You blow out air, shifting to get closer, and before you can stop yourself you’re pressing the needle into his skin. Joel tenses, his nostrils flaring and his head bows, forehead pressing to your shoulder as he internalizes the pain.

“Sorry,” you whisper, because what else are you supposed to say as you stitch him up, but you continue, pulling the thread through. “Sorry, Joel.”

“Don't apologize. Just... keep goin'. Ain't your fault I'm too damn stubborn to stay outta trouble,” He lets out a slow, controlled breath, fingers digging into his own thigh to distract from the sting. “You're doin' fine.”

You press in and through his skin, tugging it tight, his forehead staying leaned into your shoulder. He smells like smoke, probably from making the fire last night. The fire that had attracted the clickers. The fire he had made to keep you warm.

Biting your lip, you focus on the needle, on the light weight of it between your fingers. It might leave a scar, and you wonder what he’ll remember when he sees it. The pain or the chill, or the hands that did the stitching.

“Almost done.” you murmur, and he doesn’t respond. You pull it taught again, ignore the shake in your pinky finger when you press in, your left hand squeezing the inflamed flesh together.

He lets out another low grunt, the kind he always makes when he is trying to hide the pain, as if somehow you won’t know it hurts. When he speaks again it's tight and pained, his face still hidden against you.

“How long's it been since you done this?” He asks, one hand dropping to your waist, a light grip that's probably meant to comfort you more than him.

“I’ve never done this,” you reply, keeping your eyes on the task at hand. “I’ve never…stitching wasn’t my forte.”

You pull the string taught again, holding it with your left hand while your right hand grabs your pocket knife. Slicing the thread, you drop the blade and tie off your work. The skin puckers and you wonder if it’s painful, if the blood seeping through means you did a shit job.

“Alright,” you whisper, patting his upper thigh gently. “All done.”

He hisses through his teeth as you pat his leg, the touch more pain than comfort. But he doesn't say anything, just raises his head and looks down at the stitches with a grimace. They're ugly as hell. Jagged and messy. But they'll hold.

“Damn, you weren't kiddin’,” he mutters, a hint of dry humor in his voice. “You really ain't got a skill for this, do ya?” His hand doesn't leave your waist, his fingers tightening fractionally as he looks up at you.

You smile a fraction and shake your head. “Guess not.”

His mouth twists as he inspects the work again before nodding at his pack. “Gauze.”

Leaning backwards you dig inside the backpack, pulling out a roll and handing it to him. You’re quiet as you watch him slowly wrap his leg, the red seeping through the white and he continues to wrap until no red is visible.

“When we get back we’ll get you looked at,” you say, propping your elbows on your knees. “Make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

He grunts in response, his fingers working the gauze around the wound with a practiced ease that speaks of too much experience. There's no doubt this isn't the first time he's patched himself up like this. His gaze flicks up to you, eyes narrowing slightly, as if he can sense your worry. “Don't need someone fussin' over me. I'll be fine.”

“Joel,” you make your voice hard. “Don’t be difficult.”

“I’m not.” He drops the gauze roll into his pack and shifts, attempting to stand but falters, his bad leg still on the floor while his other leg is bent in a kneeling position. His face twists in pain.

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Yes. You are.”

You stand, holding your hand to him and he glares at it before slowly taking it, bracing his weight and standing up. He hops once, finds his balance with a sharp exhale. You glance at his exposed leg, the other still hidden by the denim of his jeans.

“You’ll need new pants too.” You murmur, and his hand is warm in yours despite the October chill.

“Pft,” he grunts, hoping once more. “No shit. Help me get these on ‘em.”

You bite back a grin before releasing his hand, bending to grab your bags. Your horses whine at you, as if impatient to get back to Jackson, and you untie one, bringing it closer to Joel. “Get on up.”

He eyes the horse like it's personally offended him, but he doesn’t argue. With a muttered curse and more effort than he'd ever admit to, he swings himself onto the saddle, only barely managing not to faceplant in the process. His jaw clenches hard enough you can see it from where you stand.

Once settled, he shoots you a glare that's meant to be intimidating but just makes him look like an irritated preteen. “Happy now?”

You don't even try to hide your smirk this time as you mount your own horse beside him. “Ecstatic.”

The corner of his mouth twitches with some sort of amusement before he nudges his horse forward with another pained sigh. “Just get us home before I bleed all over this damn saddle.”

The entire ride is quiet, and you prefer it that way. You aren’t sure what you should say to him, because all you want to say is sorry. Sorry for the fire, for the clickers that came and almost took your lives. Sorry for being partnered with him, that you’re a crummy replacement for Tess.

Sorry that no matter how hard you try, he’s the last thing you think about when you sleep, and the first thing when you open your eyes.

Surprisingly Joel stops at the clinic first thing when you get back to Jackson, and hands you the reign’s of his horse. “You mind?”

You don’t at all, and you lead both horses to the stables, stopping by the town center to hand over all the goods you had scavenged. You walk home alone, and the chill is bone-shaking by the time you make it to your room. You know it isn’t really that cold outside, that the cold you feel is more than skin deep, but you push it away, showering in silence. You wash away Joel’s blood and the feeling of his forehead pressed to your shoulder. When you finish, you half expect him to be sitting on the foot of your bed, asking you what this pull is. Because he has to feel it too. It can’t just be you.

Toweling off, you’re curling into the mattress when the door knocks so hard it rattles. You get up, annoyance creasing your brow as you tug open the door and stop dead.

Joel looks down at you, exhaling through his nose in the quiet of the night. You glance at his leg and then back to his face and you feel too exposed in just your sleep shirt and shorts. Crossing your arms over your middle, you nod at where his injury is, hidden beneath new jeans.

“Get that checked?” You ask, and his chin dips to look down as well.

He seems to hesitate, his gaze flicking down to the way you hold your arms in front of you like a shield. Your bare legs and the soft curve of your hips are just visible through the thin cloth of your shirt, and for the briefest moment he feels like he shouldn't be seeing you like this. Then his eyes are on your face again, his expression schooled into his usual tight mask.

“Yeah,” he affirms, shifting his weight off his injured leg. “Doc said I'll have a nasty wound, but I'll live.”

“Ah,” you click your teeth. “That’s my bad. Maybe next time it’ll be straighter.”

He chuckles, grinning a little before it melts back into his face, features a mass of serious curiosity. He whispers your name and it nearly knocks the wind from you. “Look- I-”

His words stutter, and part of you wants to close the door in his face. He’s breaking down the wall you both have built, the safety that was carefully constructed after the end of the world, and you aren’t sure you want him to.

“Joel,” You rasp, shaking your head. “You don’t- it’s okay.”

“No,” he says quickly, one hand moving from where it was resting at his side to press against the doorjamb by your head, “No, it ain't. I need to say this.”

He's so close now, all broad shoulders and quiet strength. You can see the shadow of a pulse fluttering in the hollow of his throat, can smell the faint scent of firewood and sweat that still clings to his skin. Your eyes rise to his again, drawn to the intensity in his gaze like a moth to a flame.

“You helped me.” He mutters, and you shrug.

“You would’ve done the same.”

“Would I have?” He questions, dark brows furrowed. “I don’t- after salt lake, I-”

You interrupt him because you know he beats himself up enough already. You step forward, shaking your head. “Yes. You would have.”

His breath leaves him in a sharp exhale, as if you've taken the wind right out of his lungs. His hand drops from the doorframe and for a moment he just stands there, looking at you. His fingers brush against your arm—barely there, hesitant—before curling gently around your wrist.

“Christ,” he mutters, shaking his head once before pulling you into him without warning. One arm wraps around your back while the other comes up to cradle the nape of your neck. He holds onto you tightly, like maybe this is all he knows how to do now, hold on so nothing else can be taken away.

You freeze for a second before melting into it, pressing closer until his scent envelops every inch of you and warmth spreads from where his body presses against yours.

It’s unclear how long he holds you, but you don’t rush it. You revel in the feeling of his hand in your hair, his chest beneath your cheek, heart pumping just a bit fast.

When Joel steps back, it’s too soon and you feel cold, like your chest has been cracked open in winter weather. He clears his throat, shifting uneasily and you tilt your head.

“I don’t know if I can do this right now,” he whispers. “After- salt lake. I don’t…I don’t know if I can stomach it.”

You swallow, throat like sandpaper and you nod. “That’s okay.”

His eyes search your face like he's trying to find a hint, some sign that you don't believe him, but you force a reassuring smile. It's small, and it probably looks fake even to you, but you don't think you could manage anything more convincing right now.

His head dips a fraction defeat lacing his posture.

“I ain't good for you.” he says softly, staring at the floor.

“Is anyone really good anymore?” You murmur, and his eyes meet your own. “I’m not too sure.”

Joel hums, nods once. “When you stitched me up. It hurt like a bitch. But I knew I didn’t- I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to do it.”

“What about Tess?” you ask because you’re cruel to yourself. “She would’ve.”

“Yeah. She would’ve,” his reply is calmer than you would’ve expected. “But that don’t matter since she ain’t here. You are.”

You don't say anything. You don't know what to say, what response would satisfy both you and him right now. Instead, you stare at him, at the faint lines around his eyes, the tired set to his mouth. He looks worn, exhausted, and you wonder how much of that exhaustion is from the wound on his thigh and how much is from something else entirely.

“You’re something,” he murmurs, and you unfold your arms. “something I wanna…I wanna keep.”

His accent is thick, running over you like syrup and your joints loosen in his verbal hold. You consider him, the scarring on his knuckles and the short chop of his hair, and then you reach for his hand, fingers tracing over the leathered skin.

“Then have me,” you whisper, your lips twisting before you peer up at him. “Go on.”

His eyes grow dark and fixed on yours, drinking in the sight of you like a starving man. He takes a step closer, so much so you can feel the heat radiating off his body once more. It would be so easy to press up against it, to feel the solid length of his frame against your own.

Instead, he raises your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles.

Your lips part as you watch him, the careful display of tenderness, and when he drops your hand you’re stepping forward, into his space, and your mouth finds his.

It’s a deep kiss of tongue and teeth, slow as the rotation of the moon. Joel’s hand slips to your back, palm spread between your shoulder blades while the other cups the side of your jaw. Your fingers curl in his flannel, eyes shutting right as your neck arches to meet his.

He groans against your mouth the sound low and rumbling deep in his chest. His hand presses flat to your spine, pushing you closer still until you're molded against him, your bodies fitted together like puzzle pieces. His thumb brushes your jaw, his mouth open and hot against yours, claiming every inch of you as his.

And you let him because you can’t find it in you to stop him anymore, your back arching, fingers fisting tighter in his shirt. You could drown in this moment and you wouldn't care.

“Stay,” you murmur as his tongue slides against yours. “Stay.”

“If you let me.”

You’re nodding quickly, hands trailing up his chest and around his neck, and when he dips to pick you up, his arms around your thighs you don’t make a sound.

He's strong enough to carry you like this, holding you easily in his grip like you weigh nothing at all, and he takes a few steps before lowering you at the entrance to your bedroom. You take his hand, pulling him to the bed and he pushes you down gently, his body covering yours in a single movement as his mouth finds yours.

Slowly, almost torturously, he breaks the kiss, trailing his lips down the side of your jaw and to the sensitive skin of your neck. His teeth graze the pulse there, a ragged exhale shuddering through him as his fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts.

“Can I?” He whispers, and you can’t tell his eye color in the dark.

“Please..” you choke out, heart racing as he tugs your shorts and underwear down. His fingers are thick as they circle your entrance, and your head drops back to the sheets, chest rising and falling in quick succession.

Joel's breath is uneven against your cheek as he drags his fingers through your slick heat, groaning when you arch into his touch. He spreads it over you lazily, teasingly, before dipping two fingers inside, slow at first, letting you adjust to the stretch.

“Fuck.” he grits out when your walls clench around him immediately. You bury a hand in his hair while the other grips at the sheets beneath you like they’re a lifeline. His free hand pushes up your shirt until it bunches under your arms and then dips back down to palm at one of your tits with bruising pressure.

His mouth finds yours again while his fingers curl just right inside of you; not fast enough for release but too good to want him to stop.

“Still okay?” Joel asks softly, brows furrowing as he slows the work of his hand.

“Keep going, feels good.” You whisper. He pauses, only hesitating for a moment before his fingertips push into you, stretching you more. Your lashes flutter and your thighs spread, allowing more of him in.

He helps you undress the rest of the way, hands soft and gentle against your skin as he peels off your shirt and then his own. When his bare hips slip between yours, he glances up at you.

“I don’t- have a condom.” He murmurs, and for some reason this makes you smile. You run a hand up his neck, to his face hovering inches from your own.

“S’okay,” you whisper. “Pull out okay?”

He nods, a barely-there gesture that has his hair falling across his forehead, and he looks younger this way. The age lines are smoothed out as he rubs his thumb against your hip, his gaze fixed on yours. He leans down to kiss you, his body slotting against yours as his hands slide up your waist, fingers splaying against your ribs, and when he pushes in you squeeze your eyes closed.

A gasp falls from your mouth, echoing into his and Joel groans at the first feel of you.

His hips set a slow, torturous pace; his chest flush to yours, lips skating the sensitive skin of your neck. You press your face to the underside of his jaw, gasping softly into his ear. Your hands rove restlessly up the expanse of his back, nails dragging across his shoulders, and he shudders against you. You feel the flex of his fingers at your hip, his breath hot against your throat. This is more than you expected from him, more than you're used to, and it's so much that you could cry.

He kisses your mouth, your cheeks. The space between your brows and your heart flutters. You’re so full in a way that makes you realize just how empty you were.

His hand moves between your bodies and he rubs at the nerves there, the action slow and careful. His eyes are open, watching your reaction and when you shutter around him he nearly chokes.

“Joel-“ Your voice breaks as his fingers continue their relentless circling, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter inside you until you're trembling beneath him. His name tumbles from your lips again, half-plea, half-prayer. He groans when he feels your walls clamp down around him harder than before.

He keeps his rhythm slow but deep, just enough to leave you teetering on the edge of release without tipping over completely. His forehead presses against yours as he works both of you toward that same precipice with measured strokes until finally, you break apart in shuddering waves.

Joel gritting out curses between kisses while heat pools low in your belly before spreading outward like liquid fire through every vein, your toes curling and your arms around his neck go limp. He curses again before the weight of him within you is gone, and you’re panting as his hand travels to himself, pumping hard with grinding teeth until there’s a warm liquid on your thigh.

He shutters, his hips twitching before he leans to the right, slumping slightly but not crushing you. You blink up at the ceiling, your heart hammering inside your ribs and pumping loudly in your ears. Joel is still for a few moments beside you before he sits up, reaching for his shirt and he wipes at your thigh. The care of the act makes your heart sore.

It takes you another moment to manage the energy to speak, your muscles feeling like jelly. You roll to face him as he tosses the shirt to the floor. The sight of him, bare and flushed in the dark, makes the ache between your thighs worse. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair and stares at the ceiling, the rise and fall of his chest more even now. He says your name, but it’s so quiet it sounds like he’s repeating it to himself.

You sit up, covering yourself and your eyes flick to his thigh. Red leaks at a slow pace down his skin.

“Your stitches.” you whisper, and he glances down briefly before looking back at the ceiling.

“S’alright. Was worth it.”

You bite back a smile. Swinging your legs over the bed, you go to stand but his hand reaches for you, stopping you with a gentle tug. You glance at him and he looks…open.

“It- was worth it,” he murmurs. “Right?”

You look at him, at the way his eyes seem so dark in this light, at the vulnerability etched into the lines of his face. This is the most open you've ever seen him, raw and real, and a part of you is afraid that it'll disappear as soon as you answer. But you don't hesitate, because he needs to know.

“Yeah,” you say softly, gently squeezing the hand he still has on your wrist. “It was.”

X

Joel Miller ML

Joel’s moving before he can even process the hospital’s mistake, tugging on some jeans and a shirt. You aren’t his wife, you’re his ex-wife, but evidently he’s still your emergency contact. “Is she okay? Is- is she alive?” 

“She is alive but she’s in surgery right now-”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Joel hangs up the phone, already running out the door. 

He gets to the hospital in half the time it should’ve taken him. He doesn’t think, he just drives. He parks half on a curb, running into the emergency room. He’s by your side almost instantly, like he has some sort of way to scent you through all the cleansers and antiseptic. 

You look horrible, and that’s how Joel would describe you if he was trying to be nice. He’s never good at navigating compliments, especially when it comes to you, but right now he finds it especially difficult to be gracious. You look terrible, and it makes his heart ache.

The nurse gives him the run-down. Car accident, four broken ribs, a broken leg, a severe concussion and a brain bleed, both of which might result in temporary confusion and exhaustion. Joel takes it all in with a straight face, nodding at the end of each of the nurse’s sentences, but his eyes stay on you. He agrees to everything the nurse asks, signs every paper shoved his direction. His mind swirls with worry, and the ex part of ex-husband seems to go on the back burner. 

Joel was already stupid enough to lose you once, and he sure as shit isn’t going to lose you again. 

You wake up on the third day. Joel’s only left your side long enough to freshen up in the shower and grab food from the hospital’s cafeteria. His back aches from sleeping bent over at your side in a chair, but he ignores it. He focuses instead on the feeling of your pulse below his fingers where they rest on your wrist, his eyes on the gentle rising and falling of your chest. 

You wake with a light whimper, the muscles on your face contorting with obvious pain and confusion. Joel sits up, his hand squeezing yours where your fingers are interlaced, laying at your side. You blink slowly, the light from the room burning your retinas. His face is in front of yours, then, the first thing you see as you come to. 

“Joel?” He watches the way your brows knit together, and his free hand darts to your shoulder to stop you from sitting up. 

“Stay down, baby.” The pet name slips from his lips just as easily as it used to. Your body slumps back against the sheets, and Joel brushes his thumb over your collarbone. He lets you have a moment before he speaks again, low and gruff. “You were in an accident, honey. A pretty bad one.”

“I was?” Your voice comes out raspy from lack of use and you blink again, like you’re having a hard time focusing. Your hand squeezes his. “Were you there?” 

“No.” Joel shakes his head, sitting up a bit to move his chair closer to your bed. “No, I wasn’t, but the hospital called me and I got here as soon as I could.”

“Good.” You say, closing your eyes, voice wavering. Joel watches you, waits for you to say something else, but you don’t. You’re unconscious again before he can respond.

He tells the nurses you woke up. They run some tests, tell him that you’re okay, that he should get some rest. He finally agrees, but only goes so far as to sleep on the couch. He doesn’t fit, and it isn’t any better for his back, but at least he’s laying down. 

You wake up again the next day. Joel isn’t sure exactly when you wake up, but you’re blinking at him with wide eyes when he comes back into your room with his lunch. 

“Joel.” You say, swallowing thickly, gaze tracing over him, his overgrown stubble, and the bags under his eyes. “You’re here.” 

He sets the tray aside, taking up his place in the chair beside your bed once again. He doesn’t take your hand, though he wants to. Your hand twitches like you might want him to, too. 

“The hospital called me.” He tells you the same thing he said before, he doesn’t know what you can and can’t remember. “I came as soon as I could. You were in an accident, darlin’.”

You nod and hum, processing this information slowly, letting your eyes fall shut. Joel thinks you might be unconscious again until your eyes open, blinking at him. 

“Joel…” You start to say, “Why would-”

“How are you feeling?” A nurse comes in, smile plastered on, voice slow and sing-songy. “It’s so good to see you awake!”

“I’m fine…” You tell her, hoping she ignores the way you wince every time you try to shift. She taps away on her tablet, looking at the IV monitor beside your bed. 

“You have such a wonderful husband,” The nurse compliment Joel, sending a wink his way as she tries to make conversation. You and Joel make eye contact, then instantly look away. The awkwardness doesn’t get any better when she continues speaking. “He’s been here day and night since you got here. We had to bring in a couch for him so he didn’t hurt his back sleeping in that chair.” 

You don’t know what to say to that, and neither does Joel, it seems, as you both stay quiet. The nurse hums, continuing to try and make small talk until she deems her job finished. She leaves with a flourish and sucks any remaining energy from the room with her when she goes. 

“Joel…” You are the one to break the tense silence, though the tension doesn’t break just because you speak. It still lingers there, making it hard to speak, like you’re trying to talk with your mouth full. “Why did the hospital… call you?” 

Joel sits up when you say his name, and clears his throat, half shrugging as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I guess you still have me down as your emergency contact.” 

“Oh…” You say softly, and silence envelopes the two of you again, only the beeping and mechanical sounds of the hospital around you. When your eyes open and meet Joel’s again, something in your expression has his heart stuttering. “And why did you come?”

Joel takes a while to answer. He shifts in his chair, dark gaze on yours as he purses his lips. When he does speak, his words are sincere. “I already lost you once, I don’t plan on doing it again.”

He sees the way his words strike you, the walls you’ve rebuilt around your heart threatening to crack and shatter. He’s been praying for another shot, and it seems something has answered his call. Your fingers tangle together in your sheets, and Joel watches you, lets you take your time. He doesn’t want to push. Not now, not ever. 

“Joel?” Your voice catches his attention again.

“Hmm?” 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anythin’, darlin’.”

“…Can I have your lunch?” 

The question makes him laugh. Joel would agree to that and anything else in the world if it means he can wake up next to you every morning again. He’d do anything for you now, refusing to make the same mistakes he did before. 

“Sure, baby.” He agrees with an easy smile, the one that made you fall in love with him the first time. “You can have whatever you want.”

And he really means it. He’ll give you everything you want this time, he’ll be the man you deserve.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

It was (and is) a well-known fact that one in three marriages ends in separation. And of course, you—being the lucky duck you were—found yours rapidly accelerating toward that destination.

You and Joel had agreed that you’d be better off apart. Joel got his own place while you kept the house. And Sarah lived with you every other week.

All you needed to do was send your attorney the signed divorce papers.

Outside of the sympathetic comments you received from acquaintances and relatives almost daily, you were doing just fine.

In fact, tonight you had a date.

A date. The kind that made you choose a tight-fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. The kind that inspired you to wear your hair in something other than a claw clip. The kind that provoked you to shave places you haven’t shaved in a long time.

The lucky bachelor was a fellow divorcee named Mark, whom you had met on a single-parent dating app. He had a full head of hair, a decent sense of humour, and two rescued Labradors. He offered to bring you to his favourite Italian restaurant, bringing up the fact that he’d pick up the bill no matter what, much to your protests. Needless to say, you had a good feeling about him.

After one last check in the mirror, you grabbed your coat and slung your purse over your shoulder, ready to head out the door.

Then, you heard it.

A faint gurgling. 

You blinked twice, trying to zero in on the sound. Proceeding a few moments of intense concentration, you followed the sound into the ensuite bathroom.

The faucet was running. Had you forgotten to turn it off?

You reached for the handle. Twisted it. It spun freely, and nothing happened. 

You tried and tried again, but all your efforts were in vain. You could only watch the tap stubbornly defy you as the handle jutted uselessly, loose in its socket.

“Shit.” You breathed.

The faucet sputtered out a particularly heavy spurt of water as if to say: shit, indeed.

You sighed, staring helplessly at the sink as it stared contumaciously back, water that couldn’t be swallowed by the drain toppling over the edge of the sink.

A quick Google search informed you that you needed to turn off the principal water pipe—the mains. Which you didn’t know how to do. 

So, you resolved to delegate the problem to more capable hands. Like, a twenty-four-hour plumbing service. No, they could easily overcharge you. You could call your dad? No, he was too far.

Or…

Sighing, you dug out your phone from your purse and called your only remaining option. Someone who was a seasoned contractor, someone who dealt with this sink before, and someone who you just so happened to be divorcing. 

He answered on the third ring.

“Hey—everything okay?” Joel’s concerned voice filtered through your phone.

“No.” You inhaled. 

“No?” Joel echoed hesitantly, then waited for elaboration.

When nothing came, he cleared his throat.

Slightly confused, slightly wry, he continued, “This is the part where you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Um, my sink’s busted.”

“Your sink… is busted?”

“Yeah. Faucet won’t turn off. It-It’s a lot of water.” You bit the inside of your cheek, leaning on the wall. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

A moment of silence, then:

“You need me to fix it?” 

Was that annoyance? Exhaustion? It definitely wasn’t exhilaration at the prospect of doing manual labour at eight o’clock on a Friday evening.

“You know what? Forget I called. This was stupid. Sorry to bother you—”

“I’m on my way.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, after he hung up, the smallest of smiles began forming on your face. 

Fifteen minutes later, a knock came from your front door.

You swung the door open, and there he stood. Tool bag in hand, flannel shirt stretching tightly over his broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair just a little bit unkempt.

It had been a good few months since the two of you went your separate ways, but there he was—still at your beck and call. What that meant, exactly, remained to be seen. 

But you were glad to see him, nonetheless.

“Hi,” You said breathlessly.

Upon seeing you, Joel’s brows shot up, and he blinked a few times.

“Hi.” He said back slowly, then cleared his throat. “Am I… interruptin’ something?”

You glanced down. Right. Tight dress and makeup.

“I have a date in…” You raised your left wrist and winced as you looked down at your watch. “Five minutes ago.”

“A date.” He clicked his tongue, nodding to himself. “Well, I’ll try to make this quick, then.”

You hummed a noise of agreement, pivoted, and, with a wave of your hand, invited Joel inside.

He stepped through the doorway with a quiet grunt. And, as he bent down to undo his boots, his coffee-brown gaze landed on a pile of unopened mail by the entryway table. A few envelopes had slipped to the floor, and he crouched to gather them without thinking. 

But, as he straightened up to his full height, his eyes lingered on the recipient line.

“Mrs Miller?” Joel read aloud.

“What?” Your breath caught in your throat, and you spun around to meet his stare.

Joel wordlessly held the envelope up with two fingers, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

“Oh.” You cringed inwardly. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t, uh, realise that you were keepin’ the name.” He shrugged offhandedly, tossing the stack of mail onto the entryway table.

“I’m not. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair. “Paperwork isn’t final.”

For the divorce.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together. “I sent you my signed copies, if—” 

“I know you did. I just haven’t sent the papers to my lawyer yet.” You pressed your lips into a thin line and avoided his gaze. “Just got a lot on my plate, recently.”

That was very unconvincing.

Joel hummed a noncommittal noise.

“Well…” He huffed sheepishly. “You know I always liked my name on you.”

You swallowed, feeling your stomach do a funny flip and your ears burn up. Why were your ears burning up?

“C’mon. The problem is upstairs.”

The faucet, to your dismay, hadn’t stopped. It was worse now, if that was even possible, spitting little rogue sprays of water alongside the main stream. Great.

You checked your watch again. Fifteen minutes late. You would no doubt have a few missed calls from your poor suitor if you had the guts to check your phone.

Joel sank to one knee as he inspected the sink, squinting at the appliance and shaking his head. Miraculously, he reached in and, a few rusty squeaks later, the water stopped.

“You fixed it.” You blinked.

“Far from it,” He muttered, frowning. “The cartridge’s shot. And the valve stem’s stripped. Who installed this?”

Without missing a beat, “You did.”

“…Right.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. “So?”

“So, this isn’t a quick fix. I need to pull out the whole assembly. Maybe replace the handle, too. And judging by the corrosion around this nut—” He held up a discoloured metal hexagon like it had personally offended him. “You’ve probably had a leak back here for a while.”

You blinked. “And you didn’t notice that when you lived here?”

Joel turned to shoot you a look. “I was your husband, not your handyman.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I married you for that toolbox of yours.”

“And here I thought it was ‘cause of my radiant personality.”

“Definitely not that.” You huffed out a laugh.

Despite his back being turned to you, you could just about make out a reluctant smile forming through his slightly greying stubble.

You watched as he rolled up his plaid sleeves, exposing tanned forearms that were entirely too bulky for someone in his mid-forties. He then dug into his bag, fishing out an Allen Wrench.

“You can go on your date,” Joel added, not looking at you. “I’ll be out of here in an hour. Two, tops. But… if you feel like gettin’ frisky, maybe do it at his place. Just in case.”

Right, your date.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you took out your phone. Six missed calls and a flurry of concerned texts.

Decidedly, you typed out an apologetic message mentioning a water-related emergency and stuffed your phone back in your purse.

“I’m staying with you.”

Joel froze and turned to look at you from over his shoulder. “No, you ain’t. I’ll take too long.”

“Well, I can’t leave you to fix my problems while I’m out eating overpriced ravioli.” You shrugged and, with a soft grunt, took a seat against the wall near him. “You’re not a plumber, you’re a… you’re my…”

Ex-husband.

You cleared your throat, then emphasised, “You’re not a plumber.”

Joel let out a slow exhale. “Do whatever you want, but I doubt watching me fix your sink is gon’ be as fun as your date.”

“I’ve got a full bottle of Pinot Noir in the fridge.” You tilted your head. “We can make it fun.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Not—not in that way.” You rubbed a clammy hand down your face.

To your surprise, that earned you a small, gruff laugh from Joel, his eyes crinkling momentarily the way they only did when he was truly amused.

His voice was soft when he responded. 

“Go on and get the wine, then, sweetheart.”

Two crystal glasses and a little while later, Joel had put down his wrench and opted instead to sit beside you on your tiled bathroom floor, his shoulders brushing up against yours in the cramped space.

Efforts to tame the defiant sink had long since been forgotten. He did the best he could, but retired upon discovering that you had no spare sink handle lying around—how very unprepared of you.

The bad news was that you weren’t going to be able to wash your hands in the master bedroom ensuite tonight. The good news was that you were having a surprisingly good time with Joel. The conversation evolved from discussing your stood-up date (you showed Mark’s profile, Joel was convinced he was lying about his dogs being rescues), then to how his company was going, and then, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

“All I’m sayin’,” Joel continued through a laugh. “Is that she did it on purpose.”

“My mom has always been bad with names!”

“Bad enough to still call me ‘George’ after a year of us datin’?” He scoffed.

You stifled a giggle. “In her defence, it’s a very similar—”

“Like hell it is. And your dad? He was worse.” Joel chuckled, finishing the last of his wine. “How is he?”

“Fine. Just called him yesterday, actually.”

“He still callin’ me–?”

“He still calls you ‘porn stache’, yes.”

Joel snorted into his hand, his shoulders bobbing up and down with laughter. Real, genuine laughter.

You smiled and turned to steal a glance at his profile.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hooked nose scrunched mid-chuckle, and his laugh was exactly as it was before—low and rough, but somehow boyish and unguarded.

You had almost forgotten how his whole face lit up when he laughed.

And, you didn’t mean to stare. But you did. 

God, you missed this.

“I think I prefer George.” Joel ran a hand down his face, still smiling.

You cleared your throat and leaned over to retrieve the almost-empty wine bottle, refilling your glasses.

“Sarah told me to say hi to you, if I got the chance, by the way.” You said, pouring the Pinot Noir into his glass. “She’s with my parents at the lake house.”

“The lake house?” Joel hummed, taking another sip of his drink. “Still disappointed I didn’t get that in the settlement.”

You snorted, amused. “You don’t even like lakes.”

“No, I don’t like the mosquitoes that come with the lakes.” Joel corrected you, pointedly. “But, I don’t know, I guess I just miss it. A lot of good memories there.”

You felt yourself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, there were.”

A beat.

“Hey, at least you kept the cars. And the boat. And the frequent flier miles. And, well, you see Sarah every other week.” You turned to look at Joel, but he was already looking at you.

A certain vulnerability swam in the brown of his eyes. Something you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“Yeah, well… there were more important things I couldn’t keep.”

The air thinned. The wine, the laughter, the conversation—everything dissolved in the quiet admission, hanging thickly in the space between you.

And suddenly, there was only you and Joel and the mistakes that had wedged you apart yet somehow brought you back together again; on a random Friday evening on the floor of a bathroom you used to share.

“Joel…” You swallowed, your hand falling from your lap onto the tiles.

But you couldn’t form any semblance of a sentence. How could you? 

There was nothing to say. Yes, you missed him. ‘Missed’ was an understatement. 

Sometimes you’d roll over in the night, wishing to feel the weight of his arm resting on your waist, reassuring you that these past few months had only been a bad dream. Sometimes you came to pick Sarah up early, just to get a few more minutes with him. Sometimes—no, a lot of the time, memories of him came rushing back, cleaving your heart into two, further and further each time.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t let go of the man you spent so many years loving. 

Joel’s eyes still bore into yours. And nothing in the world could have torn you away.

He exhaled slowly, then set down his glass with care. His hand barely brushed yours, but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

“I think about it,” He said softly. “More than I should.”

“Think about what?”

A quiet, almost sad laugh escaped from his throat. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“How things used to be.”

“Oh,”

A moment passed, marked only by the metre of your incessant heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then, “Do you ever miss us?” Joel asked.

You faced him once more. The answer was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because that was too complicated. Because that would break you.

Joel didn’t need you to say it. He found the answer in your eyes.

All the time.

Instead, you asked, “Do you? Miss us, that is.”

“Of course, I do.” He said softly. “More than you can imagine.”

You held your breath.

Joel heaved a sigh.

“I think about calling,” He added, voice low. “Just to hear your voice.”

“I’d answer,” You said, barely above a whisper.

He smiled in a bittersweet, melancholic sort of way and leaned in just slightly. Unconsciously, you mirrored him.

And then his eyes flickered down to your lips. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

This was dangerous. You should’ve told him to leave ages ago. Or, maybe you should’ve left yourself and gone on your date.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Can I ask you something stupid?” You whispered.

Joel whispered back, “Always.”

“Do you…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Do I what?”

“Do you—does even a part of you… want what we had back?” 

You knew what he was going to say. You just wanted to hear it for yourself.

And you did.

“Yes,” He admitted earnestly.

You searched his face for any sign of deception, but found none. The only thing in his coffee-brown eyes was regret. And, maybe, something else, too. Something softer.

Your eyes widened. “We fought a lot.”

“We did.”

“And we probably said some shit.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if all the answers were written there. Joel did, too.

His voice came softly, sadly, “We did.”

Silence again. Thick and fragile and charged with so many unspoken words.

Joel’s knee brushed yours, neither of you pulling away. It was nice to have him close, to feel his familiar warmth, to see him—really see him. Bare and raw and vulnerable. No facades of indifference. No hiding behind closed car doors. Just Joel, your Joel, there beside you; soft-eyed and quiet, like maybe he was seeing you, too.

Your fingers twitched on the floor beside his. You wanted to reach for him, but you wanted him to reach first. Absently, you fiddled with your left ring finger, suddenly aware of its bareness.

He looked at you then. Not a glance, but a full turn, slow and deliberate. His dark eyes searched your face, pausing on your mouth, your cheek, your lashes, then settled on your eyes again. He looked at you like you were something he’d spent months trying to forget, and only just now remembered why he couldn’t.

You held your breath.

Joel’s voice, when it finally came, was low, cracked around the edges.

“I know it was bad in the end, but I meant what I said.” He breathed. “I miss us. I miss you.”

Your heart twisted. And there went that cleaver again, slicing further.

“I miss seeing your keys on the kitchen counter and knowing you were home. I miss kissing you before work and smudgin’ your lipstick. I miss watching stupid movies with you that we’d fall asleep to halfway.”

His throat bobbed. He leaned back against the wall, like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Yeah, we fought and said some real mean shit. But God help me, I’d give anything to go back in time and fight for you like I should have. Because you were it for me. You were everything. Still are.”

His eyes glistened as he held your gaze, fierce and unflinching.

“Because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it,” He smiled to himself, shaking his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”

He loves you.

Those three simple words rang in an echo in your mind. He loves you, he loves you, Joel loves you.

“You love me?” You could barely hear your voice above the deafening thrum of your pulse.

Your faces were barely an inch apart, now. You could smell the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and traces of his cologne, and wood, and tobacco, and something that was so uniquely him.

Joel nodded.

“I never stopped.” He whispered.

Without thinking, you closed the remaining distance, smashing your lips against his. Joel grunted in surprise, but quickly gave in, exhaling through his nose like he’d been holding a breath in for years. 

He returned the kiss with equal fervour, reaching out to cup your face and pouring all his pent-up emotions against the haven of your lips—longing, relief, desire.

You pushed yourself closer against him. Closer, impossibly closer, until you were straddling his lap, moving against the tent in his jeans, feeling his big hands instinctively settle on your hips, and tasting the Pinot Noir on his lips.

Shit. Was this even a good idea?

You pulled away suddenly. A tiny whine came from Joel, who tried to chase your mouth, but you were insistent.

“Wait,” You panted.

His eyes opened fully. His brows were knitted, his lips were kiss-swollen, and his chest was heaving slowly.

“What?” Joel asked quietly, his thumbs idly tracing circles on either side of your hips.

“This…” You breathed. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I don’t want it to mean nothing.”

Joel smiled softly at your words.

“Means a whole lot to me, sweetheart.” His hand went to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek in his wake. “We can talk about what this means, if you w—”

“Okay, good. Means a lot. Talk after.”

“After?” His eyebrows rose.

“After you fuck me.”

A breathy ‘Jesus Christ’ slipped from his throat, but Joel didn’t spend a second refusing your bold assumption.

With a hand on your nape, he leaned forward to capture your lips in another searing kiss, which you happily accepted, sighing against him.

His big hands then travelled to the back of your thighs, and the next thing you knew, he carelessly swept away whatever was decorating the base of your faucet, and carried you with ease to perch you atop the sink.

“Joel.” You mumbled urgently into his lips.

“Mmm?” He hummed back, not wanting to break your mouths apart for even a second. 

“Might break the sink again.”

“Don’t care. I’ll fuckin’ fix it again, then. Just… need you,” Joel groaned. “Look too fuckin’ good,”

And he pulled away. His half-lidded, cloudy gaze drank you in, sweeping down the snugness of your dress, and lingering on the generous amount of cleavage it revealed. His hands drifted higher and higher up your thighs, until they reached the hemline—dipping under just slightly.

“Too fuckin’ good,” He snarled.

You smirked. Knowing him, he was definitely going to ask if—

“How much was this dress?”

Sighing amusedly, “It wasn’t cheap.”

“How attached are you to it?” He mumbled, a hand reverently skirting up to your hip.

“A moderate amou—”

“Can I rip it off you?”

There it was.

In the many years you were married, Joel shredded more than enough articles of your precious wardrobe in similar heated moments. If you were to count the offences, you’d likely run out of fingers. Your wedding dress had been among the few survivors of his destructive tendencies, though not for lack of trying on his part.

You stifled a snort and shook your head, reaching up to caress his face. 

“No.” You smiled. “Because I’d like to wear it again.”

Joel held your hand against his face and huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Next time.”

And then his hands found the zipper on your side, pulled it sharply down, and tugged the dress off you.

His eyes darkened.

You had chosen to don an intricate, black, lacey number underneath your dress that teased just enough and only hid the bare minimum. Of course, you had. You hadn’t had an opportunity to wear anything vaguely provocative in ages and were expecting some luck after your date.

You certainly didn’t expect that your ex-husband would be the one seeing it.

“This for him?” Joel’s lip twitched.

Heat rose in your cheeks. “Well, I—”

“Yeah, these don’t get a pass.”

With a sharp tearing noise slicing through the air, Joel ripped the flimsy lacey bra clean in half, watching intently, hungrily, as your tits spilled out.

“Joel!”

“I know, I know,” Joel grunted. “I’ll buy you a new set… buy you all the fuckin’ sets.”

You were about to object, intent on citing the price attached to that particular pair, but Joel had sunk back on his knees and spread your legs apart.

He pressed his lips on your inner thigh, scruff tickling your skin as he slowly, softly trailed his mouth upward, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

His face came to a stop in front of your core, noticing how heavily you were breathing, and his eyes flicked up to yours, smirking. Smug fucking bastard.

“Joel.” You gritted your teeth.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t fucking tease me.” 

And he leaned his forehead against the lower part of your navel, taking a second to breathe in the unmistakable scent of your arousal seeping through your lingerie. 

He was practically salivating, now. 

“I’ll try not to, ma’am.” 

Without another word, he took the lace into his teeth, yanked his head sharply, and tore your panties open.

Confirming his suspicions, you were absolutely soaked. Slick drooled freely out of your puffy folds, taunting him and draining every ounce of self-restraint he had. 

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

“Tell me,” Joel said lowly, meeting your gaze once more as a thick finger swiped lightly through your lips, collecting your arousal. “This for him or me?”

“You.” You breathed without a second thought.

“Louder, sweetheart. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”

“You.”

Smirking wider, “Damn fucking right.”

Then, he happily hitched your legs over his shoulders, leaned forward, and dove in.

His tongue prodded into your heat, dragging down your walls and sending jolts of electricity down your spine. He worked fast and sloppily, sliding through your folds and flicking into your walls, urgently tasting you like he wouldn’t get another chance. 

Your arousal coated the lower half of his face, his eyes were almost black with desire, obscenely wet noises echoed in the silence of the tiled room as his tongue eagerly devoured you whole—

“Fuck, almost forgot how good you taste. So fuckin’ sweet.” Joel mumbled against your sex, entirely, wholly bewitched. “She missed me, too, huh? Just drippin’ for me…”

He continued to furiously lap at your entrance, scruff rubbing against your inner thighs. And then he moved up, planting messy kisses higher and higher until he reached your swollen clit.

You gasped brokenly, flinging a hand to grasp his curls as his lips alternated from pressing messy kisses along your seam to greedily sucking at your bundle of nerves, latching onto it almost desperately.

After a particularly delicious drag down the roof of your core, you rolled your hips up into his mouth and brought him closer to you with your grip in his hair.

“Shit—sorry.” You panted, breathing heavily.

He barely pulled away to look at you.

“Don’t fuckin’ be. I can handle it, you know I can.” Joel all but growled, before returning to attend to your needy fucking pussy.

He was like a man possessed; lapping frenziedly, groaning lowly into your sensitive skin, curved nose swiping through your folds as he worked.

Very soon, a familiar tingle in your lower stomach introduced itself.

“Joel,” You called urgently, attempting to warn him.

He knew you were close. Oh, he knew. So, he went faster and harder, pressing himself further against you, suffocation be fucking damned.

His low, wrecked voice came slurred and slightly muffled by your sex, “Y’gonna come? Go on, baby, all over my face—thaaat’s it.”

A shattered moan escaped from your throat, and you felt your release take over your body almost violently. You couldn’t help the way your legs clamped down around his head, but Joel loved it, letting you smother him and humming happily into your heat as he worked you through your climax, swallowing your release and eating like a man starved.

Finally, he pulled away with a wet squelch, softly pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and gently let your legs down.

And you were immediately greeted with the sight of his lower face shining with your slick.

A good look on him, if you’d say so yourself.

He smiled lazily, eyes blown-out and absolutely fucking pussydrunk. 

“That good for you, sweetheart?” He mused.

“You, Joel Miller, are what we call a munch.” You smiled back.

Pride bloomed across his face. “Gladly, sweets.” 

And you pulled him up by the collar of his flannel shirt into a filthy kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips.

He let his eyes fall shut and reached up to curl a hand around your jaw as he returned the kiss, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Not wasting any time, your hands flew to his belt, blindly fumbling at the leather material to slide it out of the loops of his jeans.

Joel chuckled, leaning forward to trail his lips down your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses.

“Need somethin’, baby?”

“Wanna return the favour,” You glanced down at the bulge in his lap.

“Mm-mm. That was more for me than you. Missed your sweet fuckin’ pussy.” Joel mumbled against your pulse point.

“Munch.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel sighed, lifting his head and undoing his jeans just barely enough to pull himself free from his boxers. 

You heard yourself swallow.

Joel Miller was a big man, and you were very aware of that fact. It was written all across his body; from his impossibly broad shoulders, to his beefy arms, to his thick fucking cock.

He stroked himself, once, twice, as his eyes fell to your pulsating, slick core. Beads of precum leaked from his flushed tip and down his length as he did so.

“Spread those legs wider for me, baby. Let me see you,” He breathed lowly.

And you very willingly obliged.

“There’s my girl,” Joel hummed.

With a hand around his base, he guided himself closer to your drooling cunt, nudging his swollen head against you.

Sighing, “Deep breath, baby.”

And he slowly forced himself in, one hand on the small of your back, the other on the underside of your thigh, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steadily fed you his cock.

You gasped some variant of a plea.

Needless to say, he was a tight fucking fit.

“Takin’ me so well. That’s it, baby, let me in.” He blabbed mindlessly as he continued to sink deeper inside. 

Deeper, deeper, deeper…

He winced. “Shit—there you go.”

When all of him was nested inside your welcoming channel, he let out a gasped expletive at the sensation.

Full. You felt so full with him inside. You always did.

“Fuck, missed this.” Joel panted, resting his forehead against yours. 

You tried to echo the sentiment, but the only thing you were capable of doing was letting out an incoherent groan of his name.

Joel got the message, though.

Maintaining an unhurried tempo, he rolled his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his thickness against your walls, making you painfully aware of every last inch of him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He mumbled, voice airy.

“Good. Feels so good.”

And, fuck, he did. 

He felt amazing.

His tempo soon picked up, leaving your mouth to fall open as you took every inch of him again and again, stretching you open with enough pleasure to dull the slight pain.

“Tell me,” Joel hummed as he continued to drive ceaselessly in and out of your tight channel, adopting a false lilt of indifference. “Who’s fuckin’ you so good, huh?”

An incoherent syllable slipped from your lips.

“Who, baby?” Joel urged you, unrelenting in his pace. “Sure as hell ain’t fuckin’ Mark.”

Dumbly, you shook your head.

“You, Joel.”

Your words were almost drowned out by the symphony of your own moans, which were accompanied by the obscenely wet slaps that sounded every time his hips fully met yours.

“Louder.” He snarled, punctuating his response with an intentionally rough ram. “Neighbours can’t hear you yet, c’mon.”

“You, Joel!”

Satisfied, his hands went to hold you by your waist, keeping you as still as possible as he drove insistently into you, his tip now kissing your cervix with every thrust.

You cried out at the feeling, nails raking down his back.

Heat pooled in your gut, your vision blurred, a high-pitched ringing almost deafened your ears.

“Joel, Joel, I’m…” You babbled.

“Close? Go on, gorgeous. Let me feel you choke my dick.”

With his blessing, his name left your mouth in a high-pitched scream, and you felt yourself clench around his throbbing length as your orgasm rippled across your body like an earthquake.

Joel, being the overachiever he was, didn’t stop for even a second until your breathing slowed and your eyes fluttered open again.

And, once he saw that you had recovered, he leaned forward to slant his mouth against yours, swallowing your sighs.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss, barely breaking away.

“Yeah.” You exhaled. 

He smiled against your lips.

“Good. Almost there, baby. Gonna take you against the sink, now, and you’re gonna give me one more, how’s that sound?”

You nodded dreamily, feeling him slowly pull out.

He leaned back and, with his hands on your waist, delicately set you down.

“Turn ‘round for me, sweetheart.” 

You acquiesced without hesitation, bracing yourself on the porcelain countertop.

Joel hummed, kicked your legs open even wider, and, not long after, sank the entirety of his cock into you in one deep thrust.

A sharp breath hit the air behind you, and an airy ‘fuck’ followed it. This angle made him feel bigger, if that was even possible.

He didn’t wait long after that. He couldn’t. Overcome with the need to feel you, he started moving. The first thrust was slow. Experimental. The second was hard. The third was harder.

Before you knew it, his big hands found a home on your hips, and he began to drive roughly into you, as if making up for lost time.

He certainly proved he was willing to atone for his absence, thrust after thrust.

“Oh, look at you.” Joel tutted and pulled your hair to tilt your head upwards.

You came face to face with the woman in the bathroom mirror.

Somewhere in between thrusts, your mouth had fallen agape, letting loose a long whine of pleasure, which was stuttered by every slam of his hips against yours.

Your hair was frizzy, your face was flushed, your hooded gaze was flooded with desire, and a light sheen of sweat doused every inch of your skin.

You were a wreck, thanks to the man fucking you so well behind you.

“Eyes up here.” Joel sighed. “Keep ‘em open. Gotta watch how well you take me.”

Joel was even more of a sight. 

The top few buttons of his flannel were undone, his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, his hair was wild, and the look on his weathered face was nothing short of territorial as he held you to him and fucked you with reckless abandon.

Your eyes fell to where your bodies were connected, hypnotised by how easily his tanned cock disappeared in and out of your puffy cunt.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The corners of his lips were coyly upturned when he cooed, “Don’t we look good, baby?”

You could only respond in broken syllables.

“Yeah,” He grunted. Then, after a particularly forceful thrust, “we do.”

He continued to ram into you, finding your cervix with each thrust, keeping his eyes trained on the mirror, fixated on how your tits bounced so prettily for him.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, jaw tight.

If your brain hadn’t been turned to mush after the two orgasms he forced out of you, you would’ve heard him. But all you were focused on was the rush of another climax approaching.

You gripped the countertop harder and gritted your teeth, feeling warmth collecting in your stomach and bracing yourself for impact.

As if reading your mind, Joel’s hand moved from your hip to your front, trailing down until he brushed your clit, rubbing sloppy semi-cricles and whispering sweet things as you whimpered.

“You gonna give me one more?” He murmured encouragingly, his nose nudging the side of your face.

You could only manage an open-mouthed nod.

His fingers sped in their motions, swiping at your clit feverishly as he continued to rut into you, grazing your cervix each time.

Again. And again. 

“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.” He whispered gently.

Your jaw slackened, your heartbeat quickened, and, in a blinding flash of pleasure, you came with his name on your tongue, helpless to the throes of your climax.

“There you go. Shit… so good for me.” Joel groaned. And then, urgently, “Where—where do you want me to–?”

Not even a full second later, “Inside.” 

“You sure?” He panted, starstruck. 

“I have an IUD, just—please.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he pressed closer, his chest flush against your back, letting you feel every shaky pull of his breath as he caged you in. His hands found yours at the edge of the sink, lacing over them gently. His head dropped beside yours, his forehead nearly touching your temple, and a warm breath fanned across your skin as he sighed. 

And then he resumed his earlier pace.

He rammed into you hard and fast, chasing his own release as if it were a life-or-death situation. And all you could do was take it.

After a dozen more jerky thrusts, his breath caught in his throat and, with a low curse, he came. Hot ropes of his spend spilled inside you, and he rode it out until he couldn’t give you any more, which took a few more lazy rolls of his hips.

His breath evened not long after, warm and steady against your browbone. Soothing, almost.

Gently, he pulled out of you, and you felt his come slowly drip down your thighs.

“Fuck,” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, scruff rubbing against your crown as he did so.

And he bowed his head to rest it on the crook of your neck.

“That was great, George.” You panted.

Joel snorted tiredly. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

“Nope.”

He huffed out a chuckle.

Then, he languidly pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach—the underside of your jaw, your throat, your neck, and down, still.

A warm, fuzzy sort of feeling radiated from his touch, lulling you into a state of bliss. It felt like love; it felt like coming home.

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face.

Joel mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder.

“What?” You replied, breaking free from your trance.

“I said,” He pulled away and, with two fingers on your chin, tenderly turned your face to look at him. His voice was wrecked and so very earnest when he finally repeated himself. “Don’t send the papers. Please.”

He held the rest of his plea in his eyes in the way they shone with a certain sincerity.

You smiled softly and shook your head. Because you knew you never really had any intention to. Because you wanted to hold on to him. And you were glad he wanted to hold on to you, too.

Your lips found his. Gentle, delicate, a reassurance. He gave in to the kiss almost immediately, sighing into your mouth.

“I won’t.”

And you meant it.

thanks for reading!!! reqs are open, if you wanna send an idea or anything over :)

“Can I buy you a drink?”

You look up from your phone and your breath catches in your throat. The guy looking down at you with a shy smile is so gorgeous it makes your chest ache.

You’d spotted him across the bar as soon as you’d entered, playing pool in the corner with his friend. Of course you’d known you never stood a chance with him, but he was so nice to look at you’d been chancing glances over at the pool table all night from the little booth you and Angie had occupied. A fact that Angie had not failed to notice and tease you for.

“Let’s go over and introduce ourselves,” she’d said following your eyeline. “They’re cute!”

When you’d shaken your head, horror struck at the suggestion she’d just chuckled and rolled her eyes before heading to the bar for another round. Of course in her head such things were simple. She was tall and slim and beautiful and everyone fell in love with her the instant they met her. She’d never know how it felt to be you. Nothing special. Plain and fat. Most of the time it felt like people would look right through you. You could only imagine the mocking look you’d get if you went over there. No one would ever choose you when you stood next to Angie. No one ever had. And those who you had ended up with had always ended up making it known that you were the consolation prize.

And yet here he was here smiling at you as your brain scrambled to figure out what was happening. He was still looking at you expectantly and you belatedly remembered he’d asked you a question.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Thank you. Just a beer,” you managed to respond, brandishing your almost empty bottle at him.

His smile got even wider and you wanted to melt under his gaze. “Sure thing, be back in a mo,” he told you before turning towards the bar completely clueless of the internal spiral he’s sent you into with one simple question.

You try to stifle the smile that wants to break out over your face. The warmth that is spreading outwards from your chest.

Your joy is short lived however as you scan the bar and spot Angie over by the pool table with your mystery man’s friend.

A heavy weight sinks into your stomach. Of course. He’s not interested in you. He’s just being a wingman. Keeping the chubby friend occupied so his buddy can shoot his shot with Angie.

You battle against your disappointment as you see him heading back towards you, beer in hand. At least he’s being polite about it. Sometimes the guys that get sent over to distract you can barely hide their contempt. Wanting to make it overtly clear to you that they’d rather be anywhere else. So it could be worse. And Angie has always been so good to you. You want her to find a nice guy and be happy.

You put a polite smile on your face as he sits down opposite you.

“I’m Frankie,” he tells you, passing you your drink.

You give him your name and drink in the smile he’s giving you. He really is so handsome. The little dimple on his cheek as he beams at you makes you weak at the knees.

You try to reign yourself in. Remind yourself that he’s not interested. But he seems interested. Asks you about yourself, where you’re from, what you do, about your family and offers the same information up to you eagerly when you ask.

When you learn that he’s a helicopter pilot you nearly swoon.

“Was in the forces for a good long while but got out a few months back. Got a job flying the air ambulance.“

“Frankie that’s amazing,” you tell him breathily, trying your best to force your mind away from Frankie in a flight suit. But good Lord, the fleeting picture in your mind is enough to dampen your panties.

He gives you a wry smile, “yeah, after I got my discharge I wanted to do something good you know? Give back a little.”

He’s perfect. So sweet and charming and you find yourself wishing you were better. Worthy of him. But the sound of Angie laughing at his friend, who you now know is called Benny, is enough to bring reality crashing back in. But maybe if Angie and Benny hit it off, you can at least get to spend some more time with Frankie. And maybe if you could get your shit together and lose some weight, maybe one day he’d see you differently. You push the thought down before you can drown in the want.

Conversation flows so easily between you that you completely forget about your nerves, about how self-conscious you are. You forget where you are. You forget how this started. You forget about Angie and Benny. Until Frankie drops a bomb.

It's when you ask if he has any vacations planned, he tells you about a trip up to some cabin with the boys from his unit.

"We go every year, all of us, partners too and we just spend the week, hiking and out on the lake. It's awesome. So beautiful. Benny's actually planning on proposing to his girlfriend while we're up there."

You feel as though you've been doused in icy water. You don't hear anything he says after that. Your brain has done a full detour. Benny has a girlfriend and is still out here hitting on Angie. And Frankie. The guy you had thought was so perfect was just totally fine with that. You want to be sick.

Flustered you just cut him off mid sentence, "need to use the bathroom."

You bolt out of the booth and beeline over to the pool table. You catch Angie's eye, "going to the ladies, you coming?"

Angie's eyes light up, no doubt excited to tell you about the man she's spent the last hour or so with. She smiles at Benny, "back in a sec," and hands him her cue.

She slips her arm through yours and you all but drag her to the bathrooms.

"Hey what's the rush?" she asks as you pull her into the ladies. "How's it going with Frankie? He's cute! Seems like you've been getting on very well." She wiggles her eyebrows at you and you can't even answer her, you just have to get it out.

"Benny has a girlfriend!"

She chuckles, "I know, he's going to propose, showed me a picture of the ring, it's beautiful."

You feel like you're in the twilight zone. Of all the reactions you had anticipated, that had actually been nowhere on the list. Your brain stutters like it's malfunctioning, trying to work out the appropriate response.

"What?! And you're ok with that?"

"Um, yeah, why wouldn't I be?" She looks at you like you have two heads. You're not entirely sure that you're not looking at her the same way.

"Uh because he sent his friend over to wingman me so he could hit on you?"

"Wingman you?" She bursts out laughing and you start to get annoyed.

She manages to get a hold of herself but just barely, little peels of laughter still breaking through. She grabs you by the shoulders and makes you look at her. The annoyed look on your face almost breaks her resolve.

"Hey, what's so funny? I can't believe you're ok with a guy hitting on you when he's about to propose to someone else."

"You're so clueless, it's adorable. Frankie wasn't wingmanning you." You open your mouth to protest and she shushes you sternly but softens when she sees how confused you are.

"Frankie wasn't wingmanning you, Benny was wingmanning me."

You open your mouth and close it again. You don't know what to say. She's wrong clearly. You start to shake your head as if the action alone is enough to prove her wrong.

She catches your chin in her hand, making your head still and making you look at her.

"When I came out of the bathroom Benny intercepted me, told me that his friend was crushing on you bad and asked if I'd play a game of pool with him to give Frankie a chance to go over and talk to you. And then it looked like you two were getting on so well, we just left you to it."

It doesn't feel real. But Angie wouldn't lie to you. She's far too sweet to play such a cruel prank.

You feel all at once overjoyed and terrified. How can you face him again now? Your time with Frankie has been so enjoyable, but now that you know he's interested in you, you're right back to feeling awkward and worthless. ‘He can do better’ is the only thought in your head. You have the batshit idea of climbing out of the bathroom window to avoid seeing him. So that you never have to watch that realisation dawning behind his eyes.

Angie shakes you gently by the chin.

"Hey, look at me." She waits until you do. "What's going on?"

You feel tears welling in your eyes and feel even more stupid. You're such an idiot.

"Why the hell would he be interested in me?"

Angie face looks pained as she pulls you into a hug.

"Because, you idiot, you're a beautiful, interesting, kind, caring woman."

"Angie!" you whine, wanting to argue with her assessment.

"Nope, you're going to be quiet and listen for a minute." She pushes you out so she can look you in the eye.

"I need you to hear me ok? I know you've been treated like shit in the past. But those losers didn't deserve you. Frankie saw you across the bar and thought you were so beautiful he couldn't take his eyes off you. And he's been sat listening to every word out of your mouth for over an hour and giving you heart eyes the entire time."

She smiles when you take a deep breath and bite your lip. Was that true?

"Just give him a chance ok? He seems like a good guy. And he seems to really like all these curves if the way he was watching you walk away is any indication." She slaps your ass for emphasis and the pair of you burst into giggles.

"Ok?" she asks.

You nod. "Ok." She dries your tears and helps you fix your make up before you head out.

It's only when you see a concerned looking Frankie leaning on the pool table, nervously nibbling on his thumb that you realise just how long you've been in the bathroom.

The second he sees you he pushes off the table and comes straight to you. You see his hand twitch at his side, almost like he wanted to reach out to you. Angie walks back over to Benny, leaving you to it.

"Hey, are you ok? I'm sorry if I said something to upset you."

You smile at him. He's so sweet. You feel bad for making him worry.

"Can we go outside for a minute, I could do with some fresh air."

He nods and follows you out. Its quiet outside thankfully, the standing tables all empty. You make your way to one over to the side, tucked away next the wall. Frankie follows, staying close but not pressuring, not being pushy.

He looks at you with the saddest puppy dog eyes, "I really am sorry if I -"

"Frankie," you interrupt him. You know it's rude but you also know you need to say what you need to say now or you might lose your nerve. "You didn't do anything wrong. It was me, I think I got the wrong idea when you came over."

You see the confusion on his face but you keep going. "I thought you came over to give Benny the chance to hit on Angie, I thought you were only trying to distract me to help him out and then you said he has a girlfriend and I freaked out."

You see some of the tension ease from his shoulders as you explain your weird behaviour. "No, it wasn't - it was, it was the other way around," he tells you with a shy smile, reaching out and taking your hand. The touch of his skin against yours sends a shock through you like a live wire and you have to fight to keep from throwing yourself at him.

"Angie told me. I'm sorry if I freaked you out. Just… I'm not really used to guys showing interest."

"I find that very hard to believe," he tells you softly, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand. It's not said to flatter. The sincerity in his voice puts a lump in your throat that has you cursing yourself even as your lips twitch upwards.

"There's that pretty smile," he whispers, stepping closer. You can feel the heat of his body now and you want to just slump into his chest and let him hold you and tell you everything will be alright. But you somehow manage to restrain yourself.

"I had a great time talking to you tonight, I'd really like to get to know you better, if you'd be up for that?" he asks, gentle and hopeful.

You feel your face heat and you can’t look him in the eye. “I-I’d really like that Frankie,” and you almost can’t bear the huge smile that breaks across his face, you need to make sure he knows what he’s getting into. “But look, I wasn’t kidding before. A-about men not being interested. I-I haven’t had the best experiences and I’m kind of a mess and-”

“I don’t care,” he interrupts you now, stepping even closer and wrapping his free hand around you to land on your back and pull you closer.

You squeak in surprise and he chuckles, your mouth opening and closing like a fish as you scramble to get your train of thought back on track even as your free hand comes up to clutch at his shirt, wanting to pull him even closer.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he tells you with a grin.

“Frankie,” you whine, “I’m being serious!”

“So am I,” he teases, bumping your nose with his, holding you so close but so gently. “I like you, I want to get to know you better, ok?”

“Ok,” you agree after a moments hesitation, waiting to see if he changes his mind. “I’ll try and reign in the crazy.”

“No!” he tells you sternly, his commanding tone making you clench your thighs together. “I don’t want that,” he’s softer now, hand coming up to cup your face, “if you’re upset, or scared or worried, I want to know. Even if you think it’s stupid. Especially then. Please don’t hide from me.”

“Frankie,” you sigh, as his forehead falls forward to rest against yours.

And it’s so nice. You feel so safe and warm. It’s hard to believe you’ve only known him for a short time. You want to believe him so badly. Want to be wanted by him.

“Been dreaming of having you in my arms like this since you walked in the door,” his breath is warm as it fans across your face. “Can I kiss you?”

You’re not used to this at all. The gentleness with which he handles you. The way he gives you so much grace. You nod against him.

“Need words honey, tell me it’s ok.”

“Please Frankie, kiss me.” Your voice sounds desperate and pleading but you’re far too happy to care as he calls you a “good girl,” and leans in.

His lips are warm and soft and plush as they press gently against yours. He doesn’t rush, just lets them linger against you for a moment. It’s heaven. And then he pulls away slightly and takes in your blissed out face before leaning back in and this time he sucks your bottom lip between his. And when you gasp he slowly reaches out his tongue and gently swipes just inside your bottom lip.

Your breath hitches and he feels you tugging him closer by the death grip you have on his shirt. It’s all the encouragement he needs to dip his tongue in further, still gentle and controlled, rubbing against yours as you melt into his embrace.

You don’t know how long you kiss for. What you do know is that at some point your back has ended up pushed against the wall, that his body is in full contact with yours and that kissing him is the best thing you’ve ever done. He tastes so good, and he smells even better and everywhere his hands touch - your arms, your back, your hips, your cheek, it leaves a trail of tingles that have you about to lose your mind. When he pulls back you chase him a little and a little whine escapes from your throat.

“Shhh baby, it’s ok,” he peppers quick pecks against yours pouting lips, “if I don’t stop now I’m not ever going to and unfortunately I have to work tomorrow.”

You chuckle and bury your head in the crook of his neck and he pulls you in close, placing a few soft kisses on the side of your head.

“It’s a 12 hour shift tomorrow so I won’t be able to see you but how about the day after?”

“That’s Valentine’s Day!” you blurt out, not sure if you have a point to make or if your brain is so mushified from the best make out session of your life that your mouth is just firing things out with no filter.

He looks down at you, a teasing grin on his face, “I guess it is, what do ya say then honey? Want to be my valentine?”

You lay your head back on his chest and listen to the rapid thud of his heartbeat. It makes you smile to know that even he is a little on edge.

“Yes Frankie, I’d love to be your valentine.”

///

Part 2

My taglist is currently under construction, see this post, so for now, some npt:

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Din Djarin ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

⟡ Multi-Chapter ⟡

Magnetic by @something-tofightfor

Love this fic down! Set post season 2 after Din gives Grogu to Luke. Force sensitive!reader is helping train Grogu with Luke - but little buddy misses his dad! So you go on a trip with them to see if Grogu wants to choose a Jedi or Mandalorian path. Sadly not updating anymore but there are 23 GREAT chapters to read + Some chapters from Din's POV.

No One Asked by lonelyshrub on AO3

I'm a simple girl. If I see a slow burn mechanic!reader Din fic I'm fuckin' clicking on it.

A Work In Progress by everythingfan588 on AO3

Fluffy & smutty fic with lots-o-yearning. Starts at the first episode of season one and follows many events of the season. Reader is in Kuiil's care and wants to see the galaxy! Mando offers you a job. Protective Dinnnnn <3333

Beyond the Veil by @icedragoness

Medic!reader who Din keeps coming back to because he is incapable of not being fatally injured once a week. Love their dynamic and Din learning how to open up & accept help. 50 chapters lets gooo!!!!!

Sugar, Spice, and Starlight by @lamentationsofalonelypotato

Reader owns a bakery on Nevarro and is visited by a pining Din & his baby boy. Lots of shenanigans and idiot yearning Din abound!! Still being updated and I jump on every new chapter!

hollow star by @lincolndjarin

This story is unlike any fanfiction I've read before, and even though only one chapter is out so far I'm completely hooked. It's an unsettling horror fic and I can't wait to see where it goes. READ THIS FIC!!!

Death and an Angel by @littlemisspascal

AU where Din is death and reader is a cupid trying to help him find his soulmate. Enemies(ish) to lovers soulmate AU and I love how other Mandalorian characters are intertwined in this universe.

The Stowaway by @sprout-fics-reblogs

So much I love about this fic!! Reader jumps onto Dins ships while escaping an attack and shenanigans ensue. SUCH a good slow burn with great bounty hunting storylines. Chapters 11-14 are a mini mystery story within the larger fic and there are GREAT scenes in the covert. Paz makes an appearance and I love his brotherly relationship with Din. Ugh a must read!!! 49 chapters!!! Eating good!!!

You're an Idiot, Darling by @aenais

Din obsessed with mechanic!reader...music to my ears. Love the banter in this fic! Lots of action & adventure with injuries and protective Din⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ (and don't forget hot smut)

⟡ One-shots ⟡

Remove your armour for me? by @skywalkerslvt

A sexual tension breaking point between mechanic!reader and Din set in season 1 ep. 6 "The Prisoner." ⭐Protective Din⭐ and ⭐Stubborn Din⭐ gotta be two of my favorite Dins.

Long gone by @burntheedges

Hey! Devastating! A sweet moment of romance and hot smut before you break my heart. Evil. (I love it)

Pretend by @djarinmuse

Fluffy short fic where Din acts as your weighted blanket <333 I love him

you were my new dream (and you were mine) by keeperofthestars on AO3

Din is bad at communicating and faces the consequences but he makes up for it!!! In a really hot way!!! Sooooo much angsty yearning in this one

No Manners by dindjarin66 on AO3

Sometimes you just need to read 2,000 words of giving Din the best head of his life.

Healing Pains by @liltangerineart

Reader got a bad injury and is recovering. Cue protective Din and some steamy moments hehehehe

‧₊˚‎ ♡ Joel Miller ‎♡ ‧₊˚

⟡ Multi-Chapter ⟡

Your fingers in these wounds by @littlcdarlin

It's May now but it's Age-gap April year round in my house. Joel stumbles on readers house injured and you take him in. They are both traumatised and learn to trust and loveee <3333. The slow burn in this one is great and Joel is very soft and sweet AND also hot and a menace. TW for referenced SA in the past but no vivid descriptions.

See You at Three by @almostfoxglove

No outbreak AU where Sarah is alive & Ellie is your niece. You're tasked with pick up duty, run into DILF Joel, and build a lovely, PINING, sweet friendship. Slow burn - I literally couldn't stop reading this fic and ended up getting like 3 hours of sleep.

Night Walks by @toxicanonymity

Freak neighbor Joel buys some weed from you, becomes obsessed, and makes it your problem. A beautiful filthy no outbreak AU. Emphasis on freak Joel, there's some dubcon with drug use and light stalking ❤️

Sunlight & Sawdust by @pandapetals

Classic grumpy/sunshine fic! No outbreak AU where Ellie is reader's daughter. Joel is a confirmed emotionally stunted idiot but he makes up for it eventually!! Fluffy and sweet and eventually smutty

⟡ One-shots ⟡

Older, Bolder by @gutsby

I wanna fuck that old man so bad it's sick. This is pure, delicious, beautifully written smut. Limp dick rights!!! Like he's old and can't get hard and who fuckin cares. Who's gonna stop me.

Red Light by @kiwisbell

Hooooooo boy Joel's a possessive horny freak in this one. Definitely dubcon! Joel is your landlord and is obsessed with you and hates the losers you bring home :/ Thank god he's there to help!!!

Anywhere but here by @pedgito

Royal AU ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 Princess!Reader & secret relationship. Let's run away together!!!

daydreams by @morning-star-joy

A sweet fic with a pining, semi-pathetic Joel in Jackson who just wants to make out with you hard. Thank god. Needed this.

Event Horizon by @littlcdarlin

When I saw the description of this fic I squealed out loud! Feels like it was tailor made for me! DBF Joel ends up being your physics professor during your masters. I don't know how to explain the perfect balance of the "we shouldn't be doing this" hotness but also a genuinely sweet and pure connection. Banger!!

If You Like Piña Coladas by @gutsby

Reader and Joel are both equally menaces in this one. Reader makes a fake hinge profile for her hot neighbor (Joel) and he gets her back for it :))))) sweating.

untitled by @shigarosie

EDIT: THIS IS NOT JOEL FANFIC LOL my brain imprinted that it was - but either way it’s worth a read!!

A misunderstanding during a smutty moment leads to a sweet conversation

Preacher, Teacher by @likesomeoneinlovee

Hot nasty DBF smut. Joel teaches you how to ride it ☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️

Out of Control by @strang3lov3

I want to fuck that old so bad pt. 2!! Overstimulating him after he cums!!! we're so back!!!!

State of Play by @gutsby

The third gutsby fic on this rec list! They know how to write a bangin fic! DBF Joel in a secret relationship with reader when they find out some potentially fucked up news...no spoilers. I laughed out loud during this fic and it also made me horny. Also bonus I learned a new word: Katoptronophilia

Erotica by @whoevenisjavier

A fic inspired by the "adult content" shirt that is criminally hot. No outbreak AU where Joel is a retired pornstar under the stage name "Javier Peña." Reader is working on her thesis about the porn industry and Joel offers to help (how kind). Joel has such a quiet, calm confidence in this that is addictive!!

⋆˚✿˖° Other Characters ⋆˚✿˖°

⟡ Multi-Chapter ⟡

Sassenach and the Spaniard by @wardenparker and @absurdthirst

Pero Tovar x reader An outlander AU where reader takes in a sick Pero and they shack up during the winter. Slow burn and such a cool premise - love the tone of this fic and have read multiple times now!

⟡ One-shots ⟡

El Cumpleañero by @gothcsz

Javier Peña x reader Cocky motherfucker Javi wants to fuck you at his birthday party!! This FWB fic is hot as fuck and we get jealous Javiiii

Three's a crowd by @javier-pena

Frankie Morales x reader AND Joel Miller x reader. Frankie gets cucked by asshole Joel. Is it cucking if you are pining friends? It sure feels like it! Sweating thinking about this fic 🔥🔥🔥

Clint gets cockworshiped by @almostempty

Clint Flood x reader Reader just wants to suck him off to completion and she's real as FUCK for that. Shoutout to an absolutely banging blowjob fic. Make him sweat!!!

Ace of Hearts by @pedgito

Henry Castillo x reader Reader is Henry's long-time assistant. I hope there's no sexual tension and decisions that can't be taken back!!

He's trying to cook a meal for you. It's one of the only things he can actually do for you. Do right.

And you go and re-wire his brain with a soft kiss on his cheek in between tasks.

His face scrunches up and he shakes his head through a reluctant, half-smiling smirk.

"I'm cooking," he'll mutter, concentrating on chopping while you beam at him adoringly.

When he gets home from a mission and you pull his head down to your chest, in bed.

You rake your fingers through his curls while he listens to your steady heartbeat.

He resists you sometimes. That’s when you know he’s taken a life.

He forgets you can love him then. He forgets you understand, he only takes life to save life.

You reach for him, but he shrugs one shoulder. “‘s okay. I’ll go shower.”

He’ll stand there til the water runs cold and beyond, if you let him. If you don’t step in there with him, wrap your arms around his torso from behind. Or at least turn the water off for him and wrap him up in a big, fluffy towel.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," he mumbles as you towel dry his hair.

"Sleep better with you." Your gentle touch makes him tremble.

Your eyebrows arch, questioning if he needs space.

He whispers your name brokenly, fingertips brushing hesitantly at the hem of your sleeve.

He might as well be throwing his arms around you.

"Bed or couch?" You ask him, tracing your fingertips underneath his palm. You give him time to remove his hand or grasp yours.

"It's 2 A.M." He shakes his head once. You're tired. You shouldn't have to do all this for him.

"Bed...or couch?" You repeat, relieved as he grips your hand. "Or kitchen?" You smile at him, which reminds him how much you love a late night (or early morning) snack.

He works his lips in a straight line of contemplation at first, then a slight pout at himself, for always putting you in these situations. A snack will definitely make up for some of it, and he is the only one who can cook a damn thing.

"Nachos? And a DVD." His eyes go wide and hopeful.

"Something sweet," you counter, inching closer. "And nothing from the 80s."

"Done." He nods. “But you gotta sleep, baby.”

“Done,” you echo.

An hour later, the worst DVD from 1992 plays softly. Dessert plates are stashed messily on the coffee table.

You rest across Marc’s lap, asleep. His fingertips trace up and down the length of your arm.

An ache blooms in his chest.

But not from shame or regret. Not this time.

He just forgets, sometimes, how much you love him.

☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･

And today is just one of those days. He’d spent the night tossing and turning, trying to massage away a kink in his neck that persisted well into the afternoon. But he hadn’t had time to complain or think too much about how excited he was to crawl back beneath the sheets, because the northernmost barn was falling to pieces. 

So, not only was he functioning half empty from the start, but the work today was also strenuous. Sawing raw timber to the perfect length, sanding down the sharp edges, hammering nails into plywood. A full day. 

And when Denise had stopped him on his way home, waving him down with a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade in hand, she’d given him that bright, hopeful smile and said, “Little Sammy ran that damn bike into the back door again. Would you mind fixing the hinges?”

His back ached and his knees were creaky, but Joel soon found himself knelt on Denise’s porch, screwdriver and fresh nails in hand.

It didn’t take long, but it did take every last scrap of energy that remained inside of him.

Joel’s house was always quiet. Too big for him, really. Ellie was in the garage already, lights still on, up too late when she had early patrol the following morning. But Joel didn’t have it in him to remind her how important sleep was. Not when he was running on fumes himself.

So he dragged those tired, old bones inside. Kicked off his boots and jeans right at the door of his room, hung his flannel over the back of the chair at his work bench, and let out a long sigh as he climbed beneath icy cotton sheets.

He’s half asleep, eyes closed and muscles sinking into the mattress, when he hears it. 

The click of the latch on the unlocked front door. The creak of your careful steps as you climb the stairs.

Joel feels you before he sees you. Too exhausted to pull himself out of blissful almost-sleep. The mattress dips beneath your weight, limbs outstretched, seeking him out of instinct. 

This isn’t the first time this has happened. Not the first time you’ve found yourself peering out of your window next door waiting for him to get home. Not the first time you’ve ended up in his bed or in his arms.

And Joel knows he should put a stop to it—you’re too young, too sweet, too…good. 

But he’s too worn out to fight his impulses. He’s tried for months to keep his thoughts pure when you cross his mind, but it’s been a losing battle from the start.

Especially when you’re like this. Warm and soft, pressed up against his side, wearing an old t-shirt he’d let you borrow the night before and not much else. A comfort that feels more like home than this house does.

The tips of your fingers tickle his forearm, rousing him just enough that he lifts the heavy limb so you can crawl right into his embrace.

Joel holds you tight. He always does. Biceps big and strong around your shoulders. He holds you like he might lose you tomorrow, because there’s a part of him that fears one day you’ll wake up and see something you don’t like. 

He worries you’ll begin to see him for what he is; old, weary, tired. Not even half the man he used to be. Not half the man you deserve.

But for tonight at least, you still wear those rose tinted glasses. Pressing sweet kisses to his face; his nose, his forehead, his cheeks. Nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, making cute, whiny noises at the back of your throat. Like you’re desperate, unable to get close enough despite every inch being pressed against him, leg hooked over his hips. 

You find a comfortable position and still beside him, letting out the same sort of long sigh Joel did just moments ago. But you don’t sleep—your breathing doesn’t even out, your muscles don’t go slack. 

Joel knows what you need. Long before your hips tilt, before you press your center against his thigh, before you whisper his name in the dark. 

“S’okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice deep and dark and sleepy. “C’mere.”

He reaches over and brackets his arm around your waist to drag you on top of him, your center already warm and wanting.

It’s starting to get out of hand, he knows. Starting to become a routine. But Joel doesn’t have many sweet thing in his life, not anymore, and he finds you near impossible to resist. “I’ve got you,” he says. “Take what ya need.”

You lay against his chest, ear pressed right over his heart. Joel kisses the crown of your head when your hips begin to tilt, rubbing yourself against the steadily growing bulge beneath the thin fabric of his boxers.

Soft, wanton sighs leave you at the sensation, and even with a barrier still between you he can feel your clit pulse against the underside of his cock. 

Needy little thing you are. But Joel doesn’t mind—he likes the feeling. Of being needed, wanted. Especially by a girl as sweet as you.

You grind on top of him for a while. Not seeking release, not yet. Just feeling the hard warmth of him beneath you, savoring the weight of his big hands stroking softly up and down the expanse of your back. 

He can feel your arousal growing with each pass, wetness slowly seeping through his boxers, slick and sticky. Joel nudges you gently with the tip of his nose, the prickly hairs of his mustache tickling the side of your face. “C’mon, sweet girl. Let’s get this shirt off, hm?”

When you nod, you pull yourself up tiredly. The movement is slow and thick like molasses, so Joel uses the last of his energy to help you. 

His hands find the hem of the oversized t-shirt and pull it upwards, over your head to be discarded on the floor beside his bed. It leaves you completely naked, bared for him in more ways than one. 

In an instant, you fall back against him, breasts pressed up against his chest. Your skin feels cool against his, smooth and pillowy. “S’warm,” you mutter, rubbing the side of your cheek against the coarse hair that litters his chest, graying in some places.

Joel’s cock throbs beneath you, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He just lets you settle back down and allows you to rest. His hands wander, though, the way they always do. 

Sliding down your back, over the sides of your thighs, thumbs massaging gentle circles. He strokes his fingers gently back up to your shoulders and then brings them down your arms, smiling when he sees goosebumps rise in his wake.

When they settle back at your hips, his touch is a little more eager. Kneading at the softness, inching over the curve of your ass until that’s all his hands are filled with. 

Joel loves touching you. Not just suggestively, but intimately. He loves feeling the closeness and the trust you put in him to take care of you, to keep you safe, to make you feel good.

He massages the supple flesh, holding you close, until his need for you begins to grow teeth, gnawing at his psyche. 

Joel knows he shouldn’t. He knows that. 

But he’s just so tired, and you’re so soft. Gentle and kind. And you make him feel loved—something Joel Miller has not felt for a very, very long time.

He guides you with his hands gripping at your curves, sliding your slick cunt over his aching cock. His breath feels hollow, stuck in his lungs.

When he lifts upward, just a little, enough to provide a little extra pressure, you mewl in response. 

Joel is quick to soothe, shushing softly into your ear. “Shh, you’re alright. Hang on, sweet girl. M’right here.”

He knows what you need. It’s become a nightly ritual at this point. You come to him seeking connection, seeking the comfort of an older man. Most nights you just need to be held, to be nurtured, to be loved the way you deserve. 

But other nights, Joel knows you need a little more. A connection that runs a little deeper.

He reaches beneath you, hooking his thumbs in the elastic band of his boxers and tugging them down his tired legs. Just enough to free his cock, already hard as stone just from your proximity. 

Joel pulls your forward, up his torso, giving himself room to line his length up with your entrance.

He slides in real easy.

You’re already soaked, dripping with arousal. And the moment he’s fully seated inside you, stretching you real wide, filling up your belly, you let out a breathy whine.

It feels right, being here like this with you. It feels like coming home. 

Joel moves you slowly, guiding each roll of your hips, slowing you down when you try to pick up the pace. 

There’s no rush. Not here, not with him. He’ll get you there. He’ll get you what you need. What’s the sense in hurrying through it? 

He wants to savor it. The feel of your sweet, soft pussy, clenching and leaking around his length. The way your stuttering breath tickles his skin. The way your hands grip him harder and harder, holding him impossibly closer.

He wants to savor the way you love him. 

“Gimme a kiss, baby,” he whispers in the dark.

You turn your head, just enough so that he can press his lips to yours. In this, too, Joel moves painfully slow.

It’s not a claiming, it’s an exploration. His lips move against yours, memorizing the feel of them, the shape and the taste. He slowly licks into your mouth, tongue gliding against yours, breathing in your exhalation. 

The building coil around his spine is anything but slow, however. He loves being here with you maybe a little too much. He loves you a little too much. 

Joel thrust upwards, keeping a steady, unforgiving rhythm while he slides his hand between you. His fingers search blindly for your clit and he finds it in seconds, circling those slow, tight circles around the pulsing nerves. 

Your sounds grow louder, release building. The sound of your joining echoes in the empty room, slick and wet and feverish.

He knows your close when you start manually breathing—lungs stuttering, chasing the delicious relief that only he can provide.

“You got it,” he encourages. “S’right there, baby. Give it to me.”

Your eyes stay locked to his, lips parting on a jagged moan. You don’t say anything; no warning, no begging. You just feel it, feel him, moving deep inside you, fucking you through it. 

“That’s it,” he says, voice all soft and warm the way it only ever is when he speaks to you. “There you go.”

He doesn’t stop until you find the natural rhythm of oxygen again, until the shaking in your thighs relents to an easy tremble. 

Joel feels that white-hot coil beginning to spool within himself, and pulls out of you with just enough time to shoot thick ropes of cum over your pubic bone.

He thrusts the underside of his cock through your syrupy folds, a gentle rocking until he’s spent. He somehow finds the energy for a few extra thrusts, smearing his release over your clit.

You don’t move an inch, and Joel doesn’t want you to.

Instead, you just lay there on top of him, sticky mess between you, your head resting delicately on his chest. 

When you reach up to card your fingers through his graying hair, Joel feels his muscles go completely slack, tension bleeding from his weary bones.

“M’sorry I woke you up,” you say, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I know you were tired.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Joel says, and he means it. “I’ll always have time for you."