the floor, away from the rest. One leg of the denim is inside out. Pope takes the cash from his wallet and tucks it into the pocket, leaving out just enough that he knows you'll notice it.

He leaves.

Locks the door behind him with the spare key.

Makes it halfway across the courtyard before he doubles back, lets himself back into your apartment and into the bathroom where he pockets one of the many different chapsticks on the sink.

It isn't until he's home, tucked safe back in his own apartment, that he realizes it's strawberries and cream flavored.

Andrew puts it on, swiping the transparent petroleum over his lips. He tells himself it's almost like kissing.

Later that day, Craig calls a family meeting. But you've just gotten home, and he knows you'll find the cash within a few minutes when you go to change out of your clothes.

So Andrew waits at the bottom of the stairs on his side of the courtyard. He can't see into your apartment from here, though. And he decides he'll only wait for thirty minutes.

He responds to text messages and opens his blank, photo-less Instagram (that he definitely didn't make only to look at your profile. The one filled with selfies under neon lights and bikini photos on the beach and mirror pictures in the dressing room at that one boutique in the mall).

Twenty nine minutes later, he hears an apartment door slam shut and looks up to see you.

You've got your bag over one shoulder and a grin on your face and the cash in your hand. Enough to cover the additional charges and a little extra, too.

You notice him at the bottom of the cement stairs and freeze, but you don't look…scared, like he expects. Maybe a little startled at first, but the tension bleeds from your face the moment you recognize him.

He should say something. Talk to you. Apologize, maybe, for staring at you.

But Andrew isn't sorry.

And he's never really been good at talking, anyway.

You tilt your head and give him the sweetest fucking smile he's ever seen. It's somehow innocent and knowing at the same time, and Andrew feels the corners of his mouth lifting in response.

Something passes silently between you. An understanding, maybe. You know he watches you, and he knows you know, but…you don't stop him. You just let it happen.

You smile at him from fifteen feet away.

And then you turn to leave, no doubt making your way to pay off that stupid bill that caused you so much unrest.

Pope watches you go, like always.

But this time, you glance back at him over your shoulder with…something lingering in your pretty eyes. Excitement, maybe. He can't be sure.

He needs to get closer.

During the family meeting, he isn't very present. His mind is so far away, stuck on you, that he just blindly agrees to whatever job they're doing next and trusts that it'll all work out.

When he returns to his apartment, there's a note stuck to his door.

A pink sticky note with nothing but a phone number and a heart with an arrow through it scribbled on the paper.

Your phone number, Pope knows.

He knows he shouldn't text you.

It's stupid and dangerous and god, you really shouldn't be giving your number to random men. He could be a creep. He could be a stalker or something.

His message just says,

Hello.

Your response is immediate, with no capitalization which seems quite…fitting for you. He finds it strangely endearing.

hey

are u the guy from apt 212 ???

Pope can feel that this is a bad idea already. But he's already here, and there's no going back now, is there? He doesn't want to hurt your feelings. He doesn't want to leave you on read and make you think he's not interested when the problem is the exact opposite.

Yes.

The typing bubble pops up, disappears, and appears again three different times before you send another message.

im gonna be home in like an hr

will u be watching ???

Always, he wants to say. Fucking always. He can't take his eyes off you, no matter how hard he tries. No matter how shameful it feels.

Andrew's hands shake as he types out a response.

Do you want me to be?

No hesitation this time. Your message comes through a second later.

uhmmm tbh yeah <3

He exhales a long breath. It doesn't feel real. Like he's imagining the entire thing. How could he not be? Why on earth would the sweetest, prettiest little thing want someone to watch her?

But the weight of his cell phone in his hand is real.

And the text message is real.

And this…this is real.

Then yes. I will be.

You don't reply, and Andrew's heart flutters in his chest as he takes his practiced position in the chair in front of his window and waits.

True to your word, you're skipping up the steps fifty three minutes after the last message is sent. You turn on those LEDs and and move about your apartment like normal, kicking off your sneakers and dropping your bag by the door. You change out of your clothes and put on a worn in t-shirt that's two sizes too big for you, but underneath…

Pope can see the sheer thigh highs you wear and the black, lace edge of them. He can see those strappy garters attached to them, but nothing else. The straps disappear beneath your shirt, leaving him wanting for more.

You're teasing him, Pope realizes.

He watches with bated breath as you lay on the couch, getting comfortable with the throw pillow against the arm.

And then, for the first time, Andrew watches you touch yourself.

You start slowly, hands roaming over your body, on top of the fabric, massaging gently at the inside of your thighs.

His cock's always hard watching you, truth be told. But this…

His skin feels hot. His lungs feel tight.

Your fingers curl around the edge of your t-shirt, and you pull it over your head to discard it on the floor.

Andrew hasn't seen you wear this set before, not even on those sacred Sundays.

It's pretty. Matching black lace. The bra is low cut and pushes your breasts up your chest, the soft flesh swelling over the top. The waistband of the matching panties is decorated in shining silver gems, laying so perfectly against your hips that he feels dizzy just looking at it.

The prettiest package, just begging to be unraveled by his big, mean hands.

You dressed up for him.

You dressed up for him.

Your hands start to move again, palming your breasts, pulling the lace down until they spill out of the top. Your nipples are so pretty that his mouth waters. He wants to kiss them, to feel the shape of them under his tongue. He wants to kneel over top of you and jerk himself off until they're covered in his sticky white release.

You squeeze your breasts until your nipples form pretty little peaks, and then your hands slide lower. Over your abdomen, and your hips, and then your thighs. You bring them slowly back up, only to slide them over the lace fabric of your panties, right down the center of your cunt.

Andrew thinks he could die.

He could fucking die, just looking at you.

Carefully, you unbuckle the chrome latch of your garter. The left side first, and then the right quickly follows. You leave the lace belt on, but hook your thumbs around the bedazzled lace of your panties and pull them down your thighs painfully slowly.

Your knees fall apart.

Pope swallows hard.

He can see everything from here. The seam of your thighs that he's dreamt about. The pretty shape of your pussy. The wetness that's gathered between your folds, slick and shiny with arousal. With want.

For him. It's for him.

His cock throbs so hard it hurts.

Pope doesn't touch himself. He can't. Can he? All you asked of him was that he watched.

That's what you wanted.

But wouldn't it be better if he was there? Wouldn't it be better if he could touch you, if he could taste you, if he could fuck you?

All you'd have to do is let him in.

Your fingers stroke gently over your clit in small circles, and he watches in awe as your lips part and your spine bends.

He can't hear your moans but god does he wish he could. Thinks about putting a little microphone in your lampshade the next time he sneaks into your apartment.

Your fingers drift lower, over your center, and slowly press inside.

Pope wants it to be him so fucking bad.

If not his cock inside you then his fingers. They're bigger. Longer. Thicker. They'd please you more. Reach places your fingers can't.

Maybe his tongue. He'd drink you right from the fucking source and cum in his jeans, probably. But he'd make sure to find that sweet, velvety spot inside you first and he'd spell his full fucking name over it with a pointed tongue.

Silly girl. Don't you know what he could do for you? Don't you know what he could do to you?

Pope squeezes the bulge in his jeans to try and alleviate the pain of his lust.

You fuck yourself with your fingers, stuffing in one and then two and then three, stretching yourself on them, slick dripping down the seam of your cunt. Your back arches when your free hand finds your clit, and he knows you're close.

He knows he shouldn't, but he searches frantically for his phone anyway and sends another text message.

I want to hear you.

You pause only long enough to grab your phone off the coffee table, read the text, and lay your phone on the arm of the couch behind you.

Pope's phone buzzes in his hand.

You're calling him.

He answers on the first ring, and the sounds that greet him are so erotic it steals the breath from his lungs.

You sound so pretty. So sweet and feminine, everything he's imagined yet somehow so, so much more. He's sure you can hear his heavy breaths on the other end of the phone, but Pope can't find it in himself to care. Can't think of much else besides the way you whimper and the sight of your fingers stuffed inside you.

"Oh, god—"

His inhale is shaky.

"I'm gonna cum," you choke out, words hazy with your moans. "I'm so close, I'm so fucking—hmm. Yes. What's your name?"

He almost doesn't hear you, so lost in the sight before him. Immersed in the euphoria of it. But then he says, voice a low, uncertain whisper, "Andrew."

Your spine bends and the fingers on your clit slow. "Oh my god. Fuck, Andrew—I'm cumming, I'm—yes, yes—god."

His cock twitches and when he tries to soothe it with another tight squeeze, he sends himself careening off the precipice of release instead. His head falls back and his once heavy breaths get stuck in his lungs. Pope rubs himself over his jeans, making a sticky, hot mess in his boxers, generating what little friction he can.

He watches you come down in real time. Not his dreams, not his imagination. He watches it happen. Watches that fucked-out, hazy look cross your face. Watches the tension in your muscles melt away, wishing he could kiss the junction of your throat.

Pope wishes he could worship you. Wishes he could clean you up and put on that trashy reality show you like and hold you against his chest, comforting you while your brain comes back to earth.

Instead, you lean up. Grab your phone and press it to your ear, staring right at him through his wide open window.

He doesn't know what he expects you to say, but it's certainly not, "Have you been inside my apartment, Andrew?"

For a second, he thinks about lying. Because there's no way you know, right? Not for sure. It's not like you have cameras or anything (he knows, because he checked).

But he doesn't want to lie. Not to you.

"I…might have been. Once, yes."

"Did you steal my chapstick?"

"You have ten of them."

He hears your laugh for the first time, and the sound is like sunlight in his chest. "You took the best flavor."

"I'm…I'm sorry. I'll return it."

"Keep it. I already got a new one," you say. "Cost me five hundred dollars, though."

So, you know it was him who left the cash, too.

Smart, pretty girl.

He doesn't say anything, too afraid he'll say something stupid or awkward the way he usually does. He doesn't want to ruin this moment. This absolutely perfect moment.

You smile at him, kiss your palm, and blow it towards your window. "Goodnight, Andrew."

He feels his face heat. "Goodnight."

Pope rides the high of it for days.

Can't shake the sight of you open and bare for him. Can't stop thinking about the sound of your moans or the way you'd said his name in the peak of euphoria. He fucks his first to the thought of it more times than he can count.

And Andrew's never been a really sexual person. Not unless it's with someone he loves.

But is that what this is? Love?

You've never met. Not really, not properly. How could it be something so intense? You don't know him. You don't know who he is or what he does. You don't know how he's hurt and maimed and killed.

Would you be afraid, finding out? Would you run to the police if you knew? Would you recoil away from him with terror in your eyes?

All things left unsaid. All things that may, very well, never be said.

Pope feels so uncertain with all of this that he finds himself resorting to fucking google, even. Search history littered with questions and Reddit threads that never provide any real clarity.

Define love.

Define obsession.

How to know if you're in love?

How to ask a girl out?

How to get over a girl.

Define voyeur.

Define fetish.

How big of an age gap is too big?

Apartments for sale on the east coast.

Pink champagne candle.

Strawberries and cream chapstick bulk pack.

You text him again a week after your exhibitionistic display.

do u wanna like go out sometime?? been thinking about u a lot

He's at Smurf's when he reads the message.

Pope doesn't even realize he's smiling until Deran slides a beer across the counter at him and asks, "What's got you all happy today?"

And Pope just shakes his head. Schools his features back into neutrality and says, "Nothing. Just won a bet."

He can tell his brother doesn't believe him, not even for a second. But thankfully, Deran doesn't push any further. He lets the subject go, but the question stays stuck in Andrew's head for hours.

It takes him a while to decide on a response. It's honest, and…mostly true.

We shouldn't. I'm a lot older than you.

Your response is a single, painful letter.

k

He doesn't respond to try his hand at damage control, even though he wants to. It's probably better this way, he thinks. Better that there's some distance between you. Better that you hate him and see him as the creepy neighbor he is.

But that Saturday night, when you return home, it's not with your friends.

Pope watches from his window as you guide a man up the stairs and into your apartment.

He's tall. Dark haired, with bright eyes and white teeth and a good smile. Closer to your age. Handsome like a man allowed into your space should be.

You're fumbling a little with your apartment key and Pope watches as the man stands behind you and slides his hands down the back of your thighs.

Thighs he should be touching. Thighs he's watched for months. Thighs that spread for him, long before this fucking loser ever laid his eyes on you.

He tells himself he won't interfere.

You're your own woman. You deserve to feel good, even if it's with…someone else.

And Pope knows he's just going to have to get the fuck over it.

He did it to himself, really.

He should look away.

But he watches instead.

Watches the two of you fall onto the couch. Watches another man kiss down the column of your throat and squeeze the supple curve of your ass over your sequined dress.

Your eyes find his from across the courtyard, and Pope's jaw clenches.

Putting on another show for him. Filthy, filthy girl.

And you're just going to give it to some random man? Someone who doesn't know you like Pope does? Someone who doesn't know how you like to be touched?

He needs to look away. Close his own fucking blinds for once.

But he feels frozen. Knowing this time, you're watching him. Looking for him. Goading for a reaction.

Pope watches the slow ascent of the man's hand. Promises himself he won't interfere. He'll just watch to make sure you're safe, that's all.

But the moment that greedy hand disappears beneath your dress, Andrew's moving. Throwing open his door and slamming it closed behind him. He crosses the courtyard and takes the steps two at a time.

His fist against your apartment door is incessant. He doesn't stop, even when he hears the uttered, male voice ask, "Who is that?"

When the door opens, it's you who stands in front of him, chin tilted up as you stare at him, pupils flared wide.

The man you'd brought home with you hovers over your shoulder.

Pope doesn't even look at him. He stares only at you as he says, a little snarl in his voice, "Tell him to leave."

"Dude, what the fuck? Who is this guy?"

Your lips curl at the corners. A devilish little smile. "Okay," you say, nodding, your voice soft and pliant. You turn your head to look at the man who stands behind you. "Sorry, but you've gotta go."

"You're joking," he responds flatly. "You said I could—!"

Andrew reaches past you and takes him by the collar, pulling him out of your apartment and slamming him up against the paneled siding. "I ever see you in this apartment again, I'll fucking kill you. You understand me?"

"Jesus fucking—yeah, okay. Alright. Sorry."

Pope isn't joking. Doesn't say it to scare him off but rather as a warning.

He lets him go and watches him scramble down the stairs. He doesn't turn back to face you until the little tool you used for attention gets in his car and drives away.

And when he does finally turn back to you…Christ. Your eyes are half lidded and full of lust. Pope's close enough this time that there's no mistaking it.

He should be a gentleman. Should take you out first. Bring you home and kiss you on your doorstep and leave you untouched.

He knows he should.

What he does instead is curl his hand around the back of your neck and pull you to him. He leans down, mouth hovering over yours, breathing in your panicky exhales. "This what you want?"

Your grin is immediate and undeniable. You nod and breathe out the word, "Please."

Andrew kisses you hard, crowding you back into your apartment. He kicks the door closed behind him and slides his tongue into your mouth, tasting you and groaning at the sweetness. There's mint and strawberry and you, his favorite flavor.

He feels drunk on it. On the taste of your tongue, the glide of your wet lips over his, the way your hands scramble and tug desperately at his belt.

"Fuck," he sighs, pulling back just enough to see you. "Open your mouth, baby. Wide. And stick out your tongue."

The way you immediately obey has his cock twitching. Good girl. So fucking good for him when he gives you exactly what you need.

Andrew licks the flat of your tongue once, delighting in the way you whimper in response, before bringing his hand to your mouth. He slides two fingers behind your teeth and orders, "Suck."

You do, lips closing tight around the digits, wet tongue swirling over his thick knuckles. He pushes them further down your throat, your eyes locked on his as he makes you choke on them.

"So fucking pretty," he tells you. "You always look so pretty."

Andrew pulls the straps of your mini dress over your shoulders, roughly tugging the fabric over your chest down to expose your breasts.

You're wearing the same lace bra you'd worn when you dressed up for him, he realizes. He can see the peaks of your nipples through the semi-sheer fabric, and leans down to lock his lips around the left one over the lace.

The fabric is rough beneath his tongue, a stark contrast to the softness of your skin. He sucks hard, spreading the wetness of his saliva over the lace. You push your dress further down your waist and over your hips.

Andrew slides his fingers out of your mouth, sticky and dripping with your spit. He brings them to his own lips instead and sucks them clean, watching your breath hitch and your eyes grow impossibly more hazy.

He lowers himself to his knees before you and his slick fingers work quickly at the straps of your heels, unbuckling them to free your pretty, white-painted toes.

Your hands find his shoulders for balance. "I like that you watch me," you tell him. "I think about it sometimes and it makes me so…god, Andrew. It gets me so wet."

He looks up at you from his knees, big brown eyes glassy and full of adoration. "Good," he says. "'Cause I'm gonna watch you a little closer tonight."

That pretty smile finds its way to your face again.

Andrew presses a sweet, chaste kiss to the apex of your thighs. Over your panties, right where he knows your clit lies beneath. He then stands to his feet, towering over you now without the added height of your heels, and presses you forward.

You take a careful step back, nearly losing your balance.

Andrew grins, taking another step, crowding you back towards your bedroom. He doesn't stop until the back of your knees hit the edge of your mattress.

You stumble backwards, falling into the plush sheets that he's all too familiar with. Lying on your back, propped up by your elbows, you stare up at him with wide eyes and he's reminded of a timid little animal caught in the trap of a predator.

Don't you know how dangerous he could be?

You don't look afraid. You actually look…eager.

Pope stands tall at the edge of your mattress. "Take off your clothes."

You do. Unclasping your bra first, tossing the fabric into the already existing mess on the floor. And then your panties follow, thumbs hooking around the fabric to drag it down your legs.

Andrew reaches around and fists the collar of his shirt, tugging it over his head. He feels warm all over, watching you greedily drink up the sight of him. He thinks he'd feel a little nervous, in any other setting. If it were anyone but you.

His sweet, filthy girl.

Andrew reaches into the half-open drawer of your nightstand, searching until he finds your vibrator again.

Your brows furrow as you watch him find it with practiced ease. "You went through my underwear drawer, too?"

"Did more than that," he admits.

You inhale like you're going to speak again, but the words melt to nothing when he tosses the small toy onto the bed beside you.

"Use it," Pope orders.

"What?"

He crawls onto the mattress between your legs, spreading them wide, laying your calves on either side of his hips. "Let me watch you."

There's a moment of hesitation, but you don't look nervous. Only…curious.

You pick up the vibrator and slide the pink silicone through your folds, spreading your arousal before you press the power button. You circle your clit with the tip of it a few times, teasing yourself.

When you turn the toy on, he can feel the vibration against his hands that grip your thighs. You let out a syrupy moan and turn the intensity higher, drawing tight circles around your pretty clit.

He watches you, eyes locked on the pink silicone between your legs. He watches your entrance flutter, tightening around nothing, begging to be filled. "Your pussy is so pretty," he mutters. "Do you know that?"

Your only response is a breathy whimper. You click the intensity up again, putting it on the highest setting, and Pope sighs when your legs begin to shake around him.

He wants to watch you make yourself cum. Wants another scene to fuck his fist to in the shower or in his bed or in his truck.

But he's here. Finally, finally here, in your bed, with you, and he can't help himself.

Pope grips your hips hard and pulls you closer, tilting your hips up into his lap. The vibrator falls from your hand at the sudden movement, but he's quick to return it to you. "Keep going."

You press the silicone back to your clit, and Andrew spreads you open with gentle thumbs. He gathers the spit in his mouth and lets it drip from his lips and onto the seam of your cunt.

And then he's sliding his middle finger inside of your entrance, curling it upwards, searching for that sweet spot that makes you writhe.

It doesn't take long. He's watched you. He knows just what you like and what angle to hit. And the second the tip of his finger presses hard against it, you fist your free hand in the sheets and curses fall from your sweet mouth.

Pope slides another thick finger inside, watching the way you squirm, feeling the walls of your cunt flutter around the swell of his knuckles.

"I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna—oh, fuck. Feels so good, feels so fucking—"

A long, throaty moan leaves your mouth, and he feels the warmth of your release pool in his palm. You're so slick that each wet thrust of his fingers echoes against the walls of your room.

He doesn't stop until you're twitching. Until you click the vibrator off and shove it away from you. And even then, he still gives a few, slow curls of his fingers inside of you. Not touching with intent, just…feeling. Memorizing.

Once you catch your breath, you lean up enough to find his eyes again. You say timidly, shyly, "I want…I want to feel you, Andrew. I want you inside me. Do you…do you want to fuck me?"

It's the most asinine question he's ever been asked in his fucking life. Does he want to fuck you?

He's thought of nothing else for months. Every night when he fights for sleep, it's the thought of you under him that puts him to bed.

It's such an impractical concern from his point of view that he laughs. Actually laughs, for the first time in years. "Oh, baby."

Pope takes your hands in his. He presses one to his chest, right over his heart, and the other against the hardness in his jeans.

"I have never wanted another woman as bad as I want you," he says truthfully. "But I…you…you deserve better than this. Better than me. You understand that, don't you?"

You shake your head. "You don't know me, Andrew. Not really. You don't know if—"

"No, no. I do. I know you're the kind of friend who would give the shirt off their back. The kind of girl who'd let her phone get cut off before asking for help. The kind of girl who gets up every morning and just…tries. Every day. And you fucking…you smile about it. You're good. You're so fucking good and I…"

He stops.

Remembers the last time he loved someone like this and how he'd made a stupid confession he should've taken to his grave and how it'd fucked him completely.

"You're what, Andrew?"

Pope swallows. "I'm...I'm a bad man. I've hurt people. I will…hurt people, I—" His voice cracks. He lowers his eyes, trying to turn away, unable to find the strength to face you.

But you take his jaw in your gentle hands and force him to look at you. Sweet, angel of a girl that you are. And then you say without a waver to be found in your voice, "I like who you are. Do you think I gave the man who watches me through my window my phone number because I want some guy I could match with on Tinder?"

He tries to slow the rapid pounding of his heart. He wonders if love is supposed to be like this. To feel like this. All consuming and terrifying and devastatingly hopeful above all.

You shake your head and tuck your legs beneath you, sitting up on your knees. He sits stone still as you lean forward and kiss his cheek, whispering against his ear, "I've been watching you, too, Andrew Cody."

Something shifts inside of him as you say it. Uttering his last name that he'd never given you, that isn't even on his lease because this is a fake apartment under a fake name to launder the money they steal.

Oh—sweet, smart girl. Smarter than he thought.

How silly of him to ever doubt you.

There's a newfound wildness in your eyes when they meet his again. An unveiling. Like he's seeing you for who you truly are for the first time.

And you're…god. So fucking beautiful.

And, yeah. Pope thinks he's been right this whole fucking time.

He's weird and wrong and sickly obsessed.

But you are, too.

Andrew takes you by the back of the neck and kisses you hard, desperate to taste you, to close what little physical space remains between your body and his. He pushes you back against the mattress and follows you down.

Your hands find his belt buckle before he does, and he stares down at you as your deft fingers pry the leather open and unbutton his jeans. He helps you push the denim down his legs until his cock springs free, heavy and leaking. Wanting for you, twitching as you take it carefully in your hand.

A groan reverberates at the back of his mouth. Your hands are so soft. Perfect and pliant. One day, he swears he'll show you how he likes to be touched. He'll let you sit in his lap and watch him stroke his cock for you.

But for now, he lets you touch him slowly. Experimental. Feeling the heavy weight of him in your palm. You spit on your fingertips and spread your saliva over his sensitive tip, flushed red and pulsing beneath your touch.

You lean back and guide him between your thighs, sliding the head of his cock through your syrupy folds and over your clit.

The moment you line him up at your entrance, Pope eases inside and you let out the sweetest fucking sigh he's ever heard in his entire life. Sweet and soft and so, so satisfied.

It's so beautiful. You're so beautiful. And you feel warm and heavenly and wet around him. He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, and then drives his cock back into your cunt.

You squeal and those sharp, acrylic nails dig into his spine. But your legs circle his hips, and so Pope does it again.

He fucks you hard. Claiming that spot at the back of your cunt, pressed right up against your cervix. He rolls his hips and presses his mouth to yours, swallowing up those desperate, carnal sounds he pulls out of our chest.

Sweet girl. Sweet fucking girl. He reaches between you and circles your clit. "My girl now," he says, words spoken against your lips. "You'll never need anyone else, baby. No one but me."

You nod, the velvety walls of your pussy squeezing around the hard length of his cock.

Andrew puts his whole weight on top of you, grinding himself between your thighs, giving you everything he has. Everything he is.

"I'm yours," you choke out. "I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm—"

It becomes a mantra. One that feeds his desire, in perfect sync with the rhythm of his thrusts. He watches your arousal begin to crest, nearing the summit, the muscles in your thighs twitching. "Look at me, baby," he says. "Tell me you love me when I make you cum."

You're so lost in it, head all spacey, that your eyes remain closed until he takes your jaw in a firm grip.

There are pretty tears in your eyes when you open them, but that smile on your face is present, too. He feels you pulse around him and your breath gets all shallow and then—

"I love you, Andrew, I fucking—oh my god please, please—I love you."

The words are music to his ears, tingling down his spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He thought the sound of his name in your mouth was beautiful but this…fuck. He could die.

Pope thinks he would. For you, he would.

He fucks you through it. Tastes your moans and says, "Yeah, that's it. Give it to me. Look so pretty when you cum for me."

He doesn't let his pace falter until your muscles loosen, until your nails stroke gently over his spin instead of leaving marks.

You pepper sweet kisses over his jaw, tongue sliding up the shell of his ear. "I want you to cum inside me," you tell him.

He's been fighting it the whole time, trying desperately not to blow his load before he'd at least gotten you there first.

But when you say that?

When you say, "Please, Andrew. Want you to give it to me. Want you to fill me up with your cum. Please. I need it."

He thinks about telling you that you don't have to beg. Not him, not for anything (especially this). But you just sound so pretty, begging for his cum, that he can't bring himself to do it.

So, he gives you what you want instead. Fucks his cum into you, groaning low in your ear, cock pulsing inside you. You feel so good wrapped around him it's euphoric. Otherworldly.

Your pussy grips tight, milking him dry, taking every last drop (he knows you're on birth control. Don't you know the women's clinic downtown keeps a spare key beneath the plant in front of their door?).

Andrew is careful when he slides out of you. And he wastes no time before kicking his jeans the rest of the way off and pulling you against his chest.

He pulls the blanket up around your shoulders and presses a kiss to your hairline. His voice wavers a little as he says, "Sorry if I…if I was a little rough."

You shake your head, pressing your nose to the divot between his pectorals. "It was perfect," you murmur against his skin.

Silence settles between you. Comfortable and easy, the sound of your breathing in perfect synchronization.

After some time you say, "I meant it, you know. Wouldn't have said it if I didn't. I really think I might be in love with you, Andrew. Is that…crazy?"

Yes, he wants to say.

But he feels it, too.

So instead he says, "You know, I don't…I don't have much experience with that sorta thing. Don't really know how to…to navigate it, I guess. But, uhm…yeah. Me, too."

He feels that smile of yours against his chest.

Andrew knows that this dynamic the two of you have created is weird.

He knows that.

But at least, now, he's not alone in it.

He shakes his head with a soft sigh, placing the bags in there and shutting the door.

“Kick the air on. It’s hot.” He tosses you the keys while turning to push the cart back to its return spot.

You grab the keys out of the air and roll your eyes when you turn, climbing into the passenger seat and reaching over the console to stick the keys in the ignition and turn them. The engine rumbles and you turn the dial for the AC. You almost gag when it first blows the hot air right back into your face.

“Kick the air on, it’s hot.” You grumble to yourself, turning your lips into a frown to mock his permanent scowl. “Like I don’t fucking know that.” You continue, picking at your thumb nails while Joel settles into the driver's side.

You can see him looking at you from the corner of your eye and it’s pissing you off. For no reason. He hasn’t done anything that he can remember, or that you can remember for that instance. But there's just a nagging feeling deep in your stomach and the way he’s breathing is pissing you off right now.

“Y’wanna order from that taco place tonight?” Joel glances over his shoulder at you before pulling away.

“Why would we order? We just went shopping.” You barely look at him while gesturing to the bags behind your seat.

Joel grunts and shrugs his shoulders.

What the fuck was he doing? You quickly dart your eyes over to him before focusing back to picking around your nails, just wanting to be home and out of whatever mood you’re stuck in.

“Yeah. But I know you like that place when.. Y’know..” He trails off and glances at you before turning back to the road.

You pinch your face in confusion, looking up from your nails but still not at him- just straight ahead into the dashboard. You’re honestly speechless for a moment because you know if you open your mouth right away it won’t be nice. You suck in a deep breath and exhale, letting your shoulders relax.

“When do I like it?” You finally ask in a short breath.

“When you have your period.” Joel says a little quieter while keeping his eyes on the road.

“I don’t have my period.” you say flatly, annoyed that he’d even say that.

“Y’don’t?”

“No, Joel. I don’t.” You retort, laced with tone.

“Hm.” He grunts, slowly nodding his head.

The drive is silent for the next few moments, other than the soft hum of the air and the occasional grunt from his truck.

“Shouldn’t you?” He speaks up once stopping at a red light.

“What?” You bite.

“Have your period. Shouldn’t you?” He asks while his thick brows saddle together.

“Are you serious right now?” You turn towards him in your seat while he slowly starts driving again once the light turns green.

“Yeah, baby.”

He says it so simply that it digs under your skin.

“I’m not supposed to have it for a while.” You narrow your eyes at him.

“Then what is botherin’ you? Actin’ like I pissed in your wheaties this mornin’ or somethin’.”

You groan and toss your head back into the seat while digging your phone out of your shorts pocket and scrolling through to find your tracking app.

“You’re assuming you know more about my own body is pissing me off even more.” you speak quickly while tapping on the app icon and waiting for it to pull up.

“C’mon now, sweetheart. I ain’t say all that. You got a damn attitude with me all day.” He mumbles while you speak over him.

“An attitude? Oh, you think I’ve got an attitude now just you wait-” You pause abruptly when the graphic finally loads on your phone.

Joel turns his head lazily, expecting you to finish your remark but pinches his face in confusion when he sees your jaw hanging open.

“What?” He questions.

Seven days late. No fucking way. You feel a hard lump form immediately in your throat, heart drumming quickly against your chest.

“We need to stop at a drug store on the way home.” You say flatly, sure that your face has an expression of pure horror if you were to check.

“Can you tell me what's goin’ on in that head’a yours?” He says sternly.

“I’m late.” You blurt out, looking blankly onto the street.

Until the car jerks. Joel being a little heavy footed on the break at the red light.

“You’re what?” He raises his voice in surprise.

“I’m late.” You say a little louder. Shoving your phone back into your pocket.

You feel sick. You didn’t feel like that five minutes ago.. Could you be? No. No fucking way. You can’t even let yourself think of that. 

“How late?”

“Seven days.” You mumble.

He’s not being mean. At all. Even if he was being annoying he’es not being mean now but tears sting your waterline anyways. You’re scared. Of course you and Joel have talked about it before but never seriously, and no plans were ever made.

“Jesus.” He mutters.

That makes a tear spill. Not happy. Not chastising. But dismissive enough to make your mind reel. Even if it wasn’t meant to be that way. That one tear leads to another, and more slowly starts to roll down your warm cheeks. You don’t sob or gasp for air like you usually do when you’re crying, but you can’t stop these tears. They’re flowing freely despite constantly wiping them with the back of your hands. Joel turns into the next drug store you pass and pulls into a spot. Without a word you step out of the car, biting down on the inside of your lip to suppress any more tears while you’re in the store, closing the door on Joel when he says your name. You move without thinking, your legs taking you to the right aisle to pick up one of these dumb blue boxes. There's so many of them. Your feet pull you away once you grab a pack of six. Your feet stop you at the back of the line and your mind runs wild.

Okay.. It’s fine. Just a few days late. Stress can do that, you know. Stress willa absolutely make you a few days late.. But seven? A whole week late? Can stress push you back a whole week?

You swallow thickly and take a step forward in line, eyes darting around to make sure no one can hear what you’re thinking. You instinctively hide the box's logo against your chest while you wait in line.

Don’t make eye contact. Fucking, please do not make eye contact. You’re not the first person to buy one. Everyone buys them. Okay not everyone, but enough. Enough people buy them. They’ve probably sold ten just today. Are they looking at you? It feels like they’re all looking at you. No. No one’s looking. They’re not looking. Stop it.

“Excuse me?”

You snap your head in the direction of the voice.

“Hi.” You blurt out, eyes wide.

“I can check you out.”

Your feet take you there. The transaction is quick and painless. That's all you could have asked for. The drive back is silent. You don’t know which you’d prefer right now though. As much as you’d like to hear Joel say everything is okay, the silence is okay, too. The silence continues. All the way from the car and into the house and up to the bathroom. Joel stands just behind you while your shaky fingers pry open the box. You pause and look back at him.

“Look..” you start off, voice shaky. “ I know this is a lot and I’m sorry I didn’t catch it sooner and I completely understand that this will change our entire lives and you don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, that’s completely your choice but I just want to let you know that I won’t be-”

“Woah, woah.” Joel speaks up, placing both of his hands on your shoulders, bringing you closer to him. “You gotta breathe, darlin’.” 

You deeply inhale and slowly exhale while letting your shoulders drop. He gives you a soft squeeze.

“You think I’d up n’ leave you if that test was positive, hm?” He leans in and talks softly.

Your lower lip quivers just at the thought. “I wouldn’t blame you.” You whisper.

“You’re breakin’ my damn heart.” He tells you, whispering in the same tone. “Not leavin’ you no matter what that test says, darlin’. We’ve talked about this.”

He lowers his head to catch your gaze.

“Not seriously.” You point out in a quiet voice. 

“It was serious to me.” He says, voice firm but still kind. 

You lift your head to catch his eyes. 

“It was serious to me.” He repeats once locking onto your gaze. “I meant everything I ever said about it.” He smooths his hands down your shoulders to your elbows before engulfing you in his arms. 

You crumple into his chest and relish in it. In how firm he feels beyond the soft fabric of his shirt. He’s steady and strong like he always is. No wavering in his voice or an uptick in how his heart beats against his ribs. He means it. He pulls away after a beat, lifting your head with a soft nudge to your chin. 

“C’mon now. Let’s take it.” He says while reaching behind him for the box. 

He brings it between you and slowly unboxes it, letting you take the stick while he unfolds the miles of instructions. He makes a few remarks about it that ultimately earn a quiet laugh from you and he takes that as a win. 

“This will probably be the longest five minutes of my life.” You mumble while pulling your pants back up and placing the stick face down on the sink counter. 

You run the water warm while lathering your hands with soap. Joel stands behind you and slips his thick arms around your waist to clasp just at your belly button. You lift your head and look at him through the mirror in front of you. He hums while placing his chin on the top of your head slowly swaying you once you’re done drying your hands. 

“Can’t wrap my head ‘round it.” He mumbles into your hair.

“What?” You furrow your eyebrows while leaning back into his chest, still keeping eye contact through the mirror.

“That you could be growin’ somethin’ in here.” He pushes one of his hands under your shirt to sprawl over your lower belly. 

His broad, calloused hand is warm against your skin. You place both of your hands over his one, lifting up your shirt just slightly while you look down.

“Doesn’t sound so scary when you say that.” You say playfully. 

He chuckles and slowly rubs his hand against your belly, his other coming down to rest on the swell of your hip. He continues to lead the lazy sway, pulling you right against him. He leans down every so often to press a kiss. To your head through your hair. Against the back of your shoulder. In the crook of your neck. And when you turn to smile he makes sure to catch your lips. 

“Ready, sweetheart?” He asks after looking down at his watch. 

You force a large breath out of your nose before nodding. 

“As I’ll ever be.”

Joel leans forward to grab the test, keeping it face down as he brings it in front of you. He rests his chun against your shoulder, holding the test there.

“You just say the word, baby.” He says while giving you a squeeze to your hip. 

“Ready.” You mumble, body going rigid as he turns the test over. 

He flips it.

You grab it with both of your hands and hold it closer, squinting at the small screen. 

“Your big head’s in the way-“

“Negative.” You interrupt him.

He pauses behind you. No longer swaying, his hold is heavy on your waist.

“That’s good.. Right?” You whisper while turning the test over a few times. 

“Is that what you want?” He asks while watching you through the mirror.

“I..” You sigh and continue to stare at the test. “I thought I was.” You whisper. “Did you want it to be positive?”

Joel pushes a long exhale through flared nostrils while placing his hands on your lower belly. His large palms sprawled across your skin, his thumbs rubbing gently while he pondered.

“The thought of your belly swellin’ up with our baby makes me want it to be positive.” He says quietly.

The rest of the night was quiet. His words eat away at your brain. Overthinking every small action and comment from the past few months. Dinner was quiet, too. You couldn’t help but imagine Joel with your baby on his hip while he's watching baseball, while he’s cooking breakfast or walking around the store in the baby aisles. You’d be lying if it didn’t spark that same curiosity as Joel mentioned. Having your belly swell all filled with his baby. It wasn’t until the both of you were tucked away in bed when you asked;

“Should we try?”

You’ve never seen him change that quickly. Brows flat to mimic the press of his lips. He thought for all of 2 seconds before pinning your body into the mattress under the weight of his.

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout this.” He mumbled into your neck while pressing hot kisses there.

You breathe out shakily, one hand planting itself in his short, dark hair while the other pressed half moon indents into his shoulder. He worked down the length of your torso quickly, pushing clothing up and out of the way to connect his hot mouth to your burning skin, small wet patches left in its wake. 

“Gonna work you up before I fuck you, alright sweetheart?” He mumbles while pulling your pants down your thighs so quickly the fabric burns at your skin.

“Fuck-“ You hiss at just how rough hes being. “Yes, Joel.” You whimper while propping yourself up onto your elbows, both hands now gripping the sheets beneath you.

“Fuckin’ beautiful.” He whispers between your thighs.

His breath fanned over your core in such a familiar way it made your stomach tighten.

“Joel-“ You whined.

He was taking his time, spreading your folds apart with his thumbs and watching the thin strings of your arousal web you all together. But the second you drone his name, his mouth is on you. Low and slow. The flat of his tongue dragging over your throbbing hole several times before teasing just the tip past the threshold. You writhe beneath him at the feeling, rutting your hips into his face. He welcomes it with a groan, his strong arms slipping under your thighs and curling on top of them to hold them in place, on either side of his head. 

Joel reels back from your cunt and you peer down to him. He’s not even looking at you. His eyes are heavy, parted lips and his beard already glistening in the soft light of the bedroom. He’s not carrying any stress on his face like he usually does- but the concentration of his saddled brows shows you he means business. He tightens his grip on your thighs, bringing his thumbs from the top to spread you once again. Joel blows cool air over your exposed, dripping cunt and it draws an absolutely filthy whine from you. He doesn’t let you live in that for a minute before he purses his lips and spits directly onto your clit. 

“Fuck!” You hiss, twitching against his iron grip. 

He silences you by delving forward and wrapping his plump lips around that swollen clit and sucking softly. Your mouth is left agape, jaw slacked in awe at the pleasure coursing through your body. Joel closes his eyes and works his mouth expertly, savoring the taste of you, how warm and clean, soft and utterly you it tastes. He savors your noises, too. The drawn out, longing moans and gasps when he circles his tongue against your swollen clit before sucking it back between his lips. 

He doesn’t move until he’s drawn an orgasm from you. Shaky hands buried deep in his hair, tugging at the lochs from the base of his skull. He finally pulls his head back, holding your shaking thighs down with no effort. 

“Took it so nice, pretty girl.” He muses while pressing a few kisses to the inside of your thigh. 

You clamp one of your hands over your mouth to muffle the cries and hitching of your breath. Joel brings himself to his knees, still between your thighs and pulls your hand away from your mouth.

“Don’t go hidin’ any of those pretty little sounds from me.” He tuts while pushing his pants down his hips with his free hand. 

His thick cock springs free and slaps the base of his belly. It’s red and throbbing with pre smeared around his tip. 

“Please, Joel.” You beg quietly while scooting down on the bed to get closer to him, your knees bent over the tops of his thighs.

“I got you, baby.” He soothes while smoothing his large palm from your knee to the top of your thigh and around to grip your hip.

You squirm beneath him in anticipation, able to feel the sheer heat radiating from his cock against your pussy. He grips the base of his cock and slips it through your soaked fold with a guttural groan coming from deep in his chest. Joel tightens his hold on your hip while pushing his tip against your needy hole. No matter how many times he does this, the first push still stings. You don’t think you’ll ever adjust to the full size of him. Part of you is grateful because the second that sore sting turns sweet, everything else is gone. He’s all you can think of. 

“Grippin’ me so good already.” He grunts while sinking into you.

Stretch doesn’t begin to explain it. It’s the ache between your hips that you’ll feel for days. Even after years and years of taking him in every way imagineable. It’s still there. You gasp as he bottoms out, his hips pressed flush to yours. Joel groans through a tight jaw, leaning forward and bowing his head.

“I know, darlin’..” He muses while lifting his head.

He stays pushed in your cunt, rolling his hips against yours without actually thrusting, just making sure he feels each and every bit of your slick walls around him.

“P-Please, Joel.” You mutter through a stuttered breath while digging your heels into the mattress to lift your hips.

He tuts his tongue and shakes his head, broad palms moving to cup the backside of your knees and pushing them together.

“Please? Please what, baby?” He mocks in a sweet tone. 

He forces your knees towards your chest while sitting up on his own. He moves his right hand to knead the flesh at the underside of your thigh, your knees being pushed towards your chest with only one of his now. 

“Say it.” He orders in a low voice while sinking his thick fingers into your thigh. 

“Fucking move.” You hiss at him through clenched teeth. 

A low chuckle rumbles through his chest before his grip tightens and he finally draws his hips back slowly, then pushing them back in with force. It wasn’t fast or sloppy. It was calculated with his entire weight behind each thrust. He knows how you love it. His hands keep you slow despite the squirming and writhing beneath him, giving him the leverage he needed to fuck into you good.

His brows are saddled together, face pinches up in pleasure as he keeps his eyes locked onto where your bodies meet- watching his cock disappear within your slick folds over and over and over again. Concentrating. Putting thought into every thrust. Every time he pulls back he grunts, in disbelief of just how soaked he is with you. 

“Jesus, baby girl.” He heaved, hips starting to pick up their pace while he lost himself in you. 

You felt your eyes flutter, almost rolling to the back of your head while he pounded you into the mattress, keeping you all folded up for him to use. 

“Y’had such a fuckin’ attitude earlier.” He chides, his hand leaving your thigh. “Should’ve taken you right there in the truck, hm? That’s what you wanted, right?” He pants.

You nod lazily, hair sticking to the sweat starting to bead on your forehead, a filthy moan slipping past your lips. Your body jerks with each of his ruthless thrusts, knocking a small noise from the back of your throat that he absolutely ate up. He dreams about these noises. The way they grow closer together, breathless and tick up a pitch before you unravel on him. He tightens his grip on the back of your knees and forces them closer to your chest just thinking about it. 

Joel doesn’t crane over your bent legs anymore, he sits up straight with no hiccup in his thrusts, the hand that was at your thigh coming to rub concentrated circles onto your clit. 

“Fuck- Joel.” You say breathily, opening up your heavy eyes to watch him.

“Yeah? You gonna cum, sweet girl?” He recognized that look in your eyes right away. 

Glossy. Pupils blown black. Heavy lids and those pretty little red veins more prominent. The way your face contorted in pleasure when his thrusts became relentless, sloppy and chasing after his high he felt building in his stomach.

“Yes. Shi- I-.. Please.” You arch your back away from the mattress while Joel’s thumb continues to work in those steady circles despite his thrusts losing their rhythm. 

“Go on n’ make a mess, baby.” He encourages you while grunting something guttural. “I got you- fuck.” He bows his head for a moment, desperate to hold on until you’ve finished around him. “Fuckin’ cum on my cock, sweet girl.”

“Joel.. Joel- Fuck-“

His words pulled you over the edge, coaxing that white hot feeling to bubble over. Your walls spasm around his girth, legs shaking as he ruthlessly pounds into you, the loud thwack, thwack, thwack of his hips colliding with the back of your thighs not loud enough to drown out your lewd, languid moans.

“That’s it-“ He grunts, stilling his thumb and instead of circling he just adds pressure onto the small bud. “Sounds so pretty.” He pants while brooding over you. 

Your body involuntarily jerks and jolts under him while he fucks you through your second orgasm. 

“Need you to cum in me, Joel.” You speak up in a daze, voice broken. 

“Yeah? Want me to fill up this tight pussy, hm? Fuck a baby into you?” He gravels and you whimper at just how filthy his words are. 

You can see the concentration on his face, the beading sweat at his temples that makes his dark hair stick there. 

“Please, Joel, please.” You beg him repeatedly, hands scrambling for someone to grab a hold of.

“Gonna make it fuckin’ stick.” He spit, hips sputtering.

He quickly removes his thumb from your clit and wedges his hands between your thighs and your belly, pressing his palm into your navel.

“You fuckin’ feel that?” He asks you, folding you in half with his hand sandwiched between you. 

You do. The pressure on your belly only emphasizes how deep he is inside of you. You screw your eyes shut, trying your best to soak him in and memorize every vein, every ridge and how it feels being fucked into you repeatedly.

“Gonna fill you up so nice- fuck. Give you a fuckin’ baby. So fuckin’ nice, I promise.” His voice wavers. 

He curses through teeth clenched so tight they could crack before slamming his hips into you one last time, putting all his weight into holding himself there, buried deep inside you to the hilt. He spills into you with a deep groan. The coil in the pit of his stomach snaps, ropes of his thick white cum coating your insides. Joel hisses while relaxing, the crease between his brows softening while he slowly pulls back, but not out.

He releases his hold on your knees, letting them fall on either side of his hips but keeps his one hand planted on your belly. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, unable to control your breathing while he does the same, still towering over your lithe frame in the mattress. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers while letting himself collapse forwards, one hand coming to press into the bed next to your head to support himself. 

You open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off with a kiss. It’s warm and wet, loving but sloppy and needy. 

“My god.” You whisper against his lips and he chuckles before pulling back.

He rubs his calloused palm into the soft skin of your tummy and you can feel just how full you are. 

“Think it’ll stick this time?” You ask while he leans in to press hot kisses to the nape of your neck.

He pushes his hips against yours, still tucked away inside.

“I wouldn’t be upset if I had to do this a few more times, pretty baby.” He mumbled against your skin and you could feel the sly smile at the corners of his lips.

You hum, sighing softly as you feel him twitch inside you.

“Try again to make sure?” You say, voice barely above a whisper.

He pauses what he’s doing, slowly lifting his head to look at you, one of his eyebrows arched.

You smoothed your palms over your torso, ridding of any wrinkles in your costume. You tilted your head while you watched yourself in the full length mirror.

Your body clad in a white dress, the buttons in the front coming to rest just between your breasts. The red, lacy bra top exposed. Your eyes fell down your legs, covered in thin, white stocking material until your mid thigh. Your hands fumbled with the skirt of your dress, reaching up to grab the strap of the white garter belt you had beneath the costume, clipping it to keep your thigh highs in place. You repeated this on the other thigh.

Hair tied into a low, messy ponytail, pulling strands out to frame your face. Small, white costume hat with a fat red cross in the middle sat off center the top of your head. Your eyelids are packed with a pale blue shadow, lined with black and finished with thick mascara. Red lips, and rosy cheeks to match.

Damn.

You thought. You’re pretty fucking close to the real thing. Just missing one thing. You pulled a skin tight blue latex glove over your one hand, letting it snap against your skin.

You smiled contently at yourself, wiggling your toes against the floor in excitement. This wasn’t for you. None of this was for you actually, despite how fucking good it felt to have this on. It was for Joel. It’s been two agonizing weeks since you’ve last seen him.

It’s always- “Sorry, baby. Your dad’s keepin’ me late at work tonight. No slippin’ away.” and not- “F’course I’ll come over and do away with the nagging between your thighs. Right away, baby.”

You could roll your eyes right now just at the thought. But this. This is good enough revenge for now, you figured. ‘Nurse from the Blink-182 Album’ You know. Enema of the State. Joel doesn’t give a shit about Blink-182. But he will give a huge fuck about you in this outfit. Your stomach turns at the thought.

You peer over to the red heels lying outside your closet door and you think about it long and hard. But theres absolutely no fucking way you’re trudging through gravel drive ways in them. You bend down, hooking your fingers into your old pair of white converse.

These’ll do.

You slip them on and turn to the steps, bouncing down them.

———

Joel sucked on the toothpick between his lips, bringing a hand up to tilt the cowboy hat upon his head, bringing it forward slightly. He sighed, leaning against the wall of your front porch. Tommy and your father opposite him, backs to the street. Your father lazily flips burgers around on the grill.

He was trying to act normal- laugh when he should, nod when Tommy or your father told him a story- but it was damn impossible with you prancing around the front yard like that.

Tight, short nurse’s dress. Red lipstick he was dying to smear. Skin tight stockings clinging to your thighs and- fuck. The garter belt clip that keeps them there.

You were laughing, handing out beers to some of the neighbors who sat in lawn chairs. The hair framing your face blowing softly in the cool wind. Joel tightened his jaw, hard enough that he snapped the toothpick between his molars. He spat it to the side with a grunt, beer warming in his tight grip.

Your dad, dressed in a pirate costume- hat, eyepatch, and all- was eating it up. “That’s my girl!” He shouted, holding his beer up, tilted towards you as he laughed. “Ain’t she somethin’? I barely gotta host ‘round here now that she's home.” He raised his eyebrows, bringing his beer to his lips for a long sip.

Joel forced a grin through a strained jaw . “Yeah.” he muttered under his breath, “She’s somethin’ alright.”

Tommy gently jabbed his elbow into his older brothers. “Man, you look like you’re in pain or somethin’. Y’alright?” Tommy turned his head towards Joel.

Joel mirrored him, giving him a once over before chuckling and shaking his head. “M’fine. Can’t take you serious with-“ Joel gestured his beer towards his kid brother. “All’at.”

Tommy furrowed his thick brows, lips falling to fein offense. “You barely got a damn costume on. You ain’t winning shit, Joel. I came to win, mother fucker.” He spoke coolly, taking a step back to let your dad and Joel get a good look at his costume.

Tommy had a pair of khakis on, dark green long sleeved shirt, and a black rubber apron tied over his torso, his face splattered with blood and some more dripping down the apron. Laminated I.D badge slung around his neck: ‘Dexter Morgan.’ Fake knife hanging from his belt.

“I ain’t peg you for a Dexter fan, Tommy.” Your dad quipped while shaking his head at the two brothers.

“Eddie, y’look like you’re fresh off’tha damn Black Pearl.” Joel chuckled, Tommy dropping his smug look to laugh alongside him.

“Ain’t no damn.. Jack Sparrow.” Your dad laughed, taking some burgers off of the grill, placing them on a platter. “Just any fuckin’ pirate. The two a’yous piss me off.” He joked, sucking his teeth.

“Baby! C’mere!” Your dad called, your head snapped at his shout.

You came quickly, bounding over to the three men.

“You lot doin’ alright?” You beamed, eyes lingering on Joel for just a moment longer.

He looked fucking good. When didn’t he, though. His blue jeans snug around his thighs, fell neatly around his booted feet. It looks like he polished them recently. His dark navy flannel, nothing new, you’ve seen it on him thousands of times but it always looks just as good. Buttoned almost to the top, two spaces left undone, few dark, wiry hairs peeking over the snug, white beater he had on underneath. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the muscles in his arm visible as his hand gripping a beer bottle tighter and tighter. You swallowed thickly as your eyes moved slowly to meet his eyes. You’d probably be drooling if it weren’t for your dad and Tommy standing between you and Joel. The air felt thicker than usual. His eyes were dark and stoic, burning into your body. His dark hair was peppered with grey at his hairline, curling at his ears and the nape of his neck more than the rest. And fuck- that damn cowboy hat.

“We’re doin’ just fine, baby.” Your dad nodded, then gestured towards the plate of burgers he had just pulled off the grill, a sorry smile on his face.

“Would y’mind runnin’ these around and offerin’ them up?” He asked, a sing-song tone in his voice, trying to persuade you.

You laughed softly and shook your head. “I gotcha. Wouldn’t want hostin’ to interrupt your boy time.” You poked at him before grabbing the tray.

You gestured the tray towards your dad, then Tommy, letting them take what they’d like.

“Want some?” You questioned Joel, looking up to him through your thick lashes.

His lips turned, almost grimaced at the way his stomach twisted. “Not hungry f’that right now.” He muttered emotionless.

Your face flooded with heat, you’d be surprised if it couldn’t be felt 10 feet away. You’d nod your head and turn quickly before you jumped his bones. You could feel his eyes bore into the back of your head, following you as you’d walk down the porch steps and back to the yard, smiling and offering up the food on the platter.

Tommy took a bite of his burger, settling next to his brother. Your dad stood and started cleaning the grill. Tommy mentioned something about the Rangers, but didn’t get an answer from Joel. He whipped his head over, narrowing his eyes to follow Joel's eye-line once he realized Joel was too preoccupied to pay the slightest attention.

Tommy hummed in amusement when he saw you, holding your tray, bent at the waist and chatting with a neighbor sitting in a lawn chair.

“You’re starin’ awful hard at Eddie’s girl.” Tommy said low, nudging Joel with his elbow. “You got a thing for nurses now, old man?” Tommys got a sick grin on his face despite chewing on his last bite on the burger.

Joel gave him a sharp look. “Drop it, Tommy.” He spat.

Tommy held his hands up in defeat, chuckling lowly. “Alright, alright.”

“Need a beer.” Joel said, jaw tight.

“You offering?” Eddie quipped.

“Nope.” Joel popped the ‘p’ while pushing himself off the wall, heading through the front door of the house.

——

The noise of the block party muffled as you walked through the back door, the tray now empty as you had made your rounds. You stopped in there to wash up quickly and grab more beers. You were halfway into the fridge when a rough hand wrapped tightly around your wrist, yanking you around.

Joel.

He was towering over you, his hat shadowing his dark eyes, the muscle in his jaw ticking. Up close he smelled like beer, smoke, and the lingering warmth of October air. It was dizzying.

“You tryin’a kill me, baby?” he muttered, a deep rumble, only for you to hear.

“What? M’just celebrating.” You fiend innocence as Joel backed you up against the counter top, the cold granite pressing into the middle of your back. His body is just inches from yours.

His eyes lowered to your lips, then to trace the obscene outline of your costume. The curve of your thighs, the way your chest nearly spilled out of the tight, low neckline.

“You’ve got no idea what you’re doin’ t’me, sweetheart..” He breathed out, pushing his hips forward, into yours.

He leaned down, breath hot against your ear. “No fuckin’ clue.”

You did have a clue. You felt it as clear as day pressing into your lower stomach as he kept you pinned at the counter, his fingers flexing against your wrist while his other hand brushed over your side. Your lips parted, a soft sigh falling against his collar when his hand gripped your side, pulling you against him.

“Maybe I do.” You teased, whispering soft against his skin, lips pursed just under his ear, pressing a kiss there.

A low groan rumbled in the back of Joel's throat, hand that was wrapped around your wrist leaving to cup your jaw, his broad palm splayed across the front of your neck. His thumb and middle finger pressing gently into your jaw bone, his index finger tapping the apple of your cheek once. His grip wasn’t harsh but it was strong, your face squished slightly. You’d blink quickly while looking up to him through your heavy lids, your stomach twisting and turning with heat.

“You keep pushin’,” He growled through a tight jaw. “N’ I’m not waitin’ ‘til later to put you in your place.”

You swallowed thickly, he could feel your throat flex under his warm palm.

“You understand me, pretty girl?” He leaned back a bit to get a better view of you, his hand giving your jaw a squeeze, his other hand slipping from your side to your lower back, pulling your hips flush against his.

Your eyes hooded, he barely touched you and you already look so fucked. You couldn’t help but crumble at his touch, he’s too calculated. He knows when to push, when to pull. Where to touch, where to grip, then to soothe it after. It makes your head spin.

On cue, his thumb shifted, rubbing small circles into your back where he guesses the corner of the counter was just jabbing you.

You squirmed beneath his gaze, it only brought a sly smirk to the corners of his full lips. You’d nod the best you can against his hand. He sucked his teeth sharply.

“Words, baby.” He raised his eyebrows waiting for your response, his tongue darting to wet his lips quickly.

The sight made you squeeze your thighs together, searching for any sort of friction to relieve the growing pit in your stomach. Just that short lived glimpse of his tongue was enough to fill your mind with gut churning flashbacks of his head between your thighs, his salt and pepper curls tickling your skin while that tongue lapped at you endlessly. His eyes were dark under heavy lids as he studied your face. His thumb lifted from your jaw and hovered over your lower lip, instinctively you parted them. Your eyes stayed locked on his, though his were now centered at your mouth. Slowly he pressed the pad of his thick thumb into the swell of your lower lip, then dragged it to the side, smearing the bright red lipstick over to the corner of your mouth.

What the fuck.

Your knees wobble. If he wasn’t holding you so closely they’d buckle and you’d fall right to them in front of him, beg him to let you take him in your mouth right there, in your kitchen, with the entire street just a wall away.

Tommy, just a wall away.

Your dad, just a wall away.

“Lemme hear ya’.” His voice snapped you out of your daze. Thick and syrupy against your buzzing ear drums.

“Y-Yeah. I understand.” You finally choke out, embarrassed at how pathetic you must sound.

He smirked, a low chuckle leaving his lips as he stood himself up straight, his hand behind your back steadying your wobbling frame- so used to his weight being held against it already. He sighed softly, hand leaving your jaw to slap his three, thick, middle fingers against your cheek. It wasn’t hard, just a love tap. But enough to leave your skin burning, to match the feeling between your thighs.

“Good.” He smiles. “Get back outside.” He mutters. “‘fore I do somethin’ stupid.”

It pained him to let you go at that moment. But you cleared your throat, nodding your head while bringing your own gloved thumb up to your mouth, pressing the pad against the flat of your tongue. Then swiping it below your bottom lip, cleaning up the lipstick he had smeared just a moment prior.

You turned to leave, smoothing your hands down your costume and taking a few steps when he cleared his throat, his feet still haven’t moved from their spot.

“Don’t forget the beer, baby girl.” He’d remind you, a sly, lopsided smile on his lips.

Fuck, what the fuck. Your brain is mush.

His stupid smile made your stomach contort. You trudged back the few fews, swinging the fridge open and grabbing as many in your arms as you could.

“You’re a real ass.” You grumbled before turning your back to him, cheeks hot while walking back out the back door.

Joel was left standing there, a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding, forcing itself from his lips as you pushed the door shut. His fists clenched at his sides, doing all he can to not follow you like a mad man.

——

It was incredibly hard to host while your brain buzzed with Joel. You tried your best with keeping up with conversation, but you weren’t retaining any of it. A ditsy smile on your lips, nodding and uh-huh’ing when it seemed right. You couldn’t focus on anything else other than him. Hell, most of the time your eyes were scanning the yard to make sure he was still here, still close. You were impatient and needy. You had half the mind to drag him away from Tommy and right up to your room, deal with all the bullshit fallout after. A hand on your shoulder made your body jump.

You heard your name behind you.

“Didn’t mean to scare ya.” The boy snickered, shoving your shoulder a bit.

Your shoulders relaxed when you saw Cody.

“Me? Didn’t scare me.” You laughed softly while opening your arms and pulling him into a hug, then holding him out in front of you to get a good look.

“My, my. New York did you well. You’re even taller n’ me now!” You whistled and laughed.

Cody grew up only a few houses down from yours. You both graduated high school together. You were close while growing up but amicably went separate ways when you both went off to college. Cody went to Columbia. Boy was smart as a whip. Lacked in common sense, but book smart. You’d seen him once the first summer after you both went away at a big BBQ with some of the neighbors.

He was cute, thinner build with a boyish face, could barely grow facial hair. The hair in his head was a dirty blonde and all over the place, curling at the ends. Cute. The both of you ended up getting quite drunk and had a half assed make out session on a tire swing in his backyard, and went your separate ways again to school. He texted you a week after that.

——

‘guess i’m not a good enough kisser to get a text? hahah’

You remember cringing as you saw the notification light up your phone.

‘knew i was drunk, but didn’t think i was that drunk!’

You played it off as a joke. You didn’t like him like that. You were drunk, young and lonely at the time.

——

You still don’t like him like that. But he was always a decent friend to you.

Cody nodded his head. Still had his bouncy blonde hair, but it was restrained under a hat.

“Race car driver, huh?” You smiled and tapped his arm before dropping your arms at your own sides.

“Oh absolutely. Last thing the store had in stock.” He joked while picking at the costume. “You look real good tonight,” Cody said eagerly. “Way too good to be hangin’ ‘round a dad party.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, taking a small step back. You didn’t expect him to be so forward. You laughed politely, wrapping your arms around your torso.

“Well, thanks Cody.” You said quietly, lips in a kind smile.

Joel and Tommy were leaning against your dads truck in the driveway. Tommy going on and on about the homeowner for the new job they just picked up, how bossy and nit-picky she is. Joel isn’t absorbing a lick of this. His dark eyes are shooting daggers into Cody.

“Maybe after things wind down..” Cody continued, his voice low as he leaned into your ear. “We could find a real party?”

You physically cringed. Is this really what guys your age thought was smooth?

No sweet talking? No soft looks and hot whispers?

No Joel.

They weren’t Joel.

Joel was smooth.

He was sweet and slow when he wanted to be. He was collected, stoic but melted in your hands when you were alone. As dominant as he was, you always had the final say. He’d do anything for you. He’d kneel before you and make you finish twice with his mouth before bending you over and fuck you until tears spilled down your cheeks. Then he’d kiss them away, rub your back and whisper-

‘s good baby. pretty girl. ‘s alright darlin’ i’m here. y’took my cock so well, s’like your made for m-’

Cody cleared his throat, pulling you from your thoughts. You still didn’t answer him.

Oops.

Your eyes were wide as you scanned his face, and could barely remember what he asked. It had to be clear as day because he repeated, placing his hand on your shoulder, slowly rubbing it down your arm to grip your elbow.

“Wanna find a real party later?” He repeated.

Joel wanted to take the beer bottle in his hand right now and crack it over this kids thick fucking skull.

“Kids bad news.” Tommy strains through his mouth full of beer, gesturing to Cody.

“What?” Joel snapped, he swore his blood ran cold.

“M’kiddin’. He’s a fuckin’ dork.” Tommy chuckles, his words slurring.

Joel rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the truck, taking a step towards the two of you only to be stopped by a strong arm pushing against his torso. Tommy almost choked on his beer.

“Woah, woah.” He sputtered, pushing Joel back against the truck.

“What’re you fixin’ to do, big brother?” He questions, squinting his eyes as he tries to read Joel's face.

His eyes were locked onto you and Cody, body stiff as his back was on the truck again, Tommy’s arm lowering after a beat. He didn’t answer. Watching your tight, polite, forced smile. Cody leaning in closer, talking too damn much. Touching your fuckin’ arm.

Eddie peered over to Joel and Tommy, then you and Cody before letting out a laugh. He sauntered over, enough beers in him that he really did look like Jack Sparrow, walking the way he was. He slapped Joel on the back.

“She can handle him.” He reassures Tommy and Joel. “Cody’s harmless. He’s been makin’ eyes at her since they were fifteen. Little punk just ain’t smart enough to know she’s outta his league.” Your dad laughs at his own comment.

Joel silently agrees. ‘Way out.’ He thinks to himself, bringing a hand of his to pinch the bridge of his nose, pulling himself together.

“Fucker went to Columbia, still ain’t smart enough.” Eddie continues with a laugh.

That comment pulls a laugh from Tommy, but not from Joel.

Joel grunted, muscle in his jaw ticking. Tommy and Eddie were too busy laughing back and forth over it, he used the opportunity to saunter towards you.

You shook your head softly. “Thanks, Cody. But I’ll be good here. Dad party or not.” You confirm with a solid nod, taking a slow step back.

Cody flushed and muttered something under his breath, then turned to walk away. You rolled your eyes and pushed air through your lips, blowing raspberries as he did.

Joel stopped in his tracks as Cody turned away, weight lifting from his shoulders when they rolled back. He sipped his beer, but kept a watchful eye. Pretending like he didn’t want to snap that kid in half.

You turned to pick up some empty cans, catching sight of Joel and his rigid frame, shooting him a quick look as if to say.

‘Relax.’

His shoulders slouched as he sighed. But he was hanging on by a thread.

———

Your dad stood at the porch, drunkenly declaring the start of the costume contest, giving directions to those who wanted to participate. Slowly groups gathered across the street, leaving a few stragglers behind. You’re using the opportunity to clean up some. Collecting empty bottles, cans, plates and candy wrappers.

You caught his eye again from across the yard. You froze where you were standing, the both of you just taking a moment to stare. His eyes flickered behind the house, then back to yours. You blinked, doing the same. When your eyes met him again he tilted his head the same direction, quickly. He pushed himself out of his chair and went through the front door of the house. You gave it a moment before following, anxious bubbles blooming in your sternum. All you two knew was sneaking around. That same giddy feeling pushes goosebumps over your skin every, damn, time.

You made it into the house, looking around for him before noticing the back door was propped open.

You whine in confusion. “Joel, what the fuck.” You whispered to yourself, exiting the back door and shutting it behind you.

Still no sign of him.

You did hear heavy boots crunching on stale leaves. Your heart thumped against your chest, you swallowed thickly, making your way towards the back of the yard, by the shed.

Nothing. You push air through your nose, frustration growing.

What the fuck is he doing? Calling you to the back and disappearing? Is this fun to him?

You start to get annoyed, an anxious feeling in the bottom of your stomach.

A large, calloused hand grips your wrist for the second time today, pulling you behind the shed, pressing you roughly against the siding. The air pushed from your lungs in a gasp.

“What the f-“ You started angrily.

“You tryin’ to make me lose my goddamn mind tonight, darlin’?” He hissed against your ear, his breath pickling heat against your skin.

You dropped your annoyed frustration. Quickly it turned into a hot, needy kind of frustration between your thighs. A sick smile twisted at the ends of your lips, arching your back against the shed, pushing your chest into his broad, firm chest.

“What if I was?” You gleamed, breathless.

His expression stiffened, eyes cold and dark. He released your arm, that hand wrapping loosely around your jaw, the opposite finding your hip. He splayed his thick fingers along the curve of your ass, slipping his hand lower to cup your thigh, urging your leg to lift and hook at his hip. You whined at the cool air now having direct contact to your damp clothed core. His lips crashed to your hungrily, kissing you hard. His hand squeezed your thigh as he sunk his teeth into your lower lip. The sound leaving your throat was filthy, pleading for him.

“You keep wearin’ shit like this,” He muttered, dragging his lips across the skin of your jaw, sucking soft kisses there. “Someone’s gonna end up dead. And it ain’t gonna be me, baby.”

You moaned softly, his words hitting your core directly, heat building there. You giggled through needy breaths, snaking a hand between the two of you, tugging his cowboy hat lower to cover his eyes.

“You gonna punish me, cowboy?” You emphasized your southern drawl, and the growl that rumbled in his chest was all the assurance you needed to know his answer.

“Damn right I am.”

Your hand rested at his shoulder, pulling him down for another desperate kiss. His hand left your throat to mirror his other, cupping your opposite thigh and coaxing it to do the same. You whined into his lips and he swallowed every one of them. As you lifted your thigh, he bounced you to get a better grip, his strong, warm hands spread along the underside of your thighs, his hips pushed forward to keep you pinned at the wall. The cool metal of his bulky belt buckle pressed into your damp panties made you rut your hips pathetically against it.

One of his fingers finds its way under the strap of your garter belt. He pulled it away from your skin with a hooked finger, far enough to create tension. He let it slip. The strap snapped harshly against the sensitive, fleshy skin. You whined, body stiffened at the sharp burn, melting as it slowly turned sweet.

“Joel- please..” You pleaded against his lips.

“Yeah? Want me to take you right here-“

You heard your name.

Tommy’s voice.

Way too close.

You heard it again, shoes crunching the leaves beneath them.

Panicking, you look at Joel.

He’s losing his shit too.

Fuck.

“Shh. I got you.” He whispered, letting you down softly, but quickly onto the ground. You’re grateful with how quickly he’s collecting himself because you’re sure you still look like a deer in headlights.

Footsteps crunching closer.

Joel ushered you behind the recycling bin, mouthing to you ‘crouch down. be quiet’

You nodded. Your heart was beating out of your chest while you pulled your knees so close to your chest you could barely take a full breath.

Joel turned his back to you, rolling his shoulders back while clearing his throat.

“Joel?” Tommy's voice sounded so clear, he had to be right there.

“Takin’ a leak.” He said cooly. Like he didn’t just have you off the ground, whimpering into his lips.

You swallowed thickly, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to convince yourself this is just a sick fucking joke.

“You seen Eddie’s girl? He’s lookin’ for her.” Tommy slurred.

You heard Joel rustle with his belt buckle. ‘really selling the ‘takin’ a leak’ You thought to yourself.

“Ain’t seen her. Did you check the house?”

Tommy didn’t answer, he lingered for a second.

You felt your stomach sitting in your throat, threatening to spill your guts and give away your cover.

Tommy sucked his teeth, mumbling something under his breath before turning away. Leaves crunching under his shoes again.

You still felt like you were gonna puke, all this built up tension. You needed another second to remind yourself to breathe.

Joel peered around the bin to you, his face flushed, looking like he just ran a mile.

“Y’almost got us caught.”

“You almost got yourself caught, cowboy. Hands up my skirt n’ all.” You grumbled, frowning at him.

His lip curled, muttering something under his breath. He placed a hand on his belt, peering down at you.

“What was that?” You teased, a small smile teasing your lips.

“Said you’re a damn brat.” The words rolled off his tongue effortlessly, and landed deep, heavy in your core.

All the worry and anxiety melting from your body in that moment, that warm pit in your belly taking its place. He reached for your hand, that you graciously took, and pulled you to your feet. His hands, the ones that were just gripping your thighs in a filthy way. The ones that grip and pin your hips, the pads of those fingers that leave bruises there sometimes.

Those hands- His.

His hands.

They were gentle for now, brushing the dirt and leaves from your costume and helping you settle again. His last words rattled around in your brain.

“Go on, get ‘fore you get us both strung up.” His voice was soft, his hand giving you pat on your hip, guiding you out to the front as he lingered behind the shed a moment longer.

——

You were exhausted. Tired from picking up after everyone. You’re making runs for drinks, ice, trash bags, more drinks, quick pit stop behind the shed with Joel, judging the costume contest, things now finally starting to wrap up.

“Tommy, you’re really no help.” You’d mutter, tossing an empty can in his direction. He sat, eyes closed in a lawn chair. He gave no response.

“Only thing I asked-“ You’d grunt, trying to push the grill over to reach some trash behind it. “Was for you to- fuck-“ You panted, grunting against while pushing the grill. “Hold the fuckin’ bag open. Ya drunk, can’t even do that.” You blew air through puffed cheeks, shoulders slouched over as you turned back to him.

He was stirring in the chair, eyes not closed, but heavy enough to look it. “Not a drunk.. You screwed me on that contest. Should’ve been first place.” He slurred. You laughed at him, tossing an empty red cup that was behind the grill at him next, barely making it in the bag.

“You holding grudges now?” You joked, clapping your hands together to brush them off. “C’mon. Don’t be a baby.” You teased.

“He still sour o’er that?” Your dad’s voice comes from the yard.

“He hasn’t shut up ‘bout it since.” Joel chimed in, packing the speaker away.

You smile and shake your head at Tommy’s mumblings and groans.

“I got the rest of this.” Your dad says, walking over and putting a hand on your shoulder. “I got him too.” He gestures to Tommy, who looks like he might actually be asleep now.

“Are you sure?” You raise your eyebrows, tilting your head up to him.

“Mhm.” He hums, looking at the yard then back to you. “Long as you don’t mind helpin’ Joel take some of these chairs back to his house, huh kid?” Joel cleared his throat from a few feet away, eyes locked onto you.

Your stomach sits heavy.

It’s sick, really.

Your dad asking you to help Joel, to be alone, in his house, for who knows how long it takes to put away some damn chairs. While he’s sat taking care of his kid brother.

It’s sick.

It shouldn’t light a fire in your stomach. But it does.

“Y-Yeah. I can help.” You finally choke out.

Your dad smiles and gives you another pat on the back, mumbling a ‘Thanks, kid.’ before turning towards Tommy, slumped in one of the chairs you’d need.

“Get’cher ass up, boy.” Your dad laughed while tugging on his arm and helping him up, taking Tommy's body weight on his own and helping him into the house. The click of the door seems to echo through the quieting houses on the street., you and Joel sharing side glances as you’re left alone.

——

You struggled to keep up with the pace Joel set as he walked towards his house, just four houses down from your dad’s, arms filled with lawn chairs. The lawn chairs now thrown onto the porch, not taking the extra second it’d take to put them away.

He unlocked the front door in one smooth motion and pulled you in the next. He kicked the door shut, hard, with his boot.

His hands are on your hips, whipping you around until your back is pressed against the door, his hips keeping you pinned there. The quick movements pulled the air from your lungs, leaving you to gasp.

“Been teasin’ me all goddamn night.” He hissed, voice thick with frustration.

He leaned back to give his hands some space to roam over the fabric of your nurse costume, his palms warm and broad as they’d skate over the buttons.

His hands stopped at your ribs, his fingertips pressing into the bottom of your breasts.

“Flirtin’ and smilin’ at every boy who looked your way.” He spat while taking both of your wrists into one of his hands and pinning them about your head, knocking his cowboy hat off his head, somewhere behind him.

You gasped, bottom lip quivering. You needed him badly. Pent up after hours of waiting for this- for him. You force a grin, not wanting him to know how easily you’ll fold. You know he loves it, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t too.

“What’re you gonna do about it, cowboy?” You don’t even recognize the sound of your own voice with all the buzzing in your head.

He does though, and he growls in response, pushing his hips firm against yours. His thick cock straining, hard against the denim material, right up against your lower stomach for the second time today. He grits his teeth, his free hand coming to grip the collar or your dress, the warmth of his hand over the exposed skin of your breast makes you whimper.

You arch your back, pushing your chest towards him, silently begging for more contact, just more. He doesn’t give it to you just yet, hand around your wrists tightening, the one on your cheap costume ripping it open, the white buttons bouncing off of the wooden floor.

Your eyes widened as you processed, squirming under his dark stare. Under the shreds of the white dress, your body clad in the white and red, laced get up you so thoughtfully slipped on earlier.

For him.

He knows that, too.

“Gonna remind you who you belong to, pretty girl.” He says lowly, his southern drawl painfully prominent.

Before you get the chance to respond, Joel spins you around, taking your hands that were above your head and pinning them behind your back, still his single hand keeping both of yours pinned there. Your chest pressed against the cool door, the difference of your burning skin against it made you whine. Your back arched, his straining cock now pressed to your ass. Silently you tried to push your hips back onto him.

His free hand came down quickly on your ass, the stinging turning sweet as he rubbed his warm palm over the spot, soothing it.

“Joel!” You squeaked, resting your cheek against the door, face smushing just slightly, stomach turning and pulling.

“Gonna be a good girl now, hm?” He leaned over your back, his lips just dusting the shell of your ear while rocking his hips slowly into yours.

“Y-Yes, Jo-“ He cut you off with another rough smack to the same spot. A yelp bursting through your lips, body slinking back into his.

“Too late for sweet talk, baby girl.” He rasped, his hand not soothing the sting this time, letting it sit and burn your skin.

He pulled back for a moment, the weight of his body being pulled from you made you whine, missing the heavy contact. His hands made work of what was left of costume, discarding it somewhere with his now long forgotten cowboy hat.

It hit you like a ton of bricks. The fact that you’re bent over, pressed against his front door in nothing but a red laced bra, panties, the garter belt and the thigh highs they held up. Joel was still fully clothed, just his hat missing. The thought of being so exposed and vulnerable to him just made the slick between your thighs amplify.

“Fuck.” Joel growled, pushing a sharp breath through gritted teeth. His dark eyes scanned your body, the way the lace dug into the fleshy parts of your skin, thighs spilling slightly out of the tops of the stockings. The large, pink outline of his handprint adorning your ass cheek.

“Look so pretty for me like this, baby.” He muttered.

He let your hands go and you quickly pushed your palms into the door, steadying yourself.

Before you got the chance to beg for his touch, he gave it to you- just not where you needed him. Broad, calloused palms skating up your sides, then back down to rest at your hips. You closed your eyes, scrunching your nose in frustration. A quiet whine fell from your lips as you pushed against the door, grinding your hips against his throbbing cock.

“S’alright, angel. I got you.” He offered reassurance.

“Please- just. Need you. Badly.” You pleaded through soft breaths.

“Tell me where, pretty girl.” He rasped, placing a hand between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned to the door again.

His other hand reached around your torso, palming your breast for a moment, his fingers hooked around the cup of your bra and tugged down, letting your boob spill out. You whined as his fingers found your hardened nipple, his thumb and pointer finger giving it a lazy roll.

A broken whine left your lips, body squirming for any additional friction he’d offer.

“This where you need me?” He asked lowly.

You could just about hear the smirk on his stupid, beautiful, fucking face.

You shook your head.

“Gotta use your words, darlin’.” He reminds you.

“N-No. Not there.” You huffed into the door, his hand still working painfully slow at your nipple.

“So good f’me.” He praises.

In a beat it was gone, his hand trailing down your spine, stopping for a moment to admire his darkening handprint on your ass. The sight made his eyes roll back and his thick cock twitch.

“What ‘bout here?” He asked, his hand trailing further to cup your cunt.

Your knees buckled at the contact, after being teased and left all day, the final contact of his warm palm grinding against your sensitive slick was euphoric. A long string of ‘yesyesyespleaseyesthatsit’ left your lips quickly.

“Atta girl.” He muttered, almost to himself.

Your body writhed under his touch, even when there wasn’t much of it. The anticipation of it was enough.

His index finger dragged slowly up your slick panties, nudging against your covered entrance, a soft, sick, wet noise filling your ears as his finger rubbed slow, torturous circles there.

“S’all for me, angel?” He sucks his teeth sympathetically. “Poor baby, walking ‘round all day like this, huh?” He hums.

You’re embarrassed because it’s true. Even more embarrassed because of him calling you out on it, makes it worse. Heat licks at your core, right where his fingers prodding on the other side of the lace.

“For you- yes. All for you.” You pushed out quickly, your soft moans gracing his ears shortly after.

He tucked two fingers under your panties, slowly tugging them to the side, a growl rumbling deep in his chest at the sight. A thin line of your slick stretching from you to the lace, your cunt and inner thighs glistening from your arousal.

“So pretty.” He said simply, tugging your panties once to keep them out of the way, letting the web fabric snap against your skin.

You grit your teeth, the cool air hitting your wet core, walls clenching around nothing. You could almost sob at how desperately you needed him, chest heaving, heart sitting in the base of your throat, stomach wound in a tight coil.

He leaned over your back, his fingers dipping through your folds, collecting your slick and stopping at your clit.

You cried out against the door, pressing your thighs together, clamping down on his hand.

“You knew damn well what you were doin’ tonight.” He whispered against your ear, his syrupy voice soft against you.

“Paradin’ around in this little thing. Letting that fuckin’-“ His fingers worked in smaller, more concentrated circles at your clit despite your thighs clamping down. “-punk lean in real close. Like he had a chance.”

His voice was hot on your already burning skin, his words doing filthy things to the coil in your belly.

“I-I didn’t-“ You rebuttal.

“Quiet.” He spat, his tone making your breath hitch.

You became painfully aware of how large he was, how big he felt while brooding over you, fingers working at your clit, his wide chest pressed against your back, lips ghosting your ear.The sheer size of his frame against yours made your muscles spasm, a fresh gush of arousal dripping from you and into his palm.

“That's what got you this wet, hm?”

You shook your head.

“What was it then, baby?” He asked, fingers slowly to dip back into your folds, his middle finger circling your entrance before slowly pushing in, your slick allowing him to sink it deep, smoothly.

“Fuck!” You panted, walls spasming around his thick digit.

“Was it when Tommy could’ve caught us? He walked around any later, would’ve seen me fucking you right into that wall. That make your pretty pussy this wet?” His southern drawl rang against your ears, his finger pumping slowly in and out of you, his knuckles shiny with your slick.

“J-Joel, please-“ You begged breathlessly.

You were gratefully cut off by him adding his ring finger. Both of his fingers work at your core, stretching you as he bottoms out to his knuckles. You balled your fist and banged it against the door, trying to release the pent up energy buzzing around in your body.

“Or was it when I had you in the kitchen?”

Fuck.

“Your daddy just on the other side of the wall, while I had that pretty lil’ face’a yours in my hand, smearin’ that fuckin’ lipstick.” He grunted, curling his fingers deep inside you.

Every huff that left your lips ended in a moan, a whine or a plea for him. His beautiful, filthy mouth pushes you closer to your release.

He fucking knows it, too.

He is painfully aware of the effect his sultry words have on you. He weaponizes them every. fucking. time. It’s why he makes sure to let you know how beautiful you look while dripping and shaking for him, how tight, wet, hot, you feel against him, around him, for him.

Only him.

His heart skips a beat, dark eyes locked onto every subtle movement, clocking the way your body reacts. He knows those moans, increasing in volume, being drawn out towards the end. Breathless and fumbling over your own lips.

“That was it.” He states matter of factly.

“Wasn’t it baby?” His fingers twisting, curling and pumping into your wet cunt.

Your arousal pooling in his palm, dripping down his wrist and soaking into the sleeve of his flannel that's pushed up his forearm somewhere.

You swallowed thickly, almost wincing, the amount of pleasure wound in your gut painful.

“Joel I-“

“I know, baby.” He soothes you with his words, fingers giving you no mercy.

“Give it to me, baby girl. Let me feel you squeeze my fingers, yeah?”

Your eyes screw shut, rutting your hips against his fingers. His soaked knuckles brushing against your swollen clit. That swift contact was all you needed to unravel.

“J-Joel, ohfuck-“ You whined out, your fists so tight your nails pressed half moons into the fleshy part of your palm.

The coil deep in your belly snapped.

“I know. Look so pretty cummin’ around my fingers, angel face. S’good for me baby.”

Your knees buckled and he quickly wrapped his free arm around your torso, your skin white hot, supporting your entire weight like it was nothing, keeping you upright. His fingers didn’t change pace, your slick gushing around his digits. The squelching and your moans almost syncing up, all he could think about was how fucking good you felt writhing in his arms.

“I got you, pretty girl. S’okay. Doin’ so good for me.” He praised.

His thick fingers fucked you through your orgasm, your hands squabbling at the door as it became too much. He didn’t let up right away.

“Fuck-“ You’d pant. “Joel, s’too… too much.”

He smiles sweetly behind you, slowing his fingers and finally unsheathing them, a thick string of your cum webbing your cunt to his fingers.

“I know-“ He’d drawl again. “You’re alright. I got you.” He reminded you.

You whined at the loss of his digits, walls clamping around nothing now. Empty. Joel's hand cupped your pulsing heat, rubbing his hand sickeningly slowly. Your body twitched, thighs clamping shut around his hand, broken whines leaving your raw throat.

“Alright, pretty girl. Settle down.”

He removes his hand from your heat completely, smearing your slick on the inside of your thigh before grabbing your waist and slowly turning you to face him.

“There's my girl.” He spoke softly, one hand pressed to the small of your back, holding you to him while the other creeped up your body.

Your eyes were hooded, face flushed, body unsteady and shaking from the orgasm he just ripped from you. His hand cupped your cheek, cool and still slick from you. You turned your face into his palm, parting your plump lips and taking the two fingers that were just fucking you into your mouth.

His groans, eyes dark and wide while he watched your lips close around the base of his knuckles. You could taste your bittersweet cum still clinging there. His fingers prodding the hot flesh at the inside of your cheeks.

“Did so good for me, darlin’.” He reminds you.

You met his eyes, leering up to him through your thick lashes, lids still heavy. You look fucked. Completely and utterly fucked. It makes him throb to know he’s the one who made you look like this.

Mascara and eyeshadow smudged around your eye, a small trail of what looks to be a single tear spilling over one of your cheeks which are now hollowing around his fingers. He studied every small detail, eyes lingering on your mouth, lipstick barely on but just enough to leave a small stain at the base of his knuckles as he slipped his fingers out of your throat. The suction lifting with a small ‘pop’ as his hand returned to cup your cheek, pulling you in for a long, desperate kiss.

“Not done with you yet, baby.” He mumbles into your mouth.

Your lips part to sigh into his. He quickly took the opportunity to roll his tongue into yours. His kissing turned from sweet, long and slow to hungry and needy in no time. Low growls from his throat spilling against your mouth.

“Think you can give me another one?” He pulled back, looking down at you.

His face was red, a slight sheen of sweat sticky around his hairline. His dark curls plastered there, grey hairs adorning them. His hair was messy, tousled and fucking beautiful. That's how he looked. Beautiful, hungry and so fucking filthy at the same time. But god your body was fucking reeling from the first one still. He must’ve sensed your hesitation by the way your eyes widened.

“Know you can, you did so good just then angel face.” His words work overtime in your brain.

“Need to see you cum ‘round my cock. Yeah? S’that sound okay?” He hums, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and tilting your chin up, more and more pieces must have come loose during the past 20 minutes.

“Joel I don’t.. I-I don’t know if I can.” You whimper, hating how pathetic you sound. But he drinks up every bit of it.

He started shaking his head before you even finished.

“I’ve gotcha baby, don’t forget that.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before bending at his knees, wrapping his strong arms around you and lifting you up like nothing.

“Joel!” You yelped in surprise, wrapping your arms around his neck, giggling into his chest.

You feel him smile against your skin. He’d kick his bedroom door open, sauntering in until his knees came in contact with his bed frame. He crouched over, letting you fall onto your back, mattress bouncing. You sprawled your arms out, his dark grey comforter, your hands balling some of the fabric into your fists. You felt vulnerable in front of him like this. This is far from the first time he has seen you in such scad clothing, but the way he loomed over your body made you feel shy. His large hands pull his flannel from his belt line, unbuttoning and slipping it off. His broad, tanned shoulders are on display. The white beater clung to his sweaty skin, belt buckle hanging at his hips. Just the sight of him made you swoon.

“Keep lookin’ at me like that.” He mutters.

You just can’t take your eyes off his body. The way his muscles flex under his skin while his hands work at unfastening his belt, the large buckle clinking against itself.

“You look so good.” You hum to him, spreading your legs further apart as he stands between them. The insides of your thighs are warming from the friction of his jeans rubbing against them.

He chuckles, pulling his belt from its loops in one quick motion. Your stomach tightens. Your hands are moving before you can notice, fingers splayed outwards, reaching for his torso. He drops the belt on the floor with a clatter. He lets you reach, even leaning down and pressing his hands into the mattress on either side of your head. You tilted your head up to pull him into a kiss that's soft at first until he sinks his teeth into your lower lip. You hissed as he pulled it back, letting it snap back to its place. The noise only made him smirk. Your hands made quick work of the button and zipper of his blue jeans. Frantically pushing them down his hips. He helps you by kicking them off with his boots.

“Joel-” He cuts you off with a kiss before pulling back and looking down at you.

“Please.” You were over his slow and calculated moves. You needed him to take you here and now.

He doesn’t answer, even when you pull his beater off and run your fingers down his torso, tugging at the band of his boxers.

“Tell me you’re mine.” He finally speaks up, voice slow and steady.

You furrowed your eyebrows. Of course you’re his. You sighed softly while nodding.

“I’m yours, Joel.”

“Repeat it.” He demands.

“I’m yours.” You obey.

“Those college boys couldn’t make you feel the way I do.” He’s not asking. It was true.

He pushes your bodies up the bed, now kneeling into the mattress, his thighs pressed into the bottoms of yours, his lips connecting with your collar.

“They couldn’t make you cum with their fingers like I can.” Another true statement.

Your legs wrapped loosely around his waist, digging your heels into the backs of his legs, coaxing his hips to make contact with yours, the throb of your cunt doing everything but dulling.

“No, only you.” You reassure him, slipping your hands to the back of his head, curling the hair at the nape of his neck around your index fingers.

“Only me.” He repeats, growling.

“You sure you know that? Was lettin’ that Cody kid hang ‘round for some time.” He continued, his lip curling at the thought.

He was jealous. Even while he was fucking his fingers into you minutes ago, he couldn’t help that quick memory of Cody holding your arm, leaning in close. The way you let him.

You knew Joel was jealous, but this made your heart skip a beat.

“You think he’d like to see you like this, hm?”

Your breath caught in your throat, shaking your head ‘no’.

“You want him to?”

“No.” You breathed out.

“Want him to hear you?” He whispered, peppering kisses across your chest, licking a fat stripe from there to the spot below your jaw, then blowing cool air over the damp skin.

You shiver and he speaks up again before you can answer.

“Want him to hear you cummin’ on my cock? Hear how wet your pussy is while I fuck you?”

You shake your head again, rocking your hips in the direction of his.

His words stirred around your brain. God, how long was he thinking about you and Cody? The five minute interaction burned permanently into Joel’s brain. He couldn’t stand looking at a boy touching you like that. That's not how you like to be touched, Joel knows how you like to be touched. Only Joel.

“That boy wouldn’t know the first thing to do with you.” He sucks a small hickey into the side of your neck.

“With this.” he mumbles against your skin, pushing his teeth into the flesh. One of his large hands cupping your sex again.

You whined at the contect, almost sure he could feel you throbbing in his palm.

“Only you, Joel.” You moaned softly.

“Damn right, darlin’.”

He couldn't contain himself anymore.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

He heard you say it a million times.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Was the only thing ringing through his ears.

He stood up quickly, pulling your panties and garter belt off, fast. Fast enough for them to burn down your legs. As good as it looked on you, he needed it off. He needed to feel your skin against his, not the scratchy lace fabric. He pulls your bra over your head, not caring how awkward it was. He needed it off. He needed you. He groaned at the sight of you beneath him, body squirming in anticipation on the bed. His cock throbbed in his boxers, pre cum staining the fabric with a wet spot.

“Please,please,please” You murmur, reaching your hands out again to push his boxers down his hips. He lets you, kicking them off the rest of the way.

He sucks a sharp breath through his teeth as his cock springs free, bobbing against his stomach. You’ve seen him plenty of times but it never mattered. His cock thick, tip red and glistening with his pre. You rolled your hips up, feeling your slick drip from your folds, flooding the comforter beneath you.

“Please what, baby?” He teases and you cuss under your breath.

As much as he loves talking you through it, he loves eliciting your voice too. No matter how broken or pathetic it may sound. Your pleading and promises ‘to be good’ drive him fucking insane.

He wraps his strong hand around the base of his cock. Dark, wiry hairs brushing his knuckles as he pumps himself. A hearty groan falling past his lips.

“Joel. I need- Please,” You breathe out.

“Fuck me, please.” You push out your words before whining.

He doesn’t say anything but position himself as close as possible to you, his thighs under yours again.

“Fuck.” He drawls, slipping the tip of his cock through your soaked cunt.

You’re white knuckling his bed spread, rocking your hips into him. He purses his lips before parting them, letting the tip of his tongue fall past them. A hot, thick drip of his saliva spilling off his tongue and onto your pussy.

The sight was fucking dirty. But him tapping the head of his cock along the spit, dragging it against your clit was downright filthy.

Quickly your hands left the sheet, squabbling at his strong shoulders before gripping them, pressing your nails into his hot skin.

“Y’look so pretty. Soaking my bed like this, baby.” He gruffs.

His words could eat you alive right now.

“Joel-” You warn him, your walls clenching around nothing, needy and weeping.

He guides the tip of his cock to your entrance, prodding there before stuffing the tip past your tight cunt. The muscles in your stomach tightens, rapid breaths breaking up your moans.

“Feel good, baby?” He swallows, trying to keep his composure.

Slowly he sinks his hips into yours, his thick cock stretching you. You wince as he bottoms out, the sharp burn making your vision blurry. Full. You felt so full of him. This is the feeling you’ve been missing for these long two weeks. No matter how hard you tried, your own fingers in your bed did no justice. You’re not sure anything would amount to the pleasure of being stuffed to the brim with his cock. His heavy, sweat sheened body hovering over yours.

You nod your head. “Y-Yes.” You babble while nodding your head sloppily.

You were grateful for the moment he gave you to adjust, the burn turning sickly sweet. Your hips rolled, now begging for friction.

“S’good, pretty girl. Y’fit my cock so good. Like you were made f’me.” He breathes while slowly drawing his hips back, and pushing them back into the hilt.

He established a paced thrust, his tongue wetting his lips in concentration, his eyes focused on how slick his cock is with you when he draws out.

You felt the air knocking out of your lungs with every thrust, whining steady pouring from the back of your throat. Your eyes rolled shut, nails pressing harshly into his shoulders. His hips didn’t slack as he pushed your hands off him, his hands pulling your legs to rest on them now, ankles on opposite sides of his shoulders. The new angle pushing him deeper in your cunt, the room filling with his grunts and the sick squelch of your arousal.

“Open your eyes. Look at me.” He grits, picking up his thrusts, the new position making his cock strain against your tight walls.

You were too drunk on his cock to listen. Your eyes still screwed shut, mouth falling open, fucking filthy sounds falling. Until you felt a sting on your cheek, your eyes opened wide, greeted with his face. His hand made contact with your cheek again, but didn’t leave it. His burning skin is boring into your reddening cheek. He grips your jaw roughly.

“Said-” He groans, hips slapping against the back of your thighs. “Fuckin’ look at me.” His dark eyes locked onto yours.

You swallowed tightly, the coil in your lower stomach binding quickly.

“Open.” He says, pressing his thumb into your lower jaw.

You whine as his thrusts cease. He’s leaning over your frame, legs still propped on your shoulders as he's practically folding you in half. You whine and open your mouth, tongue sitting on your lower lip, welcoming the string of his saliva he drips over you. It's hot on your tongue. It tastes like whiskey and him. You let your tongue display it for him, closing your lips around it when he taps your tender cheek roughly with the hand that's there, signaling you to do so. Then you swallow.

He grits at the sight, resuming his thrusts like he hadn't stopped. He's even setting a new debilitating pace, one that makes the muscles in the undersides of your thighs burn.

“Fuck, y’so good for me, baby.” His praises make your walls squeeze his cock.

The familiar pit in your stomach rumbles. You won't last long the way his hot breath tickles the inside of your ankles. The ruthless pace he set with his thrusts. The thought of his spit lingering on your tongue while he fucks you senseless.

“I-I’m close, Joel.. Fuck- Harder.” You tell him, moaning loudly.

“Yeah? Want to cum on my cock, pretty girl? Fuck-.” The hand on your cheek leaves to brush some of your hair from your face. A loving gesture while he's manhandling you otherwise. His hand settles on the top of your shoulder, giving him leverage to fuck you deeper, harder.

His free hand glides down your shin and onto your thigh, his fingers pressing harshly into your flesh. The pain dragging a breathless moan of his name from you. He could listen to that all fucking day.

You try to answer him, the words coming out as a blubbering mess. You aren’t able to think straight while hes fucking you, drunk on him.

“Squeezing my cock so good, angel face. Such a good girl.” He presses a wet, sloppy kiss to your inner ankle, the hand at your thigh wrapping around in, his broad palm splaying across your lower stomach.

Fuck.

His jaw falls slack, his own stomach churning at the feeling. The feeling of his cock pounding into you under his palm.

“Need y’to cum for me baby. Give it to me, c’mon.” He encourages you, his hand slipping lower, thumb making contact with your clit.

You can barely make out his figure, sight going white when you feel his thumb. He barely moves it, just adding pressure right above the sensitive bud. THe ruthless movement of his hips jolt your body with every thrust. He's holding out for you, he doesn’t want to finish until you’ve given him another, and he tells you just that.

“Need one more baby, know you can do it. Cum on my cock. Let me feel you.” He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold on.

You dont last any longer. He rips a second orgasm from you. Your body white hot and shaking as he fucks you through it. His name leaves your lips repeatedly, not knowing anything else in this moment other than him.

Joel. Joel. Joel.

“Fuck, yeah.” He pants. “That's a good girl. Easy. Cumming for me so- shit.” His hips sputter as he nears his own high, his thumb now working small circles on your clit, riding you through your high. “S’good. S’fucking tight- ah, fuck.”

Your body burns, muscles sore as he relentlessly fucks into you, breathing rapidly while his thumb works quick to overstimulate you. Tears welling in your eyes, threatening to spill.

“Cum in me-” The first coherent words you blurt out other than his name in a while. “F-Fill me- fuck, Joel. Please.” You pant, head turned into his wrist, teeth grazing his skin.

That was all he needed. “God- fuckin’.”

Both of his hands grabbed your hips hard, keeping you still as he fucks his hips into you, cock throbbing and twitching as he cums, thick ropes filling your cunt.

Full.

He collapsed against you, his forehead falling to yours, folding you in half again, his hips staying buried deep in you. Your legs are shaking around him.

You both stayed like that for a few beats, breaths slowing, chests no longer heaving. After another moment, Joel lifted his head, pressing soft kisses to your forehead and down your cheeks. Your body felt limp, quivering under him.

“Hey, hey.” Joel whispered after he's taken a look at you, brows knitting in concern.

“Look at me, baby.” He takes your face in both his hands, slowly slipping himself from your throbbing cunt.

Your face scrunches, still so sensitive from your last orgasm, and the feeling of being empty again makes a tear spill over your cheek.

“Talk to me, hun.” He pleads, his thumbs rubbing soft circles on your face, swiping your tears away.

You felt distant, your mind clouded. It was painful to not have him stuffed to the hilt, prodding spots so deep you’d have never known they were there. The warmth between your thighs making you whine, his spend leaking from your cunt.

“Baby, I need you to tell me you hear me.” He coo’s, hands cradling your head while he continues to pepper kisses against your skin. “Was I too much?” He blinks lovingly at you.

You sigh deeply, his continued touches to your face grounding you, your vision slowly coming back to you.

He's sweaty. His hairs stuck to his forehead. His eyebrows sewn together as he tries to read your face. He looks spent. His face is flush, features relaxing as you stir beneath him.

“Mmh.” You hum and nod your head once.

Joel lets out a sigh of relief. “I got you. Let me clean you up, angel face.”

He pulled himself off of you, steadying himself on his legs before making his way to the bathroom.

Your thighs twitch as your eyes dart around, fingers sprawling across his comforter. You turned your head to take a deep breath in, your nose filled with the smell of him.

Clean blanket, smoke and cedar.

Joel.

He returns a moment later with a warm, wet rag. “C'mere sweetheart,” He whispers, sitting in the bed next to you.

He slowly pats the warm rag against your face, cleaning the smudged and running makeup. You watched him closely. His eyes are soft, no longer harsh and black. They were big and doe like. The soft brown hue back. He gently dragged it down your neck, torso and then the insides of your thighs. You hissed, the skin there sensitive.

“Shh. S’okay. Did s’good for me. Gave me everythin’ you had. Looked so beautiful doin’ it.” He whispers, his gruff voice rolling softly from his swollen lips.

He gently wiped his spend between your thighs, turning the rag over until you were clean. He leaned over to toss it in his hamper, turning his full attention to you.

“Thank you, darlin’.” He lays on his back, pulling you into his side. You curl into him, your head nestled under his arm, nose brushing the side of his chest.

“Thank you, Joel.” You finally whisper, feeling more grounded, more present.

He chuckles, craning his neck to look at you, the arm under your head curling around your body, tracing his fingers against your skin.

“There's my girl.” he whispered into your hair.

The two of you laid there for some time, damp bodies intertwined. Joel whisperering sweet praises. Sharing sweet, soft kisses here and there.

Until your phone vibrates. You fish it from the sheets.

Dad.

Your heart drops, turning the screen to Joel and he gives a sympathetic smile.

“Hey.” You answer swiftly. Act normal. You’re not laying naked with his best friend.

“Hey, kid. Did you help Joel out?”

Your throat tightens. But you remind yourself that is what you were supposed to do. Just not how your dad thinks.

“Yes.” You blurt out bluntly.

“Well, alright.. Are you still there? Been a while. Just checkin’ on you.” He asked, voice wavering a bit. He's waiting for you to fill in the spaces so he doesn't have to ask. But you don’t.

“Nope. Left after dropping off the chairs.” You roll your eyes and Joel gives you a squeeze.

Your dad didn’t say anything. He’s asking where you are without seeming like he’s prodding.

“Went out with Cody,” You say quickly. “I’ll be out late. But not too late. I’ll be safe. I’m okay.”

You barely take a breath between your words. Joel's eyebrows lift at your mention of Cody, he's sucking his teeth quietly.

“Oh! Well-uh.. Well, alright kid. Be uh. Be safe and good y’know. Can’t leave Tommy. He’s in bad shape. Call Joel if you need anything. He won’t mind helpin’ you out.” He says, speaking just as quickly as you did.

“Okay, thanks. Bye, dad.” You hang up before he can answer, tossing your phone on the bedside table with a groan. You turned back into Joel and buried your face in his chest.

“Out with Cody, hm?” He teases, wiggling his fingers on your side.

“Did you want me to tell him I’m laid up naked next to his best friend?” You quipped.

Joel opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. He shook his head.

“Thought so.” You scrunch your nose at him, stretching up to place a soft kiss on your lips.

“Said I’d still be a while.. He told me to call you if I needed anything.” You continue, lifting yourself to straddle his lap, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips, hands splayed on his torso.

Joel sighed, sinking into the bed, one arm folding behind his head, the other resting on the top of your thigh. His eyebrows raised in amusement.

“Did he now?” He clicks his tongue.

“Said you wouldn’t even mind helpin’ me out.”

“I wouldn’t.” He chuckles, hand rubbing slowly on your thigh.

You sit there and bask in each other's smiles before his drops, his body stirring beneath yours.

“Think you can give me one more before you go, hm?” He asks, your stomach does a flip.

“Joel- no way.” You laugh, prodding a finger into his chest. “M’still sore.”

He shook his head before removing the pillow behind it.

“C’mere n’ sit on my face. Lemme kiss you better.” He muses and your face drops, trying to read his expression if he was serious or not, his hand on your thigh pulling you up his torso.

“Don't mind helpin’ you out.” He repeats your earlier words with a smirk.

✨

It’s been a few months since you last heard her voice in person. There had been plenty of texts and FaceTime calls these past weeks, as she stumbled through her first semester of college and often reached out for advice. But none of it compared to hearing the sweetness of her voice now; the same voice you’d listened to change and grow over the years.

You still remember the first time you met her, back when your dad invited over this new buddy he couldn’t stop raving about, some guy he’d met through a friend of a friend and instantly clicked with, the way dads sometimes do. It was the spring of your last year of high school. You’d come home to find a little girl in the living room, staring at you like you were the coolest person she’d ever seen. Big doe eyes, a preteen’s smile, and the moment she opened her mouth, she was babbling like you’d known each other for years. Sarah was thrilled to discover she wouldn’t have to spend the evening stuck between her dad and his new buddy’s conversation, and you’d found her excitement instantly, impossibly adorable.

It was clear from that first dinner how quickly Sarah had taken to you. You’d spoken to her like an equal, not like the nuisance most people might see in a fifth grader, and she’d clung to that kindness instantly. Joel’s first real conversation with you had been about her—how she wouldn’t stop talking about you—and whether you might be interested in earning a few bucks babysitting before leaving for college. Sometimes it was to watch her on nights when work ran too long, other times just to grab a beer with your dad without the added stress of finding someone to keep his daughter company. He admitted he didn’t want to rely on the old, noisy neighbour across the street and preferred someone Sarah actually liked spending time with.

Over time, your relationship with her shifted, from sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing with her toys while you waited for her dad to come home, to a girl tugging on your sleeve and asking you to show her how to do her makeup, or if she could borrow your clothes. It was sweet, growing alongside her like that, becoming the confidant she could turn to for the things she couldn’t quite bring herself to ask her father.

As your bond with Sarah deepened, so did the one with Joel. Dinners at each other’s houses became routine, babysitting evenings turned into movie nights at Sarah’s insistence, and before long, you were spending summers at the Millers’ beach house with both families. You grew from a freshly minted adult babysitting his kid into a college girl finding her footing to a woman with a voice, a wit, and a sense of humour. And Joel went from just another one of your dad’s friends to someone you genuinely appreciated. Someone you could joke with, tease, annoy and who would always give it right back, with a grin you found yourself linking more and more.

It became a relationship no longer tied to your father, or even to Sarah. Joel was simply… Joel. Your friend, or whatever word could capture the bond that grew between you. And somewhere along the way, without even realising it, your sense of time shifted, marked not by seasons or milestones, but by the quickening of your pulse every time he turned that smile on you.

A smile you can’t help but long for as you hear the door open downstairs, praying that whatever happened earlier in the hallway hasn’t dimmed it. That it hasn’t sunk back inside him, leaving only the guarded look he’s worn at the beginning of this vacation.

You glance down at your phone, the one you’d gone to fetch downstairs after you were certain he’d left, and curse yourself for not having it earlier. If you’d checked the time, if you’d even grabbed Tommy’s phone from his bedside table, you would’ve known Joel was about to leave to pick up Sarah. You could’ve waited, stayed put, and spared yourself the more than awkward moment that unfolded in the hallway.

You don’t get the chance to dwell on it any longer, not after spending half the night wide awake, wishing things had gone differently and wondering just how much of this trip you’ll manage to ruin with your choices, because the bedroom door suddenly bursts open.

“You’re awake!” Sarah exclaims, genuinely surprised, as if she hadn’t just charged in with the grace of a blind elephant.

“No shit. Ever heard of being discreet?” you mutter with a smile.

She ignores your remark entirely, dropping her bag beside the bed and wrapping her arms around you before you even have a chance to breathe. You return her hug instinctively, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her dark curls, just like you used to do after babysitting her all those years ago.

You hear the floorboards creak in the hallway and lift your head from Sarah’s shoulder just in time to see Joel walking past the bedroom. Your eyes meet for a brief second, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t say a word, only offers a look you can’t quite read before vanishing into the shadows of the hallway. The click of his door closing echoes a little louder than it should, lingering in the quiet of the house.

Sarah rolls her eyes as she pulls away from you, reaching for her bag. “Don’t mind him. He’s been grumpy the whole drive. Guess he woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

You want to believe her, want to think it has nothing to do with you, but the knot of unease in your chest insists otherwise. She quickly changes out of her airport clothes into pyjamas as you dare to glance at your bag, where Tommy's shirt is hidden.

“Move over,” she gestures to your spot on the bed. You shift to the right side as she settles on the other. “Couldn’t sleep a wink on the plane; some ugly baby a few rows back was screaming the whole time. It was hell. But it’s still early, so I’m gonna try to catch some shut-eye… wanna join me?”

“Yeah,” you reply, easing back into the bed. The events of the last few hours replay in your mind as you close your eyes. “Haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep either.”

Your dad is already downstairs when you and Sarah finally wander out of the bedroom hours later, humming to himself in the kitchen. The smell of bacon and coffee greets you before he does, and then he’s wrapping Sarah in a tight hug, beaming as he welcomes her. He’s more than happy to play chef, piling bacon, eggs, and toast onto platters big enough to feed an army, fussing over the stove as he asks about the plane trip.

But his dad instincts are still sharp as ever. When he catches the way you and Sarah slip easily into soft chatter, heads bent close together, words spilling out like you’ve been holding them in for months, he knows it's his cue to step back. So, after setting down the last plate, he grabs his mug and slips out onto the terrace to finish his coffee, giving you both the space to pick up exactly where you left off.

Sarah has this uncanny ability to catch you up on everything in record time. From her first sip of orange juice—because her stubborn distaste for coffee still makes you question if she’s really Joel’s daughter—to the moment her plate is scraped clean, you’re fully briefed on her life.

Sure, she keeps you updated through texts and her Insta stories, but it’s not the same as sitting across from her, watching her eyes light up as she talks. You hear about her new friend group, the one she swears you’ll adore, and how she’s already plotting to bring them to Austin for spring break, extracting a promise from you to hang out with them. Maybe even buy them alcohol, if necessary. She is trying to get a fake ID through some guy she heard about, and though the responsible adult in you should scold her, you can’t exactly play moral compass when your own fake is still buried in an old bag somewhere.

Then come the details of her classes, her favourite being a science course you know you would have dropped by week two. Naturally, you also get the rundown on the famous RA, complete with his Instagram pulled up on her phone, his name sitting in the recent searches. She gushes about how good-looking he is, and honestly, you have to admit she’s right. Back in college, you probably would’ve tried your luck with him too. For a moment, the two of you even toy with the idea of her sliding into his DMs, before she sheepishly admits there’s already a guy in one of her classes who keeps staring at her, and she keeps looking back.

It’s right in the middle of Sarah’s dramatic retelling of yet another saga with her witch of a roommate, a story you’re pretty sure you’ve already heard on the phone but don’t have the heart to interrupt, that footsteps cut through the kitchen. You don’t get the chance to warn her before a pair of strong arms suddenly wrap around her from behind, making her jolt in surprise.

“Sarah-bear!” Tommy crows, tightening his hold so much she has to crane her neck to see him.

“Uncle Tommy!” she laughs, wriggling free before standing to throw her arms properly around him.

He holds her close and immediately starts firing off the same questions your dad asked minutes ago, and Sarah answers them all with the same bright smile. Yes, the flight was fine. Yes, she’s settling into uni. No, she hasn’t dropped out yet. And yes, she couldn’t wait to get here.

You let your gaze linger on them only in the corner of your eye, giving uncle and niece the space to catch up. Your eyes trail from the dark curls at the back of Sarah’s head, slowly over to Tommy. He feels it, because of course he does, and when your eyes meet, there’s a flicker of a smile tugging at his mouth, small but knowing, before he turns back to his niece.

You drop your attention to your unfinished plate, though a heat creeps up the back of your neck, the memory of his lips ghosting over yours still far too fresh. You’d wanted them everywhere last night, and the ache of that unfinished thought lingers.

You’re used to one-night stands, the kind where one of you slips out before breakfast, usually you. And on the rare occasion where morning lingers, when there’s coffee or toast involved, it’s always just polite, transactional, a way to wrap things up neatly. But this with Tommy doesn’t fit into any box you know. It wasn’t exactly a hookup, not exactly a one-night stand. Nothing happened beyond the kiss, but it could have. Would have, if not for the lack of protection. And that possibility, still humming in your chest, is what leaves you unsure of what to do with him now.

You hear your name and look up from your plate, dragged back to earth.

“Sleep well?” Tommy asks, a playful glint in his eyes as he pulls open the fridge.

“Yeah,” you answer simply, voice as casual as you can. “You?”

He smirks faintly, eyes flicking to yours just for a second. “I’ve had worse nights.”

He leans back against the counter, sipping at a glass of water, eyes flicking to you in a way that makes it clear his thoughts are running alongside yours, still tangled up in last night. There’s a playful spark there, an unspoken conversation threaded between glances until your dad steps back in from the terrace. The two men exchange a quick, familiar greeting, and just like that, the air between you and Tommy shifts back to casual as Sarah keeps on animatedly describing her roommate’s complete inability to clean up after herself.

There’s a shift in the air, subtle, but you feel it instantly, like your body is wired to notice him before anyone else. Your head turns toward the doorway almost on instinct. Joel stands there, dark t-shirt clinging to his frame, grey sweatpants hanging loose on his hips, hair still tousled from the extra hours of sleep he also allowed himself.

For a moment, it feels like you’re the only one aware he’s there. His sleepy gaze sweeps the room, landing on you for the briefest heartbeat. Long enough for your chest to tighten, for you to search his face for something, Anything. Where you stand. What he feels. It's gone before you can; he blinks, glances away, and with a single step forward makes his presence known to everyone else.  

Almost as if on cue, every head in the room turns toward him at once. Your dad is the first to reach his side, a wide grin spreading across his face as he slaps Joel on the back.

“Finally!” he exclaims, his voice warm. “Happy birthday, old pal!”

Tommy is quick to follow, closing the distance between them with a grin of his own. He pulls Joel into a tight hug. “Happy birthday, brother.”

You wonder if you imagine the brief hesitation, the fraction of a second where Joel seems to pause before returning Tommy’s embrace. And then, as if he can’t help himself, his gaze flicks toward you, drifting over his brother’s shoulder. 

He looks away as Sarah claims his attention, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek while wrapping him in a hug of her own. “Happy birthday again, Dad,” she says, her smile so wide he can’t help but mirror it instantly. You know it was probably the first thing she said the moment she spotted him at the airport.

For a lot of reasons, you wish that awkward hallway encounter hadn’t happened. Back in Sarah’s room after he left, you winced when you realised it was Saturday. His birthday. That morning had been his first interaction of the day, and it had been… painfully awkward. Even if you had made the connection, you can’t imagine a way to have wished him a happy birthday in the hallway that wouldn’t have felt forced or embarrassing. Still, you feel bad that this morning was the first interaction he had on his birthday. You know it wasn’t the start he hoped for, though you’re not sure what he thinks of it now.

“Happy birthday, Joel,” you say from your seat, offering what you hope is a casual, normal smile.

He murmurs a collective “thank you,” his voice slightly rough, and rubs the back of his neck. A small, almost shy gesture whenever he’s the centre of attention, one you’ve always found quietly endearing. He bends to press a kiss to Sarah’s head just as she begins serving him a plate piled high with all his favourites.

“You know I can serve myself, right? I’m forty, not ninety.”

“Shush,” she waves him off. “Just sit down, Dad.”

And he does, taking the chair diagonally across from yours. For a moment, you wonder if he deliberately put some distance between you and him. He watches his daughter move around the kitchen with that soft, easy smile, and it’s obvious how much he’s missed her, even though it’s only been a few weeks since he last saw her. 

You recognise that look, because it’s the same way your father always looked at you when he came to visit in college. He’d even admitted it sometimes: “House isn’t the same without you, kiddo.” And that’s exactly why you’re back in Austin now, savouring every ordinary moment with your dad that you once took for granted.

You also know that’s how Joel feels, because over the past few weeks he’s been at your dad’s place more than usual, as if trying to escape the unfamiliar quiet that came with Sarah being away. “I miss everything,” he confessed one night, the two of you perched on the couch while your dad cooked dinner. “Her voice… the sound of her moving around. Hell, I even miss those pop songs she used to blast at all hours.” So he kept himself busy: throwing himself into work, spending time with your dad, and, inevitably, spending time with you.

It’s selfish, you know, but you couldn’t help enjoying how much more of Joel you’d seen over the past few weeks. If he had already been someone you saw often before, now it felt multiplied. He used every excuse to leave his empty house, to be at your dad’s, which also meant being with you. Dinners, hangouts over sports games, you took every opportunity to steal a little more time with him. One afternoon, he even insisted on taking you to Home Depot, supposedly to make sure you were buying the right kind of screws, even though your dad had clearly listed the exact type he needed. Not that you complained, every moment with Joel was worth it.

“Well, we’ll need to hit the store today,” your dad says, peering into the fridge. “We’re running low on beer.”

Joel looks up from his pancakes. “Already? Thought we bought enough.”

“You underestimated how much people drink in this house.”

“You mean we underestimated you,” Joel shoots back, grinning.

Your dad laughs, shaking his head. “Let’s not start pointing fingers now.”

You’re about to take a piece of bacon from your plate when a hand is faster, snatching it before you can react. Tommy grins triumphantly, holding the stolen bacon between his fingers like a trophy. You reach to swat him, but he darts just out of reach, still smiling.

“There’s, like, an entire plate right here you could’ve taken it from,” you point to the full plate in the centre of the table. 

“What’s the fun in that?” he says, mouth full of your precious bacon, settling back next to your dad. “I think your daughter’s the one who drank everythin’. Better be careful, this is a slippery slope.”

Your dad narrows his eyes at you, as if seriously considering Tommy’s words. “I don’t know where she gets that from,” he mutters with a wry smile.

Sarah chuckles beside you, and you shoot her a look that clearly says, don’t encourage them. But when you turn, you catch Joel’s expression. He’s not looking at you for once. His gaze is fixed on his brother, tight-lipped, as if he’s trying to rein in whatever comment he’s itching to make.

“Tommy,” you say, giving him a pointed look, “between us, we both know who’s more likely to be designated an alcoholic.”

“Me?” He places a hand over his heart, as if wounded. “I never drink!”

A beat of silence falls over the room. Everyone knows better. Everyone has witnessed Tommy’s hangovers more than once. Your dad is barely containing a smile, and you roll your eyes. 

“I must have imagined you the other night at the beach bar then,” you continue with a smile. “Must’ve been someone else.”

Tommy smirks, the memory of that night flickering in his eyes. What almost happened, and how it led to last night. You catch Joel watching you from the corner of your eye, but you don’t turn to meet his gaze, unwilling to decipher whatever his eyes might be saying this time. The way Tommy smiles makes you shift slightly, and you brace yourself for whatever he might say next, but Sarah jumps in.

“You guys went to the beach bar?!” Her eyes light up. “Oh, I always wanted to try it!” She turns to you eagerly. “Can we go?”

“You’re not twenty-one.” Joel reminds her over his cup of coffee.

“Come on, it’s not as if I never managed to get into a—” She pauses, her words catching as he dad raises an eyebrow at her. “Nevermind.”

“They said I’d have an answer soon, but honestly? If my boss wasn’t so busy screwing the new intern, I probably would’ve heard back about the promotion weeks ago.”

Sarah lets out a loud scoff, pushing her sunglasses higher up the bridge of her nose as you both sit perched on the second step of the pool, the cool water lapping just above your waists. She gives you a look, the kind that always comes before she says something outrageous.

“If you really want his attention that bad,” she drawls, drawing out each word, “maybe you should start picking up a few tricks from that intern.”

Her brows wiggle suggestively, and you immediately swat at her arm, scandalised. “He’s my boss!”

“So what?” she shoots back, grinning. “If it gets you the promotion—and hey, if he’s hot—”

You cut her off with a snort, shaking your head. “He’s not hot. He’s an ugly, sexist piece of shit.” The disgust in your voice is clear, and you punctuate it with a grimace before adding, “And he’s balding.”

Sarah bursts out laughing. “Okay, yeah, fair. Definitely not worth compromising your morals for. Pity, would have made quite the gossip.”

Sarah’s presence seems to draw everyone together. For the first time since you arrived, the whole group lingers around the pool, simply enjoying each other’s company. Tommy and Joel appear to have silently agreed no work would intrude on the day, while your dad, margaritas in hand, looks as if he’s already retired. Sarah shoots you a look, a quick tilt of her head toward the drinks, and without a word, you follow her out of the pool, water trailing down your skin as you head toward your dad. 

“What’s so funny over there?” Tommy calls from his seat, a beer dangling loosely in his hand. His eyes flick to you, lingering on your body a second too long before he flashes a grin that makes it clear he isn’t even trying to hide it. You choose to ignore him, though the corner of your mouth betrays you, twitching upward just slightly.

“Nothing that concerns you, Uncle Tommy.” You nod beside Sarah, backing her up without offering a word. Tommy arches a brow, clearly unconvinced, but lets it go, leaning back in his chair.

The sight of the cocktails makes your mouth water, but it’s nothing compared to the sight of Joel, leaning casually against the terrace railing while talking with your dad. You’ve seen him shirtless before, but the effect never seems to dull. It’s impossible not to drink him in: the muscles earned from years of work, the sun-warmed skin, the soft give of his stomach that only makes him look more solid, more real. Your gaze traces the line of chest hair down to the trail disappearing beneath his waistband, and you curse yourself for wishing it didn’t look so effortlessly inviting.

You know you should look away. You’ve told yourself that you need to move on. But when you finally force your eyes upward, you catch him already watching you. The sunglasses he wears do nothing to disguise where his attention lingers for a second, and for a dizzying heartbeat, the thought blazes in your mind: is Joel checking you out? You shouldn’t allow the idea, shouldn’t even entertain it, but the heat creeps through your body before you can stop it. Maybe he hates the colour of your swimsuit. Maybe he’s still thinking about the hallway. Maybe he wants you. Stop. Don’t go there again.

Just as quickly, he looks away. He shifts his focus to Sarah, already grinning with a cocktail in her hand. She looks up at him knowingly, her smile saying she’s heard it all before, as if she already knows exactly what her dad is about to say.

“Come on, it’s your birthday,” she argues, holding up her glass with a grin. “Am I not allowed one drink?”

Joel eyes her with mock suspicion. “One drink, huh? So you’re tellin’ me you’re not gonna touch another drop later tonight?”

She pouts dramatically, tilting her head as if the sheer force of her expression might bend reality in her favour. It’s a look you know too well: the same one she used on you when she begged for just one more episode before bed, or when she convinced you to order takeout despite a fridge stuffed with groceries all those years ago. You always caved, every single time, and you don’t even have to look at Joel to know he’s about to do the same.

“Love you, Dad,” she chirps, cheerful and triumphant, as though his silence is the blessing she needs.

“Whatever…”

Both you and your dad can’t help but laugh at the exchange when Tommy strolls over to his niece. “You’ve got him eatin’ right outta the palm of your hand,” he teases, nodding toward his brother with an amused shake of his head.

Sarah beams, entirely unbothered. “I know.”

You hum appreciatively as you take a sip of your margarita, silently thanking your dad’s well-meaning coworker who gifted him that cocktail recipe book. Since then, he’s found a new passion, playing bartender at every possible occasion, and honestly, it hits the spot perfectly. You should send them a gift basket in return. Sarah seems to agree, her drink disappearing at record speed.

“Better than frat parties, right?” you comment, swirling the drink in your hand.

“Everything’s better than what we drink at frat parties.” 

“Yeah, I remember.”

 “Do you?” she flashes you a smile when you give her a questioning look.“Didn’t you go to college during Prohibition or something?”

“You little shit.”

Sarah’s first mistake—calling you old doesn’t even count—was taking precious seconds to set down her drink. Her second was running toward the pool instead of the house, where she might have had a better chance of escaping you. And her third, fatal mistake, was thinking she could outrun you. She couldn’t.

All three errors culminate in her being hoisted and tossed into the pool before a single word of protest or apology can leave her lips, though you suspect she wouldn’t have bothered with any polite ones anyway.

You strike a triumphant pose, hands on your hips, as she surfaces from the water, gasping and sputtering. Before you can even savour the victory, she yells, “Avenge me Tommy!”

Your mistake is not realising just how close Tommy is. Before you can even think about escaping, he’s on you, his hands wrapping around you with effortless strength. You squirm and kick, but he’s stronger than you, holding you tight against his chest as he carries you toward the edge of the pool. Sarah watches with a wide, delighted grin. For a fleeting moment, your feet lift above the water, but your attention is caught by the warmth of him pressed against you and the low murmur of his voice in your ear.

“Sorry, pretty girl,” he says, even as you know he isn’t sorry at all.

What you don’t notice is Joel, standing just a few feet away, his eyes fixed on the scene. How his jaw tightens as he watches the closeness between his brother and you. You splash into the water before you can see his knuckles whitening around the beer bottle in his hand. 

You emerge from the water, not far from Sarah, who’s laughing far too gleefully. You glare at Tommy, who still has that infuriating grin plastered across his face, ready to tell him exactly how much this will cost him. But before you can get a word out, Joel appears behind him. Tommy doesn’t even notice. A single, subtle push from Joel against the small of his back is enough; Tommy wobbles, flails, and then topples straight into the pool with a loud splash.

“You motherfucker!” Tommy bellows, breaking the surface. 

Joel shrugs. “Got what you deserved.” His eyes flick to you for a brief moment as he finishes his beer. 

Your dad pats Joel’s shoulder, laughing at the chaos, and you shoot him a look. He simply smiles, unbothered, and gestures toward Joel’s now-empty bottle. “Want another one?”Joel nods without hesitation and passes the bottle back to your dad almost automatically. He opens his mouth to thank him, but your dad seizes the perfect opportunity to push Joel into the pool. The splash is loud and sudden, and Joel’s curses echo across the terrace as he surfaces, sputtering and glaring but unable to hide the smile threatening to break free. You and Sarah clutch your sides as Tommy wipes water from his eyes, trying not to laugh too hard. Before anyone can recover, your dad kicks off the edge, tucking his knees close to his chest, and cannonballs into the pool with a thunderous wave that splashes everyone in range. 

The pool dissolves into a battlefield in no time, everyone splashing and laughing, trying to outdo each other in ambushes and half-hearted attempts at drowning. Sarah catches your eye, and with a quick nod, the two of you silently agree to form a temporary alliance. Together, you set your sights on a common target: your dad. Sarah dives beneath the surface, grabbing at his legs, while you leap onto his back, arms wrapping around his shoulders to throw off his balance. He fights hard, laughing loudly as he does, but between Sarah tugging him down and you pushing from above, it doesn’t take long before the two of you topple him under with a mighty splash.

You both shoot away in victory, shrieking with laughter as he resurfaces. Already regrouping, you and Sarah turn your focus on Tommy, who’s been watching with a grin that says he knows he’s next.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he warns, as he backs up slowly through the water. 

“It’s just payback,” you laugh, lunging for one of Tommy’s legs while Sarah goes for the other. He puts up more of a fight than your dad did, thrashing and kicking to shake you off, but between the two of you, he doesn’t stand a chance. With a final heave, you both drag him under, and he comes back up slicking his wet hair out of his face with a grin.

You squeal as he immediately cuts through the water toward you, ignoring that Sarah is much closer. You splash at him uselessly, kicking back, trying to put distance between you. He almost manages to catch your ankle when your back suddenly bumps against something solid. You glance up in alarm at the idea that you are trapped, only to realise it isn’t the pool wall at all.

It’s Joel.

He’s standing just behind you, water dripping from his shoulders, his expression unreadable save for the one brow he raises at finding you practically cornered against him. You don’t let yourself think about this morning, about the looks you still don’t know how to interpret. Not now. Fueled by adrenaline and the giddy energy of the game, you seize the chance. In a quick motion, you dart around Joel’s side, slipping through the water to put him squarely between you and Tommy, shamelessly using him as your shield. 

“Protect me, Joel!” you laugh breathlessly as your hand instinctively grabs his bicep.The muscle flexes beneath your fingers. 

“C’mon now,” Tommy taunts, his smile wide as he advances through the water. “Promise I won’t drown you.”

“Yeah, right,” you shoot back, your grip on Joel tightening as your other hand lands on his shoulder for balance. “I’m not falling for that, Tommy.”

He lets out a low chuckle, amused, before casting a sly look at his brother. Joel hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a word, just stands there solid and immovable as you cling to him. “Go on, brother,” Tommy says with a laugh. “Let me have her.”

If you weren’t so close, you’d miss the subtle shift in Joel’s body, the faint tension that runs through him. His jaw works once before he answers, his voice calm but unyielding.

“Don’t think I will.”

Joel takes a deliberate step backwards into the deeper water. Your hands slide higher onto his shoulders as you instinctively follow, pressed close to him. Tommy lunges forward, reaching, but Joel moves smoothly out of his grasp, keeping you just out of reach. You can’t help the startled laugh that escapes you as you throw your arms around his neck for balance, the sudden closeness stealing your breath for a second. Tommy groans dramatically.

Tommy shoots his brother a look, half playful, half something else, but he doesn’t get the chance to say anything. Sarah suddenly launches herself onto his back with a triumphant squeal, determined to drag him under again. His focus shifts instantly to her, arms flailing as he tries to shake her off while she clings like a koala. You can’t help but laugh, still pressed close against Joel’s back. 

“Thanks, Joel,” you say between chuckles. For a second, you catch the corner of his mouth twitch, the faintest hint of a smile.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

“What—”

Before you can finish, his hand covers yours where they’re looped around his neck, tightening your grip as though bracing you. And then, without warning, he pushes off and drops backwards into the water, pulling you with him. Instinct kicks in, and your legs wrap firmly around his waist, clinging to him as he holds you under just long enough to make you sputter a laugh against the water. When he finally breaks the surface, you gasp for air, hair plastered to your face.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Joel says over his shoulder with a grin, water dripping down his face. His hand is still wrapped firmly around yours.

“Asshole,” you laugh, shoving lightly at his shoulder. The movement makes him chuckle, and you feel the sound vibrate through his chest and back into you. God, you had missed that sound.

But it also makes you realise just how close you are to him. Your chest is pressed against the solid plane of his back, your legs still hooked tight around his middle as if you belong there. Embarrassment pricks at the edge of your thoughts, but Joel doesn’t shift away, doesn’t make the slightest effort to dislodge you. If anything, he seems to let you stay. And so, against every reason screaming in your head, you let yourself indulge. You let yourself savour the way his body fits against yours, how natural it feels to hold on to him. You breathe him in. The scent of the chlorine clinging to his skin, and beneath it, that familiar scent that’s so distinctly him. His warmth radiates through you, lulling you into forgetting that this is the exact opposite of what you should be doing.

Your chin finds its way to rest on his shoulder, the wet skin of your cheek brushing his. Together, you watch the rest of the group splashing and shouting, too caught up in their own chaos to notice the two of you. You feel his thumb move against the back of your hand. A slow, absent stroke, as if having you against him is the most natural thing. As if, somehow, it steadies him the same way it soothes you. 

You let your eyes fall shut, allowing yourself to feel that quiet pull just for a second. When you open them again, he’s already turned toward you. His face is close, his gaze unreadable but lingering, falling briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes. You expect him to pull away, but he just smiles.  

“Ready to go again?” he asks softly.

You just smile at him and nod. His hand tightens around yours, and you let him pull you under again.

A few hours later, after the chaos of the pool has melted into lazy laughter and a quick lunch, the house grows quiet. Sarah swears she’s just closing her eyes for a second, but you know better. You head downstairs in fresh clothes, shorts and a worn graphic tee clinging to your still-warm skin, and pause when you see Joel in the entryway. He’s shrugging into his jacket, keys dangling loosely from one hand.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice cutting into the quiet.

He glances back at you, his eyes flickering down for a fraction of a second to take in your change of outfit before snapping back to your face. “Just goin’ to the store.”

“Wasn’t my dad supposed to go with you?”

Joel gave the faintest huff of a laugh, shaking his head. “Well, yeah. But if I believe the loud snorin’ I heard comin’ from his room when I walked past, I’d say your old man fell asleep.”

You smiled, nodding. “Sarah too. Guess the sun took them out,” you add softly before you tilt your head. “What about Tommy? Where’s he?”

Joel’s jaw ticks almost imperceptibly before he answers, voice clipped. “Don’t know.”

He moves toward the door, his shoulders drawn a little tighter than before. You hesitate on the last step, uncertain of his mood, weighing whether to let him go or push your luck. But then you shake it off and walk down the final stairs.

“I’ll come with you.”

Joel turns, his hand still on the knob. His eyes linger on you for a second, unreadable, before he shakes his head. “No need.”

“Come on,” you counter, stepping closer. “I’m not letting you do grocery shopping alone on your birthday. That’s like… a crime.”

He snorts. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is to me.”

He exhales, somewhere between exasperation and surrender, but the corner of his mouth betrays him with the faintest grin. “Fine.”

You smile, triumphant, and hurry to slip on your shoes. By the time you join him at the door, he’s holding it open, his hand resting on the frame, waiting. Southern manners and all. You catch his eye as you pass, a smile tugging at your lips.

“I can drive, if you want.”

“Ah. Funny.”

You roll your eyes, pretending as if you hadn’t already known what his answer would be. “Can I at least choose the music?”

Joel’s mouth curves into that small, crooked smile. “You’ll do it anyway.”

He shuts the door behind you, and he’s not wrong: you have the radio on the second you’re in the passenger seat, flipping through stations until you land on one that plays songs you both know by heart. Joel doesn’t comment, just gives you that sideways glance, amusement flickering across his face before focusing back on the road.

The drive is short, filled with easy chatter about the grocery list, who’s going to carry what, and whether or not your dad needs more limes if he plans to keep perfecting his margaritas tonight. The kind of light talk that fills silence without really saying much, and maybe that’s why you cling to it. You don’t want to let your mind drift too far.

It does anyway. Back to the last time you were in his truck, and what happened next. You wonder if Joel remembers that night as sharply as you do. Does he think of it at all? Surely not. And if he does, it must be something he pushes away, something he doesn’t want lingering.

You steal a glance at him, at the steady set of his jaw, the way the sunlight cuts across his profile. You wonder what Joel thinks when he looks at you. Does he see a friend? Just Sarah’s old babysitter turned friend, or your father’s kid he’s known for years, easy company when convenience allows? Or does he see something closer to what you see? Something that matters, something he’d miss if it was gone?

A week ago, you would have been certain. The two of you were friends, and it was enough. Your hopeless crush was never supposed to leave the confines of your heart. Now, everything feels more blurred, fragile, as if one wrong move could shatter whatever it is you have with him.

Your gaze drops to his mouth, to those lips you once tasted, if only for a fleeting second. The memory flickers through you leaving behind a want you shouldn’t indulge, yet can’t quiet. He says something, his voice pulling you back, and you look away before the ache in your chest grows too loud, before the temptation becomes too much. Again.

“Grab the—”

“Bud Light and Lone Star, I know.”

Joel scoffs beside you, manoeuvring the cart so you can set down the bottles. You reach for a soda and some juice your dad requested for whatever cocktail experiment he’s attempting tonight. You glance at the hard liquor and raise an eyebrow at Joel. 

“Want something stronger for tonight?” you ask, pointing to some nicer bottles.

“Beer’s fine.”

“Are you sure? Not even a little something for your birthday? Forty’s a milestone, Joel.”

“Don’t remind me,” he mutters.

“What, that you’re getting older?” You give him a playful look. “That’s a good thing, you know.”

“How so?”

“You’re getting closer to that senior discount card.”

He nudges the cart against your hip lightly to punish you for the jab, and you can’t help but laugh. “Smartass. Do you want me to leave you here? I will drive home without you.”

“We both know you wouldn’t do that.”

His eyes linger on you for a moment before he grunts and steers the cart down another aisle. You smile smugly, following after him. The grocery list is quickly checked off as the two of you move efficiently; he grabs more meat for tonight, and you snag a few extra snacks.

You stretch on your tiptoes, trying to reach a bag on the top shelf. Your fingers barely graze it. Who the fuck decided to store it that high? Glancing back to call Joel, you find him already there, standing close behind you. His body brushes against your back as he effortlessly reaches for the bag, and for a moment, your heart skips a beat at the closeness.

“Here,” he says, holding the snack out to you. You mutter a quick thanks, your fingers brushing his, and he’s already returning to whatever he was looking for. 

As you finish going through the list, a quiet contentment settles in you. The kind you didn’t think anyone else could make you feel. Being near him just feels right. Doing random, ordinary, domestic things with him makes you smile for no reason at all.

It feels good, how easy it is to be with him. It hurts too, how easy it is to be with him, when you know there’s still that thick red line you can’t cross. You remind yourself you need to move on, that you should. But the thought slips away the second he turns to look at you and gives you that small, quiet smile. The one you feel was created just for you, and the line blurs just a little.

The cashier is almost done ringing everything up when you slip your wallet from your pocket. You’ve just brushed your fingers over your credit card when Joel’s voice cuts in.

“Put that away.”

You glance at him, already frowning. “It’s your birthday, Joel. Let me pay.”

He doesn’t even bother answering, just steps in front of you, a wall of broad shoulders blocking you from the card machine.

“Come on, I have a job, a salary, I can—”

“Stop talkin’ nonsense.” His hand finds your waist as he nudges you gently aside, firm but not unkind. He doesn’t even look at you, already reaching for his own wallet.

You stand there, pouting like a kid, and he just rolls his eyes, though the twitch of a smile betrays him. The cashier smiles too, her gaze flicking between the two of you with something that makes your stomach tighten. You can’t stop yourself from wondering what she sees. Two people bickering, teasing. Two people easy in each other’s space. The thought that she might see a couple settles too deep in your chest. 

Outside, you walk side by side toward his truck, Joel steering the cart with one hand. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you fish it out. A text from Tommy: a picture of him and Sarah grinning wide, holding up a bakery box. The birthday cake. Of course they’d sneak out while Joel was gone to get it. He’s going to grumble later, claim he didn’t need it, but you already know it won’t matter. Because it isn’t really a birthday without a cake, and whether he admits it or not, it’ll mean something to him.

“What’s got you smilin’ like that?” Joel asks, leaning just slightly toward you.

You snap your phone shut in your hand, sliding it quickly into your pocket before he can see the picture. No way you’re letting the surprise get spoiled. 

“Nothing, just Tommy.”

When you glance up, his eyes are already on you. His jaw ticks, his mouth pulls tight. He doesn’t say anything right away, just turns and opens the back door of his truck, shoving the bags inside with a little more force than needed.

It hits you then, how it must look. You rush to correct it. “I mean—”

“Don’t have to explain anything to me,” he cuts in, voice clipped, not even looking your way. “What you do with Tommy, or anyone else, ain’t my concern.”

The words slice sharper than you expect, the coldness in his tone stinging more than it should. You still haven’t spoken about this morning, and you wish you knew what he thought of it. Does he think you slept with Tommy? Probably. Does he care? You wish he did.  

You hate the way Joel can sometimes feel like an open book to you, easy to read, every thought worn on his sleeve, only to shut you out the next second, walls so high you can’t even see the top.

Before you can speak, his phone rings. He doesn’t glance at you, doesn’t offer anything more than the long breath he draws before pulling the phone from his pocket.

“Yeah,” he says, pressing it to his ear. The faint sound of someone’s voice carries over: a cheerful happy birthday. Joel listens, shoulders set, still not looking at you.

Your jaw tightens. Whatever words were ready in your throat die before you can say them. You scoff under your breath, annoyed at how easily his mood can shift, how quickly he can shut you out, and turn away.

You push the cart toward the corral, metal rattling against the asphalt, telling yourself it’s not worth it to feel this bruised over him. You hate this version of Joel. That dismissive edge, the way he can be so damn stubborn once he’s set in his ways. It’s worse because you know the other side of him. The Joel who listens like every word is worth something, who can sit with you and make silence feel like comfort instead of distance. You don’t see the way his jaw tightens as he watches you walk away. 

What the hell is up is ass? Does he disapprove? Is that it? Some paternal instinct telling him you’re too young for Tommy? Was that flash across his face disappointment? At his brother, at you, for doing something adults do? Maybe he’s finally realising you’re not what he thought. Maybe it’s also the text about Michael, and he decided you’re the kind of woman who just sleeps around. Maybe some conservative part of him can’t stomach it, can’t stomach you. God, what if he thinks you’re a bad influence on Sarah? Fuck. What if that’s it? Him realising he was wrong about you. That you’re not the person he thought you were.

It shouldn’t matter. Even if it did, it’s no one’s business but yours. But it’s Joel, and his opinion of you weighs more than it should. Once again, you wish it didn’t. You wish you had your headphones, that you could just walk home and let the music drown out your spiralling thoughts as your feet carry you along the beach path, out of the parking lot. But you know Joel would never let that happen. He’d insist on getting you into the truck before you even make it out of the parking lot. Lost in your thoughts, you don’t notice the uneven curb in front of you until your foot catches. You hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of you.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath as you hit the ground, feeling the sting of gravel pressing into your palms. You brush the small rocks off, wincing at the scrape on one knee that’s taken the brunt of the fall. It’s bleeding lightly, because of course, you needed that right now. You take a quick second to scan your surroundings, relieved that no one else seems to have witnessed your clumsy stumble. 

You limp the last few steps toward the truck, biting back a wince. Joel is leaning against the cab, phone pressed to his ear, his expression unreadable until his eyes drop to your scraped knee. The change is immediate.

“I gotta go,” he cuts in, voice clipped. “Yeah. Thanks. Bye, Carl.” He shoves the phone into his pocket without waiting for an answer and strides toward you. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” you brush him off with a wave, trying to keep walking.

“You’re bleeding.”  he says flatly, as if the evidence alone cancels out your words. His eyes don’t leave your leg, jaw tightening like it physically bothers him to see it. Before you can protest, his hand finds the space between your shoulder blades, steering you to the truck. He pulls open the passenger door and nods toward the seat. “Sit.”

You sigh, but do as told, expecting him to just get behind the wheel and head home. A scrape like this is nothing new—you’ve had worse from running across the playground as a kid, and it never warranted this much fuss.

But Joel doesn’t climb in to drive. Instead, he leans in close, the heat of him brushing your arm, and pops open the glove compartment. For a moment, you catch the clean scent of his shampoo mixed with sweat and sun-warmed cotton, and it takes everything in you not to lean into it. He pulls out a small first aid kit, worn from use on job sites, and crouches down in front of you.

“Turn this way, sweetheart.” His voice is soft as his hand pats your uninjured leg. You shift without protest, angling yourself toward him while he opens the little red first-aid kit with practised ease. The disinfectant looks almost toy-sized in his broad hand, a detail that you can’t help but notice.

He works with quiet efficiency, pulling out a wipe first. The touch is feather-light as he clears away the streaks of blood, but even in his care, the antiseptic sting bites at your skin. What really hurts, though, is the gentleness; how steady and focused he is on you after being so distant just minutes earlier. It makes something ache deep in your chest, an ache you can’t swallow down no matter how hard you try.

You blink fast, willing the tears to stay put, but one prickles at the corner of your eye. A tiny, shaky sound escapes you. Joel’s head snaps up instantly, his gaze finding yours, concern written all over his face.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he finishes dabbing the disinfectant. “I know it must sting.”

“I’m not—” you choke out, shaking your head. “I’m not crying because of that.”

His hand stills, his brow furrowing. He tilts his head slightly, studying you, waiting with a kind of quiet patience that makes it harder to keep the words down.

“I’m sorry, Joel.”

“Hey, it’s just a fall. Don’t beat yourself up.”

“No,” you shake your head harder, a sob breaking through. “That’s not what I mean. I’m sorry I keep ruining your vacation.”

His expression shifts. “What are you talkin’ about?”

You swallow thickly. “I keep messing things up. That night, this morning… I feel like all I do is make the wrong choices.” Your voice cracks as you force the rest out. “I’m sorry I’m ruining your birthday.”

“You’re not ruinin’ anything.”

“Ain’t I?” you whisper, barely able to meet his eyes. “I’m not stupid, Joel. I can see it. I can see that you’re mad at me. Do you… do you think badly of me because of this morning? Because I kissed you… and then I kissed Tommy?” You catch the brief tightening of his lips, “Do you think I’m…” easy? A slut? A mess? “Are you… Disappointed in me? Do you think badly of me now?”

A tear escapes down your cheek despite your best efforts. His hand is there in an instant, brushing it away with careful gentleness. You notice the pained expression flicker across his face at the sight of your distress, and you glance down at your knees, where his other hand still rests lightly above your scraped skin.

Way to go, you think bitterly. Let’s just add “breakdown in front of Joel” to the growing list of ways to ruin his birthday.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” When you don’t, his fingers tilt your chin gently, guiding your eyes to meet his. He offers a soft, reassuring smile. “That’s better. I could never think badly of you, okay?”

“But you—”

“But nothin’. I will never think you’re a disappointment or anythin’ like that, hear me?” He pauses, searching your eyes to make sure you truly understand. “I’m the one who should apologise. I didn’t realize I was… so obvious with my mood. It has nothing to do with you, everything to do with me. I just have a lot on my mind. And yes, this morning, it…,” he searches for the right word, “…caught me off guard. But it’s none of my business what happens between you and Tommy.”

“We just kissed,” you admit, your voice low, needing him to understand. “Nothing else happened.”

“Okay,” he nods, taking it in. For a fraction of a second, his gaze flickers to your lips before returning to your eyes. Is he thinking about his brother at this moment, or is his mind on the night you kissed him? You can’t tell.

“I’m sorry… I keep ruining your day,” you murmur.

“Stop sayin’ that,” he interrupts immediately, a low grunt of frustration escaping him. “You’re not. You could never ruin my day, sweetheart.”

“Never?” you breathe, searching his face.

“Never,” he says firmly, his voice low. “You only make my days better.”

A shiver runs through you at the weight of his admission, at how easily he says it, as if it’s the most natural truth. Your gaze drops before you can stop it, back to his hand still resting on your leg. His thumb rests just above your knee, now tracing slow, absent circles. It’s the same touch he gave you earlier in the pool, but here it feels different somehow. Maybe because it’s closer to your thigh, closer to the place where you’ve ached for his touch more times than you’d ever admit.

You see the moment he notices it too. His gaze drops to where his hand lingers, then flicks back up to you. His eyes are darker now, pupils swallowing the warm brown, heavy with something unspoken. Almost without meaning to, his hand shifts; just slightly higher, barely anything, but enough to steal the air from your lungs.

Your breath stutters. “Joel…” It slips out so softly you aren’t even sure he hears it.

A car door slams somewhere in the lot. Joel blinks, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard, and just like that, whatever had been hanging in the air is gone. His thumb gives your skin one last squeeze before his hand slips away, leaving behind a ghost of warmth.

“Let’s go home,” he says quietly, already straightening to his full height.

You only nod, because you’re not sure your voice would hold steady if you tried to use it. He closes your door gently, and the soft click makes your breath rush out all at once. Fuck. What was that?

You fumble with your seatbelt, snapping it into place as Joel rounds the hood and slides into the driver’s seat. The cab fills with silence, heavy enough to press against your ribs. Neither of you speaks on the ride back, not even when you finally reach for the radio and turn it up, needing to drown out the pounding of your own heartbeat in your ears.

When you pull into the driveway, Joel kills the engine, and for a heartbeat neither of you moves. You risk a glance at him, catch the way his chest expands with a sharp breath, like he’s about to speak and your pulse jumps. But then his gaze flickers past you, toward the house. You follow it, turning just in time to see Tommy and Sarah heading your way. He sighs, slips the keys from the ignition and opens his door without a word. You follow, shutting your door as Tommy and Sarah reach the truck.

“Find everything?” Sarah asks. 

Joel hums, noncommittal, already reaching into the back seat for the grocery bags. Sarah joins him, grabbing one before he can stop her.

“Wouldn’t want you to throw your back out, Dad,” she teases, smirk tugging at her lips.

Joel lets out a grunt, bumping her shoulder with his. “Have a kid, they say…” Sarah just laughs, carrying a bag beside him as the two of them head for the house

Tommy chuckles, his gaze dropping to your knee. “Didn’t remember grocery shopping being this dangerous,” he says, nodding toward the scrape.

“Yeah, well, you should see the other guy.” You flash him a quick smile, and he mirrors it.

“What happened?”

“Sidewalk won,” you admit with a shrug. “Guess I’ve got the coordination of a newborn.”

“Ah.” His mouth quirks. “Does it hurt?”

You shake your head. “Not really. Looks worse than it feels.” Then, lowering your voice a little, you add, “So… you guys got the cake?”

“Yep,” Tommy confirms, grin widening. “Thanks for the distraction, by the way. The two of you heading out was perfect timing.”

“Glad to be of service.” 

The two of you exchange a smile, a stretch of silence settling between you. It’s the first time today you’ve been alone with Tommy since last night, and the weight of it hangs in the air. You know you should say something, but the words don’t come easily.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Tommy says gently, almost like he’s reading your thoughts.

“But we should, don’t you think?”

“Probably,” he admits with a small shrug. “I just… don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“You couldn’t,” you tell him honestly. “I just… last night, it was nice.”

His eyes soften. “It was.”

“I’m sorry I fell asleep in your bed.”

“I’m not,” he says quickly, a teasing smile pulling at his lips. “Your snoring was cute.”

You swat at his arm, scandalised. “I don’t snore.”

“Sure you don’t,” he teases, laughing softly. “You… breathe heavily, let's say.” He pauses, then his voice drops a little, quieter. “Felt weird wakin’ up to an empty bed.”

“I had to go back to my room before Sarah woke up,” you explain, even though you know he already knows. “Would’ve been a weird conversation otherwise.”

“With Sarah?”

“With everyone,” you admit, and he nods, as if he understands more than you said.

“Do you… regret it?”

There’s a pause as you search for your words. “I don’t,” you finally say. “I like you, Tommy. I really do. And last night… it was fun. If something more had happened, I wouldn’t have regretted it either.”

You wouldn’t have, not with Tommy. Tommy, who makes you laugh, who makes things feel effortless, who can light up a room just by being in it. And yet, even as you think of him, your mind keeps returning to Joel; how a simple brush of his hand feels like fire, how your whole body responds to him, how your heart skips when he’s near. You keep telling yourself you need to move on, but your heart hasn’t gotten the memo. 

Even if you could lose yourself in Tommy for a while, even if his touch or his laugh could make you forget Joel for a fleeting moment, it would be temporary. Because right now, your heart aches for his brother, and it wouldn’t be fair to Tommy to be a substitute for someone your heart still belongs to. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone.

“But… I’m a mess, Tommy,” you admit with a small, self-deprecating laugh. “And it wouldn’t be fair to let you hope for something I’m not sure I can give.” You brace yourself, expecting disappointment, disagreement, maybe even an awkward silence. But Tommy just smiles, easy and unshaken, as if he’s been waiting for you to say it.

“Because it’s complicated,” he says softly, finishing your thought for you, echoing the words you’d said at the bar.

“Because it’s complicated,” you repeat. “I’m sorry…I feel like I keep changing my mind, like I’m leading you on, and I don’t want to be that person.”

Tommy lifts his hand and rests it on your arm, his voice easy. “Hey—you don’t owe me anythin’.” He meets your eyes. “We had fun. If nothing more comes of it, that’s fine. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” He glances toward the house, then back to you. “Besides… I think I already know.”

Your eyes widen a fraction at that, wondering if he means what you think. He only gives you one of those open, reassuring smiles. You almost ask for clarification, then decide you might not want the answer. Instead, you reach for him and pull him into a quick side hug; he wraps you up without hesitation.

“Are we still friends?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Of course, pretty girl.” He presses a light kiss to your hair, grin warm. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

You feel your chest lighten as you press closer into his side, comfort settling easy between you. The front door creaks open then, and Sarah’s voice cuts across the quiet.

“Dad says to quit being lazy and help with the groceries!” she calls, unbothered by the sight of you and Tommy wrapped up in a hug.

“I went to the store, how am I lazy?” you shout back, flipping her off for good measure.

Tommy’s laugh rumbles against you. “Guess I don’t have the same excuse,” he says, grinning. “And I’d rather not anger the household tyrants.”

Reluctantly, the two of you pull apart and start toward the door. Just before you step inside, he leans down, voice low by your ear.

“You know,” he murmurs, teasing lilt in his tone, “I would’ve rocked your world.”

Heat crawls up your neck, and you glance at him, catching the smug grin tugging at his mouth. Typical. Still proud he can fluster you this easily.

But two can play. You tilt your head, bat your lashes. “I would’ve rocked yours, Tommy.”

His laugh bursts out loud and easy. “Oh, I don’t doubt it.” He pulls the door open for you, adding with a grin as you step past him, “By the way—keep my shirt. Looks better on you anyway.”

“Happy birthday—”

“Oh, god,” Joel groans, though the sound is ruined by the shy grin tugging at his lips as he lifts his beer for a sip.

“—to youuuuuu,” everyone finishes together, voices overlapping in a messy, cheerful chorus.

Sarah beams as she comes in from the kitchen, carrying the cake with both hands, the glow of little flames flickering against her face. The candles shaped in a bright, undeniable 40 throw their light across the dim room, reflecting in Joel’s wide eyes.

He sits at the head of the table, shoulders a little hunched, as if he can’t quite believe this is all for him. Around him, the table is crowded with the evidence of the night; half-finished plates, empty beer bottles, and the smell of barbecue still clinging to the air.

Outside, rain has begun to fall soft and steady against the windows, a quiet percussion that only makes the inside feel warmer. The whole room hums with laughter, voices, and the glow of candlelight, every eye turned toward him.

Tommy slings a hand over his brother’s shoulder, rocking him side to side as he belts the last lines of the song at the top of his lungs. “Haaappy birthday, Jooeel!” he practically howls, deliberately off-key.

Joel groans, trying to shrug him off, but the effort only makes Tommy sing louder. With a low laugh, Joel jabs his elbow into his brother’s ribs. “Don’t go ruinin’ my hearin’ more than it already is.”

Everyone chuckles as Sarah sets the cake down in front of her dad, the candles glowing bright against the dim room. She rests a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, grounding him there in the centre of it all. Joel presses his hand above hers, a quiet, wordless thank you. His face is tinged with colour, his discomfort at being the centre of attention softened by the warmth around him.

He draws a breath, about to speak, when you cut him off from your spot near the light switch.

“Don’t you dare say you didn’t want a cake,” you call out affectionately. “Just blow out the candles, Joel.”

He shoots you an amused glance, raising an eyebrow. You respond with nothing but a smile. With a soft chuckle, he blows out the candles, and the room erupts in cheers. You flick the lights back on as your dad brings over fresh plates to serve the cake.

Sarah, bouncing in her seat, claps her hands. “Now, presents!”

Joel turns to her. “What? We said no presents. That everyone being here was enough.”

Your dad starts slicing the cake, shaking his head. “You said no presents, but did you really think anyone would listen?”

Everyone smiles at Joel, and he grunts, clearly a bit annoyed and embarrassed by the attention. Once everyone has their slice of cake—something Joel can’t even bring himself to complain about, since it’s his favourite—your dad disappears into the kitchen for a moment. He returns with a present, wrapped as only he could manage: it’s lopsided, with more tape than paper, and the unmistakable shape of a bottle bulging through the thin wrapping.

You can’t help but wish he’d asked for your help. The package is… well, it’s not pretty, and it’s painfully obvious what’s inside. But then again, that’s part of your dad’s charm.

Joel doesn’t seem to mind at all. With a grin, he takes the gift from your dad, his smile wide and genuine. He carefully starts unwrapping it, taking his time with the crinkled paper. You almost want to tell him to just tear it up already, but something about his gentle approach makes you smile. There’s an endearing quality to how he handles even the smallest things with such care.

Joel sets the bottle down in front of him, placing it just far enough to squint at the label. Sarah and you exchange a knowing glance, both of you struggling to hide your smiles. The man would never admit he needed glasses, even if it was painfully obvious.

From where you're sitting, you can already tell it’s not the kind of bottle you’d find at a regular grocery store. 

“Japanese whiskey,” Joel whistles, turning the bottle slightly. “Fancy. Don’t think I’ve ever had this one.”

“Hope not,” your dad replies. “I’ve only heard good things about it.”

“Let’s crack it open and find out,” Joel says, already rising to grab some glasses.

“It’s for you, Joel,” your dad reminds him with a small laugh.

“Nonsense,” he says, waving him off. “What’s the point of a good bottle if I don’t share it?” He nods toward his brother. “Tommy, you in?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Joel looks next to Sarah, who flashes him a wide, innocent grin. He rolls his eyes affectionately. 

“Cocktails, beer, and now whiskey…” he mutters, shaking his head. “You’re lucky it’s my birthday, young lady.”

“Thanks, Dad!” Sarah beams, her voice slightly slurred from the drinks she’s already had.

Then he turns to you, one brow raised.

You meet his gaze and nod. “Thanks, Joel.”

Everyone waits until all the glasses are served before taking a sip. Joel hums in quiet appreciation, and your dad and Tommy quickly follow suit with similar nods of approval. You take a small sip yourself and have to admit it’s good. Much smoother than the cheap whiskey you’re more used to. Definitely not the Jack Daniel’s you usually drown in Coke. Next to you, Sarah squirms slightly as the taste hits her.

“Too strong for you?” you tease gently.

She lifts an eyebrow at you, full of mock defiance. “Of course not.”

Then, in a move of pure pride (poor judgment) she downs the rest in one go.

Your eyes widen, and you can’t help but laugh when she immediately starts coughing as the burn hits her throat.

“Sarah!” her father scolds from his seat. “That’s not a shot!”

“Every—” she tries to speak between coughs, “everything can be a shot.”

“Fuckin’ hell…”

“She’s not wrong,” Tommy chimes in, but Joel shoots him a look, and he lifts both hands in surrender.

Joel shakes his head then turns to your father. The two of them slip easily into conversation, their voices dipping into talk of the whiskey’s smoothness and subtle flavours. Beside you, Sarah chases the burn with a gulp of water, her face still slightly flushed. You take the moment of distraction to reach under the table and retrieve your gift, hidden safely in your bag. As your fingers brush the present, your eyes catch on the small envelope tucked beside it. You pause. For a second, you consider bringing it out too, but then you hesitate, and quietly leave it where it is.

With the present in hand, you rise and step toward Joel. He looks up as soon as he notices your movement, his attention shifting naturally to you.

“Here,” you say, offering the neatly wrapped gift with a small smile. “Happy birthday, Joel.”

You can tell Joel’s about to say something, probably that you didn’t need to get him anything, but he stops himself. Instead, he gives you a warm, appreciative smile.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says quietly.

Like with the bottle, he takes his time unwrapping the gift. Inside is a rolled-up leather case, neatly secured with a strap. He pauses, clearly unsure what it is, then unrolls it slowly.

A collection of carving tools reveals itself; sleek blades of polished steel, each resting snugly in its own slot. His fingers move over them with surprising gentleness, tracing the shapes and edges, taking in every detail.

Tommy and Sarah drift toward the end of the table, curiosity pulling them closer.

“What’s that for?” Sarah asks, tilting her head.

Joel doesn’t look up right away. His voice is quiet when he finally answers. “I… uh, I started woodcarving a few weeks ago.”

Sarah’s eyes widen a little, then she glances at him with a bright smile. “Really? That’s cool!”

“Just a hobby to pass the time,” Joel adds, a little sheepishly.

“And he’s really good at it,” you say, your voice gentle, more for his reassurance than anyone else’s. “So I figured it was time you had proper tools. Something a little better than a Swiss knife. Safer, too.”

Joel looks at you, and there’s something unguarded in his expression; genuine and quietly touched.

“That’s… really nice,” he says, eyes meeting yours. “Thank you.”

Your face lights up at his reaction. You’d been nervous it might come off as too much. But ever since he’d shown you his first wood carving a few weeks back—presenting it almost like it was something to be ashamed of—you’d seen nothing but beauty in it. You knew then that all he really needed was a little encouragement.

“Okay, wait here,” Sarah says suddenly, springing to her feet. “Tommy, come on.”

The two of them disappear upstairs, leaving everyone watching after them in mild confusion. Your dad uses the pause to start clearing plates, disappearing into the kitchen with a small stack in hand. Meanwhile, Joel is still focused on the gift, carefully sliding out a few of the tools to admire them up close. He runs his thumb over the smooth wooden handles, appreciating the craftsmanship.

“You’ll have to make me something now,” you joke, but Joel looks up at you, eyes soft.

“Already started.”

“What?” you blink, caught off guard.

He gives a quiet laugh, glancing down for a moment before meeting your eyes again.“Yeah, uh… it’s not amazin’ or anythin’. But you liked the last one I showed you,  So I thought—I don’t know—I thought maybe you’d like one of your own.”

Your heart stirs. Joel thinks of you, even when you’re not there. When he's alone. When his hands are working wood into shape, smoothing edges, carving curves—he thinks of you. And maybe it’s not in the way you hope, not in the way you think of him… but still, the thought of it warms you from the inside out.

“That's really sweet,” you murmur, your gaze locked with his. “I can't wait to see it, Joel.”

“Well, now that I’ve got the right tools, I’m sure it won’t take long,” he replies, his smile growing just a little more confident.

Your father reappears, carrying a few beers and placing them on the table. 

“You’ll have to show me sometime,” he says, nodding toward the tools. “Need to see if you’re as good as my daughter claims.”

You blink, surprised, and turn toward your father. “Wait—he didn’t show you?”

“Nope,” your father responds, feigning a pout. “He’s been a bit secretive about it. I’m starting to think I’m jealous—he shows you but not me?”

You look back at Joel, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. He’s suddenly quiet, his cheeks flushed a shade darker than before. But before he can get a word out, Sarah’s voice rings through the air, cutting him off.

“Dad, close your eyes!”

He looks away, closing his eyes. You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips as you return to your seat. You try to push down the feeling of satisfaction, of being the only one he’s shown this side of him, but the grin refuses to fade. Your gaze drifts to your bag, where the envelope still rests. Maybe later, you think, as Sarah and Tommy enter, holding his gift.

 "Hold your hands out, old man," Tommy instructs.

Joel mumbles something in reply, but he obeys, his hands outstretched. Sarah takes her time, carefully positioning the gift in his arms.

Then, at the first sensation of it, Joel’s eyes snap open. “Is that—” he starts, but the words are cut short as he fully registers the weight of the gift in his hands. His breath catches, and the smile that had been teasing his lips now falls away, replaced with genuine surprise.

In his hands, Joel holds a brand new guitar; a stunning acoustic, its warm wood glowing in the light. The craftsmanship is breathtaking. Joel immediately adjusts his grip, holding it properly as he admires the intricate design with wide, amazed eyes.

“Before you start protesting,” Sarah says, cutting through his quiet awe, “your old guitar is literally older than me. You deserve a new one. And I insist on it, Dad.”

Everyone knows how worn-out Joel’s guitar is; it’s a relic from another time. But Joel, the kind of guy who hates spending money on himself, has always put practicality over luxury. If it works, it works. That’s the motto he’s lived by, and everyone knows it.

“I... I don’t even know what to say,” Joel stammers, his voice thick with emotion. He looks at his family, his throat tight. “It’s beautiful. Thank you… Where did you find it?”

“There’s this great shop in Arlington,” Tommy answers, his voice laced with pride. “It’s fully custom. If you look at the headstock, you’ll see the family name engraved. You know, just in case you start forgetting it when you get older,” he adds with a grin.

Sarah smacks Tommy lightly on the arm, murmuring, “Don’t ruin the moment,” but Joel laughs—a deep, genuine sound—and shakes his head, the smile never leaving his face.

He stands up carefully, setting the guitar down with the same reverence he’d shown it from the start. Without a word, he pulls his brother and daughter into a tight hug, his arms enveloping them both. He holds them close, a quiet thanks radiating from his heart.

“Thank you,” Joel repeats, his voice softer now as he presses a kiss to his daughter’s hair. He pats Tommy’s shoulder, giving him a look that only brothers understand.

Then he turns to your father and pulls him into a hug—less tight than the one he gave his family, but no less sincere. The kind of hug shared between old friends is grounded in mutual respect.

And then he walks toward you.

Without a word, he wraps you in a quick embrace. It’s brief, but you feel every second of it. His presence, his warmth.  Before you can fully process it, he leans in and presses a quick kiss to your cheek. It's quick, innocent, but it sends the same spark through you as the last night he brought you home. The same jolt of something warm and electric, curling in your chest and catching in your breath. When he pulls back, there's a flicker in his eyes, like he felt it too. He doesn't look apologetic, doesn’t look unsure. He just smiles. 

He lets you go and quietly returns to his seat, picking up his drink from the table. The others follow suit; Sarah grabs another beer, Tommy’s already halfway through his, and your father settles back with a smile. 

Joel turns the glass in his hands, his eyes on the amber liquid, before finally speaking.

“I’m not real good with big declarations,” he says, his voice low, tinged with a vulnerability he rarely lets show. “But I just want to say... I’m really grateful. To all of you. Having you here tonight would’ve been more than enough of a gift.”

He pauses, glancing up at the faces around him, trying to keep emotion from catching in his throat.

“But since you’re all a bunch of sneaky motherfuckers who can’t take a hint...” A quiet ripple of laughter moves through the table, and Joel offers a crooked smile. “Thank you. For thinkin’ of me. For being here.”

Around this table, there isn’t a single soul who doubts how much Joel deserves this, even if he sometimes does.

Tommy lifts his glass first. “To Joel,” he announces, his voice proud.

Everyone echoes it, glasses raised high.

“To Joel. Happy birthday!”

Hours later, with the laughter faded and the last drinks finished, the house rests in a gentle hush. Everyone has drifted off to their rooms. In yours, Sarah is sprawled face-down across the bed, the blanket barely covering her legs. You set a glass of water on her nightstand before settling on top of the covers beside her. Phone in hand, you think about scrolling a little before calling it a night, but Sarah stirs. She rolls clumsily to her side, her movements heavy with sleep and just a little too much alcohol.

She blinks at you, nose scrunching as she struggles to keep her eyes open. She says your name softly, and you glance over.

“I’m thankful, you know,” she mumbles.

You smile, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “It’s just a glass of water. Try to drink it tonight—or first thing in the morning.”

She shakes her head weakly. “Not that. Well… yeah, that too.” A faint grin curves her lips. “But I meant… thank you for being there. For my dad.”

The words stop you cold, heavier than you expect in the dark of the room. “Oh?” you manage, your voice softer now.

“Yeah,” she continues, her words a little slurred but steady enough to land. “I know it’s been rough for him, me being away. He won’t say it, but I can tell. But it's okay… ‘cause he’s got you. You and your dad keep him busy. And I know it means a lot to him. You mean a lot to him.”

Your heart stutters, caught off guard. Even through the haze of alcohol, Sarah fixes you with a look so achingly familiar—her father’s eyes in the way they cut straight through, leaving you unsure of how much she really sees.

“So yeah,” she sighs, rolling back onto her stomach and tugging the covers up over her shoulders. “Thank you for loving him, I guess.”

For a moment, you can’t breathe. The words feel too big in the quiet of the night, too close to the truth you keep buried. Still, you find yourself whispering, “I do.” It slips out softer than you intend, but you can’t lie. “And I love you too, Sarah.”

She hums sleepily, already giving in to the pull of rest. “I know,” she mumbles, barely audible. “Love you too.”

You stay like that for a while, your back pressed against the headboard, watching Sarah sink deeper into sleep, her breathing slow and even. The sound of rain pattering harder against the open window fills the room. You let your gaze drift outside, to the sheets of water cascading down, and find yourself hoping it clears by morning, hoping you and Sarah can spend the day on the beach like you’d promised.

A long breath escapes you, the weight of the last few days pressing down all at once. If you were home, maybe you’d bury your face in your pillow and scream until your chest felt lighter, until all the tension bled out. Here, you just sit with it, your heart thudding with too many emotions. Every look, every touch that your heart can’t help but yearn for.

And yet… even with the ache of it, even with the confusion, it’s still better than the cold wall Joel had put up at the start of this trip. That distance had hurt worse than anything.

So maybe it doesn’t matter if he never feels the way you do. Maybe it doesn’t matter if your crush never turns into anything more. Because Sarah was right—it’s simpler than all the noise in your head. You love him. You love him in a way that runs deeper than want, deeper than the restless ache that burns when he’s close. And that’s enough.

A crush might fade. Infatuation might shift. But what you feel for Joel isn’t something that disappears. You just want him in your life; however he’ll let you stay.

Outside, thunder rumbles closer, low and heavy, but not enough to cover the sharp sound of a car door shutting. You know that sound too well, one that often follows a long night out.

You hesitate, torn between staying put and giving him space. But then your eyes fall on your bag, on the envelope sticking out just enough to catch your attention. It isn’t midnight yet. It’s still his birthday.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you tug a hoodie over your sleep shirt, shove the envelope into the pocket, and slip quietly out of Sarah’s room. The house is still, everyone else asleep, and you make your way outside. The porch light barely cuts through the rain, but you spot the faint, glowing ember of a cigarette inside Joel’s truck.

You dart across the downpour, the rain soaking through your shorts, and yank the passenger door open. You scramble in, pulling it shut fast to trap the warmth inside.

Joel startles, his eyes snapping toward you, cigarette halfway raised. Your name leaves his lips as he blinks at you.

“What the hell are you doin’?” His voice is low, more concerned than scolding, gravelly in the dim glow of the dashboard. His gaze flickers down, catching the way your damp legs are bare beneath the hem of your pyjama shorts, before he pulls it back up to your face.

“What are you doing?” you ask, nodding toward the cigarette between his fingers. “Hiding from Sarah?”

The guilty look that flashes across his face is all the answer you need.

“None of your business,” he mutters, taking another drag, smoke curling past his lips into the dim cab.

You glance at the pack sitting on the dashboard and point to it. “Can I have one?”

That earns you a flat look, the kind that says he’s not even a little amused.

You grin, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “C’mon, Joel. Why’re you picking this habit up again?”

He exhales slowly through his nose. “I smoke when I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

Your lips twitch. “What, you mean about getting old?”

That pulls his gaze back to you. His eyes hold yours, steady and unreadable, the weight of something unsaid sitting heavy between you. Something you don’t dare put words to, something you can’t let yourself hope is what you want it to be. The cab suddenly feels smaller, warmer despite the damp chill still clinging to your skin from the rain.

“Why are you out here? Why aren’t you sleepin’?” Joel asks, eyes now fixed on the rain sliding down the windshield in silver streaks.

Because you always want to be near him. Because no matter how many times your mind tells you better, your heart refuses to listen when it comes to him.

Instead, you swallow and say, “I—I wanted to give you this.”

You pull the envelope from your hoodie pocket and hold it out.

His brows draw together. “What’s this?”

“A gift. For you.”

Joel doesn’t reach for it right away. His gaze sharpens. “You already gave me somethin’ earlier.”

“Joel.” You cut him off, firm enough that he looks up at you. You press the envelope into his hand. “Just… take it.”

He sighs through his nose, stubs his cigarette in the ashtray, and finally opens the flap.

“It’s stupid,” you blurt as his fingers slide the contents free.

Two slips of paper rest in his palm, and in bold black letters, the words Johnny Cash Tribute Concert stare back at him.

“I don’t know if you remember that time in your car,” you begin, staring everywhere but him, though you can feel the weight of his gaze on you. “It was maybe two months ago? I’m not sure. Anyway, you were giving me a ride home from work, even though it was way out of your way. It was raining, kind of like tonight. You put on the radio, and there was a Johnny Cash song playing.” You gesture toward the tickets in his hand. “I don’t remember which one… but I do remember how you slapped my hand when I tried to change the station.”

Joel’s mouth twitches, a smile threatening, and you can tell instantly that he remembers.

“We bickered the whole ride home,” you go on, cheeks warming. “You couldn’t believe I didn’t like his music. And then you told me about seeing him in concert when you were a teenager. How you fell in love with his music that night. And you said… that if I ever heard him live—”

“—you’d change your mind,” he finishes for you, voice low but certain.

You nod, suddenly shy under how intently he’s watching you. Like every single word you’re saying matters.

“Yeah. And I know this isn’t the real thing—since, well, you know…he’s… dead.” Your voice softens. “But I thought this tribute concert might be the next closest thing. And that we could… go together.”

Silence fills the cab. Heavy. Unreadable. Your stomach twists, and you cringe inwardly, shrinking a little in your seat. Stupid. Way too much. He probably doesn’t even want to spend more time with you. Maybe he doesn’t want to be alone with you at all anymore, not after everything.

“But—” you stammer, fumbling over yourself, “we don’t have to go together. You could take Tommy, or my dad, or even Sarah. It’s on a weekend—she might be able to come down. There’s two tickets, you can…”

“Hey.” Your name on his lips cuts through your rambling, quiet but firm. It stills you instantly.

You look up at him and find his gaze steady, unwavering. He hasn’t looked away once. Slowly, he reaches out, his hand resting over yours where your fingers have been nervously tugging at the hem of your sweatshirt. His palm is warm, grounding.

“I’m not goin’ to that concert with anyone but you,” he says, voice rough with certainty. “Alright? Just you.” A pause. His thumb brushes once against your knuckles. “And thank you. For this. It’s… really nice. Thoughtful. More than I deserve.”

“You deserve it, Joel. You do.” Your throat feels tight as you push the words out. “It’s a thank you.”

His brows crease. “A thank you for what?” He eases his hand back, giving you space.

“For… everything,” you manage, gesturing vaguely, as if the cab of his truck could hold all the ways he’s been there for you. “For driving me around, for looking out for me… for being there, always.” You hesitate, eyes flicking back to his. “And maybe it’s an apology too. For… for making this trip weird.”

Joel shakes his head immediately. “We already talked about that. You didn’t. I did.”

“But it is my fault,” you whisper, your chest tight. “It started because I kissed you, Joel.”

His silence stretches. His eyes flicker down—right to your mouth—before snapping away, his jaw working like he’s grinding down words he won’t let out. You know you should stop, you should swallow it all back down, but the apology claws its way out anyway.

You try to smile, but it falters. “Sorry. I made it awkward again, didn’t I? Shouldn’t have brought it back up. Let’s just… forget it.”

Your hand twitches toward the door handle. You gave him the gift. You said what you needed to say. The tension is too much, your skin buzzing with everything unsaid. You’re ready to retreat before you can make it worse—

“Can you?” His voice cuts through the sound of rain drumming against the truck.

You freeze, turning back to him. “What?”

Joel’s gaze is fixed ahead, the muscle in his jaw ticking. His hand flexes once against his thigh like he’s restraining himself from reaching out. His words come rough, almost bitten out.

“Can you forget about it?” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. And then, quieter still, a confession cracking through. “’Cause I can’t.”

Silence stretches, thick and heavy, filling every inch of the cab. You can hear the rain hammering against the roof, the tick of the cooling engine, even the faint rasp of Joel’s breath. But you can’t seem to find your own. You don’t know what you’re supposed to say, what you’re supposed to think, because your thoughts are already running in a dangerous direction. 

Your heart stumbles in your chest. “Why can’t you forget it, Joel?”

He shifts, forearms braced against his thighs. He doesn’t look at you at first; his eyes stay on the rain streaking down the glass, but when he finally turns, the weight of his gaze nearly pins you in place.

“Because it’s you,” His voice is low, ragged. “I don’t forget things when it comes to you. And you kissing me…” His jaw flexes, a muscle ticking there as though he’s fighting himself. “…that’s sure as hell not somethin’ I could ever forget.”

“Because it was that bad of a kiss?” You try for humour, but it comes out thin, shaky. Your nerves fraying with every second he keeps looking at you like that. He can’t mean what you think he means. He can’t.

Joel doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even smile. He exhales hard, like the fight is leaving him. 

“Because you kissed me… and all I’ve done since is try not to kiss you again.”

Your heart stutters, a painful lurch in your chest. Is it possible for it to just stop beating altogether? Because it feels like it might, like your body can’t keep up with what you’re hearing.

Joel shuts his eyes, dragging in a slow breath, like he has to wrestle his thoughts into order before they tear out of him. “And I know it didn’t mean anythin’,” he mutters, voice rough. The words scrape against you, because they’re from the lie you told him that night at the pool.

“But…” Your voice is barely a whisper, but you force it out, needing to understand. “You were mad that I kissed you. That night, you were furious.”

His eyes open again, heavy with something you can’t name. “Of course I was,” he says, steady but low, as if it costs him to admit it. “You weren’t supposed to. And I damn sure wasn’t supposed to want to kiss you back.” His jaw works, a muscle twitching there, and then a sharp, humourless laugh escapes him. “And because—like you said—it was a drunken mistake, right? And I wasn’t gonna take advantage of that. Of you. I wasn’t about to use a moment of weakness for my own selfishness.”

You can’t find words fast enough. Your heart is a drum in your ears, so loud it drowns out the steady rhythm of the rain on the windshield. You can’t process it, not right away. Because this doesn’t happen. Not outside of your fantasies, not outside the little cracks of your imagination where you let yourself believe Joel might look at you the way you look at him. Your silence stretches, and Joel’s expression shifts, his brow furrowing, worry cutting through his features. He misreads it. Thinks it means something else.

“Fuck,” he mutters, dragging a hand across his face. “I shouldn’t have said that. Shouldn’t be puttin’ this on you. It ain’t fair. I’m just—” He exhales, sharp and defeated. “I’m makin’ you uncomfortable.”

But you’re not uncomfortable. You’re burning. And he doesn’t even seem to realise.

“Joel.”

He doesn’t hear you. Or maybe he refuses to. His jaw works, his shoulders tense as he angles away. You should go back inside,” he mutters. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I won’t—won’t talk about it ever again.”

“Joel.” This time, your voice is firmer, even as your heart slams in your chest. Your hand falls onto his lap, desperate for him to look at you.

He looks down at your touch, like it’s the last thing he expected, then finally, finally lifts his gaze to yours. He searches your face, his eyes frantic, pleading, scanning for any flicker of discomfort, any sign he’s pushed too far. But he doesn’t find it.

Instead, you see the moment it hits him. The way his breath catches sharp in his chest. The way his pupils darken, widening until the warm brown of his irises is nearly swallowed whole. He sees it, the ache you’ve been burying, the hunger you’ve tried to smother, the truth you never meant for him to glimpse. It’s all there, laid bare, impossible to hide anymore.

“I need you to shut up.” 

“What?”

“I need you to shut up and kiss me.”

It happens so fast you barely register it. One heartbeat you’re telling him to kiss you, the next Joel has you in his lap with a force that steals the air from your lungs. His hands are rough and urgent; one gripping tight at your waist, the other splayed across your back, hauling you closer until you’re pressed flush against him. Your knees frame his thighs, your spine knocking against the wheel, but you couldn’t care less.

All that matters is him. His mouth hovering a breath from yours, his inhale tangling with your exhale. For a single, suspended second, he hesitates—his eyes searching yours, desperate, as if begging for permission he already has. Whatever he sees there breaks the dam.

He crashes his mouth onto yours.

A broken whimper escapes you, swallowed immediately by the heat of his kiss. All your fantasies—all the nights you’ve imagined this—don’t come close to the real thing, because nothing compares to the way Joel Miller kisses you. This is hungrier, rawer, a kiss dragged straight from the depths of his chest. He kisses you like a man starved, like he’s been waiting too long, fighting too hard against something that was always inevitable.

He tilts his head, deepening it, dragging you with him, like there will never be enough. His mouth coaxes and insists until you’re opening for him, surrendering without thought, and the second you do, he groans low against your lips. The sound rumbles through his chest into yours, wrecking you. His grip on you tightens, dragging you impossibly closer, as if he can’t stand even an inch between you.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, and the rough sound that rumbles out of him makes you giggle.

Joel pulls back just enough at the sound, his lips brushing yours, forcing you to chase him. The taste of him lingers, too intoxicating to let slip away. His gaze catches yours, dark and hazy, his chest rising hard against yours.

“What?” he rasps, voice shredded, breath hot and uneven.

You tug gently at a strand between your fingers, your smile breaking through the heat still burning under your skin. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” you admit, breathless.

His brow arches, the corner of his mouth twitching upward like he’s fighting a smile. “Play with my hair?” he teases, the words low, a little disbelieving, but the warmth in them makes your pulse stumble.

The look he gives you, hungry, unguarded, like he’s drinking you in, is enough to set your entire body alight again. That smile isn’t mocking; it’s reverent. Like the idea of you wanting anything from him, even something so small, is more than he deserves. And that only makes you ache for him more.

There’s no mistaking the hard, insistent bulge pressed against you.. It sends a dizzy rush straight through your body, tightening low in your stomach. God, this is real. He wants you. He’s hard because of you. For you. The thought alone nearly undoes you desire clawing at every nerve. 

You nod faintly, lips brushing along the rough line of his jaw before whispering. “I’ve thought about doing a lot of things to you.”

Your eyes find his again, greedy for his reaction. You need to see him, need to see the way your words land. And when you start to grind against him, slow at first, testing, the ragged sound that tears from his chest makes your pulse spike, heat blooming wild in your chest and between your legs. The seam of his jeans rubs perfectly against your aching core, friction that sparks heat everywhere at once. You do it again, watching the way his hungry gaze drops between your legs, to where you’re pressed tight to him.

“Sweetheart…” His rough, unsteady voice wraps around you like something sinful and holy all at once. It’s a sound that will etch itself into your memory, carved into your fantasies for years. His forehead drops to yours, sweat damp on his temple, his breath ragged as he groans when you roll your hips once more, slower this time, savouring the way he shudders under you.“Oh, fuck—” His grip tightens, fingers flexing against your waist like he’s barely holding himself back. “We should—we should talk.”

“Later,” you whisper, lips brushing his as you grind again, unable to stop, unwilling to.

A strangled laugh escapes him. “God… yeah. Later’s fine,” he groans, the last of his restraint snapping.

Then he’s kissing you again, his mouth on yours so desperately, like he can’t get enough. His hips push up to meet yours, the rhythm quickening, frantic. His hand cups your cheek, cradling you with a tenderness that stands in sharp contrast to the hunger he pours into the kiss. The other grips your hips firmly, guiding your movements, helping you take exactly what you both need.

You can’t hold back the sounds spilling from your lips; broken moans you don’t even recognise as your own. Joel doesn’t seem to mind; if anything, every noise you make only spurs him on. Each time your voice cracks with need, his hips snap harder, sharper, like he’s determined to drag every last sound out of you. He’s just as undone, breath coming in ragged bursts against your mouth, kissing you like he can’t catch enough of you, like relief is always just out of reach.

You swear you could come like this, grinding desperately against him, like a pair of reckless teenagers who don’t know any better. Only this is so much hotter, so much more dangerous, because it’s Joel. Because it’s the man you’ve wanted for so long, and now you have him under you, panting, straining, losing himself right along with you.

But wanting him like this only makes you greedy. Your body aches for more, for the real heat of him, the solid weight you’ve imagined too many times to count. You slow your hips, forcing space between the frantic movements, your hand slipping down between you.

Your fingers press against the bulge straining his jeans, wrapping around him through the thick fabric, and Joel hisses, a sharp sound that goes straight through you. His hips buck instinctively against your palm, seeking more friction, more of your touch.

You’ve seen him before, at the pool, at the beach, the casual glimpses that left your imagination wild and restless. You already knew Joel was… generous in that department. But feeling him now, heavy and hot beneath your hand, straining against rough denim? That’s something else entirely. Your mouth waters, anticipation flooding you with a hunger that makes your fingers twitch, aching to tear his clothes away just to finally, finally know what it’s like to have all of him.

Your hand slips from his straining length, dragging until your fingers rest on the cool metal of his belt buckle. You glance up at him, your breath unsteady, eyes searching his face for any sign of hesitation. You don’t need words, just the way his pupils blow wide, the way his jaw flexes, the way he gives the faintest nod, desperate. 

The corner of your mouth curls as the truth settles deep in your chest: Joel needs this just as badly as you do. That knowledge alone is intoxicating.

He catches your mouth again, as your fingers work at his belt. The angle is awkward, your hands trembling with urgency, fumbling against stubborn leather. You huff a frustrated little laugh against his lips, and Joel chuckles too before his larger hands move to help, his touch brushing yours as he makes quick work of the buckle.

Once the belt is undone, you pop open the button of his jeans, dragging the zipper down. The sound of it is loud in the cramped cab, drowned only by your pulse hammering in your ears. You slip your hand under the waistband of his boxers, fingers finally wrapping around his thick cock, pulsing in your palm.

Joel moans at the first touch, a sound torn straight from his chest, so deep it vibrates through you. The rawness of it, the way he doesn’t even try to hold it back, makes your thighs press together, your underwear clinging slick to your skin.

You stroke him once, twice, your thumb brushing over the tip, slick already gathering there. Joel looks wrecked, head tipped back against the seat, jaw tight, his breathing broken as he groans your name like it’s the only word he remembers. His chest heaves, his breath catching on every exhale, and for a moment, you forget everything else. Because Joel Miller, beautiful, untouchable Joel, looks completely undone beneath your hand.

And god, he’s beautiful like this. Too beautiful. 

“I need you,” you whisper against him.

Joel’s eyes snap open, his chest heaving. For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move, just looks at you. His gaze flickers down between your legs, the press of you against him undeniable, then back up to your face.

You nod, breathless. “Do you?” 

“Fuck—” A low groan breaking from his chest as your hand tightens around him. “I do. You got no idea how much I want you.” His hips twitch into your touch, his jaw clenching. “More than I should. More than I’ve let myself want anythin’ in a long, long time.”

The confession is too much, too big to process right now. Your heart pounds so hard it hurts, and the only answer that tumbles out of you is the only one that matters. “Then please… fuck me, Joel.”

He can only give in. His big hands steady you, guiding your hips as he helps you shove down your sleep shorts and panties in one hurried motion. The cool air hits your skin for a second before his fingers are there, dragging slowly through your folds. The sound you make as he does has his jaw clenching, his eyes flicking up to watch you fall apart so easily for him.

When he pulls his hand back, he holds it up between you. Even in the dim light, you can see how slick his fingers shine, and the crooked half-smile that tugs at his mouth makes your knees weak.

“All that for me, sweetheart?” His voice is low, rough with disbelief, but there’s a smugness threaded through it too, like he’s proud of how badly you want him.

“Yes,” you breathe against his throat, lips brushing his skin. “Do something about it.”

Joel doesn’t make you ask twice. There’s no teasing now, no more space for hesitation. The air between you is charged, frantic, like both of you know if you pause for even a heartbeat too long, reason might crawl back in and ruin it all.

He shifts beneath you, bracing one hand at the small of your back, the other firm on your hip, holding you steady. He doesn’t rush. He just helps you hover above him, his cock hot and heavy against you, leaving the choice in your hands. He waits. For you. Always for you.

You don’t dare look away from him as you sink down, inch by inch, every nerve in your body alight. The blunt head of him nudges against you, stealing a whimper from your lips as you stretch around his thickness. It’s a little too much, a little overwhelming, and still you want more. Need more.

“That’s it,” Joel coaxes, voice a gravelly rasp. His eyes flick down to where you’re taking him, then back up to your face.

When you finally settle, hips flush against his, both of you inhale sharply, chests rising in sync. You can feel him everywhere, so deep it’s dizzying, your walls fluttering around him as you try to adjust. You roll your hips experimentally, and the sound he makes is nothing short of sinful, his fingers digging harder into your skin.

“Don’t—” His voice cracks, raw with need. His forehead tips forward, resting against your shoulder as if grounding himself. “Don’t move yet. Just—just give me a second.”

You nod, though every part of you is screaming for more. The ache of him inside you, the way you clench around his cock, it’s almost unbearable to stay still. But you wait, letting him breathe through it, letting yourself savor the way it feels to be full of him, to finally have him like this.

When his breathing evens out, you start slow, lifting yourself only to sink back down, each slide making you moan. Joel’s restraint shatters almost instantly. His grip on your hips tightens as he thrusts up to meet you, taking control of the rhythm, driving deeper, harder, until every movement makes you gasp.

“Jesus Christ, you feel so fuckin’ good—so goddamn tight.” His thrusts grow sharper, hitting that spot inside you with unerring precision. You cling to his shoulders, nails digging into him as sparks burst behind your eyes. “I’m—fuck, I’m sorry, I’m not—” his hips snap up again, stealing your breath, “—I’m not gonna last long.”

Joel’s mouth trails along your throat, his lips lingering at the frantic thrum of your pulse. Each kiss pulls a shiver out of you, your breath breaking apart, uneven and needy. You can feel yourself clenching around him, helpless to stop it, and he feels it too because his voice drops, husky against your ear.

“Tell me what you need, baby.”

Baby. God. Sweetheart was already enough to melt you every time he used it, but this undoes you completely.

“Touch me,” you gasp.

He doesn’t hesitate. One of those big, calloused hands slides down, pressing between your bodies. His fingers find your clit, two of them circling, pressing, teasing until your back bows and a choked sound breaks from you. He knows exactly how to ruin you; just the right amount of pressure, the rhythm matched to the sharp drive of his hips into you. It’s too much, too good. You’re already teetering on the edge, and he knows it. 

“That’s it, baby… I’ve got you. Come for me. Please, let go for me.”

The plea shatters you. Your release hits hard, stealing your breath, making your body shake around him. White bursts behind your eyes, every muscle clenching tight as Joel holds you steady, his hand never relenting on your clit, his hips still thrusting through your climax like he wants to draw every last wave out of you.

When you finally come back to yourself, vision swimming, lungs desperate for air, Joel’s still moving, still murmuring low, broken things against your skin that you can’t fully process, a constant hum as he worships you through your high.

But Joel isn’t done. You feel the way his hips are rocking up in small, desperate thrusts, his restraint fraying with every passing second. His breath is hot against your neck, ragged and uneven.

“Christ—sweetheart, you’re still squeezin’ me so tight.”

He tries to slow himself, tries to hold back, but your body around him, the sounds you’re still making, it’s too much. His rhythm falters, grows rougher, more urgent. He buries his face against your throat, every thrust dragging another broken sound out of him.

“Gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—” he rasps, the warning torn from his throat.

“Inside,” you breathe. “Come inside me, Joel. Please.”

That’s all it takes. His mouth crashes to yours, swallowing your words, your breath, as his hips snap hard, deep, one, two, three more times before he’s gone, falling over the edge with a guttural moan. His whole body tenses under you, his grip bruising as he buries himself as deep as he can, pulsing inside you. 

The world seems to tilt, quiet except for the rain pounding against the truck, the fogged-up windows bearing evidence of what just happened. Joel’s forehead drops to yours, his lips brushing yours in something softer, one last kiss before his head tips back against the seat.

You stay there, your head resting on his shoulder, listening to his breathing gradually even out against the thunder still rumbling in the distance.

You don’t know the time. You don’t know what happens when you leave this truck. And right now, you don’t care. Not when you’re here, with him, with the weight of his arm still wrapped tight around you, like he doesn’t want to let go either.

Your lips find the warm skin of his neck, brushing a soft kiss there, tasting salt, skin, Joel.

“Happy birthday, Joel,” you murmur against him.

𓇼 Thank you for reading! Please tell me what you thought! Leave a comment, a reblog, or even an ask! It would mean a lot :) 𓇼

He shakes his head with a soft sigh, placing the bags in there and shutting the door.

“Kick the air on. It’s hot.” He tosses you the keys while turning to push the cart back to its return spot.

You grab the keys out of the air and roll your eyes when you turn, climbing into the passenger seat and reaching over the console to stick the keys in the ignition and turn them. The engine rumbles and you turn the dial for the AC. You almost gag when it first blows the hot air right back into your face.

“Kick the air on, it’s hot.” You grumble to yourself, turning your lips into a frown to mock his permanent scowl. “Like I don’t fucking know that.” You continue, picking at your thumb nails while Joel settles into the driver's side.

You can see him looking at you from the corner of your eye and it’s pissing you off. For no reason. He hasn’t done anything that he can remember, or that you can remember for that instance. But there's just a nagging feeling deep in your stomach and the way he’s breathing is pissing you off right now.

“Y’wanna order from that taco place tonight?” Joel glances over his shoulder at you before pulling away.

“Why would we order? We just went shopping.” You barely look at him while gesturing to the bags behind your seat.

Joel grunts and shrugs his shoulders.

What the fuck was he doing? You quickly dart your eyes over to him before focusing back to picking around your nails, just wanting to be home and out of whatever mood you’re stuck in.

“Yeah. But I know you like that place when.. Y’know..” He trails off and glances at you before turning back to the road.

You pinch your face in confusion, looking up from your nails but still not at him- just straight ahead into the dashboard. You’re honestly speechless for a moment because you know if you open your mouth right away it won’t be nice. You suck in a deep breath and exhale, letting your shoulders relax.

“When do I like it?” You finally ask in a short breath.

“When you have your period.” Joel says a little quieter while keeping his eyes on the road.

“I don’t have my period.” you say flatly, annoyed that he’d even say that.

“Y’don’t?”

“No, Joel. I don’t.” You retort, laced with tone.

“Hm.” He grunts, slowly nodding his head.

The drive is silent for the next few moments, other than the soft hum of the air and the occasional grunt from his truck.

“Shouldn’t you?” He speaks up once stopping at a red light.

“What?” You bite.

“Have your period. Shouldn’t you?” He asks while his thick brows saddle together.

“Are you serious right now?” You turn towards him in your seat while he slowly starts driving again once the light turns green.

“Yeah, baby.”

He says it so simply that it digs under your skin.

“I’m not supposed to have it for a while.” You narrow your eyes at him.

“Then what is botherin’ you? Actin’ like I pissed in your wheaties this mornin’ or somethin’.”

You groan and toss your head back into the seat while digging your phone out of your shorts pocket and scrolling through to find your tracking app.

“You’re assuming you know more about my own body is pissing me off even more.” you speak quickly while tapping on the app icon and waiting for it to pull up.

“C’mon now, sweetheart. I ain’t say all that. You got a damn attitude with me all day.” He mumbles while you speak over him.

“An attitude? Oh, you think I’ve got an attitude now just you wait-” You pause abruptly when the graphic finally loads on your phone.

Joel turns his head lazily, expecting you to finish your remark but pinches his face in confusion when he sees your jaw hanging open.

“What?” He questions.

Seven days late. No fucking way. You feel a hard lump form immediately in your throat, heart drumming quickly against your chest.

“We need to stop at a drug store on the way home.” You say flatly, sure that your face has an expression of pure horror if you were to check.

“Can you tell me what's goin’ on in that head’a yours?” He says sternly.

“I’m late.” You blurt out, looking blankly onto the street.

Until the car jerks. Joel being a little heavy footed on the break at the red light.

“You’re what?” He raises his voice in surprise.

“I’m late.” You say a little louder. Shoving your phone back into your pocket.

You feel sick. You didn’t feel like that five minutes ago.. Could you be? No. No fucking way. You can’t even let yourself think of that. 

“How late?”

“Seven days.” You mumble.

He’s not being mean. At all. Even if he was being annoying he’es not being mean now but tears sting your waterline anyways. You’re scared. Of course you and Joel have talked about it before but never seriously, and no plans were ever made.

“Jesus.” He mutters.

That makes a tear spill. Not happy. Not chastising. But dismissive enough to make your mind reel. Even if it wasn’t meant to be that way. That one tear leads to another, and more slowly starts to roll down your warm cheeks. You don’t sob or gasp for air like you usually do when you’re crying, but you can’t stop these tears. They’re flowing freely despite constantly wiping them with the back of your hands. Joel turns into the next drug store you pass and pulls into a spot. Without a word you step out of the car, biting down on the inside of your lip to suppress any more tears while you’re in the store, closing the door on Joel when he says your name. You move without thinking, your legs taking you to the right aisle to pick up one of these dumb blue boxes. There's so many of them. Your feet pull you away once you grab a pack of six. Your feet stop you at the back of the line and your mind runs wild.

Okay.. It’s fine. Just a few days late. Stress can do that, you know. Stress willa absolutely make you a few days late.. But seven? A whole week late? Can stress push you back a whole week?

You swallow thickly and take a step forward in line, eyes darting around to make sure no one can hear what you’re thinking. You instinctively hide the box's logo against your chest while you wait in line.

Don’t make eye contact. Fucking, please do not make eye contact. You’re not the first person to buy one. Everyone buys them. Okay not everyone, but enough. Enough people buy them. They’ve probably sold ten just today. Are they looking at you? It feels like they’re all looking at you. No. No one’s looking. They’re not looking. Stop it.

“Excuse me?”

You snap your head in the direction of the voice.

“Hi.” You blurt out, eyes wide.

“I can check you out.”

Your feet take you there. The transaction is quick and painless. That's all you could have asked for. The drive back is silent. You don’t know which you’d prefer right now though. As much as you’d like to hear Joel say everything is okay, the silence is okay, too. The silence continues. All the way from the car and into the house and up to the bathroom. Joel stands just behind you while your shaky fingers pry open the box. You pause and look back at him.

“Look..” you start off, voice shaky. “ I know this is a lot and I’m sorry I didn’t catch it sooner and I completely understand that this will change our entire lives and you don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, that’s completely your choice but I just want to let you know that I won’t be-”

“Woah, woah.” Joel speaks up, placing both of his hands on your shoulders, bringing you closer to him. “You gotta breathe, darlin’.” 

You deeply inhale and slowly exhale while letting your shoulders drop. He gives you a soft squeeze.

“You think I’d up n’ leave you if that test was positive, hm?” He leans in and talks softly.

Your lower lip quivers just at the thought. “I wouldn’t blame you.” You whisper.

“You’re breakin’ my damn heart.” He tells you, whispering in the same tone. “Not leavin’ you no matter what that test says, darlin’. We’ve talked about this.”

He lowers his head to catch your gaze.

“Not seriously.” You point out in a quiet voice. 

“It was serious to me.” He says, voice firm but still kind. 

You lift your head to catch his eyes. 

“It was serious to me.” He repeats once locking onto your gaze. “I meant everything I ever said about it.” He smooths his hands down your shoulders to your elbows before engulfing you in his arms. 

You crumple into his chest and relish in it. In how firm he feels beyond the soft fabric of his shirt. He’s steady and strong like he always is. No wavering in his voice or an uptick in how his heart beats against his ribs. He means it. He pulls away after a beat, lifting your head with a soft nudge to your chin. 

“C’mon now. Let’s take it.” He says while reaching behind him for the box. 

He brings it between you and slowly unboxes it, letting you take the stick while he unfolds the miles of instructions. He makes a few remarks about it that ultimately earn a quiet laugh from you and he takes that as a win. 

“This will probably be the longest five minutes of my life.” You mumble while pulling your pants back up and placing the stick face down on the sink counter. 

You run the water warm while lathering your hands with soap. Joel stands behind you and slips his thick arms around your waist to clasp just at your belly button. You lift your head and look at him through the mirror in front of you. He hums while placing his chin on the top of your head slowly swaying you once you’re done drying your hands. 

“Can’t wrap my head ‘round it.” He mumbles into your hair.

“What?” You furrow your eyebrows while leaning back into his chest, still keeping eye contact through the mirror.

“That you could be growin’ somethin’ in here.” He pushes one of his hands under your shirt to sprawl over your lower belly. 

His broad, calloused hand is warm against your skin. You place both of your hands over his one, lifting up your shirt just slightly while you look down.

“Doesn’t sound so scary when you say that.” You say playfully. 

He chuckles and slowly rubs his hand against your belly, his other coming down to rest on the swell of your hip. He continues to lead the lazy sway, pulling you right against him. He leans down every so often to press a kiss. To your head through your hair. Against the back of your shoulder. In the crook of your neck. And when you turn to smile he makes sure to catch your lips. 

“Ready, sweetheart?” He asks after looking down at his watch. 

You force a large breath out of your nose before nodding. 

“As I’ll ever be.”

Joel leans forward to grab the test, keeping it face down as he brings it in front of you. He rests his chun against your shoulder, holding the test there.

“You just say the word, baby.” He says while giving you a squeeze to your hip. 

“Ready.” You mumble, body going rigid as he turns the test over. 

He flips it.

You grab it with both of your hands and hold it closer, squinting at the small screen. 

“Your big head’s in the way-“

“Negative.” You interrupt him.

He pauses behind you. No longer swaying, his hold is heavy on your waist.

“That’s good.. Right?” You whisper while turning the test over a few times. 

“Is that what you want?” He asks while watching you through the mirror.

“I..” You sigh and continue to stare at the test. “I thought I was.” You whisper. “Did you want it to be positive?”

Joel pushes a long exhale through flared nostrils while placing his hands on your lower belly. His large palms sprawled across your skin, his thumbs rubbing gently while he pondered.

“The thought of your belly swellin’ up with our baby makes me want it to be positive.” He says quietly.

The rest of the night was quiet. His words eat away at your brain. Overthinking every small action and comment from the past few months. Dinner was quiet, too. You couldn’t help but imagine Joel with your baby on his hip while he's watching baseball, while he’s cooking breakfast or walking around the store in the baby aisles. You’d be lying if it didn’t spark that same curiosity as Joel mentioned. Having your belly swell all filled with his baby. It wasn’t until the both of you were tucked away in bed when you asked;

“Should we try?”

You’ve never seen him change that quickly. Brows flat to mimic the press of his lips. He thought for all of 2 seconds before pinning your body into the mattress under the weight of his.

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout this.” He mumbled into your neck while pressing hot kisses there.

You breathe out shakily, one hand planting itself in his short, dark hair while the other pressed half moon indents into his shoulder. He worked down the length of your torso quickly, pushing clothing up and out of the way to connect his hot mouth to your burning skin, small wet patches left in its wake. 

“Gonna work you up before I fuck you, alright sweetheart?” He mumbles while pulling your pants down your thighs so quickly the fabric burns at your skin.

“Fuck-“ You hiss at just how rough hes being. “Yes, Joel.” You whimper while propping yourself up onto your elbows, both hands now gripping the sheets beneath you.

“Fuckin’ beautiful.” He whispers between your thighs.

His breath fanned over your core in such a familiar way it made your stomach tighten.

“Joel-“ You whined.

He was taking his time, spreading your folds apart with his thumbs and watching the thin strings of your arousal web you all together. But the second you drone his name, his mouth is on you. Low and slow. The flat of his tongue dragging over your throbbing hole several times before teasing just the tip past the threshold. You writhe beneath him at the feeling, rutting your hips into his face. He welcomes it with a groan, his strong arms slipping under your thighs and curling on top of them to hold them in place, on either side of his head. 

Joel reels back from your cunt and you peer down to him. He’s not even looking at you. His eyes are heavy, parted lips and his beard already glistening in the soft light of the bedroom. He’s not carrying any stress on his face like he usually does- but the concentration of his saddled brows shows you he means business. He tightens his grip on your thighs, bringing his thumbs from the top to spread you once again. Joel blows cool air over your exposed, dripping cunt and it draws an absolutely filthy whine from you. He doesn’t let you live in that for a minute before he purses his lips and spits directly onto your clit. 

“Fuck!” You hiss, twitching against his iron grip. 

He silences you by delving forward and wrapping his plump lips around that swollen clit and sucking softly. Your mouth is left agape, jaw slacked in awe at the pleasure coursing through your body. Joel closes his eyes and works his mouth expertly, savoring the taste of you, how warm and clean, soft and utterly you it tastes. He savors your noises, too. The drawn out, longing moans and gasps when he circles his tongue against your swollen clit before sucking it back between his lips. 

He doesn’t move until he’s drawn an orgasm from you. Shaky hands buried deep in his hair, tugging at the lochs from the base of his skull. He finally pulls his head back, holding your shaking thighs down with no effort. 

“Took it so nice, pretty girl.” He muses while pressing a few kisses to the inside of your thigh. 

You clamp one of your hands over your mouth to muffle the cries and hitching of your breath. Joel brings himself to his knees, still between your thighs and pulls your hand away from your mouth.

“Don’t go hidin’ any of those pretty little sounds from me.” He tuts while pushing his pants down his hips with his free hand. 

His thick cock springs free and slaps the base of his belly. It’s red and throbbing with pre smeared around his tip. 

“Please, Joel.” You beg quietly while scooting down on the bed to get closer to him, your knees bent over the tops of his thighs.

“I got you, baby.” He soothes while smoothing his large palm from your knee to the top of your thigh and around to grip your hip.

You squirm beneath him in anticipation, able to feel the sheer heat radiating from his cock against your pussy. He grips the base of his cock and slips it through your soaked fold with a guttural groan coming from deep in his chest. Joel tightens his hold on your hip while pushing his tip against your needy hole. No matter how many times he does this, the first push still stings. You don’t think you’ll ever adjust to the full size of him. Part of you is grateful because the second that sore sting turns sweet, everything else is gone. He’s all you can think of. 

“Grippin’ me so good already.” He grunts while sinking into you.

Stretch doesn’t begin to explain it. It’s the ache between your hips that you’ll feel for days. Even after years and years of taking him in every way imagineable. It’s still there. You gasp as he bottoms out, his hips pressed flush to yours. Joel groans through a tight jaw, leaning forward and bowing his head.

“I know, darlin’..” He muses while lifting his head.

He stays pushed in your cunt, rolling his hips against yours without actually thrusting, just making sure he feels each and every bit of your slick walls around him.

“P-Please, Joel.” You mutter through a stuttered breath while digging your heels into the mattress to lift your hips.

He tuts his tongue and shakes his head, broad palms moving to cup the backside of your knees and pushing them together.

“Please? Please what, baby?” He mocks in a sweet tone. 

He forces your knees towards your chest while sitting up on his own. He moves his right hand to knead the flesh at the underside of your thigh, your knees being pushed towards your chest with only one of his now. 

“Say it.” He orders in a low voice while sinking his thick fingers into your thigh. 

“Fucking move.” You hiss at him through clenched teeth. 

A low chuckle rumbles through his chest before his grip tightens and he finally draws his hips back slowly, then pushing them back in with force. It wasn’t fast or sloppy. It was calculated with his entire weight behind each thrust. He knows how you love it. His hands keep you slow despite the squirming and writhing beneath him, giving him the leverage he needed to fuck into you good.

His brows are saddled together, face pinches up in pleasure as he keeps his eyes locked onto where your bodies meet- watching his cock disappear within your slick folds over and over and over again. Concentrating. Putting thought into every thrust. Every time he pulls back he grunts, in disbelief of just how soaked he is with you. 

“Jesus, baby girl.” He heaved, hips starting to pick up their pace while he lost himself in you. 

You felt your eyes flutter, almost rolling to the back of your head while he pounded you into the mattress, keeping you all folded up for him to use. 

“Y’had such a fuckin’ attitude earlier.” He chides, his hand leaving your thigh. “Should’ve taken you right there in the truck, hm? That’s what you wanted, right?” He pants.

You nod lazily, hair sticking to the sweat starting to bead on your forehead, a filthy moan slipping past your lips. Your body jerks with each of his ruthless thrusts, knocking a small noise from the back of your throat that he absolutely ate up. He dreams about these noises. The way they grow closer together, breathless and tick up a pitch before you unravel on him. He tightens his grip on the back of your knees and forces them closer to your chest just thinking about it. 

Joel doesn’t crane over your bent legs anymore, he sits up straight with no hiccup in his thrusts, the hand that was at your thigh coming to rub concentrated circles onto your clit. 

“Fuck- Joel.” You say breathily, opening up your heavy eyes to watch him.

“Yeah? You gonna cum, sweet girl?” He recognized that look in your eyes right away. 

Glossy. Pupils blown black. Heavy lids and those pretty little red veins more prominent. The way your face contorted in pleasure when his thrusts became relentless, sloppy and chasing after his high he felt building in his stomach.

“Yes. Shi- I-.. Please.” You arch your back away from the mattress while Joel’s thumb continues to work in those steady circles despite his thrusts losing their rhythm. 

“Go on n’ make a mess, baby.” He encourages you while grunting something guttural. “I got you- fuck.” He bows his head for a moment, desperate to hold on until you’ve finished around him. “Fuckin’ cum on my cock, sweet girl.”

“Joel.. Joel- Fuck-“

His words pulled you over the edge, coaxing that white hot feeling to bubble over. Your walls spasm around his girth, legs shaking as he ruthlessly pounds into you, the loud thwack, thwack, thwack of his hips colliding with the back of your thighs not loud enough to drown out your lewd, languid moans.

“That’s it-“ He grunts, stilling his thumb and instead of circling he just adds pressure onto the small bud. “Sounds so pretty.” He pants while brooding over you. 

Your body involuntarily jerks and jolts under him while he fucks you through your second orgasm. 

“Need you to cum in me, Joel.” You speak up in a daze, voice broken. 

“Yeah? Want me to fill up this tight pussy, hm? Fuck a baby into you?” He gravels and you whimper at just how filthy his words are. 

You can see the concentration on his face, the beading sweat at his temples that makes his dark hair stick there. 

“Please, Joel, please.” You beg him repeatedly, hands scrambling for someone to grab a hold of.

“Gonna make it fuckin’ stick.” He spit, hips sputtering.

He quickly removes his thumb from your clit and wedges his hands between your thighs and your belly, pressing his palm into your navel.

“You fuckin’ feel that?” He asks you, folding you in half with his hand sandwiched between you. 

You do. The pressure on your belly only emphasizes how deep he is inside of you. You screw your eyes shut, trying your best to soak him in and memorize every vein, every ridge and how it feels being fucked into you repeatedly.

“Gonna fill you up so nice- fuck. Give you a fuckin’ baby. So fuckin’ nice, I promise.” His voice wavers. 

He curses through teeth clenched so tight they could crack before slamming his hips into you one last time, putting all his weight into holding himself there, buried deep inside you to the hilt. He spills into you with a deep groan. The coil in the pit of his stomach snaps, ropes of his thick white cum coating your insides. Joel hisses while relaxing, the crease between his brows softening while he slowly pulls back, but not out.

He releases his hold on your knees, letting them fall on either side of his hips but keeps his one hand planted on your belly. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, unable to control your breathing while he does the same, still towering over your lithe frame in the mattress. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers while letting himself collapse forwards, one hand coming to press into the bed next to your head to support himself. 

You open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off with a kiss. It’s warm and wet, loving but sloppy and needy. 

“My god.” You whisper against his lips and he chuckles before pulling back.

He rubs his calloused palm into the soft skin of your tummy and you can feel just how full you are. 

“Think it’ll stick this time?” You ask while he leans in to press hot kisses to the nape of your neck.

He pushes his hips against yours, still tucked away inside.

“I wouldn’t be upset if I had to do this a few more times, pretty baby.” He mumbled against your skin and you could feel the sly smile at the corners of his lips.

You hum, sighing softly as you feel him twitch inside you.

“Try again to make sure?” You say, voice barely above a whisper.

He pauses what he’s doing, slowly lifting his head to look at you, one of his eyebrows arched.

You try to shift in his grip, try to turn and face him but the second you stir he tightens his grip on your waist, drawing you in closer to him with a grunt. You’re tucked tightly into his chest while his arm sits heavy, draped over your waist. His hand is splayed just under your shirt. You smile sleepily and crane your head back towards him. His eyes are closed, the usual years of stress on his face are nowhere to be seen. His dark eyelashes are fanning over the tops of his cheeks. The dark curls of his hair are unruly, sticking every which way and falling in his face. Joel’s breathing is deep and concentrated.

“Mmh.” Joel grunt vibrates through his chest.

He stirs behind you, eyes squeezing shut before fluttering. One of them stays closed, squinted, while the other one opens only a slit. He hums again before shutting them and slips his hand farther up your shirt to wrap around your ribs and draw you even closer. You laugh softly and wriggle in his grip to turn around finally. You’re facing him now, his arm squeezing you from behind your back when you close your eyes again.

Then there's footsteps.

Somewhere downstairs.

The sound of the fridge opening and closing.

Water running.

Ellie.

Your heart leaps and your body goes rigid. She must’ve gotten home after you and Joel passed out. You didn’t even hear her come in. Do you think she opened your door to check if you were home? Did she see Joel clinging to you in his sleep? Your heart thumps louder at the base of your throat.

Joel feels it.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is thick and laced with sleep.

He doesn’t even open his eyes yet. You don’t answer him at first so he speaks up again, opening one of his eyes.

“You okay?” He asks, voice still rugged but there's more of an alert tone.

Kitchen drawers open and shut. The coffee maker bubbles.

“Ellie’s home.” You say just above a whisper.

Joel props himself up on his elbow with a grunt. “Shit.”

You both go quiet, listening.

Ellie is humming quietly downstairs.

You turn your head towards him and almost forget about Ellie. He's got sleep lines on the side of his cheek, eyes still soft and glazed over from sleep. His hair flat against the side of his head that was pressed into the pillow.

“You think she saw us come in last night?” He asks, voice still broken with exhaustion.

You shake your head. “No, she wasn’t here when we came in.” You remind him.

He nods once and the both of you lay there in silence, not moving. It kind of made you feel giddy under all of the surface level anxiety. It was fun sneaking Joel around like this. Joel agrees. He hasn’t felt this alive in years. The thought that he needs to sneak around like some teenage boy is exciting and he adores that mischievous glint on your eye.

“I should probably sneak out.” Joel mumbles. 

You quickly whip your head around to him.

“No. You can wait until she leaves.” You whisper swiftly. 

The thought of him leaving already makes your chest hurt. 

“You sure?” He questions.

“I’m sure.”

He grunts softly and lets his head fall back onto the pillow.

“Got time to kill. C’mere then.” He says but doesn’t wait for you to move.

Joel slings his arm around you, pulling you close again. You let out a deep sigh while relaxing in his arms once more. He presses soft kisses into your hair and runs his hand up and down your side. 

The front door opens and you tense again. It closes seconds later and downstairs is silent. 

“She’s gone.” You fully exhale. 

Joel leans in and pressed his lips to the shell of your ear.

“S’that mean I gotta leave right away?” He says, no longer whispering. 

You bite back a smile and shake your head. 

Joel chuckles while pulling you in for a kiss. He’s so soft. Not ruined by the day yet. You could get used to waking up to Joel.

It’s been a few days since Joel took you to the drive-in and since then, he’s been the only thing on your mind. 

Doing laundry?

You wonder how Joel folds his shirts. 

Making dinner?

Maybe you should make this for Joel soon.

Clocking in at work this morning?

You hope Joel’s work day is going well.

Except today, you don’t have to hope. 

Joel strolls in around lunch time and you could’ve leaped over the bar to grab him.

“Hi, darlin’.” He says quietly with a too-wide smile. 

He looks giddy. Like he’s doing something he shouldn’t. But what's wrong with a handy man stopping at the local diner for some lunch? 

Your hands are twitchy because it’s physically that hard not to reach out and touch him. Hard not to comb your fingers through his hair and pull him into a desperate kiss. 

“Hi Joel.” There's excitement in your voice that doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

He takes a seat at a barstool right in front of you. Within a second of him sitting you’ve got him a menu, silverware and even started filling his water cup. You’re practically bouncing off the walls. 

Frank pushes his way through the swinging doors with his hip, holding a tray of food. You whip your head around like you got caught. Your breath is caught in your throat until-

No one knows. 

It takes you a moment to remember that no one knows here. No one knows who Joel is to you. Or your father for that matter. 

Frank saddled his eyebrows, he surely noticed the second of panic all over your face. He jerked his head, motioning you to come over to him.

“You okay, hun?” He asks, eyes darted behind you before back to you.

Your eyes flicker to follow his. 

Joel.

“Oh- yeah. I’m okay.” You reassure him a little too quickly.

Frank's eyes flicker again, lingering on Joel for a second longer. Joel’s sitting at the bar with arms crossed over the bar top, looking around the ceiling. Probably picking apart the structural aspect of the beat up building. 

“No one givin’ you any problems?” He asks quietly. 

You shake your head.

“Nope. All good, Frank. Promise.” You smile widely. 

He hums while turning with his tray of food, his suspicious expression melting away into his perfect, upbeat, customer service smize when he greets his booth. You turn back to Joel with an apologetic smile. 

“So.. What can I do ya for?” You smile, pushing your weight to one hip while pulling out your little note pad. 

He chuckles, resting his chin in his hand while gazing at you. You weren’t in anything special at all. Just your uniform that consisted of a black t-shirt and pants, a blue apron that hooked around your neck and was tight taught around your waist. You had a towel tucked in the band, Joel noticed. He also saw the different colored pens that were clipped onto the rim of your pocket. Joel thought you looked beautiful, as simple as it is. Hair tied back with a few unruly strands framing your face. He couldn’t ask for a prettier waitress.

“Hmm.. Know what I really want? I don’t see it on the menu though.” Joel holds up the menu, pretending to look at it. 

“Oh. What is it?”

You furrow your eyebrows and lean over the bar top and craning your head to see what he’s looking for on the menu. Joel chuckles at your reaction while shaking his head and gently clapping his hand on the bar top. 

“You, darlin’.”

You pull back from him and roll your eyes playfully, unable to stop the smile spreading over your lips and the warmth creeping up your cheeks.

“Oh- god, Joel.” You tell him, swatting your hand at him.

He places the menu down while stifling a laugh at his own words before sighing happily.

“Just want a coffee.” He says softly. 

“You don’t want anything to eat?” You tilt your head at him.

He shakes his head.

“Already ate at the job.” He states.

You make a face at him, brows drawn in.

“You came here for a coffee?” You question while slowly taking the menu from him.

“Came here to see you.” 

He says it like it means nothing. Like it doesn’t make your heart thump aggressively behind your ribs. Like it doesn’t make your head spin and your lungs deflate. You push out a breath of a laugh and lean against the bar top.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble.” You tease while your face heats up.

Joel sucks his teeth and flashes a wide, closed mouth smile. You huff through your nose and set a mug in front of him. 

“You’re tellin’ me.” He chuckles.

You side eye him while grabbing the pot of coffee from the machine. You fill his mug and out of second nature you reach for creamers and sugar packets but you freeze- thinking back to the first time. Black. He likes black coffee. 

You slowly reel your hand back and step to place the coffee pot back on the warming plate at the machine.

“Y’remembered.” He mutters while lifting his coffee mug to his lip, taking a slow sip.

“‘Course I did.” You say simply.

The ring of the bell behind him catches your attention and you greet the next customers that walk in. You give Joel a soft look before turning away from him to tend to the customers. 

He lets his eyes linger, turning his head the slightest to keep you in his sight just a moment longer. 

“Please don’t be mad at me!” 

“Why would I be mad at you?”

You’re taken back. Why would Ellie greet you like that first thing in the morning? You haven’t even made it fully down the steps and she's already shouting from around the corner. 

Your stomach twists with anxiety as you slowly round the corner, greeted with Ellie who is wearing a pained expression. She stands next to a pile of dirt, shredded plants and broken pot. You widen your eyes, gawking at her.

“What did you do?!” You scuttle over and crouch down, carefully sifting through the soil and pot shards to find out which plants have been abused.

“I know- I’m sorry!” She places her hands over her face, nails covered in dirt.

“It’s okay-” you reassure her once you see that the plant should be okay aside from a few squished leaves that’ll eventually fall. “But, what the fuck did you do?” You ask, craning your head to look up at her.

“Don’t hate me.” She spits out while shaking her head.

“Ellie, I don’t really care. Just…. How?” you ask while standing and gesturing to the mess, laughing softly.

Ellie exhales with force.

“I really thought you’d kill me if you saw this-” She rubs her hands down her face and you shake your head with another laugh. “I was trying to hang some of these.” Ellie says, bending down to pick up  a string of translucent gems, all different shapes and colors. “Off of the shelf-” She points to the wall, stripped screw holes and no fucking shelf.

“Where the fuck is the shel-”

“Here.” Ellie gestures a little behind her.

Sure enough, there it is. On the ground and not on the wall, holding up your plants. You just sigh, not even upset. You just don’t know how she finds herself in these situations. Ellie cringes while you look at the mess on the floor.

“What the fuck are those?” You ask flatly, gesturing to the colorful gems.

“Sun catchers.” Ellie responds just as flatly.

“Hm, cool.” You hum with a small nod.

The both of you stand there in silence for a moment before you hear a stifled chuckle catch in Ellie’s throat. You whip your head up, giving her a look. She clamps her hand over her mouth to muffle more of a laugh. You shake your head at her but can’t contain the smile spreading across your lips, biting in hard to your lower to hide your own giggle.

“I’ll figure it out today.” You say with a shrug, the laughter finally dying off.

“Good, because I told Dina I’d be over..” She trails off and peeks at her watch. “Ten minutes ago.” She offers a sympathetic smile.

You let your jaw drop, eyes wide.

“That is fucked up.” You hiss out while shaking your head.

Ellie sighs and nods her head. “I know, I’m sorry.” She offers, body physically cringing.

 You tut your tongue and shake your head, bending down to pick up some of the pot shards. Thankfully Ellie helps you clean up the mess at the very least, filling a bag with the pot pieces and trying to salvage what you can of the soil and the plant.

“I’m sorry again.” Ellie mutters behind you.

“It’s fine, really. I don’t mind.” You tell her honestly.

You do mind a little. But how could you be mad at her?

“Okay, thank you. I’ll be back tonight. Going to work straight from Dina’s.” She tells you with a sympathetic smile.

You nod and wave her off. 

When the door closes behind her you sigh while placing your hands on your hips, looking at the semi-cleaned mess. You need a new pot, and more soil. The shelf on the floor reminds you that you also need screws, or something. The shelf was there when you guys moved in. You started racking your mind for what to do, and as if he had a sixth sense, your phone vibrated. 

Joel: What are you up to today?

You smile to yourself and sigh softly. 

You: need to run to the store. what are you up to?

You press send and chew on the inside of your lip until your phone buzzes again.

Joel: Need a ride?

Not really. But you want to see him.

You: do you mind?

Joel: Be there in 20.

You can’t help but bounce on your feet and make noises in excitement. 

Joel is a man of his word, now proven in more ways than one. Twenty minutes pass and there's a knock at the door. You practically run to answer it. 

“Hi, darlin’.” He drawls, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. 

“Hi, Joel.” You say softly, leaning into his sweet kiss. 

“Where do we need t’go?” He asks while peering behind you into the house, a neat pile of soil still on the floor. 

You turn your head to confirm what he was seeing.

“Ellie knocked a shelf down, it also had my plant on it. I need to get some soil and a new pot.” You tell him while looking back at him. “And I was hoping you’d tell me what I need for the shelf.” You offer up a bit of an apologetic smile. 

Joel purses his lips in thought before slowly nodding his head. 

“Let’s get a move on.” He drawls. 

You shake your head at him while smiling wide enough it’d hurt your cheeks. You shut the door behind you and make your way to his truck.

The depot store is huge. Joel promised you that they’d have everything you’d need. So far it looks like he’s right, a huge outdoor section filled with plants and flowers, soil and different cuts of stones and pebbles, and pots! You were so busy gawking at the plant section behind large doors that you didn’t even notice Joel turned down an aisle before you heard a low whistle and your name. You whipped your head around and saw him down the aisle filled with different screws. 

“Sorry.” You mumble while catching up to him.

He looks at you over his shoulder and shakes his head

“Don’t be sorry. Didn’t want you to get lost.” He tells you while looking at some of the boxes of screws. 

You linger near him, slowly inching towards the outside section. He notices after a moment and side eyes you.

“You wanna go look out there?” He asks, smiling slightly. 

You look back at him and nod your head.

“Alright, go on. I’ll find you back there after I grab what I need.” He tells you, waving you off. 

You waste no time, quickly walking to the big window doors. When they open, it's humid but tolerable. It feels nice. Warmth spreads over your skin while you round the corner, sun shining down from the skylights. It smells like outside right after it rains. The walls are lined in plants. Pots are stacked higher than you are tall- plastic to terracotta and all the different materials in between. 

You run your fingers lightly over some of the leaves, rubbing certain ones between your thumb and index finger. It’s beautiful here. Smells floral, nothing you can specifically pick out- there's too many different flowers sprawled out. Some are lines along the floors, others are hanging from metal bars. Everything feels okay right now. 

“Hi! Do you need any help?”

You know that voice and it makes your blood run cold, like nails on a chalkboard. Your body goes rigid as you turn around. 

“Oh- I didn’t even recognize you.” Owen laughs awkwardly. 

You look at him with wide eyes, not really knowing how to handle this situation. The last time you saw him was at the bar with Jesse and now he’s standing in front of you in that stupid fucking neon vest. With his dumb name on the chest. You were thankful for that- not seeing him since the bar. Honestly, you can’t even remember the last time you were left one on one with him. He just leaves such a bad taste on your mouth that you can’t explain.

“Hi Owen.” You mumble, shoulders falling a little. 

You look around at the plants but mostly just keep to yourself in hopes he will fuck off. 

“Do you need help?” He asks again, shifting his weight like he has no plans on moving. 

“Nope.” You say quickly. 

Owen nods his head slowly.

“I haven’t seen you around since the bar.” His words cut into you. 

They sting. You don’t want to think about that night. Being stupid enough to actually entertain him. Letting yourself get that drunk and acting a fool. 

“Yeah.” You respond shortly, shrugging. 

He takes a few steps toward you and you go to take a few more back but you can’t. You’re frozen. Not in fear- just short circuiting.

“It was fun. Maybe we should go out for drinks again?” He asks, leaning against the metal shelving. 

You stop yourself from making a face of disgust. But your stomach turns and you don’t know how well you’re hiding it right now. 

“Uh-“ 

Heavy boots behind Owen startle you. 

“Find what you need?” Joel drawls, completely ignoring Owen.

You snap your head towards him and immediately his face changes. Not soft and sweet. His jaw ticks when he glances between you and Owen. 

“No.. Not yet.” You say quietly, almost embarrassed.

You swallow hard and look up to Joel again.

“I can help.” Owen speaks up and you want to crack a damn pot over his thick skull.

“We got it handled, thanks.” Joel responds without sparing him a glance this time around.

You nod your head and Joel, eyes flickering between him and Owen because he still hasn’t gotten the hint to take a damn hike.

“Alright,” Your name leaves his mouth so casually it makes bile rise in the back of your throat. “Let me know when you want to go out again.” He nods before turning around and disappearing between the shelves.

You close your eyes and take a much needed deep breath. You think you accidentally held your breath for the last 60 seconds of that interaction. When you open your eyes Joel is looking at you, brows furrowed slightly. 

You open your mouth to speak but he shakes his head.

“C’mon. Get what you need and we’ll get you in the car.” He says. 

You hate how much Owen throws you off. Seeing him organically like that is a sucker punch right to your gut. You carry so many negative emotions towards him from the very first time you met him and you haven’t been able to shake them since. 

You find a pot and a small bag of soil in your hurry to get the fuck out of there. Joel is right behind you every step of the way and you thank whatever higher being there is that Owen is not manning the check out. Joel swipes his card before you can speak up and grabs his box of screws, the bag of soil and your new pot before leading you out and back to his truck.

He reaches to turn the ignition but pauses, arm relaxing on the center console before sighing and looking over to you. 

You’re crumpled in the passenger seat, that glossed over look in your eyes while they bored into his dashboard. Joel hasn’t questioned you much about anything really. But something about the way Owen spoke to you felt like a thorn in his side. The way he was so casual meanwhile it seems like all the life was just sucked from your eyes. 

“Darlin’..” Joel drawls quietly. 

You turn your head towards him, eyes following a second later. 

“Who was that?”

“Uh, Owen.” You tell him, smoothing your palms against the top of your thighs. 

He looks at you and slowly nods his head.

“It’s hot in here.” You blurt out, having a feeling in your stomach he’s not done asking questions and if you’re going to sit in here, you don’t want to be sweating on top of it all.

Joel nods and turns the key, turning the knob for the air to spill out of the vents. 

“Who’s Owen?” He says softly over the whirr of the air conditioner.

“I go to school with him. He’s also,” You sigh and rest your head back against the seat. “Who I was talking about when I called you that night a few weeks ago.”

Joel looks at you expressionless like he’s trying to remember.

“Backpacking. Mushrooms. After you told me I should be with someone my own age.” You remind him. 

He nods his head in acknowledgment, pressing his lips together firmly. 

“Why’d you clam up like that?” He turns his torso towards you.

You shrug at first before letting yourself really think about it. You know why. The first time you met him, he sent you into a spiral. He doesn’t understand boundaries. He doesn’t take a damn hint. You don’t think he’s malicious, he’s just fucking stupid. 

The both of you sit in the silence, Joel can tell the gears are slowly moving in your head. 

“The first time I met Owen…” You start off and Joel rests his hands on his thighs while listening. 

You tell him all about that night at college, how anxious you already were, how the crumbs and the greasy finger marks set you off. The way the ground felt on your feet last night. You tell him about how isolating it felt, how scary it was. You tell Joel about confiding in Ellie about what she calls; your ‘episodes’. You briefly mention your unexplored diagnosis with a therapist and continue explaining how ever since then he just bothers you. He reminds you of that night. 

Joel is listening intensely, leaning a bit over the console and placing his hand on your forearm. He sees the pool of tears well on your water line while you speak, but they never spill. He watches the way your hands grow shaky while you talk about just how it feels to be in a state like that. 

“Hey.” Joel speaks up once you pause for a moment. “S’okay, darlin’.” He assures you.

You pause for a moment and remind yourself to breathe, allowing yourself to feel the warmth of his hand spreading over your arm. The cool air in your face from his truck is helping, too. 

“Is that what happened the other night?” He asks, voice raspy like it’s caught somewhere in the back of his throat. 

You look at him, a little confused.

“Thats how you felt the night your tire popped?” He clarifies.

Just like that, it hits you. The realization that Joel never asked you what was wrong that night. He didn’t ask you to explain yourself away. Joel jumped right in, hands on and helped. He didn’t berate you for acting so dramatically to what he thought was just a popped tire. He showed up when you called, fixed your tire and cared for you. 

“Yeah, it is.” You say quietly. 

Joel nods his head and gives your arm a soft squeeze. 

“Y’don’t have to talk ‘bout it no more.” He tells you while turning to face the right way in his seat. “Take a break.” He tells you, showing a soft smile. 

You do just that. You enjoy the ride home feeling a little lighter. Joel speaks up after a few minutes. 

“You want me to say somethin’ next time?”

You’re a little surprised and you’re sure it reads in your expression.

“No. I mean, you don’t have to. He’s harmless, really.” You sigh. “Just really fucking persistent.” You follow up with a grumble. 

“I know you could handle him. I don’t like watchin’ some asshole make you shrink up like that.” He says smoothly with his eyes on the road. 

You look over to him, the sun is hitting the opposite side of his face, giving him an angelic, warm, orangey glow. You can still faintly make out his features against the bright light and you just take a moment to breathe him in before exhaling.

“I really hate running into him.” You whisper, sinking into your seat.

“We’ll go somewhere else for screws next time.” He says before pulling down your street with a smile. 

You’re in the kitchen, phone wedged between your shoulder and your ear while you stir a sauce on the stove.

“Hey, kiddo. You busy?” He asks.

“Hi Dad. Just trying not to burn dinner.” You laugh breathily. “What’s up?”

“Nothin’ major. Just gettin’ real close to finishin’ up that job I was tellin’ you ‘bout.” 

You wince quietly when the sauce bubbles and pops, sending a small scalding drop into your hand. You drop the wooden spoon into the pot and shake your hand off.

“You tell me about a lot. What one?” You ask while wiping the back of your hand off on your pants. 

“The tile one. With the pain in the ass homeowners.” He clarifies. 

“Ah- yeah. That really narrows it down.” You tease him, only half paying attention while pulling the spoon out of the bowl and blowing on it to taste the sauce. 

“Well anyways I just wanted to give you a heads up ‘bout it. Wanted you to bring that cake.” 

“Do you ever want me to bring anything else?” You say while breathing through your mouth heavily to cool off the hot sauce you tasted from the spoon. 

“Y’got me there-“

Your eyes flicker to the clock and your heart drops. Joel will be here soon and you still have work to do on dinner. You promised him it’d be ready by the time he got here so you both had more time to relax before Ellie came back from work.

“Okay, Dad just tell me when you want to do it, I’ll bring the cake.” You don’t mean to cut him off but you barely notice. 

“Alright, kid. I’ll let you get back t’whatever you’re burnin’.” He chuckles.

The phone beeps and the line is dead. 

You toss your phone to the side, forgotten on the counter within the mess of used paper towels. 

 Somehow you pull it off. Somehow. 

Joel arrives not long after and you’ve managed to finish dinner, plate it, set it at the bar counter with drinks and even clean up a little. You were proud of yourself. 

You answer the door with a wide smile, Joel’s mouth turned up in one too.

“Smells good, darlin’.” He greets you with a kiss on the top of your head. 

The two of you eat together, bumping shoulders and knees while you laugh about your most recent days. The both of you even risk a movie on the couch. It feels nice to be with him so domestically. Dinner, then movie in your shared living space. You wish you could live this every night. A small voice in the back of your head reminds you that you could, that it’s within your grasp. You just have to tell Ellie at the very least. 

It’s warm in the house, rays of the mid-July sun peeks through the blinds and casts pretty shadows against your wall. The new sun catchers Ellie got last week were the star of the show. You’re now sprawled out on the living room couch, laptop on your stomach while scrolling through some of the emails professors are already sending you for your senior year. Joel had texted you earlier.

Joel: Heading over soon. Door handle in the bathroom, right?

You: yes! coast is clear, by the way

Ellie told you she was going to the gym with Dina this morning and staying at her place the rest of the day. What you didn’t expect was Ellie’s definition of morning to be any later than 11am. You can’t describe your face when Joel knocks and you rise from the couch to greet him, then freeze when footsteps descend down the steps. Ellie gets to the door before you.

“Hi.” Ellie says while swinging open the door. 

“Hey d- Hi.” Joel clears his throat. 

You’re only a few steps off of the couch and you can’t move. It feels like your feet are one with the hardwood.

“Maintenance?” Ellie questions.

“Yes.” Joel answers in a taught tone. 

Ellie steps to the side to allow him in and he takes a few steps before looking over to you. If Joel was caught off guard, and he is, he’s much better at hiding it than you are. A part of you silently thanks him for actually coming in with his tools. His dark blue button up, messy jeans and tool box also hide the fact that this was meant to be more than a quick fit-it visit. 

“Hi.” He greets you.

Not warm and caring like he usually does. No sweet names tacked on at the end. It was short and polite. Like you’d expect from any other maintenance man. 

“Hi.” You choke out after a second, prolonging the eye contact with him.

“I’ll show you the handle.” Ellie tells him while turning up the steps. 

Joel lingers for a moment, his eyes flickering between you and Ellie before slowly starting up the steps. 

Fuck.

You didn’t even check to see if Ellie was home. 

Because she told you she’d be at the gym in the morning.

It’s fucking half past 11 right now and she’s barely moved an inch upstairs. His heavy boots grew farther and farther up the steps, leaving you and your racing thoughts to yourself. 

Do you go up there and diffuse? Diffuse what? Joel is professional, he doesn’t need to be babysat. He’s got this.

You swallow the thick lump in your throat and wipe your sweaty palms on your shirt. You can barely hear them up there. It sounds like small talk. But your anxiety won’t let you believe that. A moment passes and you’re sitting on the edge of the couch, bouncing your knee. You can’t take it anymore- not being able to hear exactly what they’re saying is making you insane. You quickly stand up and in a few swift strides you’re standing at the bottom of the steps.

Another knock at the door almost takes you out.

You spin on your heels and turn the door knob, opening it slowly to reveal Dina.

“Hey.” You greet while practically out of breath.

Dina smiles,  your name leaving her lips softly.

“Is Ellie awake?” She questions while you step out of the way, gesturing her in.

“Yeah. I thought she was going to the gym with you this morning.” ?You say, closing the door behind her as she walks in.

Dina scoffs playfully.

“Yeah, so did I. I’ve been waiting for her ass to get up for hours.” She says while crossing her arms over her chest. “I gave up on waiting and just came here.”

“I didn’t even think she was home.” You laugh a little awkwardly.

You love Dina. She has shown you nothing but love, and the love that she shows Ellie is more than enough for you to hold her close. But right now, you would love nothing more for her and Ellie to leave. You’re carrying so much tension in your body right now, knowing that Joel is upstairs with Ellie, you wouldn’t be surprised if you woke up with abs tomorrow from having your stomach tied in knots so often.

“She’s uh- upstairs. With maintenance. The bathroom doorknob brok.” you sat before slipping past her and yelling up the steps. “Ellie!”

In a second she comes to the top of the steps, peering down, a wide smile on her face when she sees Dina.

“Oh, hey.” Ellie says casually while slowly coming down the steps.

“Hey? I’ve been waiting for you to get up for hours and I get a hey?” Dina tests, giving her a look.

Ellie shakes her head and chuckles. “Well you’re here now, right? We can go.” She diffuses, setting a hand on Dina’s back.

Your eyes flicker to the top of the stairs, you can hear the soft clink of a screw driver up there, then back to the couple.

“I’m gonna- uh. Go with the maintenance guy. Have fun at the gym.” You say quickly.

Quick enough for Ellie’s gaze to linger on you a second more than it should have. You don’t pay it any mind and climb the stairs swiftly just to be met with Joel watching over his shoulder for you. Now that you’re up here, looking at him kneeled in front of the door with his tools all spread out and Ellie and Dina downstairs. You can’t deny the rush. The feeling that blooms in your stomach while almost getting caught. You don’t even know if caught is the right term, but you were interrupted at the least. Joel smirks and shakes his head slowly before turning his attention back to the door knob. Ellie and Dina call out a goodbye before closing the door behind them.

Joel doesn’t give it a second. He finished changing the actual doorknob minutes ago, he was only stalling to get a few moments alone with you and now that he has it; he swiftly stands, turning around while pushing you into the bathroom with his hands on your hips.

“Coast is clear, huh?” He muses, leaning down while raising his eyebrows.

You laugh breathily, palms on his shoulders while backing up onto the tile.

“I didn’t think she was home. She said she was going to the gym in the morning!” You say playing defense. 

You hiss when your bare lower back hits the cold sink and that's when he stops walking you backwards. His thick digits tap on your hips, sprawling to cover the majority of your waist.

“Scared me half t’ death when it wasn’t you who answered.” He shakes his head slowly while leaning in.

He was close enough for his breath to fan over your features, blowing some of your hair from your face. You tilted your head up, eyes sultry and soft. He couldn’t help himself but to mash his lips into yours. It wasn’t careful. It was sloppy, rushed and laced with lust and want.

You’ve slept with people other than Joel, sure. But no one like Joel. No one as mature and as experienced as him. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve waved a guy off from going down on you, or lying and telling him you already finished just so it could be over. Not all the sex was bad, but it wasn’t all great either. But Joel? God, every time he touched you it lit a white hot flame in your stomach. He knows what he’s doing. You don’t have to tell him how you want it, where to press and where to circle slower. He knows. That alone is enough to get you all riled up. The way he’s working desperate kisses down your torso is helping, too. 

“Joel..” You whisper, placing a hand on the top of his head and lacing your fingers through his dark hair.

He pauses, bottom lip dragging against your skin just below your navel when you tug his head back by his hair. Fuck. He looks so good. His eyes are soft, lids heavy over them. His lower lip bounces back once you drag his head far enough away and his tongue swipes over his plump pair to wet them. You bite back a moan just at the sight. He’s just oozing masculinity, especially while on his knees in front of you. Hair sticking every which way from your grip, face flushed even under his tanned skin. 

He wants you. No, he needs you. He’s been thinking about you for days. Thinking about the noises you made, the way your thighs twitched when he pushed into you repeatedly. The way your face pinched up and relaxed depending on the way he touched you. 

“Hm?” He hums and it tugs something deep in your chest.

“What’re you doing?” You ask in a hushed voice

He blinks and furrows his eyebrows.

“What’s it look like I’m doin’?” He huffs while slowly pulling at your pants. “Want me to stop?” He pauses while looking at you for any sense of hesitation.

You let your jaw slack before slowly shaking your head, loss for words. 

“Atta girl.” He muses and pulls your bottoms down with little effort. 

You push a soft breath past your trembling lips, stepping out of your pants and letting Joel toss them onto the bathroom tile. He grips the back of one of your knees in his hand, tosses it over his shoulder and connects his mouth to you impatiently. You double over, both hands laced into his hair while cursing under your breath. 

He works his tongue steady into you, rolling and prodding it around your slick cunt. Each press of his tongue pulls another drawn out gasp and shaky exhale. Joel nudges his head deeper, one calloused hand spread over your thigh while the other rests at the curve of your waist. Your heel presses into the center of his back and he groans into you, the rumble sending chills up your spine. 

“N-Not gonna last long, Joel.” You whimper while flustered. 

He groans again, nudging his angled nose just under your clit while his tongue lapped into your sex. Fingers curled deeper into his hair, your hips rocking into his mouth all while balancing on your one foot. He won’t let your wobble. He shrugs his shoulder to adjust your thigh that rests there before pulling back. You peer down to him, a broken moan passing your lips at the lewd sight. 

Lips are red and plump, soaked with you. The same with his beard, visibly wet with the thin string of your arousal connecting his lips to your cunt before he pulls too far away. 

“God- Joel.” You can’t help but groan out. 

He doesn’t answer but presses a few kisses to the inside of your thigh before slipping it off his shoulder. He stands slowly, adjusting his gaze downwards as he reaches his full height. You suddenly felt small. Vulnerable. Such a contrast to before where Joel kneeled before you, mouth working expertly. He’s looming now, his dark shirt stretched nicely over his broad chest, his eyes dark with blown pupils while he watches you.

“Turn around.” He finally speaks up while encapsulating your shoulders in his hands and helping you turn. 

You move with him, facing the mirror. Slowly, you bring your gaze to meet his in the reflection while chewing anxiously on your inner cheek. 

“Good girl.” Joel whispers, leaning in to press a kiss just behind your ear. 

One of his palms pressed into the center of your spine, slowly slipping up between your shoulder blades before applying more pressure. You lean with his guidance, folding over the sink with your hips pushed flush into the porcelain. 

“You feel that?” He asks, talking low in your head while pressing his hips into your rear.

His hard cock evident under the fabric. Instinctively you push your hips back into his and nod, it pulls a grunt from deep in Joel’s chest. He pushes back, driving your hips right back into the sink.

“Fuck.” He hisses, the muscle in his jaw ticking while you watch him through the mirror. 

Joel pulls away for a moment and you whine at the loss of contact, pushing your hips back again to try and find his. 

“Wait a damn minute-“ He chuckles, kneading one hand into the flesh of your ass, his other working at his belt and jeans. 

“Joel. Don’t wanna wait any-“

You cut yourself off with a gasp when you feel his bare, throbbing press against the back of your thigh. You sob out a soft whimper.

“Greedy lil’ thing, aren’t you?” He chides while shaking his head. 

You whip your head to the side, looking over your shoulder at him behind you. Without a second Joel reaches around to grip your jaw, forcing you to look back into the mirror. You do. You mumble, his fingers smushing your lips together. The sight is.. Raw. He’s standing tall behind you, chest rising and falling steadily, head tilted back while making eye contact with you through the reflection. He’s got your face smushed between his thick fingers, lips pursed from his force. A twisted, sultry smile spreads over Joel’s lips. 

“Watch yourself.” He mutters while breaking eye contact. 

He grips the base of his cock with his free hand, kicking the inside of your ankle gently to spread your legs a bit more. You do with a soft noose of surprise. He releases your jaw, letting his warm hand clamp down where your throat meets your collar. You immediately jut out your lower lip, whimpering in anticipation. He doesn’t let you wait long- slipping the tip of his cock through your slick folds. He moans softly, allowing his eyes to close while he revels in the sheer warmth of your core. 

You plant both of your palms on the sink, wrapping your fingers around the edge and gripping tight when he pushes into your tight snatch. You collapse against the sink with a moan and Joel pulls you back into the sight of the mirror with his hand at your collar. 

“Holy shit- Joel.” You breathe out. 

He presses his top row of teeth into his lower lip while bottoming out. He stays there for a beat, the hand that was wrapped around his girth now planting itself on your hip.

“Feels so good.” He mutters, pulling you closer by your shoulder if it was even possible. 

You felt him deep inside of you, the force of the sink pressing into your lower stomach made his presence more than obvious. He drew back slowly before pushing back in at the same pace, allowing you the few moments to adjust before he picks up the pace. 

With each snap of his hips your body jolts, your breasts swishing against the loose fabric of your shirt. Your jaw is slack, unbelievably overwhelmed with the erotic sight before you. You shove one of your palms against the mirror for better leverage, pushing back into Joel with every single thrust. 

He finds a relentless rhythm, cock rubbing against your ribbed, pulsing walls. You’re losing yourself and Joel can see it. The way your eyelids flutter, tongue resting gently against your lower lip. 

“Open your eyes.” He orders.

You’re too lost in the pleasure ripping through your chest while he fucks you into your bathroom sink. 

“Open.” He delivers one harsh thrust and stills.

You pant, a languid moan passing your lips while you pried your eyes open. You meet his gaze through the reflection.

“That’s it, sweet girl.” He coo’s, tightening his grip on the base of your throat. 

You let out a strangled moan, tilting your head back when he resumes his thrusts. 

“Need you to see how pretty you look while all filled up.” 

His words pull a lewd string of moans from the back of your throat as a response.

“Say it.” He grunts, thrusts growing sloppy. 

He grabs your upper arm with the hand that was on your hip and pulls you back against him, rutting into you repeatedly. 

“Joel, wha-“ You begin, brows furrowed, not able to think straight. 

“Say you look pretty.” He whispers, breath hot in your ear. 

With the new position it gives Joel better positioning to wrap his hand fully around the base of your throat, his thumb pressing into your supple flesh while his other hand has an iron grip on your upper arm.

You swallow thickly, opening your mouth to speak-

“Hey!” That familiar voice calls your name out just after. 

You and Joel both go rigid, his thrusts stop immediately and he meets your eyes through the mirror again, this time wide and anxious. The sound of the front door flying open makes your blood run cold. He holds you tightly against his chest and you can feel how quickly his heart is beating. He clamps his hand over your mouth, muffling any whimpers that were still caught in your throat. 

You hear Ellie call your name again from down stairs, louder.

“Answer her.” Joel whispers, lifting his hand from your mouth while slowly starting to thrust again. 

Your knees go weak but his hold is so strong that you don’t collapse. 

“Yeah, Ellie?!” You clear your throat, speaking sharply and quickly to make sure no filthy noises escape. 

“I forgot my gym bag!” She yells from the bottom steps. “Have you seen it?!”

“Fucking christ Ellie-“ You grunt under your breath, gasping when Joel hits that warm spongey spot deep inside. 

“Answer-“ Joel reminds you with a hiss.

“Basement!” You call out, most likely sounding more annoyed. 

You hear her footsteps fading down the basement and you think its safe enough to let out the moan thats been trapped in your chest but Joel thinks differently- clamping his hand over your mouth again, his thrusts not stopping only growing quicker, more needy while he chases after the high he's building. 

You glance into the mirror and Joel's already watching you, jaw slacked with heavy lids, his tongue working at his lower lip, brows drawn together in concentration while tightening his grip on your arm. The subtle wet squelching grows louder while he picks up his speed. 

Ellie’s footsteps bring you out of your daze.

“Okay!! I got it! I’ll see you later.” Ellie shouts.

You hear rustling at the bottom of the steps and you screw your eyes shut. Joel’s hand lifts from your mouth, reminding you to respond through the thick fog. 

“Bye!” Was all you could choke out.

The slam of the front door has never sounded so good.

The coil in your belly felt hot, the adrenaline coursing through your veins only adding to that and the loud moan that spills from your lips adds to Joel's. 

“God- you filthy fuckin’ thing.” He grits. 

“Joel I’m.. Fuck- I’m gonna-“

“I know, pretty girl. I know.” He grovels. “Let me have it.” He coaxes you. 

He holds your jaw with a tight grip, forcing you to watch yourself in the mirror and him behind you, fucking relentlessly into your soaked cunt. He feels you twitch, walls clenching around the girth of his cock to milk him of all he’s worth. 

“Thats it.” He praises, recognizing the uptickor in time between your moans. 

You sob out a mixture of pleads and his name, body convulsing in his hold while coming undone. You suck in sharp gasp after gasp, arousal soaking the insides of your thighs and dripping down your legs, every one of his touches adding to the white hot flame in your stomach that is roaring at an all time high.

“Thats good, pretty baby.” He talks you through your high. “Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ good- fuck.” He grunts.

You’re babbling at yourself in the mirror, trying to put together a coherent sentence, to beg Joel to finish. To tell him how badly you wanted to feel him but you can’t. Joel didn’t need you to, either. He had chewed his lip raw, trying to keep himself from spilling into you too early. Joel pulls out of you with a broken sigh, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock, stroking and twisting his fist up his length before he spills onto your ass. 

His jaw is slacked, lip curled while groan after guttural groan rumbles through him. He pants, releasing himself and falling forward, resting his forehead on your shoulder. His breath is hot over your even hotter skin. 

“That..That was too close.” You pant.

Joel chuckles and lifts his head before slowly shaking it.