styleslfreak

You searched through the mess, fingers numb where the cold slipped through your thin gloves, trying to bring some order to it.

Across the tent, weapons laid scattered in a mockery of readiness—a rifle slumped against a stack of boxes, knives strewn like fallen leaves over the workbench, a pistol halfly buried under belts, its grip worn smooth from fear‑tightened hands. 

The supplies tent was a tangled symphony of neglect that you inherited by your own choice. 

You, were the one to volunteer for this job, the endless counting, packing, arranging and preparing that no one else dared to even touch. 

And all because it kept you hidden, buried in the grit and grime, far from the piercing gaze of the man who had become your unwilling anchor. 

Joel, the leader of this ragged group of survivors, was the one who had stumbled upon you in the frozen wasteland, your body curled in a fragile knot against the merciless cold, breath shallow as a whisper on the wind. He had pulled you from death's numb embrace, wrapped you in his coat that smelled of earth, and carried you back to this fragile resemblance of life. From that moment on, he treated you like the daughter fate had stolen from him, his rough hands gentle in their guidance, his voice a low rumble that insisted purpose where despair already has taken root. 

But purpose came laced with something deeper, rumours that twisted in your chest like vines overtaking a crumbling wall, and so you fled into the shadows of this tent, avoiding the warmth of his presence that both soothed and cared.

The canned goods were cluttered in the lower shelves, their labels peeling, revealing dents and bulges that spoke about expiration dates long past. You lifted one after another, the weight heavy in your palms, peering at the faded ink that marked them as relics of a world that no longer existed. 

A voice sliced through the quiet like a blade through fog then.

"This place is a disaster," he snarled, "No wonder we can't find anything. Look at this—half the ammo's scattered like fuckin' confetti, and these cans? Christ, they're older than the damn outbreak."

It belonged to Leon, one of the newer men of the group, his face weathered by the apocalypse but twisted now with frustration as he stormed into your space, boots kicking aside a stray boot in his haste. 

You opened your mouth, but only a stutter escaped—a soft, halting: "I-I'm... trying to—" before it died on your lips. 

Defense was a foreign language to you, vulnerability had been your shield and your curse, for a long, long time.  

You shrank back, eyes dropping to the floor as if dirt could swallow you whole.

And he didn't stop, his anger swelling on. "Only reason you're still here is 'cause Joel dragged you in like some stray," he growled, the words dripping with disdain, painting you as a burden. "Half frozen mutt he pitied. Without him, you'd be buzzard food by now. So maybe stop fuckin' up and earn your keep." 

The insult hit you deep, twisting the knife of your insecurities, and you just stood there, silent and small, your throat tight with the unshed tears and the weight of his judgment. 

But Leon didn't notice the shift in the air, the subtle thickening as a presence entered the room. He didn't see Joel standing by the tent flap, entered silently, drawn by some instinct that always seemed to pull him towards you, his girl. 

He watched, his jaw set and tight, eyes narrowing as the man's tirade unfolded, each word fuelling the quiet storm brewing within him.

When Leon turned around, his confidence evaporated like mist under the sun. There was no mistaking the aura that radiated from Joel: stern, unyielding, a force that filled the tent like smoke from a fire. 

He was the leader, the authority etched into every survivor's bone in this group; the man whose word was law in this godforsaken lawless world.

Cross him, especially on his girl, and you were cast out into the wilds, where mercy was nonexistent.

 Joel's gaze pinned Leon in place, dark and unblinking, the lines of his face carved deeper by the weight of command and the raw possessiveness that surged for you.

"What the hell do'ya think you doin'?" Joels voice was low at first, that gradually became a loud roar. "You don't talk to her like that. Not ever. She's worth ten of you and if you forget that again, you're gone—out there with the infected and the dead."

The yell was possessive, a statement that echoed his claim on you, the daughter he had taken from ice and hopelessness, the one whose every stutter, every tremble, multiplied his protective fury. His chest heaved quickly, veins standing out on his neck, the air crackling with the intensity of a father defending his own—or something dangerously close to even more?

Joel turned to you then, his expression softening just for a tiny moment: "Go on to your tent, honey'," he said. 

You nodded quickly, legs unsteady as you gathered your coat, slipping past him with a brush of shoulders that sent a forbidden spark through you, his scent drifting into your awareness before you can stop it.

As you vanished, Joel came closer to Leon, his voice dropping to a whisper that cut deeper than any shout. "If you even dare to raise your voice against her again, it'll be the last damn time you ever speak."

He nodded jerkily, face pale as snow, and backed out of the tent without another word, the flap swinging shut behind him loudly.

Alone now, Joel exhaled a long, deep sigh, his shoulders slumping as the tension bled from his frame. He never wanted to raise his voice like that, ever. Not with you nearby, not when every yell took away this fragile peace he tried to build just for you, his girl, the new-found light he had pulled from the frozen dark. 

But that's who Joel was...for you, he would roar down the heavens if it kept the shadows at bay.

The rain already eased into a small drizzles as Joel stepped out of the supplies tent, his camp sprawled before him: a cluster of weathered tents, wet by the rain and surrounded by leafless trees. Smoke curled lazily from a central fire pit, where a few survivors stirred a pot of thin stew, their faces marked by the things they had endured. 

Joel's boots sank into the mud with each stride, the cold seeping through the leather, but he paid it no mind; the chill in his bones was nothing compared to the one gnawing at his heart.

"Tim!" he barked, his voice cutting through the murmur of the camp. "Patrol's leavin' in ten. You, Leon, and Livia—check the perimeter east of the ridge. Infected tracks reported last night; don't get sloppy." 

The younger scavenger poked his head out from behind a stack of firewood, his hair damp and clinging to his neck. 

Leon, still pale from the earlier confrontation, nodded mutely, avoiding Joel's gaze as he slunk towards the armory tent to gear up. Joel watched him go, a flicker of satisfaction run through him—no one touched his girl, not with words, not with anything else. 

Turning to the others, Joel continued his demands, calloused hands resting on his hips. 

"Billy, you reinforce the watchtower—those boards are rotted through. And Clint, you and the kid handle the traps; reset 'em along the water. We need fresh meat if this rain don't let up."

His hands moved with practiced efficiency—clapping a shoulder here, pointing emphatically there—his presence a stronghold against the spreading despair that threatened to swallow them all once. The group responded to him instinctively, their movements quickening under his check, the camp starting to awake again. 

Yet beneath it all, in the shadowed place of his mind, you lingered like a faint melody, pulling at him with an ache that no amount of barked commands could drown.

His girl. 

The thought of you wrapped around him, warm but tormenting, as he walked towards the map tent to plot the next supply raid. He had sent you to your tent like some kind of mutt, dismissed with a gruff exterior that masked the tenderness he yearned to unleash. 'Honey', he called you, the word slipping out like a confession, but you slipped away just as quickly, your eyes downcast, body tense with that avoidance that you wore like your armor. 

If you weren't dodging him at every turn, at every god damned path, he would have followed you right then—pushed aside the flap of your shelter, knelt besides you, and pulled you into his arms until the world's cruelties melted away. 

But you were a ghost to him now, haunting the edges of his vision, and the distance you enforced carved deeper than any infected could bite.

The memory tugged at him then, pulling him back through the veil of time to that frozen eve when he'd first claimed you from winters ruthless grips.  

It was a night etched in ice and desperation, the world blanketed in snow, muffling the distant howls of the infected nearby.

Joel had been scavenging alone, his back-pack light, but his rifle heavy across his back, when he spotted you—a huddled form against the base of a snow-laden cliff, your body curled into itself like a wild fawn seeking safety and shelter. 

Half-frozen to death; your lips blue tinted, breath a faint mist that barely stirred in the air, clothes ragged and already crusted with frost. You were a vision of fragility in this unforgiving realm, and in that moment something primal stirred in Joels chest—a fierce, paternal urge to shield what the apocalypse had nearly shattered.

He dropped to his knees besides you, gloved hands gentle as they brushed snow from your face, the touch coaxing a shiver from your chilled frame. 

"Hey, hey now," he murmured, his voice sweet and coaxing like honey laced with gravel. "Ain't leavin' you out here to freeze. C'mon, let's get you all warm."

With effortless strength, he scooped you up, arms strong, protected around you and carried you to a sheltered hollow where he quickly set up a small, but efficient camp—a trap strung between trees, a fire pit in the middle, and something soft to sleep on. 

The flames he coaxed to life danced shadows across your almost colourless skin as he stripped away your sodden layers with careful hands, wrapping you in his own coat, thick and smelling of pine smoke and his warmth. You trembled in his arms, teeth chattering and Joel drew you close, his body a furnace against yours, you cuddled into the curve of his chest until the shivers turned into quiet breaths. 

One hand stroked your hair in rhythmic passes, the other rubbed slow circles on your back.

"That's it," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear, calming as a lullaby in the storm. "I've got you. Just breathe, sweetheart. Where you come from? Lost out here all alone, hm?'"

Your voice was a fragile thread when it once came, stuttering and faint, spilling the fragments of a shattered past, settling the last pieces of hope you have on this gruff stranger.

You talked, and talked. A family torn by the outbreak, days of wandering through blizzards alone and at one point the days blurred in line between living and surrender. 

Joel listened without judgment, his nods steady, eyes full of empathy that held your gaze without flinching. And when hunger clawed at you, he didn't hand you the rations; instead, he broke off pieces of jerky with his fingers, feeding you gently from his hand, one by one, the salt melting on your lips. 

"Open up," he coaxed, his thumb brushing your chin, the intimacy of the act weaving an invisible bond. 

Then water followed from his old bottle, tilted carefully so you could sip without spilling, his free hand supporting your head, murmuring encouragements until color returned to your cheeks.

Winter days started to blur into an each one another of shared survival and comfort. The two of you holed up in that makeshift haven as snow piled high outside. Joel hunted in the mean time, strengthened the shelter around you, and tended to you with a devotion that surprised even him...a man only hollowed by loss, now filling the void with your quiet, genlte presence. 

He watched you closely, noting in his head the way overwhelm shadowed in your eyes when the wind howled too fiercely, how viulnerability clung to you. You were a delicate bloom in this hopeless wasteland, oh how easily you were  crushed by the weight of existence. It steered something deep in Joel, a need to be your shelter; your steady hand. 

One evening, as the sun set, you sat by the fire, knees drawn to your chest, and admitted something: "I can't do this by myself. Everything's just too big, too much. I need...I need someone to look after me." And "Like the cold out there, it grabbed me and wouldn't let go, and now even this warmth feels overwhelming, like I might melt away or something...I need...I need someone to look after me. Someone to tell me it's okay when my head spins and I can't breathe right. What if I freeze again? Or what if the noises outside get louder? I just...I don't know how to make it stop being so much."

The words hung between you that day, raw and revealing, and when you looked up at him, eyes wide with unspoken plea, you whispered, 'Dad.' The title landed like match on dry grass, but catching Joels attention more than ever. 

He couldn't resist; pulling you into his lap, he cradled you close, his chin resting on your head, promising silently to be that for you—the father fate had denied him once over, your guardian against the dark.

But the nights deepened the bond into something more tangled, more forbidden. 

One such evening, in the closeness of the small tent, the air thick with the scent of damp wood and the chill, you turned to him in the shared bedroll. 

Bodies pressed together for warmth, your form molding to his like clay on the potter's wheel, and in that quiet intimacy, you kissed him—a small brush of lips that slowly but surely  bloomed into hunger. 

"Daddy," you breathed against his mouth, the word a velvet plea, followed by 'Dad' laced with sweet longing. 

Joel's restraint fractured like thin ice; his hands roamed your curves with hunger, he hadn't felt for years—peeling away layers until skin met skin, his cock hardening against your thigh as desire overrode the lines of propriety.

He entered you slowly, inch by deliberate inch, his thick, girthy length stretching your warmth with a gentleness that calmed the storm within you. 

"Shh, baby girl," he cooed, voice husky and commanding, hips rocking in a measured rhythm that built slowly over time. You clung to him, nails digging into his back, moans spilling as he fucked you deep and thorough, each thrust an erasure of the shadows haunting your mind: the infected, the losses, the loneliness and the cold.

His pace quickened, possessive and unrelenting, pounding into your sticky pussy until your cries echoed his name in variations of devotion, cum flooding you in hot pulses as ecstasy shattered every bad thought. 

In that night, Joel learned your truths: you needed a steady hand to guide you, someone to call 'Dad' that anchored your soul, a cock to fuck you senseless until the world faded to irrelevance, leaving only the pulse of shared release. 

Days turned into a haze, tents pitched in hidden groves where he'd take you against cold walls, caring for you with meals fed from his fingers and nights blurred by sweat-slicked skin and cum filled cunt. 

And when you two finally returned into his small camp after endless miles of this intimate journey—your body marked by his touch, heart entwined with his—he envisioned a life where you did no labor, simply waited in his tent, legs spread in welcome, his to protect and possess. 

"Stay with me, darlin'," he murmured, tracing patterns on your thigh. "Let me handle it all."

But rumours started to spread like wildfire 

on dry bushes, untrue whispers that poisoned this fragile relationship that you have built. 

Someone overheard your breathy 'Dad' in a moment of overwhelm, twisting it into a scandal. 

Another caught the sounds of your shared tent, moans misconstrued as depravity. Whispers evolved: "She's got him wrapped around her finger, that stray he dragged in."

The words reached to you, burrowing like thorns, making you feel small, misunderstood—a weirdo in a world that already judged harshly. 

So...the ache in your heart swelled until it bursted: you ended it, pulling away with tear-streaked face, declaring it over to spare him the shame.

Joel was absolutely heartbroken, the pain in his chest an ache that echoed with your absence, but he didn't let you go. He checked on you regularly—slipping rations to your tent, watching you from afar as you navigated the camp, ensuring your safety with a stubbornness that bordered on obsession. 

Yet he couldn't bear it longer: your avoidance, the careful dance of distance, the sidelong glances from the group, their murmurs like knives, your belief that you are weird, tainted, when to him you were this salvation incarnate.

As his thoughts faded, Joel found himself adrift in the present, his orders trailing off as he stared at the map spread before him. The camp still buzzed around him, patrols forming, tasks underway, but his mind was a whirlwind of you—vulnerable, evasive, his girl who needed him more than she knew. 

He couldn't take the separation anymore; tonight, he'll connect the gap, pull you back into the fold where you belonged, forbidden pull be damned, rumors silenced by the strength of his claim.

-

As the sun dipped low beneath the horizon, painting the camp in bruised purples and fading golds, Joel felt the weight of the day slowly settle into his bones. 

He couldn't bear the silence any longer, the way you'd retreated into your shell after the supplies tent moment, your avoidance a blade twisting deeper and deeper with every passing hour. 

His feet carried him unerringly through the mud slicked paths, past the murmurs of the group settling in for the night, until he stood before your tent—larger than the cramped quarters of the men, a sanctuary he'd insisted on crafting for you, and only you, alone.

He poured his callused hands into making it a haven, didn't he? 

The frame reinforced with scavenged wood, the canvas walls doubled for insulation against the relentless chill. Inside, he built the bed himself—a sturdy frame of rough wood, topped with a mattress stuffed with whatever soft fibers he could forage, layered with blankets pilfered from forgotten homes. 

Cushions and pillows, sewn from scraps of fabric, scattered for your comfort. A small table he made from a fallen log, wobbly but earnest. Shelves cobbled together for your few treasure—an old book, a carved wooden fawn he shaped in quiet moments—all of it born from his desire to wrap you in coziness, to shield your fragile spirit from the world's jagged edges. 

Oh, how grateful you've been once, your eyes lighting with a warmth that melted the ice in his chest. 

Now, as evening deepened, Joel hesitated at the flap, his broad fist hovering, a rare feeling of fear coiling in his gut. 

What if you turned him away? 

What if the chasm you'd carved between you had grown too wide to bridge? 

He was Joel Miller, the unbreakable leader of this ragged band, yet here he was, scared like a little boy before confession. 

Swallowing the knot in his throat, he knocked three times on the wooden part, soft enough not to startle, firm enough to announce his presence.

"Darlin'?" he called out, voice threaded with caution. "It's me. Joel."

The flap parted after a long moment, and there you stood, framed in the warm lantern light that spilled from within, your brows furrowed in a frown that tugged at his heartstrings.

Your eyes—those sweet, doe eyes that had first drawn him in—were rimmed red, lashes clumped with the remains of tears. The sight hit him like a gut punch; rage surged hot and immediate, a visceral urge to hunt down Leon and drive his fist into that sneering face until the man tasted the blood of his own regret. 

How dare anyone reduce you to this—his girl, curled in on herself, wounded by words sharper than any blade in this merciless world?

"Can I come in?" Joel asked, his tone gentle, eyes searching yours with a plea he couldn't voice. 

You nodded, a small, reluctant dip of your chin, stepping aside to let him pass. 

The tent was a cocoon of warmth, cozy and sweet, mirroring the tender heart you hid away from everyone. The lantern light bathed the space in a golden haze, softening the edges of the handmade furniture, the pillows plump and inviting on the bed where you so often curled like a fawn seeking shelter. 

Joel knew your habits intimately—how you drew your knees to your chest, burrowing into the nest of blankets, your form small and vulnerable, evoking those pet names he'd whispered in quieter times: Little Fawn, Bambi, fragments that captured your innocence amid the brutality. 

"You didn't need to defend me there," you said. "I could've just done it myself."

Even as the words left your lips, you knew they were hollow; Leons yelling had left you stammering, small and exposed. 

He turned to you, his dark eyes steady, holding yours with an intensity that peeled away your defenses layer by layer.

"I know," he replied. "But ain't gonna leave you alone like that. Not ever." 

You scoffed, the whispers of the camp echoing in your mind again, their side glances branding you as the weird one, the stray with the leader wrapped around her finger. 

Crossing your arms, you sank onto the bed, curling your frame, knees tucked close, gaze fixated on a spot in the corner. Tears started to well anew, hot and insistent, blurring the edges of the room as vulnerability crashed over you like a relentless wave.

"Oh, little fawn..." Joel murmured, the petname that was meant to soothe the hurt he saw etched in every line of your body.

"Don't," you whispered, voice cracking, turning your face away as the first tears traced down your cheeks. "Don't call me that." 

The plea was raw, laced with the ache of the loss for the intimacy those words once evoked, now tainted by the misunderstanding, by the fear that you were too weird, too needy in a world that devoured the weak.

Undeterred, Joel lowered himself besides you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, while his presence was a grounding force amid your unraveling. You curled up tighter, a defensive coil, but he didn't press...instead, he sat close enough that the heat of him radiated through the space between, a silent promise of shelter.

"You remember the first time you called me Dad?" he asked, his voice a gentle murmur. 

You flinched at the word, an involuntary shiver rippling through you, the title stirring a hollow ache in your chest—an echo of warmth now soured by shame.

"I didn't think much of it," Joel continued softly, his hand rising with slowness to stroke your hair, fingers threading through the strands. Each pass was measured, calming, tracing the curve of your scalp as if it was to unravel the knots of your turmoil. "But I knew that your little heart calmed down after you called me that. Like the world's weight lifted, just a tiny bit." 

His touch was poetry in motion, rough palms gentle by intent, evoking memories of winter nights when his care had been your lifeline.

You sniffled, the sound small, peeking at him through your wet eyelashes. His eyes held no judgment, only a deep, unwavering understanding—of how you needed to be taken care of, how the chaos overwhelmed you until you felt little, drifting into a headspace where distractions pulled you like a dream. 

He saw that now in your hazy gaze, the faraway drift, your mind retreating to that vulnerable place where the world's edges softened into safety.

"I didn't find it weird," he pressed on, voice dropping to a husky whisper. "God—that's the least forsaken thing in this damned world I would find weird. In a place where the dead's walk and trust is a luxury we can't afford anymore, y'callin' me Dad? That's just...you needin' what we all crave deep down. Someone that holsd the pieces together."

"Are you sure?" you whispered, the question fragile as breath itself, seeking absolution in his gaze, your tears slowing to a quiet trickle as his words pierced the fog of self doubt.

"Course, baby," Joel nodded, his affirmation steady. "Nothing weird about wanting to be taken care of. Hell, we've all got our fractures; yours just call for a steady hand, that's all."

He paused, his hand stilling in your hair, thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek. 

"You think I wouldn't have cared for you if I didn't? I wouldn't have built this bed, poured sweat into these cushions and shelves, made you all these things, hm? Every nail, every stitch—it was for you, darlin'. To give you a corner of peace in this madness."

You shrugged, a small, uncertain lift of your shoulders, the gesture speaking volumes of the doubt that lingered and lingered, but Joel leaned in then, closing the distance with a tenderness. His lips pressed to your forehead, warm, a kiss like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, sealing his words with an unspoken promise.  

"My little fawn," he breathed against your skin, the endearment a balm, wrapping around your heart.

Something in you yielded at last, the walls crumbling under the weight of his care. You snuggled into him, your body unfolding from its curl to press against his chest, burying your head into the crook of his neck where the scent of him enveloped you like a homecoming. A soft sigh escaped you, tears soaking into his flannel as the tension disappeared, replaced by the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat.

"That's right," Joel cooed, his arms encircling you fully now, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing slow, soothing circles along your back. "Come to Dad. I've got you, little one. Always will." 

His voice was like a lullaby in the dark, where the world's cruelties faded to whispers, leaving only the profound poetry of two souls intertwining once more.

You nestled even deeper into him, the tears slowly drying, but a deeper ache stirred within, a  pull towards that hazy headspace that tugged you into the depths where only his touch could anchor you. 

With a soft, instinctive motion, you reached for one of his hands—those rough, capable hands of his that built your world—and guided it towards your lips, your mouth parting to draw his thumb inside, sucking gently at first, the salt of his skin a familiar comfort blooming on your tongue.

Joel's breath hitched at that, followed by a low rumble vibrating through his chest as he watched you, his dark eyes softening with a mix of adoration and understanding. 

Without hesitation, he shifted his hand, cupping your cheek with his palm, angling his thumb deeper into the wet warmth of your mouth so you could nurse on it more fully, the pad pressing against the soft roof as your lips sealed around it. He leaned down, his lips brushing the crown of your head in a feather-light kiss. 

"There you go, baby," he murmured, his southern drawl a soothing balm, thick and warm like honey drizzled over wounds. "Suck a little deeper if it feels right...yeah, just like that."

His words were a gentle coo, laced with that paternal sweetness that made your heart flutter and your core clench in equal measure, his free arm tightening around your waist to rock you slowly from side to side, a rhythmic sway that mimicked the lullabies of forgotten cradles.

You whimpered around his thumb, the sound muffled and needy, your tongue swirling lazily and lazily as the subspace slowly deepened, pulling you further into that floaty haze where thoughts dissolved like mist under sun. The rocking motion lulled you, his body a cozy cocoon of flannel and muscle, but the whimpers grew insistent, threading with a whine that Joel knew all too well: you were craving the grounding force only he could provide. 

His cock stirred in his jeans, thickening against your thigh, but he focused on you, sensing the urgency in your escalating sounds, the way your hips shifted restlessly. 

He knew this dance like the back of his hand; your subspace made you far gone, adrift in a sea of need, and only the deep, claiming thrust of his cock—followed by the shattering release of orgasms—could reel you back, tethering you to the present with waves of pleasure that washed away the darkness.

"Oh, sweet thing," Joel whispered, his voice a velvet rumble as his hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, calloused fingers tracing the soft curve of your belly before finding the swell of your breasts. 

He cupped one gently, thumb and forefinger rolling over your nipple, teasing it to a stiff peak with slow, deliberate circles that sent sparks down your spine. The touch was feather light at first, then firmer, pinching just enough to draw a gasp from you, your mouth releasing his thumb with a wet pop, a glistening string of saliva connecting your lips to his skin like a fragile bridge of intimacy. 

"Shh, babygirl, Daddy's just gonna touch you here...nice and easy." He murmured at your whines. 

You whimpered louder at that, the sound raw and pleading, your hazy eyes locking onto his. 

"Take care of me, Daddy. Please," you breathed out, your voice small and fractured, laced with the desperate ache of your subspace.

Joel's heart swelled at the plea, his little fawn so needy, so beautifully lost in that vulnerable space he cherished and protected. 

He wouldn't dream of denying you—never. 

This was his purpose, to soothe and claim, to fill every hollow part of you with his devotion. 

"Oh, I know, honey," he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, his beard scraping softly against your skin as he eased you back onto the bed, the pillows cradling your head like a nest woven for you alone. 

The mattress dipped under your weight, the blankets rumpling invitingly as he positioned you, his body hovering protectively above you. 

With tender care, he tucked his finger back into your mouth—this time his index finger, sliding it past your lips so you could suckle greedily, your tongue laving the length as if it were sustenance for your soul. 

"There, suck on that for Dad, yea? Keeps you nice and calm while I take care of the rest."

His other hand trailed downwards, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants to find the slick heat of your cunt. You were already so soaked, your folds swollen and parting eagerly under his touch, the sticky evidence of your need coating his fingers as he traced your slit. 

"God, look at you, Bambi...all wet and achin' for me," he cooed, his voice dripping with praise. "This for daddy, huh, honey? Dripping, achy pussy."

He pressed two fingers inside you without warning, stuffing your pussy full in one smooth glide, the stretch burning sweetly as your walls clenched around the intrusion, spasming with desperate hunger. You whined against his finger in your mouth, the vibration humming through him, your hips bucking instinctively to take him deeper.

"Biiig stretch, baby, yea?" his tone coaxing and babying, like an old man spinning tales to his most cherished kin. 

"Big stretch..." you repeated messily around his finger. 

Satisfied with your answer, he curled his fingers inside you, stroking that sensitive spot with expert precision, his thumb circling your clit in lazy loops that made your thighs tremble. 

The wet sounds of his movements filled the tent: slick, obscene squelches that mingled with your muffled whimpers whike the air started growing thick with the musky scent of your arousal, sticky and intimate. 

"Y'gonna rub your nipples for me? Pinch 'em, for Dad? Show me how good you can be while I finger this pretty little cunt, c'mon." His words were filthy yet laced with such profound sweetness.

Obediently, lost in the haze, you released his finger just enough to slide your hands under your shirt, fingers finding your nipples and pinching them hard, rolling the peaks between your thumbs and forefingers until they throbbed in time with the thrusts of his hand. 

The dual sensation overwhelmed you—mouth full, pussy stuffed, breasts aching under your own touch—your mind traveling further into that blissful subspace. 

Joel watched, absolutely mesmerised, his eyes full of love. 

"That's it, Bambi." He murmurs. "Pinch a little more if it helps, yeah? make 'em ache like your cunny does for me."

The pace build as your juices start to leak down his knuckles, coating his palm in your sticky essence. 

Overstimulated and lost in the velvet haze of your headspace, Joel's relentless fingers curled inside your gushing pussy one more time; stroking that swollen spot until pressure build like a storm in your core, your cries of "Dad, too much—m'gonna...oh..." fracturing into a needy sob as a sudden, tiny squirt escaped, warm fluid arcing in a delicate spray across his wrist and your quivering belly forming a filthy little puddle.

"Easy now, darlin', let it all out for Dad—juuuust like that, baby." he cooed.

Your mouth stilled around his finger, lips parting in a silent cry as your cunt pulsed wildly around his digits, gushing more slick that soaked the bed beneath you. Your hands fell from your nipples, trembling, as waves of ecstasy rippled through you, pulling a choked sob from your throat. 

Joel slowed his movements then, drawing out the aftershocks with gentle strokes, his gaze drinking in the sight of you splayed out before him—cheeks flushed, lips swollen and glistening, eyes glazed in that beautiful, vulnerable haze. 

Beautiful. Sweet. His little fawn, trembling and spent yet still yearning.

"Please," you whined, voice breathy and broken, rocking your hips against the hard bulge straining his jeans, the friction drawing a deep groan from his chest. "Your cock, Dad. Need it inside me." 

"S'alright, honey," Joel soothed, his voice a tender rumble as he withdrew his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop, then from your pussy, leaving you clenching around emptiness. 

He shifted, unbuckling his belt with practiced ease, shoving his jeans down just enough to free his cock— thick and veined, the head already beaded with pre-cum, curving upward in rigid need. 

"Daddy's gonna give you what you need. Spread those pretty legs for me, darlin'."

You complied, thighs parting wide, exposing your dripping cunt to the cool air, the sticky mess of your release gleaming in the lantern light. 

He knelt between them, gripping his shaft and nudging the blunt tip against your entrance, teasing with shallow dips—in just the head, then out, coating himself in your slick—each withdrawal pulling a breathless whine from you. 

"Dad... please," you begged, hips going up, chasing the fullness.

He played a moment longer, savoring your desperation, the way your pussy fluttered against him, before sinking in fully with one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your welcoming heat. You moaned loudly, the sound echoing unchecked through the tent flaps, uncaring of the camp beyond—let them hear; you were his, and this was your healing.

Joel groaned low, his forehead pressing to yours, breath sharp as he bottomed out, your walls stretching around his girth, the icky squelch of your combined wetness filling the space.

"Fuck, baby girl...so tight."

He built a comfortable rhythm just for you then—slow, deep rolls of his hips that ground against your clit with every thrust, designed to unravel your thoughts, to flood your mind with nothing but sensation.

"Thaaat's it, honey, feel me stretchin' this sweet pussy," he whispered praises against your ear, "Dad's got you, gonna fuck all those bad thoughts away."

You whined 'Dad' and 'Daddy' endlessly, lips swollen from biting them, eyes rolling back as the pleasure built, your pussy gushing around him in sticky waves, the lewd slap of skin on skin growing wetter, messier with every drive.

"Did you miss me? Hm, baby?" He asked, softly pinching your chin between his fingers. "You're my everything, you know that? Gonna coax another cum outta this pretty hole, make you forget every damn whisper out there."

He babied you through it all, one hand stroking your hair, the other pinning your hip gently, his thrusts never faltering—filthy in their depth, yet so profoundly sweet in intent.

"Daddy...Dad, it's too much." You bucked your hips against him.

"Shh, I know, I know. My sweet little girl." he pressed a gentle kiss on your temple, breathing in your scent.

The pressure coiled tight, and when you shattered again, your cunt clamping down in rhythmic pulses, milking him relentlessly, Joel followed with a guttural groan, burying deep as he came inside you, hot ropes of cum flooding your pussy in a creamy creampie that overflowed, leaking out around his base in thick, icky trails.

"Yea, there we fuckin' go," he panted, still rocking shallowly to prolong the bliss, his voice husky with satisfaction. "All the thoughts fucked away now, huh? Look at you."

You nodded weakly, mind blissfully blank, body limp in the afterglow.

Joel eased his cock out with care, watching as his cum leaked from your well fucked pussy, pearly white mixing with your slick in a messy puddle on the sheets.

The sight stirred him anew, and before you could protest the sensitivity, he plunged two fingers back inside, stirring the creaminess, drawing a sharp whine from your oversensitive walls.

"Shh, hey. Easy now, easy. Just one more, honey," he hushed softly, his tone pure indulgence as he brought the other cum smeared fingers to your mouth. "Suck on 'em for Daddy, c'mon—taste how good we are together, focus on dad."

You latched on in instinctively, tongue swirling around the salty sweet tang of his release mixed with yours, the act so intimately, so cozy in its rawness. His fingers in your pussy worked gently, curling to hit that spot again, thumb rubbing your clit building you towards one final peak until you came with a muffled cry, your body shuddering as fresh slick coated his hand.

Satisfied at that, Joel withdrew his fingers, trailing sweet kisses across your body—forehead, cheeks, the curve of your neck, down to your breasts where he lingered, suckling on your nipple briefly before murmuring against your skin. 

"You're my everything, darlin'. My whole world in this godforsaken place."

He then gathered you close, pulling the blankets over you both, his arms wrapping securely as he rocked you side to side once more, the motion lulling you into peace. 

"I'm gonna take care of you, no matter what they say out there." He whispered. "Sleep now, little fawn. Dad's right here."

And as your eyes drifted shut, the tent a cocoon of sticky warmth and whispered devotion, you slipped into slumber, anchored fully in his love again.

Finally. 

I don’t know if I like this or not… I tried a new writing style, making it a tad bit ‘poetic,’ but I think I failed at a few moments. A lot of paragraphs are translated from German because I didn’t know how else to write them, and I’m sorry if some of it feels a bit weird.

Anyways, I hope it met some expectations, and I’m really excited to see what y’all say. <3

Joel decided to let it slide when it happened, just because you’re the bubbly girl next door, 20-something with your little ‘hello’s’ in sundresses that hug your curves just right. And he already hated himself for catching himself staring at your ass when you bend over to garden, or your tits bouncing as you jog by, ‘She’s half my age, for fuck’s sake’—but his cock twitches anyway because, yeah, it’s been forever since he’s buried himself balls-deep in a tight, wet pussy and filled it up to the brim.

He was only a man, after all.

So when you knocked on his door, the first time, with a smile sweet as pie, asking if you can use his washing machine because your ancient piece a’ shit gave up on you, and you have week-old clothes, he couldn’t say no, his eyes fixated on the soft, baby pink bras and thongs in your basket.

And after you did your load, he came back to find one of your pink cotton panties on the bathroom floor (maybe it slipped from the basket, he thinks).

Joel picked it up, saw the faint damp spot in the crotch from your day, and that night, alone in his dim bedroom, he wrapped it around his thick cock and stroked real hard, imagining your sweet face as he grunted and shot ropes of cum into the fabric, staining it further.

Guilt hit after, of course. But the high lingered.

Then, it happened again. You, wanting to use his machine, with a: “It takes forever to be repaired, I’m sorry.” And then leaving yet another lacy, pink underwear on his floor.

That time, Joel was bolder—he sniffed it first, tongue darting out to taste the salt, then jerked off in the laundry room by himself, leaning against the dryer, fantasizing about bending you over it and rutting into you from behind until he flooded your cunt with his load.

And now, when he hears the door knocking, he anticipates that you want to drop off yet another one of your panties on his bathroom floor because the repair guy is taking so long, but—a third time? That would be a bit too much, wouldn’t it?

“Again? That’s the third time now, darlin’. Your machine still out?”

There you are; standing once again with a basket full of pink underwear, an apologising smile on your face and a soft sundress clinging to your skin in the humid afternoon air. 

You nod quickly, shifting the basket in your arms, your voice coming out small. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Miller. The repair guy’s dragging his feet. It won’t take long, promise.” 

He sighs heavy, trying not to show his excitement, and steps aside to let you in.

“Fine. But you just like wastin’ my water, huh?Comin’ over here every other day.” 

You set the basket down by the washer in his cramped bathroom, glancing up at him with a soft laugh that doesn’t quite hide your nerves. Your cheeks tint pink as you start loading the clothes. 

“No, s’not like that, Mr. Miller. I appreciate it, really.” You say. 

As you bend over, one hand ‘accidentally’ brushes your pocket—a pair of your sheer, white silk panties tumbles out, landing softly besides the machine. You straighten up quick, pretending not to notice, but you bite your lip hard, pulse thumping.

Joel spots it right away, blood rushing through his cock, jaw clenching tight. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the door with that stern look. “And those panties…”

You swallow hard, your face heating up like fire, eyes flicking to the floor. “W-what?”

Shit, you were caught.

You knew this was gonna happen the third time. I mean, who the hell even washes laundry three times a week? 

“You like leavin’ me little souvenirs?” His words come out firm, almost instructional, like he’s correcting a bad habit, but there’s a husky rumble underneath that he can’t quite mask. 

He’s trying to play the responsible neighbor, the gruff teacher, but you see the way his jeans tighten, the tension in his stance.

You fumble with the last shirt in the basket. “I... they’re just laundry. Must’ve fallen again.”

Again, again and again? 

He chuckles. 

Joel steps closer, slow and deliberate, bending down to pick up the panties with just two fingers. He holds them out like they’re proof in some lesson plan, dangling them in front of you. 

“First time, fine—must’ve fallen. Second? Alright. The third? Right in front of me? What the hell’s that about?” His voice is gruff, eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that demands answers. 

Inside, you know he’s been thinking about it—about you—just like you’ve hoped.

Your breath catches, and you squirm a little, the sundress suddenly too tight against your hardening nipples. “Can I have them back? Please?”

“They’re full of cum now, girl. Both pairs. What’d you expect me to do, just toss ‘em? After you left ‘em there, all damp and smellin’ like you?”

And you would be surprised, ashamed even embarrassed if it wasn’t exactly what you were planning on. The old, lonely man from next door who always stares at your tits when you walk by, who always has an eye on your curves when you bend over. 

Who would’ve thought that he would use the panties you left for them?

You press your thighs together as a rush of wetness soaks your bare pussy—no panties underneath this time, just for the risk of it.

“You…you used them? Mr. Miller, that’s—“

—That’s disgusting and perverted, and you sure as hell didn’t want that to happen? Oh yeah, sure. 

Joel’s restraint cracks just a fraction; he stuffs the panties into his pocket and shuts the door behind you both, then he backs you up against the sink, not crowding you fully, but close enough that you feel the heat rolling off his body, smell the faint musk of him.

“Need to teach you some damn manners, apparently.”

“Teach me?” you whisper, your voice half-challenge, half-plea, hands twisting in the fabric of your dress as flutters build low in your belly.

“Yeah. Lesson one: Teasin’ like that gets a man thinkin’ things he shouldn’t.” His rough palm cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip—gentle in that gruff way, like he’s demonstrating instead of just saying. “You been droppin’ these on purpose? Hopin’ I’d notice? Hm, baby?”

“No... I mean, maybe a little. But I didn’t think—“ You avert your eyes, flustered, but you lean into his touch anyway, craving more.

He tilts your chin up with firm fingers, his eyes stern and unyielding. 

“Look at me when you answer. Been jerkin’ off to your scent every night, fist pumpin’ hard while I pictured slidin’ my cock into that tight little pussy of yours. That’s what you wanted huh? Me leakin’ all over your pretty panties, fillin’ ‘em up with my load.” 

His other hand trails down your side, calluses scraping lightly, then hooks the hem of your dress and inches it up slow, exposing your thighs.

You whimper, nodding as your face burns hotter. “I’m sorry. I just...wanted to you notice me. Makes me feel...”

“Wanted? Fuck, yeah, you are.” He finishes it for you, voice dropping to a gravelly growl, his hand slipping higher to discover you’re bare beneath. 

His fingers trace your slick folds, parting them gently at first.

“Christ, no panties today? Lesson two: Own what you provoke. You’re soakin’ wet already, drippin’ down your thighs for an old man like me.”

He circles your clit with his middle finger, pressing just right—slow, firm circles that make your knees buckle. You love it, the way his filthy words twist in your gut, making you clench around nothing.

“Mr. Miller—“ you moan out, hips bucking forward instinctively, chasing the pleasure. Your hands grip the sink edge behind you, flustered breaths coming fast.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Say it—admit you left ‘em for me, wanted me strokin’ my cock to the thought of buryin’ it in you.” 

He dips one thick finger inside your pussy, curling it deep to stroke your inner walls, the stretch making your eyes roll back. His free arm braces above you on the mirror, caging you in as he pumps slow, agonising.

You gasp, walls fluttering around him. 

“I did...wanted you to touch yourself to me. Please, show me more.” 

The words tumble out, embarrassed but honest, and you push back onto his hand, loving how full he makes you already.

“Good girl. Y’learnin’ fast.” He adds a second finger, stretching you wider, thrusting them in and out with wet, obscene sounds that echo off the tiles. His thumb starts  working your clit, building that coil tighter.

“Feel that? How your greedy little cunt sucks me in? Been dreamin’ of this—your tight hole grippin’ me like it never wants to let go.”

You nod frantically, moans spilling free as pleasure sparks through you. “Yes—feels so good, don’t stop.”

Your body loves every filthy syllable, the way he talks like he’s claiming you, making your arousal drip down his knuckles.

He withdraws his fingers suddenly, leaving you aching and empty, and you whine at the loss. But then the rasp of his zipper fills the air and his cock springs free—thick, veined, the head flushed pink and leaking pre cum. He wraps his hand around the base, stroking once, twice, his eyes devouring you. 

“Lesson three: How it feels to take what’s been buildin’ up. Gonna fuck this sweet pussy raw, fill it with my cum just like I did your panties.”

He rubs the fat head along your slit, coating himself in your juices, teasing your entrance. 

“Sweet pussy. Sweet fuckin’ pussy. Been so long since I had one this tight and wet.” He growls.

You love it, the praise mixed with his dirty edge, making you throb for him.

With a low, guttural groan, he pushes in—inch by thick inch, the stretch burning so good as your walls part for him.

“Breathe through it, darlin’, let me in deep.” His hands grip your hips hard, guiding you down onto him until he’s buried to the hilt, balls pressed against your ass. “Thaaat’s it, honey.” 

You brace on the sink, pushing back to meet him, the fullness overwhelming you. 

“Mr. Miller—oh god, you’re so big. Deeper, please.” Your voice is breathy, flustered, but you rock your hips, loving how he splits your pussy right open.

He starts thrusting—slow at first, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, the slap of his hips against your ass punctuating each drive. One hand slides up to cup your breast through the dress, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you arch. 

“That’s right, take every inch. Been holdin’ back too long from a little tease like you—now you’re milkin’ my cock, beggin’ for it without sayin’ a word.” 

His pace picks up, pounding deeper, the angle hitting that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyes.

You cry out, legs trembling as you wrap one around his waist, pulling him closer. 

“Yes—fuck me harder, Mr. Miller.”  The words feel bold, but his filthiness eggs you on, your pussy clenching rhythmically around him.

“Greedy girl.” 

He grunts with each thrust, sweat beading on his brow, his free hand dropping to rub your clit in tight circles. The dual sensation has you spiraling, the bathroom filling with the wet sounds of him fucking you senseless, your walls clamping down real greedily.

“I’m close, don’t stop.” You whimper out.

You shatter first, orgasm crashing over you like a wave—your pussy spasms wildly around his cock, gushing wetness as you scream his name.

He follows right after, burying himself balls-deep with a low goran, his cock throbbing as he unloads. Thick ropes of hot cum pulse into you, flooding your walls, so much so that it starts leaking out around him with every grind. 

“Take it all, darlin’—fillin’ this sweet pussy up, markin’ you with my seed. Fuck, you’re perfect—taking every drop.”

He holds you pinned there through the aftershocks, his mouth crashing down on yours in a deep, possessive kiss, tongue claiming as his cock pumps the rest of his spurts.

Finally, he pulls out slow, watching with dark eyes as his cum drips from your swollen pussy, trailing down your thighs. 

“Trouble,” he mutters gruffly against your lips, but his hand strokes your back soft, almost tender. “But you’re gettin’ the idea now.”

Also look who I got yall🥰🥰😜hehe

The extent of it had been kisses that got heated enough for her to be pressed against the passenger door of his car before he’d apologized, fixing her lipstick with his thumb and told her with a slight blush on his cheeks that he’d ’gotten carried away’ and apologized for not controlling himself, but he was very enamored with her. Even if it left her with damp panties and a second heartbeat between her legs, the tenderness in which he treated her had been the stand out of it all.

It was the exact opposite of every man she had ever been with. There had been no hint of even daring to suggest a hook up, or bypass the dates to get to the ‘fun stuff.’ Granted, she had asked him what his intentions were when he’d asked her out originally and he’d seemingly honestly told her that he wanted a real relationship and connection- but Y/N had been a bit cynical. 

So many times she had gone out with a man who said they were looking for something real but they’d attempt to speedrun the first date to get her alone, or see her a few times, fuck around and then suddenly ‘not feel the spark’ before moving on to another woman to do the exact same thing. Take, take, take without receiving. Literally, in some senses, considering an alarming amount of men didn’t know where the clitoris was located.

The dating scene had been fatigued for her for a long time, and despite the hopes she’d had for Harry, she hadn’t allowed herself to hope. That itself had been hard when it felt like her personal dream man had been laid out in front of her, with pretty seafoam green eyes and dimples she wanted to indulge in poking, so she had told herself that no matter how much she liked him, she would try to hold herself back. 

Funny, that was. It hadn’t been that long into dating when she had realized how incredible he was. How intelligent and kind he was, how he had most of the qualities she’d put down in her journals at 3 am when she needed to dream a little bit. Harry was what she wanted, and allowing herself to want it openly had been hard- but she’d been met with a warm reception. 

Being a very successful man in business with multiple companies and hats he had to wear, Harry could be seen as a bit stiff, but she’d been able to see past that because he was letting her. She’d seen him laugh and dance a little bit to music he showed her, and just because he was wearing a suit a lot of the time didn’t mean he was what she’d probably have shamefully assumed of a man like him at first glance. Harry wanted to be good, he wanted to give her what she wanted, and for once in her life, she had let go a little bit and let him. 

God, she wanted to fuck him. He hadn’t budged on that, and she hadn’t pushed too hard, but thankfully she hadn’t been made to wait an excessive amount of time. 

It had been 7 official dates, 3 coffee dates on their lunch at work and 2 times meeting for drinks until he’d asked her to be official. The meticulously prepared candlelit dinner at his place was where he’d gotten her favorite meal prepared, gotten her favorite eclairs from the bakery down the road, and had curated a playlist of artists she’d mentioned liking before he’d asked her on his couch if he would be able to have the ‘honor of being hers’ and vice versa. 

It had been the easiest yes of her life, considering the man had put in more effort than she had thought possible. For once in her life she had felt cherished and looked after. He’d sent her money for her nails earlier in the day as well; which she had never asked for but he had said was ‘a man should look after a woman he cares about, even if they are more than capable of taking care of them selves’, and she had decided in the seat while getting her feet scrubbed and the cucumber lotion slathered onto her that she would stop at nothing to lock this man down. 

Turned out he was one step ahead. He’d always been one step ahead. And it also turned out she had misjudged him, even if only just. 

He had a lot of charisma that was disguised as something else; a big energy that had let her think that he had to be good in bed. That feeling had only been slightly challenged with how quickly he had calmed things down when she had wanted more a few times. In short- she had assumed that maybe the energy he put off was a facade and perhaps his one flaw would be he wouldn’t be very adventurous in the bedroom. Maybe a missionary with the lights off type of guy which, hey! It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. She could fix that. 

Harry was a teachable man, considering how brilliant he was. He hadn’t been suggestive and she had sat back and had the self conversation about being willing to show him what she liked, to give him a crash course in dirty talk and how to fuck her how she liked because with everything else he had, sex was something she knew could be adjusted. 

It was very, very clear, feeling his large hands on him and her bare tits exposed to the cool air of his bedroom that she had been sorely mistaken. Nipples swollen and sensitive from the way he’d sucked and let his teeth graze them, dress tossed to the side leaving her splayed out naked on his bed, he’d been unable to keep his hands off of her after she asked him if they could ‘do more’ now that they were an official item.

 He’d taken the challenge very literally. 

  “Look at that little clit.” He murmured, brushing his thumb over the swollen nerve. Sitting on his knees between her spread, wet thighs, he looked more comfortable than she would be with hardwood digging into her knees, but it was most likely because of the distraction in front of him. “Poor thing. All sorts of worked up, aren’t you?”

Y/N let out a soft sigh, nodding her head as she bit back a moan. The smallest touches were setting her off. Harry had turned her body into a live wire. With him circling over her clit and the hot wash of his breath as he spread her cunt open for him to see, it was becoming difficult to breathe. Life, and Harry apparently, had come at her fast. So fast that her head was spinning, showing her just how dirty the proper man could really be.

“Yeah, I bet you are. I’ve been thinking about this for a long, long time. Did Y’know that?” Eyes looked up at her, dark and hungry as she shook her head in response. Words escaped her, but she managed to get out a strangled “N-No…” as he hummed under his breath. 

That was in fact, news to her.

“I have been. Since the first night we’ve met. I tried very hard t’be good. To not think about you in such a filthy way, but it was difficult. Talked to you for a bit… admitted how absolutely incredible you are… how beautiful… and I knew you had to have the prettiest little pussy. I was wrong, though.” He turned his head just a bit to kiss her sensitive and slightly sticky inner thigh, letting out a chuckle when she jumped just a tad. “It’s even prettier. Most gorgeous cunt I’ve ever seen.” 

It was unnerving to feel his gaze on her, to know he was well and truly up close and personal with perhaps the most vulnerable part of her, but she could see the admiration and hunger in his eyes. She couldn’t even pretend not to see it as he let his slippery thumb glide up to her mound of soft flesh above her cunt and back down to her entrance, spreading the slick around. 

“Can’t believe how wet you’ve gotten for me. I won’t lie to you, my sweet girl… I’ve been dying for this to be mine.” His voice rumbled against her thigh as he laid a line of kisses, wet and slow up the sensitive skin. She’d have burn from his mustache on her thighs, surely, but Y/N didn’t care. It felt so good, her poor clit was throbbing underneath the passes of the pad of his thumb, and she wanted more. 

“Please…” She croaked, lifting her hips. It felt hard to think, let alone speak, but he seemed to like that. Revel in the effect he had on her. “Please, Harry.”

“Please? Please what, sweetheart?” He murmured, pulling back from his kisses to spread her thighs open with his forearms. “What do you want me to do to my pussy, hm?” 

Y/N bit her lip to bite back the scream, because what the fuck? How did he do that? How did he command her body so fucking easily that she could feel the trickle of arousal drip down her ass from the soft rasp of his voice and the intensity of how he spoke. Soft spoken, but meaning every syllable he let pass his lips. 

His pussy. That was something he’d obviously been dying to say- but she hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted him to own it. 

“Because, sweet, precious girl…” He sighed, spreading the lips open as he got a good look at her. “I’m not sure m’quite done admiring my pussy yet. So I think you can sit there and be the cute little thing you always are for me while I get better acquainted with her, and then I’ll give you what you want.” 

It was hard not to let her hips jerk up as he tapped his fingertip over her clit, letting another breath wash over her as the heat of it made her stomach tingle. He was staring, admiring, analyzing her like she was art at a museum and that had never been anything close to what she experienced- so who was she to tell him no.

“Yeah I can… I can sit. I can wait.” Her throat felt thick as she spoke but she managed more than two words, and that was a feat in itself.

The smile on his lips was her even bigger reward. 

“Thatta girl.” He praised, leaning up a bit to kiss her lower tummy- very close to where she wanted him to be. “I’ll always treat you well. Make it worth your while for letting me see what you’re letting me own, hm? Suck that pretty clit and make you stain the sheets… give you anything you want. Just need to stare a bit longer before I get her all puffy and wet… ruin her a little bit.” 

She was already ruined, but she had vastly underestimated the way it would feel to have a man she desired so intensely to coo and stare at her body like it was his favorite thing. 

Honestly, she had no idea how long it had been of his sweet and filthy words. His knees had to be numb as he dragged her to the edge of the bed, chuckling at her squeal of surprise as he pulled back for a moment to run his hand down her body. From her collarbone all the way to her cunt, cupping it in his large palm as she let out a strangled moan. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Seeing you spread open for me… You have no idea what that does to me, little treasure.” Clicking his tongue, he momentarily removed his hands to roll up the sleeves of his button up. 

The always impeccably pressed and starched button ups, rolling the sleeves up his forearms as he began to look undone himself. The hair he gelled back tousled from her hands, a curl draped over his forehead and the 5 o’clock shadow was getting darker from when she’d first arrived. It was a brand new side to him. 

“I’ve tried very hard to behave, Y/N. I’m a gentleman, and I will treat you as such… but something has clued me into the fact that it may not be what you want in this scenario, hm?” He shifted on his knees and she could hear the metallic clinking of his belt, but it was hidden from view. “I have to admit to you that I’ve never felt such unadulterated hunger in my life as I have with you. I don’t feel passion to this level. But you’ve brought something out of me, and I have to tell you that I’m becoming obsessed with you.” Lifting her leg, he planted a wet kiss to her calf. “With your voice.” A kiss to her knee. “With how you look at me, your intelligence…” he rounded up her thigh. “And now, this body.”

He audibly groaned as he spread her lips open with his fingers again, pursing his lips- and surprising the hell out of her- spitting on her clit. His eyes didn’t stray as she gasped, watching it slide down her pussy before he rubbed it into her already soaked skin. “So let me show you just how crazy you’ve made me. How obsessed I am with you. And most of all… how grateful I am that you’re letting me own you.”

Harry did more than that. 

With his mouth on her, Y/N felt like she was floating. Again and again, he made her cum. Like a man starved, he’d barely pulled away from her pussy- save for letting his tongue run over her other hole which had her shuddering from the touch she wasn’t used to- and she had to wonder if he’d ever be able to be pulled away.

“You have no idea…” The usually well put together man whined against her pussy, trying to get her to cum a fourth time. It almost hurt, tingly and sharp, but she loved the pain as he sucked over her clit and sloppily spit back down over it. Webs of her arousal and his saliva stuck to his chin as he worked his fingers inside of her, the other hand keeping her down by pressing over her stomach. “No fucking idea what trouble you’ve just started.” 

Y/N only hoped she could get more of it. 

“It feels…” Y/N was finding it hard to breathe for an entirely different reason now. “God, it hurts but it feels so good. You’re r-ruining me. Like you said… oh, fuck.” Her hips tipped up as he curled his fingers, a deep chuckle vibrating against her clit. The sounds were pure filth. The squelch of his fingers fucking her deep and practiced, his mouth sucking on her cunt, his groans and her weak whimpers and whines as she tried to keep her head on straight bounced off his maroon walls. “H-Harry I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna fucking cum a-again and… fuck, I’m gonna make a mess.”

She’d only been able to do it twice before, and she’d done it herself. Truthfully, the reason she didn’t go for it more often was because of the mess squirting made- but that didn’t deter the older man.

If anything, it spurred him on further. 

“Make a mess then, treasure.” He panted, nosing at her clit. “Make a mess all over my hand and my face. I don’t give a fuck about the sheets.” One of the first true curses she’d heard from him had her clenching around him, but more than that was seeing him so undone. Wrecked by her alone, his new fascination with her pussy. “You’re going to give it t’me now. Alright?” His hand on her stomach came down to smack at her clit, the light, sharp sting making a gasp rip from her throat. 

Fuck, that was good.

“You’re almost there. I can feel it. M’not stopping. Give it to me, Y/N. Let me see what my pretty pussy can do. Want the mess, want you to soak me. Be good for me, give it.” He was commanding it, keeping the pace just as he had it as his mouth went back to her clit. 

Her body liked to obey. 

With a scream that startled herself, she slapped her hand over her mouth as she came. Squirting on his fingers, she felt him moan against her pussy as he pulled his mouth off her clit and rubbed it frantically instead with his hand. “Give it t’me, give it baby- yes, yes, thatta-fuckin’-girl…. That’s what I want, give me what I want, let me give it to you- Fuck.” He snarled, tongue lapping over his fingers to taste her. 

Writhing on the bed, she let out a little sob as she fell back flat on the bed instead of sitting on her elbows, body jerking as little bursts of her squirted over his fingers and surely soaked his hand. Never had she heard him so unhinged as he lapped her up, thanking her in between and telling her she was a good girl, that she was perfect as his fingers slowed until they stilled inside of her, kisses pressed to her thighs and belly as she got over sensitive. 

It felt a bit fuzzy as she whined at the emptiness, a brief recalling of him saying to sit still before he was back, stroking sweaty hair out of her face and a warm washcloth gently cleaning between her thighs.

“There you are.” He murmured, voice warm and smile soft as he swiped his finger over her cheeks. “M’sorry baby. Got overwhelmed, hm? No more tears.”

Y/N hadn’t even realized she’d been crying. It just felt so good, she felt so safe, and she’d drifted away. Coming back to his smiling face felt very good, especially with his tender touch. “Hi.” She peeped, reaching up for him. There was no fight from him to come down, balancing on his one hand as he gave her the kiss she wanted. 

“Hello, beautiful girl.” He murmured with an amused smile. “Let me take care of you, okay?” 

“Mm… ‘Kay. For how long?” She asked without meaning to, but his answer was what she wanted to hear regardless.

the first thing steve registers is sound.

not loud enough to jolt him awake all at once but small, broken, barely-there noises, tucked into the quiet of the house. the kind that don’t belong in a nightmare, but don’t quite feel right either.

he blinks into the dark, body still heavy with sleep, arms instinctively tightening around the warm weight sprawled across him.

you’re tangled together the way you always are by morning. your leg thrown over his hip, your cheek pressed into his chest, his arm curved securely around your back.

another sound slips out of you, almost like a whimper.

steve’s heart kicks.

“hey,” he murmurs immediately, voice rough with sleep, hand smoothing up and down your spine. “hey, it’s okay. i got you.”

you don’t wake up.

his brain goes straight into panic mode because it always does with you.

nightmare, bad dream, something he missed. he shifts just enough to look down at you, trying to make out your face in the faint glow of the streetlight sneaking in through the thin curtains.

your brow isn’t furrowed. you’re not tense.

if anything… you’re warm and relaxed.

another sound leaves you, quieter this time, and steve freezes.

oh.

the concern drains out of him all at once, replaced with something slower, heavier, settling low in his stomach.

he tenses as he feels you rock your panty-clad cunt against his thigh. shiiiittttt.

you whimper softly in your sleep, still lost in the throes of your dream, as you start to grind your hips more deliberately against steve's thigh.

his breath catches in his throat as he realizes what's happening. he's frozen for a second, hardly believing it at first.

but there's no mistaking the slow, steady grind of your cunt against him now and the slick heat of your arousal bleeding through the thin fabric of your panties.

steve’s not sure whether to wake you or let you keep dreaming. he knows he should probably put a stop to this before it goes too far.

but god, the way you're rubbing up against him, chasing your own pleasure in your sleep, it's so fucking sexy.

he feels your little whimpers vibrating through his chest as your hips start grinding faster and harder, chasing something only you can feel.

he knows he should stop this. he should shake you awake right now. but he can't bring himself to do it.

so instead, he keeps his hand on your back, holding you close as you hump his thigh, your pussy soaking wet against his skin.

steve’s hand slips down from your back to cup the curve of your ass through your soaked panties. He squeezes the plump flesh, feeling it yield to his touch as he kneads and massages, trying to rouse you from your dream.

the more he touches you, the more you seem to lose yourself in it, your hips bucking more insistently against him. he feels the damp patch on your panties spreading, the fabric soaked through with your juices as you grind yourself stupid against him.

he can't stand it anymore. he needs to wake you up, needs to see your eyes open, and know you're okay. that this is what you want too.

the slips his fingers under the elastic of your panties, pushing them to the side as he cups your bare cunt in his large hand.

your skin is scorching hot and slick with arousal, swollen lips parting around his invading digit as he pushes one long finger deep inside you.

you moan aloud, low and wanton in your sleep, your pussy clenching greedily around his finger as he starts to pump it in and out.

with his free hand, he reaches up and gently shakes your shoulder, murmuring your name into the darkness. "hey, sweetheart. wake up.”

you startled in your sleep, his touch and voice piercing through the haze of your dream. your eyes fluttered open, meeting his in the dim light filtering through the curtains.

confusion clouded your gaze momentarily as you tried to orient yourself, your mind still foggy from sleep.

"mmnh...steve?" you mumbled, your voice thick with exhaustion. your eyes widened as you felt his finger buried deep inside your dripping cunt, your body throbbing needily around the welcome intrusion.

the sensation sent sparks of pleasure up your spine, your nipples hardening beneath steve’s shirt you were using to sleep.

before you could say anything else, you found yourself rocking your hips forward, grinding against his hand as the remnants of your dream desire took over.

the movement pushed your pussy more firmly onto his finger, and you gasped softly as a particularly pleasurable jolt of sensation raced through you.

"oh god..." you whimpered, a blush creeping across your cheeks as you realized you had been humping him in your sleep.

"did i... i mean, were you just... oh!" your question dissolved into a moan as he sank a second finger inside you and curled them.

you gasp and shudder as steve curls his fingers just right, rubbing against that spongy spot deep inside that makes your toes curl and your back arch.

"yes," he rumbles, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with lust and desire. "you were rubbing yourself on my thigh in your sleep. fuck…i couldn't help myself when i felt how wet you were..."

his thumb finds your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves in slow, teasing strokes. your hips buck up to meet his touch as another whimper escapes your lips.

"does it feel good, baby?" he slides another thick finger inside you, stretching you open. "wanna hear you make those pretty little noises again..."

steve’s cock throbs eagerly between his legs as you sink yourself further onto his embedded fingers, your slick walls gripping him like a vice. he groans at the hot, tight feel of your cunt, your arousal dripping down to his palm.

"goddamn, you're fucking soaked," he grunts, his voice strained as he watches you fuck yourself on his fingers.

"did dreaming of getting fucked work you up so much? my dirty girl..."

"please, please..." your pleading whines fill the air, sweet and needy. "need your cock, steve. want it so bad."

you’re practically crawling out of your skin with longing, every nerve ending alight and screaming for his touch. your pussy throbs once again around his fingers, fluttering and clenching, trying to suck him deeper.

steve bites down on his lip as he pulls his fingers out of you slowly with a pop.

"c'mere baby.” he say softly, bringing you even closer to him. "gonna fuck this greedy little cunt real good."

he pushes your knees up and out, opening you wider to him as he settles between your thighs. he lifts his hips up and quickly slides off his boxers. the thick head of his cock nudges against your swollen folds, painting your slit with his own arousal.

your nails dig into steve’s biceps as he slowly bottoms out into you, eliciting gasps from both of you.

you nuzzle your head into his chest, your eyes watering at the stretch. “shhh, it’s okay, baby. i know…” he coos.

"fuck, so tight," he groans, holding himself still, letting you adjust to his size.

slowly, he starts to move, rolling his hips up into your cunt.

"s..so big," you whine breathlessly, feeling every thick inch of him sliding in and out of your fluttering core. "filling me up so good..."

steve shushes you with a deep, rumbling moan, his hand cupping your jaw as he claims your mouth in a searing kiss. his tongue delves past your parted lips, stroking along yours, swallowing your needy little whimpers.

he sets a steady rhythm. his large hands gripping your hips as he rocks you down onto his cock.

"nngh, you feel so fucking good," steve grits out between clenched teeth, sweat dampening his brow as he loses himself in the slick slide of your bodies moving together.

"gonna fuck you all... ugh... fucking night if you keep squeezing me like this." he chokes out.

his fingers find your sensitive clit, rubbing slick circles over the swollen nub as he drives into you over and over. the dual stimulation has you seeing stars, your pussy spasming erratically around him.

steve pulls you flush against his broad chest, strong arms wrapping around you like a bear hug as he rolls his hips up to meet yours.

"fuck, sweetheart, feel so good around me," he rumbles, his voice low and deep in his chest which is pressed against yours.

"your pussy... it's perfect baby. squeezing my cock like you never want me to leave."

he peppers kisses across your neck and cheeks, murmuring praise and adoration between each thrust. "such a good girl, taking me so deep. so beautiful.”

he hands roam your curves greedily, palming your breasts, kneading the flesh as it bounces from the force of his thrusts.

"gorgeous," he murmurs, voice ragged with emotion and lust. his gaze is locked on your face, drinking in every flicker of pleasure, every flash of ecstasy that crosses your features. "sexiest fucking thing i've ever seen."

the shifts the angle of his hips, hitting that secret spot deep inside that makes you scream.

"yeah? right there, baby? you like that?" he starts thrusting harder, faster, driving into you with increasing fervor as your slick walls clench and flutter around him.

the wet, obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, punctuated by your breathy moans and his low, guttural grunts.

"that’s it, baby. fuck, just like that,” he moans, hugging you tighter and kissing the top of your head.

“c…c…cum…” you babble, completely fucked dumb. trying to warn him about your impending release.

“yeah? come on baby. cum for me.” steve captures your mouth in a searing kiss once again, swallowing your screams.

when he slams home one last time, grinding his pelvis against yours, it sends you tumbling right over the edge.

you cry against his lips. his cock pulses with his impending release as your nails drag down his chest. “shit. that’s it… that’s my fucking girl.”

when you pull back slightly and he’s met with your fucked out face, he loses it. “oh fuck—“ he moans, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

rope after rope of his release floods your cunt, making your pussy spasm weakly.

after a few minutes of silence besides the heavy breathing between the two of you, steve laughs… out of breath and disbelief.

the first thing steve registers is sound.

not loud enough to jolt him awake all at once but small, broken, barely-there noises, tucked into the quiet of the house. the kind that don’t belong in a nightmare, but don’t quite feel right either.

he blinks into the dark, body still heavy with sleep, arms instinctively tightening around the warm weight sprawled across him.

you’re tangled together the way you always are by morning. your leg thrown over his hip, your cheek pressed into his chest, his arm curved securely around your back.

another sound slips out of you, almost like a whimper.

steve’s heart kicks.

“hey,” he murmurs immediately, voice rough with sleep, hand smoothing up and down your spine. “hey, it’s okay. i got you.”

you don’t wake up.

his brain goes straight into panic mode because it always does with you.

nightmare, bad dream, something he missed. he shifts just enough to look down at you, trying to make out your face in the faint glow of the streetlight sneaking in through the thin curtains.

your brow isn’t furrowed. you’re not tense.

if anything… you’re warm and relaxed.

another sound leaves you, quieter this time, and steve freezes.

oh.

the concern drains out of him all at once, replaced with something slower, heavier, settling low in his stomach.

he tenses as he feels you rock your panty-clad cunt against his thigh. shiiiittttt.

you whimper softly in your sleep, still lost in the throes of your dream, as you start to grind your hips more deliberately against steve's thigh.

his breath catches in his throat as he realizes what's happening. he's frozen for a second, hardly believing it at first.

but there's no mistaking the slow, steady grind of your cunt against him now and the slick heat of your arousal bleeding through the thin fabric of your panties.

steve’s not sure whether to wake you or let you keep dreaming. he knows he should probably put a stop to this before it goes too far.

but god, the way you're rubbing up against him, chasing your own pleasure in your sleep, it's so fucking sexy.

he feels your little whimpers vibrating through his chest as your hips start grinding faster and harder, chasing something only you can feel.

he knows he should stop this. he should shake you awake right now. but he can't bring himself to do it.

so instead, he keeps his hand on your back, holding you close as you hump his thigh, your pussy soaking wet against his skin.

steve’s hand slips down from your back to cup the curve of your ass through your soaked panties. He squeezes the plump flesh, feeling it yield to his touch as he kneads and massages, trying to rouse you from your dream.

the more he touches you, the more you seem to lose yourself in it, your hips bucking more insistently against him. he feels the damp patch on your panties spreading, the fabric soaked through with your juices as you grind yourself stupid against him.

he can't stand it anymore. he needs to wake you up, needs to see your eyes open, and know you're okay. that this is what you want too.

the slips his fingers under the elastic of your panties, pushing them to the side as he cups your bare cunt in his large hand.

your skin is scorching hot and slick with arousal, swollen lips parting around his invading digit as he pushes one long finger deep inside you.

you moan aloud, low and wanton in your sleep, your pussy clenching greedily around his finger as he starts to pump it in and out.

with his free hand, he reaches up and gently shakes your shoulder, murmuring your name into the darkness. "hey, sweetheart. wake up.”

you startled in your sleep, his touch and voice piercing through the haze of your dream. your eyes fluttered open, meeting his in the dim light filtering through the curtains.

confusion clouded your gaze momentarily as you tried to orient yourself, your mind still foggy from sleep.

"mmnh...steve?" you mumbled, your voice thick with exhaustion. your eyes widened as you felt his finger buried deep inside your dripping cunt, your body throbbing needily around the welcome intrusion.

the sensation sent sparks of pleasure up your spine, your nipples hardening beneath steve’s shirt you were using to sleep.

before you could say anything else, you found yourself rocking your hips forward, grinding against his hand as the remnants of your dream desire took over.

the movement pushed your pussy more firmly onto his finger, and you gasped softly as a particularly pleasurable jolt of sensation raced through you.

"oh god..." you whimpered, a blush creeping across your cheeks as you realized you had been humping him in your sleep.

"did i... i mean, were you just... oh!" your question dissolved into a moan as he sank a second finger inside you and curled them.

you gasp and shudder as steve curls his fingers just right, rubbing against that spongy spot deep inside that makes your toes curl and your back arch.

"yes," he rumbles, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with lust and desire. "you were rubbing yourself on my thigh in your sleep. fuck…i couldn't help myself when i felt how wet you were..."

his thumb finds your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves in slow, teasing strokes. your hips buck up to meet his touch as another whimper escapes your lips.

"does it feel good, baby?" he slides another thick finger inside you, stretching you open. "wanna hear you make those pretty little noises again..."

steve’s cock throbs eagerly between his legs as you sink yourself further onto his embedded fingers, your slick walls gripping him like a vice. he groans at the hot, tight feel of your cunt, your arousal dripping down to his palm.

"goddamn, you're fucking soaked," he grunts, his voice strained as he watches you fuck yourself on his fingers.

"did dreaming of getting fucked work you up so much? my dirty girl..."

"please, please..." your pleading whines fill the air, sweet and needy. "need your cock, steve. want it so bad."

you’re practically crawling out of your skin with longing, every nerve ending alight and screaming for his touch. your pussy throbs once again around his fingers, fluttering and clenching, trying to suck him deeper.

steve bites down on his lip as he pulls his fingers out of you slowly with a pop.

"c'mere baby.” he say softly, bringing you even closer to him. "gonna fuck this greedy little cunt real good."

he pushes your knees up and out, opening you wider to him as he settles between your thighs. he lifts his hips up and quickly slides off his boxers. the thick head of his cock nudges against your swollen folds, painting your slit with his own arousal.

your nails dig into steve’s biceps as he slowly bottoms out into you, eliciting gasps from both of you.

you nuzzle your head into his chest, your eyes watering at the stretch. “shhh, it’s okay, baby. i know…” he coos.

"fuck, so tight," he groans, holding himself still, letting you adjust to his size.

slowly, he starts to move, rolling his hips up into your cunt.

"s..so big," you whine breathlessly, feeling every thick inch of him sliding in and out of your fluttering core. "filling me up so good..."

steve shushes you with a deep, rumbling moan, his hand cupping your jaw as he claims your mouth in a searing kiss. his tongue delves past your parted lips, stroking along yours, swallowing your needy little whimpers.

he sets a steady rhythm. his large hands gripping your hips as he rocks you down onto his cock.

"nngh, you feel so fucking good," steve grits out between clenched teeth, sweat dampening his brow as he loses himself in the slick slide of your bodies moving together.

"gonna fuck you all... ugh... fucking night if you keep squeezing me like this." he chokes out.

his fingers find your sensitive clit, rubbing slick circles over the swollen nub as he drives into you over and over. the dual stimulation has you seeing stars, your pussy spasming erratically around him.

steve pulls you flush against his broad chest, strong arms wrapping around you like a bear hug as he rolls his hips up to meet yours.

"fuck, sweetheart, feel so good around me," he rumbles, his voice low and deep in his chest which is pressed against yours.

"your pussy... it's perfect baby. squeezing my cock like you never want me to leave."

he peppers kisses across your neck and cheeks, murmuring praise and adoration between each thrust. "such a good girl, taking me so deep. so beautiful.”

he hands roam your curves greedily, palming your breasts, kneading the flesh as it bounces from the force of his thrusts.

"gorgeous," he murmurs, voice ragged with emotion and lust. his gaze is locked on your face, drinking in every flicker of pleasure, every flash of ecstasy that crosses your features. "sexiest fucking thing i've ever seen."

the shifts the angle of his hips, hitting that secret spot deep inside that makes you scream.

"yeah? right there, baby? you like that?" he starts thrusting harder, faster, driving into you with increasing fervor as your slick walls clench and flutter around him.

the wet, obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, punctuated by your breathy moans and his low, guttural grunts.

"that’s it, baby. fuck, just like that,” he moans, hugging you tighter and kissing the top of your head.

“c…c…cum…” you babble, completely fucked dumb. trying to warn him about your impending release.

“yeah? come on baby. cum for me.” steve captures your mouth in a searing kiss once again, swallowing your screams.

when he slams home one last time, grinding his pelvis against yours, it sends you tumbling right over the edge.

you cry against his lips. his cock pulses with his impending release as your nails drag down his chest. “shit. that’s it… that’s my fucking girl.”

when you pull back slightly and he’s met with your fucked out face, he loses it. “oh fuck—“ he moans, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

rope after rope of his release floods your cunt, making your pussy spasm weakly.

after a few minutes of silence besides the heavy breathing between the two of you, steve laughs… out of breath and disbelief.

The bar was dim, all amber light and polished brass, the kind of place that made him feel out of place in his work boots and slightly rumpled flannel. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it down, but it was a lost cause. Perfect fucking first impression.

Then he saw you.

You were sitting at a small table near the back, laughing at something a woman across from you had said. And Joel stopped in his tracks. You looked so damn beautiful it knocked the air out of him. That purple off-the-shoulder top clung to you in a way that made his chest tighten, paired with a tight black skirt and strappy heels that showed off more than usual.

Three days. That’s how long it had been since he’d last seen you, and it was ridiculous how much he’d missed you. Hosting your girlfriend had kept you busy, but Joel had felt the absence like a dull ache. In the past year, you’d become so woven into his and Sarah’s life that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone even a day without seeing you.

He started toward the table, his boots heavy against the sleek floor, his heart beating faster than he wanted to admit. Your friend turned first, her smile bright and welcoming, but Joel’s eyes stayed locked on you. You looked up, and the way your face lit when you saw him—like he was the one you’d been waiting for—made every second of being late worth it.

You stood, chair scraping softly, and crossed the few steps to him wrapping your arms around his neck, and he pulled you in his palm settling warm at the small of your back.

"Hey," you breathed, smiling into the hug.

"Sorry for being’ late," he dipped his head, mouth near your ear. "You look so fuckin' beautiful."

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, your fingers tightening briefly in his shirt. He felt it—the way you went soft and shy in his arms—and he eased back just enough to catch your eyes, the corner of his mouth lifting like he was proud he could do that to you.

"Stop," you murmured, but it wasn’t really a protest. He chuckled, thumb brushing your knuckles before he let you go.

You turned and gestured toward the table.

"Joel, this is Layla."

Layla was already halfway up, her grin sharp. "Finally," she said, offering her hand. "The famous Joel."

"The famous Layla," he replied, taking her hand, his drawl gentling. "Good to meet you. Heard a lot."

"Oh, I’m sure you have," Layla said, eyes flicking between you and Joel. "Some of it true. Some of it… better saved for later." She winked.

You shot her a look, half warning, half amused, and Joel pulled out the third chair. He sat, posture easing as you settled back beside him, your knee finding his under the table. The server appeared with menus; Layla ordered something fruity, you asked for the lavender gin everyone had been talking about, and Joel requested a whiskey neat.

Layla leaned on her elbows. "So," she said, playful. "Tell me—how did you two actually meet? I’ve heard your version." She pointed at you. "I want his."

"Hardware store," he said. "She thought I was an employee and asked me where she could find the best screws. I recommended dinner first." His eyes cut to you, teasing.

"He did not say that." you groaned.

"He did," Layla laughed, delighted. "And I already like him more."

Joel relaxed, stealing a longer look at you in that purple top, then tearing his attention back to the conversation like he knew he’d get lost if he didn’t. He reached under the table, found your hand, gave it a light squeeze.

As the drinks arrived, the three of you drank and Layla shifted the focus easily, her attention turning toward Joel. She asked about Sarah first, her tone warm but probing, wanting to know what she was like, what she loved, how Joel balanced everything as a father. Layla was nothing like you—her words quick, sharp, and unfiltered, sarcasm slipping easily into every sentence. Where you tended to soften edges, Layla leaned into them, blunt and unapologetic. From there, her questions widened, touching on his family, his work, the small details of his life that most people skimmed past. Joel answered and though he didn’t say much more than necessary, he appreciated the way Layla listened—really listened. He knew Layla mattered to you, and that meant her opinion mattered to him. He hoped he was passing whatever silent checklist she carried in her head.

Joel’s gaze drifted from Layla’s sharp smile back to you, and that’s when he noticed the glass in your hand. Your second lavender gin was nearly gone, and the server had just set down a third.

It caught him off guard. You weren’t someone who drank much—usually one glass of wine at dinner was enough, sometimes none at all. Going out wasn’t really your scene, and more often than not you were tucked into bed by ten, book folded on the nightstand.

He noticed the way your laugh was a little looser, the way you were tucking your hair back more often when you were flustered, and the way your eyelids were drooping more than usual.

Layla had been building to something—the kind of story that grew louder as the alcohol loosened tongues. "Right, so you remember that night in Santa Monica?" she said, eyes bright. "We tried to get into that club with our fake IDs that was basically impossible. We weren’t on the list, nothing, And then—" she looked directly at you, delighted —"you—"

You felt the blood drain from your face before the sentence finished. "Layla," you warned, but it was already too late.

"She flashed the bouncer!" Layla said, laughing so hard she had to clap a hand over her mouth. "The guy just stepped aside and said, 'Right this way,' like he couldn’t believe his luck getting to see her tits."

Joel sat frozen, the whiskey glass halfway to his lips, the words echoing louder than the music around him.

You turned toward Joel, the heat in your cheeks rising as Layla’s laughter still echoed between the three of you. His whiskey sat untouched, his eyes fixed on you with that stunned, searching look that made your stomach twist.

You bit your lip, shoulders curling slightly, and gave him the smallest, sheepish smile. "It was college. I was young and dumb."

Joel had never gone to college. But he knew the reputation. It meant a few reckless choices that people laughed about years later. But, a small part of him couldn’t shake the shock.

Flashing a bouncer?

"I mean, I did drag her to a lot of frat parties, tailgates, the whole scene," Layla said, waving her hand like she was brushing away the memory. "But at the end of the day, your girl is way cooler than me." Layla set her glass down with a thud, "the wildest stretch was when she lived with that roommate a few years after college who was dating a Clippers basketball player. I swear, it was like stepping into another universe. Suddenly we had access to things I’d only ever seen on TV—locker room passes, courtside seats, afterparties with athletes and their entourages. And the parties…they were insane. Rooftop pools, DJs flown in from Vegas, champagne towers taller than me." Layla leaned back, her glass forgotten on the table. She shook her head, still smiling, but her eyes found yours directly this time.

"God, you were fearless back then. Wild," she said, her voice carrying that mix of nostalgia and disbelief. Then she tipped her chin toward you, locking you in her gaze. "I swear, I thought you were going to end up famous or arrested."

 "Ha-ha," you let out a short, dry laugh. "Very funny."

"Famous or arrested, huh? Guess I should be grateful you picked neither," Joel said, shifting in his chair. "Sounds like you had a whole other life little ‘Miss Wild Child’. One I can’t even picture," the corner of his mouth tugged into something that looked like a smile but didn’t quite feel like one.

The realization made your stomach dip. You knew him well enough to notice the difference. Layla was oblivious to the shift. She laughed, reached for her glass, and launched into a tangent about something else. You tried to shake it off, to match Layla’s energy with a quick laugh, but your attention kept drifting back to him. He was present, saying the right things, nodding at the right beats, yet you could sense something was off.

Then his phone buzzed against the table. He glanced down, and he saw Sarah’s name. She’d forgotten her present to give to her friend at home, and was asking if he could drop it off at her sleepover. He stood, apologetic, kissing your temple, and thanked Layla with a polite nod before excusing himself for the night.

You watched Joel’s broad shoulders disappear into the crowd, the door swinging shut behind him with a rush of cold air. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, a nervous habit you couldn’t quite stop. Layla said your name, a soft nudge, to get your attention.

"Okay, he’s nice. So, fucking nice." she said, eyes bright. "And hot. Like stupid hot."

The waiter reappeared at the edge of the table, balancing a tray against his hip. He leaned in with a polite smile, lowering his voice just enough to cut through the music.

"By the way," he said, nodding toward the door Joel had just walked through, "the gentleman who was with you already covered the current bill. He also mentioned if you’d like to order more drinks, just keep it on his tab."

Layla let out a dramatic groan, dropping her head back against her chair. "Ugh. Of course he did. Because he’s a gentleman. A ridiculously hot gentleman."

You gave her the smile she wanted, and it landed, but something inside you didn’t. The compliment should have warmed you, but instead your stomach twisted. You tried to breathe through it, but the nausea lingered, growing heavier with each sip of water.

About thirty minutes (and another drink) later, you were in the bathroom, palms on cool porcelain as your stomach surrendered. Layla was there in an instant, her hand gathering your hair like she’d done a thousand times in a thousand different bathrooms. She rubbed circles between your shoulder blades, the same way she had many years ago, in dorm bathrooms and crowded apartments after too much cheap alcohol.

"I’m sorry," you managed between breaths, rinsing your mouth and grabbing a paper towel. "God, I’m so sorry."

"Dude, why are you apologizing?" she said, blinking at you. "You’ve helped me get my own vomit out of my hair."

You couldn’t help it—a snicker slipped out. A couple years ago Layla had whispered apologies to you while you worked shampoo and conditioner through her hair in a bathtub to unstick the mess after a wild night out in London.

"Alright. Let’s go home. We’ll throw on facemasks, order greasy food, and watch that new Pedro Pascal movie. You know, the one where somehow a guy with a twelve million dollar Tribeca apartment doesn’t get the girl." Layla rolled her eyes dramatically, making you laugh despite the queasy edge still clinging to you.

"The universe is broken," you teased.

Layla looped her arm through yours, steering you gently towards the door to exit the bathroom.

"You know, come to think of it," she said, tilting her head. "Joel sorta looks like him."

Two days later, by the time Joel’s key turned in the lock, you were already settled at the dining room table, the wok cooling on the stove and Sarah halfway through her latest story. You’d dropped Layla at the airport that morning, hugged her tight, promised to plan the next trip together, and then asked Joel if it was alright to come by for dinner. He’d said yes, even though he and Tommy had a client meeting, promising he’d be home in time.

Sarah filled the time easily—thirteen and brimming with energy, her voice animated as she bounced from one memory to the next. First came the birthday party over the weekend: the decorations, the music, the cake that collapsed halfway through the night. She leaned in conspiratorially when she told you about a boy she liked, cheeks pink, begging you not to tell Joel. "Seriously," she whispered, eyes wide. "He would die if he knew." You laughed, promised secrecy, and kept chopping scallions, the rhythm of cooking folding into the rhythm of her chatter.

The shrimp fried rice came together quickly, a dish you knew Joel would appreciate. Sarah hovered nearby, stealing bites straight from the pan, still spinning stories about her friends and the way the boy had smiled at her across the room.

When the door opened, Joel stepped inside, shoulders heavy from the day but his expression softening as the smell hit him.

"Somethin’ smells good," he said, dropping his bag by the door.

"Made your favorite," you murmured.

He crossed the room in a few strides, arms sliding around you from behind, his chin brushing your shoulder.

"I missed havin’ you round’ a lot this last week," he said.

"Me or my cooking?" you teased, tipping your head back enough to catch his eyes.

"Both," he murmured, a half-smile tugging at his mouth.

You all ate at the table, Sarah stealing extra shrimp and telling one last bit about the party while Joel asked her follow-up questions when she casually mentioned that boy name. He then shifted to you, mentioning a new contract he and Tommy landed—kitchen remodel, good timeline, even better margin—his voice warming as he outlined the plan between bites. When the plates were picked clean, he shooed you from the sink and handled the dishes. Sarah kissed your cheek, grabbed her backpack, and disappeared down the hall with a promise to 'totally, absolutely' do her homework.

In the hush that followed, you and Joel drifted to his bedroom. You traded the day’s clothes for your PJs, took your familiar sides of the bed, and exhaled at the same time. As soon as your head hit the pillow, you mumbled, "I’m so tired."

Joel glanced at the clock and smirked.

"It’s 8:30," he teased, settling back against the headboard.

"I had a busy last few days," you defended.

He tipped his head, amused.

"Oh. Miss Wild Child is tired, huh?"

You groaned.

You had told Joel that you threw up that night before going to bed, expecting him to tease you for it. And he did at first—but when you texted him yesterday, just a casual mention that you still felt off, his whole tone shifted. He called immediately, voice tight with worry, asking a dozen questions in that nervous, stressed way he did when he didn’t know how to fix something immediately.

You sure you’re okay baby? Did you eat? Do you need me to come over?

He showed up in the afternoon with a little care package tucked under his arm, even a silly note scrawled on the bag that read For Miss Wild Child’s recovery. It was simple, thoughtful, and so Joel.

When Layla saw she practically melted, clutching her chest dramatically. She swooned so hard you thought she might faint, insisting she’d never seen anyone be that sweet in real life. And you couldn’t help but smile, because she was right.

"Also, what the hell did Layla mean when she said she thought you would’ve gotten arrested?"

You darted your gaze away, fixing on the lamp, the blanket, anywhere but him. He didn’t let you slip out of it—his hand caught your wrist, tugging you forward until you were perched on his lap, his arm firm around your waist.

“Well?” he frowned.

“I have no idea what she’s talking about,” you replied, but your smile suggested that you did. There may or may not have been a phase in your life when you and a couple of friends discovered that the gate to a very fancy house’s backyard didn’t always latch. On certain nights, you’d slip through and sink into the hot tub and borrow someone else’s luxury for a few stolen hours.

It also might have been a celebrity's house.

Joel studied you, his silence heavier than any question.

"What?" you asked, fingers brushing through the scruff along his jaw, trying to lighten the moment.

"I can’t lie…" he exhaled, thumb tracing idle circles against your hip. "I felt jealous hearin’ bout’ your life before Austin."

"Jealous?" you echoed, brows lifting.

"I’m not exactly thrilled another man got to see these," he sighed, his hand slipping under your shirt skimming the underside of your breasts. A flicker of something dark and possessive flashed in his eyes. He didn’t mean to feel this way, but the mere mention of other men always stirred something primal within him. The thought of a man drooling over your perfect breasts, even though it was your past, made him feel slightly insecure.

"Maybe jealous ain’t the right word," he shook his head, correcting himself. "I guess just… hearin’ bout’ your life before me made me wonder if you’re enjoyin’ yourself now. If this—" his hand squeezed gently at your side—"is enough compared to all the fun you had before?"

Joel leaned back against the headboard, eyes tracing your perfect face. The thought pressed in, quiet but insistent: he was older than you. Not by that much, but enough that it mattered. Enough that sometimes he caught himself wondering if you’d shifted your habits to fit his life.

Because he had a kid.

Because he worked all the time.

Because he was a homebody.

He questioned if he was enough for you.

"Joel," you shifted in his lap, catching his beautiful brown eyes. "I had a lot of fun when I was living in L.A. Honestly, maybe even too much fun. There were nights that were wild, messy, and unforgettable…and I don’t regret a single one of them. And okay…yeah, Layla’s not wrong, I probably came close to trouble… more than once. But that was then."

You let your hand rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. "But I also love my life here. With you, with Sarah, with the friends I’ve made in Austin. I love the way Tommy and Maria always rope us into backyard grilling. I love that Sarah trusts me with her stories, like I belong in her little universe. And I love that you’ve opened yours to me." You hesitated for a moment, your gaze dropping to your lap as if searching for the right words. When you looked back up at him, there was a softness in your eyes that made his heart go ga-gunk. "It’s not about trading one life for another—it’s about choosing this one. I don’t feel like I gave anything up. I feel like I gained something better. I don’t need 'wild nights' to feel alive anymore. I feel it here, in Austin, with you. With us. So please don’t question if I’m enjoying myself with my very sweet and very sexy boyfriend. Because I am. More than you know."

His eyes crinkled at the corners, a wide grin spreading across his face before his tongue invaded your mouth for a searing kiss. When Joel pulled back from the kiss, his forehead rested against yours, breath still uneven but his smile wide and boyish.

"You know," he murmured, voice cheeky and warm, "you should just move in already."

"Move in? Really?" Your eyes widened, a nervous laugh slipping out.

"Yeah," he nodded, thumb brushing along your jaw, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You already practically live here and Sarah asks where you are if you ain’t round’. Feels like this house is yours too."

You hesitated, chewing your lip. The two of you had been dating for just under a year, and since you’d never shared a home with a boyfriend before, you couldn’t decide if this was rushing things or simply the natural next step.

"Are you sure Sarah will be okay with it?" you asked, wrapping your arms around his neck and playing with his hair.

"She’ll be more than okay with it. Honestly? I think she likes you more than she likes me."

You rolled your eyes, but the certainty in his voice and the warmth in his smile made it hard not to believe him. He leaned in again, brushing his lips against yours, "Truth is, I need you here. Every damn day," he groaned, grounding his hips against your clothed cunt, letting you feel the evidence of his hardening cock.

"Well, now I know why you really want me to move in," you moaned, feeling your panties getting slick with your wetness. You pressed your lips into the hollow of his throat, your nose tracing his hot skin as his throat bobbed with a swallow.

"It’s been five fuckin' days without your perfect pussy. I’m barley holdin’ on by a thread." Joel confessed, the truth spilling out before he could censor himself.

Your cheeks warmed at his words. You could feel his desire radiating off him, and it stirred something within you as well. You leaned closer, the space between you shrinking to nothing, your heart racing in anticipation.

"Joel—" you started, but before you could finish your thought, he reached up to cup your face gently, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your lips. "I love you," he murmured, his eyes locked onto yours.

No matter how many times he said it, the words always landed like a small, private sunrise inside you.

"I love you too."

And you did.

You were a terribly lucky woman to have him in your life.

Joel tried to slip his hands under your sleep shorts but then his eyes widened in surprise when you rose from the bed and, with a playful shove, guided Joel to sit on the edge. You sank to your knees, looking up at him. The air was thick with anticipation as you reached for the waistband of his briefs and looked at him from under your lashes.

"I would love to move in, by the way." you breathed, and gave him a wink.

Joel’s breathing grew heavier as you pulled him out gently stroking him in the palm of your hand, your eyes locked onto his. He was thick and swollen with arousal, watching you intently, "God, you’re perfect," he breathed. Saying yes to moving in and sucking his cock, what did he do to deserve you?

You leaned forward, your breath ghosting over his skin before finally sticking your tongue along his leaking tip, teasing him. Then you licked your hand and grabbed him firmly at the base and took him back into your mouth.

"Mmm," you murmured never taking your eyes off of him.

"Fuck," he hissed, and the sounds he was making were so filthy that you had to clench your legs shut.

As you swirled your tongue around him, you felt him shiver, his fingers tangling in your hair, gently urging you closer. You lost yourself in the rhythm, your senses heightened as you focused on the sounds he made, the way his body reacted to each movement. You slid him deeper into your mouth as you breathed through your nose and hummed around him.

You listened as he struggled to speak. "Just like that," he groaned, his voice thick with desire, his hand brushing your cheek. You moaned, causing your throat to vibrate along his length which caused Joel to squirm. You bobbed up and down and pushed him further and felt him hit the back of your throat. The sight was too much for him. His cock stuffed in your mouth and seeing the saliva drooling out of the corners of your mouth was making him go insane.

"You’re doin’ so good—fuck, so good,” he urged, his voice barely sounding like himself, filled with want. You nodded slightly, the vibrations sending a rush through him as he tightened his grip in your hair, guiding you just a bit closer, a bit deeper. He was starting to babble, telling you how much he loved you, how good your mouth felt, how beautiful you looked with your mouth full. Your pussy throbbed at the praise, and you loved the smell and taste of him on your tongue and had missed him so much. He worked so hard and always did so much for others, Joel was more of a giver than a receiver, and this translated also into the bedroom. But, you always loved reminding him that you loved making him feel good too. It always drove you wild seeing him so lost in pleasure.

"Oh fuck, I can’t. Shit. I’m gonna—" Joel’s grip tightened in your hair as he tried to pull you off from him, but you kept going, stretching your mouth wider for him.

He grunted, his neck straining as you sucked him off as if your life depended on it while stroking the parts you couldn’t reach with your hand. You could feel it coming as he tensed beneath you, moaning out your name suddenly, emptying himself down your throat. You welcomed his release and swallowed it down and he loosened the grip on your hair.

You slowly pulled away, taking a moment to savor the taste of him on your lips, feeling a sense of pride wash over you. Joel looked down at you, breathless and utterly spent, his eyes dark.

"Jesus," he finally managed to say, his voice a low murmur as he tucked himself back into his briefs.

"Do I need to pay a security deposit?" you teased, slowly standing back up.

Joel chuckled softly, breath hitching in his throat as he was still trying to regain his composure.

"I think we can work somethin’ out," he said slowly, his voice low as his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, lips pecking softly along your cheek.

You yelped as he scooped you up and tossed you onto the mattress quickly removing your shirt and your sleep shorts, leaving you only in your panties. His mouth was hungry and messy as he claimed one of your nipples while his fingers pinched harshly at your other nipple until you were crying out his name. Suddenly, his mouth left your breast, and he started kissing down your body, his beard tickling your skin and making you squirm.

His hands were greedily grabbing at your panties and pulling them down your legs with a grin as he looked at your wet thighs. You shivered when his lips grazed your skin, his mouth tracing a path along your thighs igniting that familiar fire in your belly.

"Now… be a good girl. Spread those legs and show me that pretty little pussy."

You nodded, spreading yourself open in such an obscene way and he dove in like a man starved with the wet muscle of his tongue, grunting at the taste of you.

Seriously…who needed rooftop parties or neon nights when you had Joel Miller’s mouth between your thighs?

dividers by saradika-graphics

“Now would you look at that” Joel smiled to himself as he sat between your legs.

“She’s all wet f’me ain’t she kiddo?”

You mewled in agreement. “Mhm”

“Gotta have my inspection ok baby? All you gotta do is lay down while I make sure everything’s feelin’ nice and good okay?” Joel cooed as his fingers trialed down your cunt.

His fingers made you shiver. He pressed and tugged at your panties just to rile you up, he loved seeing his little girl all wet and messy for him. Finally decided it was enough teasing, he pulled your panties down your legs and tucked them in his pocket. A souvenir for himself.

“She’s droolin’ baby”

You squirmed as Joel’s thumbs spread your folds apart. He moved his thumbs around a bit, lowering down to your gooey hole then retreating back up your pussy.

“You feelin’ ok up there sweet pea?” Joel hummed with a cocky smile on his face.

“Mhm” you nodded.

“Now I gotta make sure you’re real nice and ready for a prize ok? Might sting jus’ a bit but it’ll feel real good ok sugar?” Joel sweetly reassured you as he wrapped his hand into yours.

“Ok, I got it”

“Ohhhhh Joel” you gasped while two of his fingers pushed into your pussy. You felt a slight sting as Joel slowly pumped his fingers in and out. “M’yeah baby, Feels good doesn’t it”

“Feels so good daddy. Feels so so-“ you squealed. You choked on your words as you felt Joel’s tongue licking up your cunt.

His tongue slowly rolled and sucked on your swollen bud as he pumped his thick fingers in and out of your drooling cunt.

“She tastes real good, feels real good too. It’s making daddy real happy, real damn happy baby” Joel smiled with his dick pulsing in his jeans. Your hands tangled into his salt and pepper curls, it was getting too much.

“That’s it kiddo. Daddies got you. Daddy knows what’s good for you baby. Knows how to make his little girl feel real good” Joel lazily moaned into your cunt.

He sloppily sucked and lapped at your folds. Joel was making out with your pussy, kissing and moaning the wetter you got. He could feel you pulsing around his fingers, making him fuck his fingers quicker into you as he huffed and puffed into your pussy.

Joel smiled as your legs squeezed around his head. You shook under him, trying to claw and squeeze anything around you as a wave of pleasure trickled down your spine.

Before you could protest at the loss of his fingers, you heard metal hit the ground.

“You wanna make daddy feel good?” Joel hummed, cocking his head to the side as you blinked up hazily.

“Yeah”

“Good. Perfect little thing you are” Joel sighed as he slid his boxers down. Your legs instinctively rubbed together at the sight of his heavy cock. He was leaking all over his jeans.

“This baby, only I can do this to you ok? Daddy does this when he feels that tingle you felt, you remember? F’ you ever get that tingle again kiddo you come to me and I’ll take care of it ok?”

“Jus’ like you are now?” You asked.

“Jus’ like I am now” he nodded. You smiled at the conformation.

“Now kiddo, I want you to take a realll big breath ok?”

You nodded with your hands balling up his flannel. Joel’s hips shuttered as he pushed into you.

You let out a pained squeal as he did. “G- shit.” Joel moaned out. He held onto your hips for dear life. He was fighting everything in him to not fuck the life out of you. It was torturous.

Slowly, Joel picked up his pace. His balls lightly tap onto your skin while holding your legs wide open . Your pussy was dripping of slick. Your swollen bud buzzing and overstimulated as his thumb rubs you nice and steady.

“A- a-“ is all you can let out as Joel quickens his pace. You bounced and whined with each thrust he gave, you went completely stupid. Not a single thought.

You could feel the way his dick spreads your folds to accommodate his side, he was breaking you in.

“Feels so good kiddo” Joel choked as he went a bit cross eyed. He can feel your warm walls pulse around him. You’re so fucking tight. Squeezing him with a vice grip and if your cunt wasn’t drooling out for him, it would be impossible for him to move.

Joel hit that spongy spot deep in your tummy over, and over again. You’re seeing stars by now, dumbly smiling up at the ceiling as you felt that familiar feeling in your tummy.

“Let it out, yeahhh baby jus’ like that. Good girl” Joel cooed while you orgasmed for the 2nd time. All you could hear was the quenching wet sound growing loud and lewd as Joel pounded you into the bed.

You hit and clawed at his chest, shaking your head in bliss as he lost himself. Joel came loud. His deafening moans echoing throughout the house as he pumped you full of his seed.

Slowly, he rocked his hips in and out. Watching the way he oozed out of your pussy just to shove it back inside you with two last heavy thrusts.

Something quiet and wild festered in her gaze. At first, Joel took it for shyness. But as the months grew cold, he watched it morph into something tangible, something he could almost touch. It danced so close to the surface of your gaze that Joel swore if he’d reach out, his wounds would be stitched together with the starlight of her stare.

Joel longed to learn the light of her touch, to learn the gentle song of her voice. But the world would never allow him something so pure and unaltered. He wasn’t deserving of the kindness of her stare; he had learnt that long ago when he was thrust into the vile dangers of this world. 

Despite Joel being convinced that there was no longer a light left for him in this world, it didn’t stop her from lending him the softness of her twinkling gaze. She watched him like he was worth her kindness.

Her gaze, soft as a fawn’s, like she had leapt straight from the winter woodlands, enticed him like an ancient spell. Her stare, wide and gentle as she stole glances his way, tangled into the roots of Joel’s veins. He found himself unable to tear her from his thoughts, like she were a vine, grown wild and untamed, whispering into the corners of his mind.

It was tonight, under the gentle glow of amber light, that he watched her. A drink in his hand, the liquid swimming against the glass in gentle waves.

His eyes were focused on the caress of your hand, although faint, along another man’s forearm. He let a heavy sigh escape from his lips, drowning his thoughts in the glass of whiskey. 

“You gon’ keep starin’ at her like a fool, or you gon’ go over there,” Tommy muttered with a grin beside him.

Joel was silent, all but a grumble escaping his chest as Joel shot his brother a look, “Don’t know what the hell you're talkin’ 'bout.”

Tommy’s eyes held an all too familiar glint of mischief as he nudged Joel’s shoulder. “Sure you don’t,” he winked. 

When Tommy motioned to the bartender for another drink, Joel shifted his eyes back to you. But your touch had since fallen from that boy’s shoulder, your attention averted elsewhere. The softness of your gaze was settled on none other than Joel.

Your velvet gaze lingered over his form, drinking in the sight of his large hands as they swallowed the small glass. You nursed a similar drink in your own hands, although it appeared so much smaller in Joel’s grasp. 

Lingering for a moment longer, your eyes trailed over Joel’s rough and calloused hands. Your mind immediately flooded with memories of his touch. 

Your thoughts unravelled down a rabbit hole in your mind, reminiscing about the gentle graze of his skin against your own. How, during patrol, his strong hands would envelope yours in a gentle grip, correcting your hold on your gun. How his touch would ignite hot flames, spreading like a wildfire over your body.

Indulging in your quiet admiration of the man, your eyes followed a slow path up his body, finding his gaze already on you. 

Blinking, you dug your teeth into the plush of your bottom lip, your cheeks blossoming in a darkened shade of pink.

He’d been watching you. And he’d seen you doing the same.

You attempted to divert your attention back to your date, but words fell from his lips in scattered sounds you couldn’t decipher. His name, you could barely recall; he had been nothing but a means of distracting your thoughts from Joel. 

Except, it clearly wasn’t working. 

It hadn't been your intention to tune out the man, but every syllable that left his lips fell flat to your ears. Your thoughts were elsewhere, wavering back to the man whose eyes you could feel piercing a hole into the side of your face.

Stealing another glance at Joel, you told yourself it'd be the last time, but when his gaze, sweet like honey, locked onto yours, any self-control you had melted like ice under the first light of springtime.

The rambling of your date had stopped; this time, his words were clear as day, “Are you even listening?”

Straining to tear your eyes from Joel, you turned to face your date. You swallowed before letting a smile grace your lips, “Of course.” 

The smile that stretched across your lips was sweet; you made sure of it, but you couldn't help the bitter taste it left on your tongue. 

The man across from you remained oblivious to your false smile and the whereabouts of your thoughts.

“So what do you think about heading back to mine?” The man offered.

Your smile dropped almost instantly. You knew exactly what his words entailed.

“I don't think that'd be a good idea,” you said, eyes now glued to your hands as they fidgeted in your lap.

Nerves started to spread through your body, crawling up your skin in sharp, intense spikes. The man eyed you silently for a moment, a certain wild glint in his gaze that gave away his thoughts.

And you knew that look all too well. 

But the man didn’t let up. “Well, at least let me walk you home,” he reached across the table, grabbing your hand. 

Your body tensed under his touch, and you swore his hands were like claws the way they prickled your skin.

“I should go.” You said politely, trying to tear your hand from his grasp, but his grip only dug deeper into your flesh.

Your eyes widened as he roughly yanked your wrist, trapping you under his grip. In your panic, your gaze snapped to Joel, your eyes hiding a silent plea behind them.

Joel had been watching the entire exchange, his knuckles whitening as they tightly wrapped around his glass. Joel’s chest flared with a bitter heat, simmering in silence as his gaze remained steady on you. 

Your date didn’t seem to notice your discomfort, and if he did, the way his grip burned into your wrist made it clear he didn’t care.

All it took for Joel to shoot out of his seat was a single glance; your eyes, laced with desperation, carved a silent message into his chest.

Joel was across the room in an instant, his words cutting through the tension that seared between you and your date. “Everythin’ al’right over here?”

Your date scoffed, but his grip loosened when he followed the voice to find the stern face of Joel Miller.

“Uh, we were just leaving.” Your date tried to reassure Joel. “Right?” He continued, turning to you.

But you didn’t respond. That was enough for Joel; your pleading gaze peering up to him struck a protective chord in his chest.

He wasn’t letting you leave with that man.

“Dates over,” Joel said, pulling the man out of the booth. “You better be leavin’.”

Your date struggled to free himself from Joel's grip, almost tripping over his shoelaces in the process. He steadied himself, muttering, “Yeah, whatever,” sending you a glare before storming out of the Tipsy Bison.

Relief flooded through you as you let a long-held breath finally escape your lungs. When your gaze landed on Joel, his features were laced with concern. 

A moment passed, and your gaze, still fragile, settled like a slow mist over Joel’s face. Your eyes traced the gentle curve of his nose down to the plush of his lips. 

But your eyes flicked back to his eyes upon hearing his gruff voice, “Y’okay?”

“Yeah,” your voice was quiet as you brought your other hand to soothe the reddened skin around your wrist. “Thank you.” 

Joel’s eyes fell to your wrist, his jaw tightening as he caught a glimpse of the bruise forming on your wrist. Joel had to stop himself from reaching out and running his rough hands along your skin. 

In an attempt to anchor himself, he curled his knuckles into a fist, his blunt nails biting into his palm.

He’d never forgive himself if any harm came to you, much less if it were by his hands.

Joel half believed that if he even thought about touching you, hellfire would spurt from the ground, swallowing him. 

It was almost as if you were a divine test sent to shred the last of his morality. And God knew he had little left in him, but he clung to that fragment of his conscious like a lifeline. 

But whenever you passed by his vision or wandered across his mind, that speck withered into something almost intangible. 

Despite the reasoning Joel hid behind to keep you at arm's length, there was one thing that always drew him in like an anchor. 

Your eyes. 

The gentleness of your gaze was like a flood sent to anoint him. Your eyes whispered something holy over his body, something he couldn’t quite grasp, as though it were a compassion never suited for a man like him.

Even so, it sank into the chambers of Joel’s chest, breathing life into a feeling he thought to be long buried. 

So when you drew your gaze from your wrist, the softness of your stare stripped away any composure Joel thought he had possessed. 

The words slipped from his lips without a second thought, “Would you like a drink?”

Your eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, and the lightness in Joel’s chest suddenly disappeared, anticipating your rejection.

But then you smiled, “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

As you left your seat to follow Joel to the bar, you swore you caught a glimpse of a smile on Joel’s lips. 

It was a rare occurrence, Joel smiling. 

So you bottled the memory, ensuring it was stored safely in your mind, somewhere you’d never forget it.

At the bar, Joel motioned the bartender to pour you a drink. You sipped it slowly, savouring the burn that lingered down the back of your throat.

The night moved slowly, like it was a scene from a painting, you absorbed each detail and brushstroke. You noted everything, memorising the fall of his voice from his lips, rough and worn like an old house. The warmth that flickered in his eyes like a flame as you spoke drew you closer, his breath fanning over your skin in gentle waves.

Joel opened his mouth, but before any words could escape him, a drawl, similar to his own, filled the air.

“Well, well,” Tommy slurs as he brings a firm hand to rest on his brother’s shoulder.

Joel groans at the sight of his brother, who is still stumbling on wobbly legs as he grips Joel’s shoulder tighter for balance.

Tommy grinned widely, and Joel knew that look of trouble anywhere. “Would ya’ look who finally grew a pair.” Tommy nods towards Joel before looking over at you.

Joel flicks his eyes to you, your brows were furrowed slightly in confusion, but a small smile of amusement was plastered on your lips. 

Tommy lifts his drink, the liquid swirling against the glass. He opens his mouth to speak, his index finger pointing from Joel to you, “This—”

“Al’right, Tommy,” Joel grabs Tommy by the shoulder, maneuvering him away. “That’s enough,” he gruffs. 

You could hear the faint chatter of Joel and Tommy from where they stood. Tommy wavered uneasily on his feet, and Joel tried to steady him while he continued his drunk ramblings. 

When Joel returns to the bar, he doesn’t take a seat; instead, he brings his forearm to rest against the bar top. 

You eye him expectantly. 

“It’s late,” he mutters, drawing his eyes over you before settling on on face. “Let me get ya’ home.”

You felt a bit disheartened that your night with Joel had come to an end so quick, but the promise of him walking you home was something you couldn't resist.

Down the main street of Jackson, your boots scruffed against the dry earth. The breeze wove through the trees, trickling through the leaves. The wind held a brittle edge to it, reminding you winter was near. 

The sound of Joel’s heavy footsteps seamlessly blended with the rhythm of the autumn night.

A breeze filtered through the trees, brushing over your skin, leaving you shivering. You cursed yourself for not bringing a coat. You tugged your sleeves over your icy hands before folding your arms over your chest. Your palms ran small circles over your upper arms down to your elbow in search of warmth.

You heard the rustle of movement beside you, but this time it wasn’t the shuffle of cracked leaves. 

It was Joel.

His coat had slipped from his broad shoulders, leaving him in a faded green flannel. 

Joel didn’t say anything as he shifted closer to you, draping his heavy coat around your form. He tugged it gently into place, his big hands brushing over your shoulders. 

Even though you were buried under layers of clothing, your skin still bloomed with heat where his touch had lingered.

“Don’ wan’cha catchin’ a cold, darlin’.” Joel's voice was rough but quiet under the gentle rustle of the autumn air.

A soft shade of pink settled just below your eyes. But you blamed it on the cold.

Shortly, the dirt roads led to your small home on the outskirts of Jackson. The porch stairs creaked like bones as you ascended them.

When your footsteps reached the wooden porch, you turned around to face Joel for the final time that night. 

There was a gentleness in Joel’s gaze as he watched you. 

“Goodnight, Joel." Your voice fell into the silence like the slow cascade of the autumn leaves.

You held his gaze for a moment. Joel didn’t speak, soaking in the warmth of your twinkling stare.

Joel’s eyes brushed over your features like he was committing you to memory—and he was. It wasn’t often he found himself the object of someone’s tenderness. The only looks people spared him in Jackson were ones of disapproval and disdain. 

But yours was different, a different he didn’t deserve. 

As you were about to take his silence for an answer, his voice broke through the air. “Goodnight.” His eyes didn’t waver from yours as he spoke.

Joel’s heart leapt when you lent him your final smile of the night, before disappearing into your home.

As you kicked off your shoes, your hands moved to shrug off your coat—but you paused, remembering you were still wearing Joel’s coat. 

The fabric brushed against your skin as you dragged it off your shoulders. You held the weathered coat, the faint smell of smoke and pine travelling to your senses. 

You sighed with a soft smile as you hung the coat by the door, and you found yourself wondering if Joel was shivering on his way home.

But when you closed the door, you didn’t see the smile that threatened to spill over his lips.

That night, he walked home with a lazy smile across his face, the cold breeze doing nothing to cool the warmth that fluttered under his ribs.

The auburn leaves deepened in hue as the nights grew colder. A light mist had begun to settle over the streets of Jackson like a gentle hush spoken by the Earth. The leaves shivered as a breeze blew through the branches. 

The pale light of the morning trickled through the trees before casting a gentle glow along the floorboards of your home. 

Your fingers were focused on threading the frayed shoelaces of your boots before tugging them tightly. 

When you reached to pull your coat from its resting place along a line of hooks, the scent of old pine hit your nose. Your movements paused, but only for a moment, before you continued easing the coat from the hook. You tugged it around you, the woollen lining like a fortress of warmth against the brittle chill of the autumn morning.

Then you allowed your gaze to fall on it—Joel’s coat.

It had been days since he’d lent it to you on that walk home. You could still recall how the wind bit into your skin, and how the weight of his coat had swallowed the cold. Even the faint smell of smoke had lingered on your skin when you crawled into your warm bed that night, invading your senses as you drifted in and out of sleep.

When you awoke the morning after and stepped foot out of your bedroom, your eyes instantly fell on the coat. And from that day forth, you spent every waking hour feigning oblivion to its existence.

You’d found endless excuses to not return Joel’s coat. Would it be odd if you showed up out of the blue? What if he didn’t want to see you?

Buried beneath all those excuses laid secrets you weren't quite ready to admit. Secrets that you kept locked behind your lips, but were written in your eyes in twinkling letters.

And if Joel could decipher the constellations reflected in your gaze, he never let it show. Every interaction with you left you feeling unsure how he felt, if he even enjoyed your presence. 

Sometimes he was silent, never sparing you a glance, other times you swore you could feel the aching tenderness that bled from his gruff voice. In those moments, when you caught a glimpse under his rough exterior, you were always left wanting more.

But Joel never let up. Never let you know too much of him, even if it was your gaze alone that could crack through to his soul, feeding light to the wounds left by time.

As long as you kept that coat, let it live by your door, you kept a piece of Joel. Hesitant to give that up, despite only owning this small fragment of him, it was still his. And you’d do anything if it kept you tethered to Joel.

So here the coat remained, hung along the empty row of hooks, carrying the memory of that night, and all the feelings you didn’t want to let go. 

You sighed, letting your gaze fall away from the coat. You clasped the door handle, twisting the cold metal to meet the gentle morning breeze. 

Following the dirt pave roads of the town, you arrived at the stables. 

As you entered the stables, you felt a final brush of wind wash past you, threading through your hair. The sound of chatter emerged as you moved deeper in, leaves crunching under your step.

There was a group of boys, you recognised some of them. The air in your lungs stilled as your gaze landed on him.

It was your date, or more so your failed date, particularly when Joel had torn him from your shared table.

You had spent the night kicking and turning, anticipating this morning's patrol. You had thought about talking to Tommy, requesting a new partner. But you didn't want to be an inconvenience, so you bit your tongue. 

You snuck past the group, moving towards a stable and releasing the latch. 

When you emerged from a small stall, straw and mud clung to your boots. Following behind you was a horse, her hooves thumping against the ground as you guided her by your hold on the reins. 

The horse’s trot halted behind you as your footsteps were disrupted by a broad figure dressed in flannel. You knew who it was before you even met his face. The same familiar scent that had been lingering in your home for days on end flooded your senses again.

With hesitance, you dragged your gaze upwards, finally settling on soft, brown eyes. You expected them to be framed by an all too familiar frown, but the only lines that existed on Joel’s face were ones etched by time. 

“Joel…” you struggled to string together any words, not expecting to see Joel here.

Before either of you could let another world drip into the space between you, another voice cut in, calling your name.

The voice stung your ears as you replayed the memory of that night.

Joel’s eyes peeled off you, now burning into the man across the room. “You’re off patrol.” Joel stated bluntly. 

The smug grin that seemed to always be glued to the man’s face fell at the sound of Joel’s word. In hurried footsteps, he stomped over to the pinboard. A scowl was set across his features as he analysed the patrol list for his name, only to find it hidden under erratic lines of ink.

“Who the hell crossed my name out?”

“Tommy,” Joel said simply with a grunt. 

The man scoffed, muttering curses under his breath as he left the stables, presumably to tear down Tommy’s front door.

You turned to Joel, confusion threaded into your brows, but he spoke before you could get a word out. 

“I’ll meet you at the gates.” His voice was gruff as he muttered, moving past you.

Your gaze followed him as his hands came to unlatch the wooden stable door. So many questions rattled through your head as you watched him saddle his horse, his eyes focused on anything but you.

Then the realisation sank in; Joel was your new patrol partner.

Joel had been finishing up his patrol shift yesterday afternoon, returning his horse to the stables. As he was getting ready to leave, his eyes mindlessly drew over the bulletin of messy papers, falling on the patrol sheet.

His eyes nearly bulged out of his head when he spotted the name beside yours. Tearing the sheet from where it was pinned, he marched over to Tommy’s with the paper scrunched under his grip. 

Tommy had barely opened the door before Joel had barged past him, waving the paper in his hand.

“I don’t care who it is,” Joel huffed, slamming the paper onto the kitchen table, the wooden legs creaking under the pressure. “I don’t want that boy patrollin’ with her.”

Tommy pressed his palm over the paper, smoothing the creases. “Joel, what the hell are you talkin’ about?” 

Joel sighed, running a hand over his face. He didn’t know why he was so bothered by this—by you. 

And God forbid if his brother found out, Joel wouldn’t hear the end of it.

“Jus’ get me a damn pen, I’ll do it myself.”

Tommy squinted at his brother, but nonetheless obeyed, passing a pen to Joel.

In harsh motions, Joel buried the name under relentless scribbles of ink.

Tommy leaned in closer to catch a look at what had got Joel so riled up. When he saw your name beside the mess of ink, he couldn't help but let a smile tug on his lips. 

Tearing his eyes off the page for a moment, Joel caught the teasing grin that lingered on Tommy’s face. He shot a glare at Tommy, “What?”

“I didn’t say nothin’,” Tommy replies, a sly smirk still on his lips. “But y’know we patrol in pairs,” he paused, “she can’t go on her own now.”

Joel knew exactly what Tommy was getting at. He sighed before staring back down at the page. Tommy was right. 

Beyond the walls of Jackson, you and Joel travelled along the dusty earth, a canopy of trees stretching over the two of you. It’s silent, all but for the gentle whistle of the wind and the trot of horses' hooves along the ground. 

Basking in the silent solace of the wilderness, you let yourself believe everything that existed outside of this moment had been nothing but a horrible dream. There was no raging fungus plaguing the earth. Your family was waiting at home, and your mother had cooked your favourite for dinner. It was almost easy to believe that everything was okay, that anything ever bad that had happened to you was far away. You were safe beside Joel. 

That small solace, even if only in your mind, had been ripped away when the crack of leaves and twigs erupted from the bushes. 

Joel’s hand rose to motion you to stay put. Your fingers curled around the reins of the horse, nails biting into your skin as you held your breath.

Through the layered leaves, a figure coated in bronze fur sprang into your path. A few feet ahead stood a doe on dainty legs as it quipped its head around, wide eyes staring back at you.

Joel lowered his palm slowly, trying to not alert the skittish animal. The deer was covered in specks of white like snowfall, as it gazed up at him. A wave of warmth entered his chest as he watched the deer quietly observing the both of you with its wide, twinkling eyes. 

Then your voice floated to his ears in a soft flutter, “Joel.”

Joel’s eyes followed your voice, finding a gentleness so similar to a doe living in your wide gaze.

“I haven’t seen a deer in so long.” You said, whispered as though it were a secret.

Joel’s gaze traced over your face, observing the admiration that flooded your features. His chest bloomed ever so slightly, like something breathing back to life. 

He couldn’t understand how you did it. How a part of you remained untarnished from this world. 

When you turned your head, your starry eyed gaze settling over him, a revelation dawned on him.

You were proof of the goodness that remained. And deep down, a part of himself that he kept shunned, still craved the light that he lost so long ago.

Joel had nothing to give you and he despised himself for it. 

You deserve good. But all Joel had that was good is now buried in the past.

That’s what he told himself; it’s what he believed. 

But he would be lying if he didn’t recognise the feeling in his chest that had been growing like ivy since he met you. How every time your gaze clung to him, the hollow cavern of his chest flickered with a flame of something that died long ago.

Suddenly, Joel’s horse began to stir slightly, and he tangled the reins into his grasp in an attempt to steady the horse. 

But as soon as the horse had erupted with noise, the deer had scattered on its cloven hooves into the woodlands, vanishing from Joel’s sight. 

🏹 💌 ࣪﹒🦌

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You have to pick the places you don't walk away from. - Joan Didion

Jack is warm and solid beside me, his breath slowing into that deep, steady rhythm that means he’s already gone. The streetlight outside cuts a pale stripe across the bedroom wall.

I should be asleep too, but my brain won’t shut up. Joel in the kitchen, the hard ridge of his cock outlined in his sweatpants. That heated look he had for me. The internship. The way the evening went sideways.

Internship. At Joel’s office. Joel’s cock. Internship. Joel. 

The words keep looping like a bad pop song. I roll onto my side, pressing into Jack’s back, curling my knees up until they rest against his. He’s so warm it’s like my body is trying to soak him in. My fingers rest lightly against his hipbone through the soft cotton of his boxers.

If I close my eyes, I can pretend my only worry is whether I’ll be good at filing things. That I’m just some normal girl about to start her first office job. That the man in charge isn’t the same one who fucked me in the cab of his truck, who murmured in my ear in that low drawl, who-

My stomach twists.

I tell myself I’m anxious because it’s going to be awkward; the clipped politeness, the constant tiptoeing around each other while Tess and Jack stay blissfully oblivious. I picture myself at a desk, the hum of printers, the smell of coffee, Joel's voice from the other room giving orders. The way he’ll probably ignore me entirely, or worse, glance over just enough to remind me that he hasn’t forgotten either. 

And then… there’s this other thought. It creeps in before I can slam the door on it, the idea of being trapped in that space with him. The air between us tight and electric in a way that has nothing to do with fluorescent lights and blueprints. That stubborn part of me that remembers exactly how his eyes looked when he wanted me, how my skin lit up under his touch.

The thought sends a rush of heat straight through me. My knees press harder against Jack’s. My fingers curl into his soft shirt. I hate myself. 

Jack’s here, trusting, sleeping, completely unaware. Tess went out of her way to help me. I should be grateful, focused on the opportunity, professional. Not lying here in the dark letting my body react like some traitor just because Joel’s face flashed in my mind.

I shift back a little; creating space between me and Jack, but that only makes the cold creep in. My head feels loud. Like I can hear my blood moving through my veins.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll smile at Tess and say thank you again. I’ll go into that office with my chin up my eyes clear. I’ll keep my mind exactly where it should be; on learning, on the job.

But here, now, in the dim bedroom with Jack’s steady breathing filling the quiet, I can’t shake it, the sick mix of dread and anticipation curling in my gut. The knowledge that walking into Joel’s office won’t just make me nervous. It’ll make me remember. And remembering is dangerous.

I turn onto my back, stare up at the ceiling, and will myself to think about literally anything else.

__________________________________________

Tess greets me as I sail into the kitchen Monday morning. She's holding out a thermos of coffee for me. "Joel's already in the truck, honey." 

 I pause taking the thermos from her. I wonder if she made one up for Jack before he left with our car. My car is you want to get technical. But his job is a far drive and mine, I could get to by bus. 

Miller Bros Construction Company head office is about a thirty minute bus ride from down the street. I've already packed my bag, worn my best clothes and popped a little notepad and pencil into my purse. But I can't stop looking at Tess.

 Joel is already in the truck, honey. The truck you fucked him in. The truck where he fucked his cum into you. 

My jaw hinges open. "What?"

"To drive you to the office," Tess explains, amused at my face. 

"Oh, no, I don't want a ride," I say quickly. "I wanted to learn the bus route."

"Nonsense you're both going to the same place," she laughs looking at her watch. "And you're gonna be late." 

As if on cue I hear the faint sound of a horn beeping from outside. Tess rolls her eyes, gently urging me to the door. 

The morning air hits me like a cool slap, crisp enough to sting my cheeks. The driveway’s still damp from last night’s rain, a sheen of water catching the pale sunlight. Joel’s truck idles at the curb, a squat, solid shape in muted blue.

He’s in the driver’s seat, one arm hooked over the wheel, eyes fixed straight ahead. The horn must’ve been his version of knocking politely.

I tug my bag higher on my shoulder, muttering a half-hearted “Bye” over my shoulder to Tess before making the walk down. Each step feels like it takes twice as long as it should, not because it’s far, but because every single one brings me closer to him.

The moment I open the passenger door, the scent hits me: sawdust, coffee, and the faint ghost of cologne.

“Morning,” I say, my tone flat but polite.

His gaze flickers toward me for less than a second before settling back on the windshield. “You’re late.”

I click the seatbelt into place harder than necessary. “Not my idea. I was going to take the bus.”

He doesn’t respond, just shifts the truck into gear, pulling away from the curb with a smooth, deliberate motion. The engine’s rumble fills the space between us, a low vibration under my feet. I can feel it through the seat, through my spine.

The cab is warm, almost too warm. I push my coat collar open, trying not to fidget. My knee bounces once before I force it still. His hand rests on the gearshift, fingers tapping a slow, uneven rhythm that makes my pulse match it in spite of myself.

I steal a glance at him. His jaw is tight; his profile carved in the morning light. I see the faint line of stubble, the crease between his brows. He looks exactly like he did the night in the pub when I first noticed him, only now there’s no half-smile, no hint of invitation. Just that closed, careful face.

“You don’t have to drive me again,” I say, breaking the silence if only to keep my brain from sinking deeper into it.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

The way he says it makes my jaw tighten.

“Good,” I say, and stare out the window at the blur of houses sliding past.

We pass through the heart of town in a steady, reluctant rhythm: traffic lights blinking yellow, a few early risers walking dogs, the bakery already spilling the smell of bread into the street. Joel doesn’t put the radio on, and I’m certain it’s deliberate; an unspoken rule that nothing fills the space but the sound of the engine.

Every time he shifts gears, his arm moves close enough that I can feel the heat of him. I tell myself to ignore it, but my body betrays me, tuned to the small things: the scrape of his knuckle against the worn leather shifter, the faint flex in his forearm, the way his thigh shifts against the seat.

The closer we get to the industrial strip, the more my stomach knots.

The rest of the drive is nothing but the hum of the road and the sound of my own heartbeat, too loud in my ears. Every time he shifts gears, his arm moves close enough that I can feel the heat of him, and I hate that my body notices. 

It’s ridiculous. It’s infuriating. It’s the longest ten minutes of my life

Joel swings the truck into a gravel lot with practiced ease, pulling up in front of a low building with weathered siding and the company’s name painted in bold, blocky letters. He kills the engine. The silence after the rumble feels deafening.

“Here,” he says simply, as if it’s the only word he’s willing to give me.

I nod once, yanking my bag from my lap, and push open the door. The cold air rushes in, sharp and clean. It feels better than the warmth of the cab.

I already know the relief won’t last. The gravel crunches under my boots as I follow Joel toward the entrance. He doesn’t wait for me, just strides ahead with that unhurried, purposeful gait of his.

The front door is heavy, painted in the same muted blue as the truck, and when he pushes it open, the scent of the place hits me: paper, coffee, and the faint, sharp tang of fresh-cut lumber drifting in from somewhere unseen.

It’s warmer inside, the kind of warmth that clings to you after a few minutes. A couple of desks line one wall, all stacked with folders, rolls of drafting paper, and neat little piles of business cards. A young blonde is on the phone, chatting away and making notes on a sticky pad.

There’s a corkboard crammed with site maps and schedules. The hum of an air conditioner fills the corners, steady and low. And then there’s a Tommy leaning back in a swivel chair behind one of the desks, phone in one hand, a pencil tucked behind his ear. 

"Well, look who finally made it.” His voice is lighter than Joel’s, tinged with amusement but without the edge.

I smile back, relieved at the lack of tension. 

I glance briefly at Joel, who’s already halfway down the hall with a muttered, “Show her where she’s workin’,” before disappearing into what I assume is his office down the hall.

"Thanks for the opportunity," I say honestly to Tommy. Despite how awkward things are, this will help my career. 

His grin widens, genuine. “I mean, this is mostly construction management, but we do a lot of design consulting. You’ll get to see how a plan actually becomes a building, all the messy parts no one tells you about.”

There’s an easy warmth in the way he says it, and it makes some of the tension in my shoulders ease. I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been holding myself since climbing into Joel’s truck.

Tommy steps aside, gesturing toward a desk near the window. “This’ll be yours for now. We’ll set you up with some basic stuff, get you on the drafting software so you can poke around. You’ll probably be shadowing me most days. Joel’s got his hands full with the client side.”

Sweet relief floods me. I have no interest in shadowing Joel. If I can help it I would love if I didn't have to interact with him ever again.  I focus on the view from the desk. Outside, the lot opens onto a sprawl of metal-sided warehouses and the pale winter sky.

“This is kind of perfect,” I admit, settling my bag on the chair.

“Good,” Tommy says, leaning against the edge of his own desk. “And hey, you ever got questions, even the dumb ones, you ask me. I’ll give you the real answer before Joel gives you the scary one.”

That earns a laugh out of me, quick and unexpected. It feels good, like a breath of clean air after a long time under water.

From down the hall, a door clicks shut. Heavy footsteps. The air shifts before Joel even appears, as though the temperature changes just from his presence.

Tommy straightens, glancing toward his brother. “We were just gettin’ her set up.”

Joel’s eyes flick over me before he nods once. “Good.” Then, to Tommy, “She’s your problem today. I'm going to the Dufresne place." 

And just like that Joel is gone, disappearing like a ghost out the door and I am thankful for it. 

Tommy smirks. “Don’t take it personal. He’s always like that before his second coffee.”

I manage a thin smile, though my pulse is still loud in my ears. 

For the rest of the day I get used to the design software, delighted at how easy it is to use. Tommy comes over every so often to answer questions. When the day comes to a close and Joel isn't back I scan my phone for the bus timetable. I'm new to town but I'll figure it out. 

"How're you gettin' home?" Tommy asks me looking concerned. 

"Bus." I look at the timetable on my phone trying to situate myself when I feel Tommy's hand on my lower back. 

"C'mon. I'll give you a ride." 

Tommy walks me out to his truck, a battered red Chevy that rattles a little when it starts up. The air has dropped to a sharper chill than this morning. The parking space is empty, the blue truck gone, and for some reason the sight leaves a strange hollow in my chest.

“Guess you’re stuck with me as chauffeur,” Tommy says, grinning as he pulls onto the road.

“Not stuck at all,” I say honestly. He’s been easy to talk to all day, patient in explaining the drafting software, never making me feel like I was asking too much.

The ride back is comfortable, broken by stories about past projects and Tommy’s enthusiastic rundown of the coffee shop down the street from the office, apparently the best muffins in the city.

When we pull into the driveway, Tess is already stepping out onto the porch, sweater sleeves pushed up, her smile warm. “You’re staying for dinner, right?” she calls before Tommy can even answer.

He glances at me, smirking. “Looks like I am.”

Inside, the kitchen smells of roasted chicken and thyme, steam fogging the lower panes of the window. Tess, sliding a tray of potatoes out of the oven while directing Tommy to grab plates from the cabinet.

“Joel’s not with you?”

“Naw, had to check the Dufresne place. Takin’ his time though.”

I take my usual spot at the table, opposite the empty chair at the head. Joel’s chair. Tess doesn’t comment on his absence but I catch the faint pull between her brows when she sets his place anyway.

The table is set for five, the roast chicken steaming in the center, potatoes glistening in a wide dish. Tess moves with the controlled grace of someone trying not to show she’s annoyed, but I can feel it radiating from her in waves.

Jack comes in from the living room, grinning when he sees Tommy. “Hey, man.”

They shake hands, clasping each other’s shoulders, and Tess urges us all to sit just after Jack gives me a quick kiss and hello. I'm so thankful to see him, my heart beating steadily. 

Joel’s chair at the head of the table is conspicuously empty. We eat without him at first. Tess asks about my day and Tommy tells some story about a near-disaster on site, how one of the guys nearly backed a truck into the porta-potty. 

We’re halfway through the meal when the front door opens and Joel steps in, shoulders broad under his dark jacket, the faint scent of whiskey cutting through the roasted herbs. His eyes flick over the table, landing briefly on me before moving on.

“Evenin’,” he says to the table, low.

“You’re late,” Tess says evenly, not quite looking at him.

“Caught up at work,” he replies, hanging up his jacket. His voice is calm, but there’s something in it; not slurred, not exactly, but softened around the edges in a way that speaks to more than one drink.

Tess places the serving spoon down with a muted clink. “Sit.” She doesn’t look up as she passes him the plate.

He takes his seat, muttering something like thanks, and digs in without meeting anyone’s eyes. When he finally does speak, it’s to Tommy. “Appreciate you takin’ her home.”

Tommy just shrugs. “No problem.”

No one points out that the remark sounds like a formality rather than gratitude, but the weight of it hangs there anyway. The scrape of his fork against the plate is the loudest sound in the room for a long moment.

Tommy senses it instantly. “So, uh,” he says brightly, “Jack tells me you’re savin' up for your own place.”

Jack glances at me, then nods. “Yeah, trying to find something that’s not a shoebox but also doesn’t cost a kidney.”

Tommy laughs, shaking his head. “You’ll get there. You should’ve seen my first place, thought it had charm until the ceiling leaked brown water every time it rained.”

Even Tess smiles faintly at that. I let out a polite chuckle, but Joel doesn’t so much as twitch.

After dinner, Tommy leaves with a promise to show me the coffee shop tomorrow. Tess hugs him at the door, her expression softening in a way it hasn’t all evening.

Jack and I retreat to the couch, a mindless action movie playing while we curl under a blanket. His arm drapes over my shoulders, his body warm against mine, but my attention drifts. I keep thinking about Joel’s silence at the table, the way Tess’s jaw tightened every time he ignored a thread of conversation.

Eventually, I excuse myself to use the bathroom. The hallway is dim except for the warm slant of light spilling from a half-open door! Joel and Tess’s bedroom. I mean to pass by quietly, but the voices inside stop me cold.

“You didn’t even drive her home, Joel?” Tess’s tone is sharp, incredulous.

A pause. The rustle of fabric, like someone shifting on the bed. “Tommy was there.”

“That’s not the point.” Her voice rises just enough to carry. “You’ve been cold to her since the moment you met. And for what? Because you’ve decided she’s not good enough for Jack?”

My stomach twists. I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be listening, but my feet feel rooted to the carpet.

Joel’s voice is lower now, harder to catch. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?” Tess presses. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re going out of your way to make her feel unwelcome in this house. And I don’t know why. She’s trying, Joel. She’s been nothing but polite. If this is about protecting Jack, fine, but you’re going to end up pushing him away too.”

I picture him leaning forward, elbows on his knees. Tess’s voice softens, but there’s steel in it. “You need to smarten up before you make another decision you’ll regret.”

Another decision. The phrase lands like a stone in my chest.

Joel exhales, a sound caught between frustration and surrender. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me,” she says, unyielding.

But he doesn’t. There’s just that long, taut silence, and I realize he’s not going to give her anything. What could he possibly say? That he fucked his son’s girlfriend? That he cheated on his wife? 

I back away on quiet steps, my pulse thudding in my ears. I keep walking until I’m in our bedroom, shutting the door softly behind me.

Jack’s voice drifts from the living room, calling something about the movie. I murmur back an excuse about being tired and slip into bed, lying on my side in the dark. The words loop in my mind. Another decision he’ll regret. I don’t know what she meant. I don’t know if I want to. But the one thing I do know is that Joel didn’t deny it.

__________________________________________

The next morning my alarm goes off and I seriously debate just not going. The thought of another intense ride with Joel is making me ill. 

"Wake up sleepyhead." Jack's voice is at my ear, body warm. "I wanna grab a coffee before driving us." 

"Huh?" I'm still groggy with sleep, staring at him. 

"I don't work until ten today," Jack smiles, kissing the bridge of my nose. "I wanted to drive my girl to work. I wanted to drive you yesterday but I couldn't change the schedule." 

I throw my arms around his neck, peppering his face with thankful kisses. 

The car ride to the office is quiet in the best way. Jack reaches over to squeeze my hand as we navigate the streets, a gentle reminder that I’m not alone in this, even if I’m stepping into a world I’ve never been a part of before.

“You were so tired last night I didn't wanna bug you,” he says softly. “But how did it go yesterday?"

I fake a smile. "Fine. Your uncle Tommy is really nice."

"Yeah, always has been. He's a good guy. "His eyes fly from the road back to me. He can see I'm still tense. "Don’t try to do everything at once, babe. This is only your second day. Be kind to yourself.”

I smile at him, nerves fluttering in my chest. “I’ll try.”

A small kiss, a lingering hand squeeze in the car and I step out into the morning sunlight, carrying a mix of excitement and anxiety.

I make my way through the door and Tommy greets me in the lobby with an easy grin. “Ready to get started on day two?”

I nod, fumbling slightly with my notebook and pen. 

Tommy’s movements are fluid and patient, never rushed. I find myself relaxing under his easy warmth, grateful for a guide who doesn’t make me feel like an intruder.

“You’ll mostly be observing today,” he says as he hands me a hard hat. “Taking notes, following me around, asking questions. I want questions, you hear?”

I nod again, grateful for the sensible start as I follow close after him. And despite his offers that evening, I take the bus home claiming that I have a few stops to make. In truth I need this bit of autonomy in my day, a chance to be away from the Miller's for a bit. 

Jack changes his shifts to start at ten which means he comes home later, but it also means that he drives me to work each morning. 

"I want to see you off in the morning," he explains one night cuddling under the covers. "It’s important." 

I know that Jack is doing this in part because of our break. That the guilt of ending things prompts this affection. And I don't mind, I appreciate it.

Meanwhile after his talk with Tess, Joel seems almost tolerable at home when Tess and Jack are around. Not warm, but he’ll speak to me without that dismissive tone and maybe even offer to pass the salt.  

Tess has a way of softening the edges in a room, smoothing him out like she’s spent years perfecting the art of keeping him socially acceptable. But the moment I step into his domain at the office something changes. It’s like a switch flips.

 The air is different here, and so is he. Joel doesn’t look at me unless he has to, and when he does, it’s like he’s measuring how much space I take up and deciding it’s already too much. His voice stays low, professional, but there’s no mistaking the cold current underneath.

I catch myself wondering if it’s because Tess isn’t here to see it or if he’s making a point. But it's an alliance I'm willing to endure because every two weeks our bank account grows thanks to Jack's job.

It’s the third Friday of June when things fall to absolute pieces.

__________________________________________

Tommy’s truck hums along the back roads to the site, windows cracked to let in the late-morning breeze. He chats easily, pointing out construction quirks, joking about some rookie mistake from last week. His voice is warm, steady, and I find myself relaxing, letting the nervous tight coil in my stomach loosen bit by bit.

“You’re gonna love this part,” he says, pulling into the gravel lot. “This is where the magic actually happens, the chaos that somehow turns into a building.”

I follow him through the site, eyes wide. Scaffolding towers above me, steel beams crisscrossing against the sky. Piles of lumber and brick line the perimeter. The air smells like sawdust, fresh concrete, and something metallic.

Tommy hands me a hard hat and a neon vest, fussing with the straps to make sure they fit snugly. “Safety first, architecture prodigy.”

I laugh, despite my nerves, and slip them on. The weight of the hard hat feels grounding, almost protective. I clutch my notebook and pen, ready to scribble everything down, desperate not to miss a single detail.

He notices every time I hesitate in asking a question, correcting my measurements gently without ever making me feel incompetent. I can feel my confidence building under his quiet encouragement.

Hours pass, sunlight shifting across the beams, dust motes floating lazily in the shafts of light. I scribble notes furiously, trying to absorb it all, losing myself in the technicalities and the rhythm of the site. I don't even notice when Joel arrives until Tommy mentions it. 

I glance up to see Joel with his clipboard in hand, speaking with a foreman. His posture is taut, deliberate, like he’s part sculpture, part predator. At first, he doesn’t meet my gaze; his attention is elsewhere, to the work, to the people, to the site. But the moment I glance back, I feel it: the faint, almost imperceptible awareness of being watched.

And then our eyes meet.

Its brief, a flash across the site, but it ignites something inside me. His expression is assessing, unreadable, and my pulse spikes sharply, then retreats, then spikes again as though my body can’t quite settle. He turns away as if nothing happened, but I know better. The tension lingers, heavy and electric, pulsing through the air between us.

I scribble faster, shaking off the flush creeping up my neck, telling myself it’s ridiculous. He’s my boss’s father, technically, and there’s Jack, and this is a work site, and yet… that brush of awareness, that unspoken acknowledgment, makes every breath feel charged.

But my attention keeps drifting. Every time I glance up, Joel is somewhere else; consulting, pointing, moving with controlled energy. There’s a rhythm to him, he’s confident force that draws the eye even when he isn’t intentionally looking at me. And when he does glance my way, the contact is fleeting, teasing in its restraint.

The contrast between he and Tommy is striking. Tommy is warmth, a tether to the present, making the site feel safe, manageable. Joel is fire beneath the calm, unpredictable, and yet tethered just enough to the rules of propriety to make the tension unbearable.

I catch him once leaning against a support beam, clipboard tucked under one arm, surveying the site. Our eyes meet for a heartbeat longer this time, and I feel something coil in my stomach that isn’t fear. Something sharper, hotter, that makes my pen shake in my hand. He’s deliberately avoiding me, but he’s aware, and that unspoken load, that careful edge of attention, makes the air around him thrum.

Tommy doesn’t press, just keeps explaining the next stage of construction, laughing at his own jokes, occasionally glancing my way to make sure I’m following.  He’s a steady presence, the calm amid my spiraling awareness of Joel. And yet, every time I look up from my notes, my eyes find Joel, and that pulse of tension hits again.

"Shit," Tommy says, glancing up into the sky. "Looks like it might rain later. That'll put us behind." 

I frown, thinking of how poorly dressed I am if that turns out to be the case. Tommy is facing me, brow down. 

"You mind grabbing the umbrella from the car?" 

I nod, taking the keys from his outstretched hand, happy to be helpful and jog to the truck.  When I return Tommy and Joel are standing shoulder to shoulder, facing the site. They don’t notice me approaching.

 “I have to say…” I hear Tommy saying, “She’s really not like most interns. Pays attention, actually seems to want to learn.”

My chest tightens. I freeze mid-step, suddenly aware of how conspicuous my presence might be if they notice me listening. But at the same time I don't know how to interrupt. Joel doesn’t answer immediately, but the subtle shift in tone is enough for me to feel the weight of him in the room. 

"S'good to know."

“Most interns just want to check the boxes, get the credit, and leave,” Tommy adds. “She actually engages with the work.”

I can’t help the small thrill that pulses through me at hearing this. The words make me warm all over, but there’s a quick, painful twist at the thought of Joel listening, too. Part of me wants him to agree, to nod, to validate that yes, I can do this and yet another part knows that even the smallest acknowledgment from him would light a fire I don’t want to fuel.

“And…” Tommy’s tone shifts slightly, teasing, playful, drawing the word out. “…according to some of the guys havin' something pretty to look at around the site doesn’t hurt either.”

The sound of Joel snapping is like a whip cracking through the air. “Tommy!” 

His voice is harsh, clipped, and tighter than it should be.  I feel it in my chest as I catch my breath, suddenly aware of the rapid thrum of my heartbeat. He’s turned, cheeks flushed, jaw rigid, tension running through every line of him.

Tommy freezes mid-laugh, the half-smile on his face faltering. “I didn't say it!”

My stomach twists. Part of me wants to laugh, not out of humor, but nervous, disbelieving energy. My cheeks warm, partly from embarrassment, partly from the rush of awareness that comes with knowing I’m being discussed, being evaluated, being . . Desired?

Tommy freezes, hands raised slightly as if to placate him. “I swear, Joel, it was what the guys were sayin'. You know how they are.”

“She’s here to work. Not to be stared at.”

The words hit me in an odd way. Not because he’s angry at me but because of how protective he sounds, how sharp his tone, the way it vibrates in the air and lands somewhere deep in my chest. A guilty part of me thrills at it, while another part screams that I shouldn’t be thinking about it this way.

“You never get this up in arms when they perv on Luna.”

“She ain’t dating my son.”

“Joel, these are blue collar men. That’s just the way they talk. You know that, you used to be that. Winking at the pretty women who walked by. It’s how you met Tess for chrissakes!”

“Enough.” Joel’s voice is low, dangerous, and full of controlled fire.

"I didn't mean anything by it," Tommy says and to his credit he sounds embarrassed. "Was just shop talk. Hell, I'm old enough to be her daddy. I just think she's a bright spot around the place."

My mind is a riot of conflicting thoughts: admiration for Tommy’s easy charm and warmth, nervous excitement at his praise, the sudden realization of how aware Joel is, how strangely protective. 

I'm shaky, both in nerves and tension and the blueprints drop from my hands onto the grass. I make a small noise and the brothers turn to see me kneeling to pick them up. 

"There she is," Tommy says sweetly. “We were just talkin’ about you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re a breath of fresh air, wantin’ to learn, actually carin’.”

I smile, handing him the umbrella but all I can feel is Joel's eyes on my profile. 

“Thank you, Tommy.”

A beam shifts under a crane, metal groaning, and I flinch. Joel mutters something under his breath and goes stalking over toward the foreman, issuing a command with a clipped tone, sharp but controlled. Even from twenty feet away, the authority in his voice sends a shiver down my spine

By the time we wrap up for lunch, I’m flushed, exhausted and entirely distracted. Joel disappears to speak with the project manager, leaving me with Tommy.

He doesn't return. 

My hands shake slightly as I gather my notebook, pretending it’s from fatigue and not from the electric, impossible awareness of Joel’s gaze.

Tommy glances at me, eyebrows raised. “You okay?”

I manage a smile, tucking my pen into my pocket. “Yeah. Just taking it all in.”

On the drive back to the office the storm clouds roll in, casting a darkness over the scene. Tommy's radio plays something cheery and twangy but I'm distracted. 

"I'm gonna drop you at the office, and you can finish filling those notes from today, yeah? Once you're done email em over to me and Joel. I gotta go up to Laredo for a meetin' and wanna beat the traffic." 

"Sounds good." 

The office is quiet except for the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and the soft tap of rain against the windows. Outside, sheets of water run down the glass in silvery rivers, distorting the streetlights into blurry streaks. 

Luna is gone for the day, so she’s not there to give me help on my annotations. So I’m there well past closing, hunched over my desk using the online filling system Tommy showed me. Honestly, I like this part of the job, the focus, the control, the quiet after the chaos of the site. It’s meditative, almost comforting, and it keeps my thoughts from drifting back to Joel too often.

The rain drumbeats a steady rhythm on the roof, calming in its constancy. My coat hangs forgotten on the back of my chair, a thin jacket that offers little protection if I had to venture outside. I shiver slightly, curling into myself.

I finish sending off the files, my fingers inching to my phone, noting the time. Jack is still at work so it's best to call an Uber. The office door opens suddenly, a gust of wind and a faint spray of rain sneaking in behind it. I glance up, startled.

Joel.

Water drips from his hair and jacket, puddling faintly near his boots. His eyes scan the office, expression tight, jaw set. He takes a step inside, shaking out the excess water from his sleeves, the sound sharp in the empty room. The air seems to change the moment he crosses the threshold, charged and heavy.

“You’re still here,” he says, voice low and clipped, irritation mingling with something I can’t quite name. He doesn’t wait for an answer, just stands there, clipboard tucked under one arm, gaze flicking over the invoices scattered on my desk.

“I was just finishing up,” I say, suddenly conscious of how soaked and unprepared I am for this downpour. “I wanted to get these notes filed and sent before I left.”

He doesn’t move closer, but I feel the heat of his awareness pressing against me. It’s impossible to ignore, the way his eyes sweep over me, brief, assessing. He hates that he notices me and I can feel the tension vibrating between us, charged.

“I wish I knew it was going to rain,” I say trying to lighten the mood, aware of the thin jacket and flats that leave me cold and damp. My voice wavers just slightly, betraying how ridiculous I must seem.

Joel exhales sharply, brushing his fingers through his wet hair, irritation and something else flickering across his features. He shifts his weight, just enough for me to notice the tight coil in his shoulders. 

“Do you think you'd be able to give me a ride home?" 

His jaw tightens imperceptibly. The words are simple, but the effect is immediate: a crack in his carefully maintained composure. 

“M'not a taxi." His tone is low, controlled. Not angry yet, just sharpened at the edges.

"Didn't say you were," I sigh, exhausted. "Just trying to save money on an Uber but don't worry about it." 

He watches me tidy up the desk, working fast before pulling out my phone. He takes a seat behind his desk, still watching as I order the car. A few moments pass as I type in the information, exhaling when I see it’ll be a good thirty minutes before one shows up.

"Thought you were supposed file the notes from the last build."

I glance over to see Joel squinting at the computer screen, frowning.

“I did.”

“You’re supposed to send the attachment to me and Tommy.”

“I already did it."

"Where?" He doesn’t even look my way when he asks because to Joel Miller I'm invisible, I'm something he despises as much as he desires and I'm furious at him for taking it out on me.

 I throw up my hands. "For fucks sake, Joel, open your eyes! It's there in your inbox. I sent the link ten minutes ago."

The tension breaks, sending Joel to his feet and flying my way with a frenzied look in his eyes. "The fuck you just say?"

"I'm so sick of this!” I shout, pushing myself out of the desk chair and throwing myself his way. “I’ve been nothing but respectful while you make it your mission to treat me like I’m a piece of shit!" 

His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking there. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, so you can ignore me, but I can’t say anything about it?” I take a step forward, the words coming faster now, sharper. “You’ve made it crystal clear you don’t like me. Fine. I don’t care. But I haven’t done a damn thing to deserve the way you look at me, the way you talk to me when no one else is around.”

He stands up from his chair, body wide, frame looming. His voice dips even lower, dangerous now. “You think I like having you around? You think I don’t see the way you-”

“The way I what?” I snap. “Breathe near you? Exist in the same room?”

Something flares in his eyes and he closes the distance between us in two strides, the air between us crackling.

“You’re in my house,” he says, his voice so low it’s almost a growl. “At my table. And now you’re in my office.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I shoot back. “I didn’t ask for Tess to push the internship. I didn’t ask to be under your roof. You think I want to be around you?”

His mouth twists into something bitter.  I take a step toward him this time, closing the last inch between us until I can feel the heat coming off him. 

“You treat me like shit because you feel guilty every time you see me," I say. "Like somehow it's all my fault." 

Joel is quiet, his body still and I believe what I'm saying is getting through to him. But then he shakes his head, looking at me darkly. “Don’t,” he warns, but his low voice has lost some of its certainty.

“Don’t what?” I press, my tone sharper now, almost daring. “Call you out?”

We’re too close, too worked up, and neither of us is backing down.

"Maybe it's not just that you feel guilty," I hiss. "Maybe it's that you get a hard on every time we're alone."

His nostrils flare. For a second, I think he’s going to shove past me and leave the office altogether and I beat him to it, throwing my purse over my shoulder and moving to the office for. 

He moves so fast I don’t have time to react; his hand catches my arm, stopping me. Before I can say a word, he's got a fist in the back of my shirt, pressing me against his desk until my chest is flush with the wood.  

“Joel-" I gasp, half protest, half disbelief.

“Shut up,” he grits out, his breath rough in my ear. His other hand is on my hip, forcing me still. “You wanted to know why I treat you the way I do? This is why. You talk like a fucking whore.”

We’re both breathing hard, and I can feel him behind me, too close, too warm, and too big. Then I feel the unmistakable press of his cock, solid and throbbing against me. 

"And you're hard," I spit over my shoulder. "So what does that say about you?" 

I should move. I should want to move. Except I don’t actually want to move. Feeling his hands on me, the press of his weight against me makes my body come alive and the harder it is to remember why this is a mistake. 

The guilt is already there, pressing heavy in my ribs, whispering reminders of who he is, who I am, what this would cost. I picture Jack’s face, Tess’s laugh, the kitchen at home with the morning light slanting in and still I can’t seem to make my feet work.

I can feel his breath, hot and uneven, the tension rolling off him in waves. His grip is rough, almost punishing, like he’s trying to teach me a lesson and punish himself at the same time. His hips gently rut against my ass.

I feel like I have to remind him that what he's doing is insane. That pinning me against his office door is insane considering our relationship to one another.

“Joel, no,” I manage, though my voice is already breaking under the weight of it. "Jack... Tess." 

His hands hesitate for a fraction of a second, but they don’t move away. “You think I don’t know that?” he says, his voice low and ragged. “You think I don’t wake up every damn day telling myself to stay the hell away from you?”

“Then why-” I start, but he cuts me off with a grunt, forcing his bulge against my ass and grinding harder. 

“Because I can't stop,” he says. “You make it fuckin' impossible.”

His hands skim my thighs, slow now, almost gentle before his grip turns hard again, fingers digging in like he wants to leave a mark. “You think I don't notice how you look at me all fuckin' day? Like you want me to touch you.”

I bite back the instinct to deny it, because we both know it’s pointless. The tension’s been there for weeks, an undercurrent beneath every fight, every cutting remark when we’re alone.

“That's what you want,” I whisper even though it sounds false in my own ears.

"Just me?"

"Yes."

“The hell it is,” he mutters, and his voice is frayed at the edges now, his self-control hanging by threads.

His hand slides up the back of my neck, gripping my hair by the roots and pulling me back into him. 

"You're tellin' me I'm the only one who feels this-this pull? This need?" 

“Joel…” My voice is soft but laced with something I can’t quite hide, the cool wood against my chest. 

“You’re tellin’ me you ain’t wet right now?”

My palms are splayed flat over the spread of paperwork, the edges of the desk biting into my hips, but I barely feel it. All I feel is him behind me; solid, immovable, a wall of fury and restraint that’s cracking. 

His hand is at the back of my neck, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough that I know I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. And I don’t want to. That’s the worst of it. The part that makes bile rise in my throat even as desire pulses low in my belly.

“You're a tease,” Joel mutters, his voice rough, frayed like it’s been dragged across gravel. I feel the heft of his chest on my back. His breath brushes the side of my head, hot and furious. "You act like you're not giving me fuck-me eyes all day and then crawlin' into bed with my son every night."

My eyes squeeze shut, my cheek pressed to the hard wood.

“Is that why you're so angry? Do you wish I was crawling into bed with you, Joel?”

 The words scrape out of me, a whisper I don’t mean. A dare I do. He goes still behind me. I can feel his body vibrating with restraint, every muscle pulled taut. "No." 

"But you want me."

“Enough.” His voice drops lower, ragged, like it’s tearing at him from the inside. My cheek is squashed against the desk, my view stuck on the desk across the room.

"Because I want you, Joel," I confess as my face burns. "That first night, the first time I saw you. I wanted you so fucking bad.”

“Don’t-” His hand fists harder in my hair, pulling my head back so I’m forced to look sideways over my shoulder. "Don't say that."

His hips press into me, leaving no room for denial. The evidence of what he wants is right there, solid and undeniable, and I suck in a sharp breath. He groans low, guttural, and shoves me harder into the desk.  Like he wants to fuck me right through it. 

His forehead drops briefly, a ragged sound tearing out of him as he continues to circle his clothed erection between my thighs. He cuts himself off, his breath stuttering. “Goddamn it. I'm fucking married."

Something in me twists at the mention of Tess, guilt, shame, and a knife-edge of regret I have no right to feel. But the rest of me is on fire, drowning in the contradiction of it all.

“You think I don’t hate myself too?” I whisper, my nails digging into the desk. “Every time I look at you? That I don’t feel disgusted when I sit there at dinner with you? I feel like I can’t breathe. Everything makes me think of you. I can’t cum without your face in my head."

That does it. He snarls something I can’t catch and his hand is at my waistband, tugging my jeans and underwear down in rough, almost violent, like if he doesn’t get inside me now he’ll tear himself apart. The zipper scrapes loud in the silence, my pulse racing with it.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice shredded, he palms over my ass, down between my thighs, rough and claiming, making me gasp.

I feel his large hand fumbling between my thighs, thick digits prodding between my slick lips. I moan wantonly when he brushes my clit. 

"Already soaked," he says and while his voice is full disgust, there's no hiding the erection that's digging into my back. “Just like I said.”

He sighs, fingers thrusting into me shallowly as I whine. He hits just where I need it. Rubbing my walls, creating that friction which has my cunt sucking them deeper. My breath fogs the surface where my mouth huffs, cheek squashed against the desk. The faint hum of the desktop computer fills the silence between the low, shuddering sounds he makes under his breath.

Joel’s hands are rough and hot; gripping my hips like he’s afraid I’ll turn around, like looking at each other might make it worse.

It’s not surrender without consequence, the shame is still there, dark and gnawing, twisting tight in my stomach, but it’s tangled with something hotter, something I can’t untangle from the rest. It feels like falling, only I’m not sure which part will hurt more; the landing, or the fact that a part of me wants to keep falling.

He curses viciously, his chest covering my back now, the heat of him suffocating. His free hand pins mine flat to the desk, our fingers spread against each other like an anchor.

“Goddamn you,” he growls in my ear, every word trembling with fury as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of my cunt. “Goddamn you for makin’ me want you when I shouldn’t even fuckin’ look at you.”

I want to say something back, something that will make sense of this mess we’re in, but my mouth won’t work. All I can do is breathe, sharp and shallow, as he presses forward, each shift of his body a war between restraint and surrender.

 The smell of him is everywhere, warm skin, faint sweat, that woodsy cologne. It coats my mouth when I suck in a breath, mingling with the metallic tang of adrenaline. There's the sound of a belt buckle, of a zipper.

His belt still hangs loose, clinking softly as he moves, his thighs driving into the back of mine with a pace that’s nothing like patience. The desk shifts under us, its faint creak swallowed by the rain.

The storm outside roars, wind rattling the windows like even the world knows how wrong this is.

And yet my body yields when his fingers are removed. I arch my back and I look over my shoulder to see his fucked out expression. He sees it in mine too because he gives a growl that I feel down to my toes. 

His large cock is there at my entrance, his hand leading the head to drench itself in my honeyed arousal. His voice is dragged from the floor, raspy and devastated.

"Tell me we have to stop."

“I can't," I whisper again, my voice shaking. My hips tilt back into him, betraying me, betraying everything. 

His hands grip my hips, rough, anchoring me as he moves, his breath ragged against my shoulder. The first push of him inside is brutal, not in force but in what it means. My teeth catch on a cry, my eyes squeezing shut against the flood of sensation. He hisses through his teeth, the sound of a man breaking.

“Fuck," The word tears out of him. “So goddamn wrong.”

Every movement is messy, urgent, as if we both know we don’t have much time before one of us comes to our senses. My fingers curl against the desk until the pads burn. The sound of his breathing is ragged in my ear, now chest flush to my back. There’s no rhythm, no tenderness, just a frantic, furious need that neither of us can temper. Each thrust is a confession, a punishment, a plea for something neither of us deserve.

My cheek presses harder into the desk, my nails scraping wood as his pace builds, the storm inside him spilling over into every movement. His hips are slapping against my ass, thrusting me against the door, caged between the metal and Joel's thick cock breaching me over and over. 

His hands are brutal on my hips, yanking me back into him so hard my feet leave the ground for a split second before he drives me down again. The impact shudders through me, rattling my teeth. Sweat is rolling down the side of my neck, his chest grazing my shoulder blades with every lunge forward.

“Say it,” he grits out, his voice strangled. I wish I could see his face properly. 

"Say what?"

“Say you hate me.”

“I don’t,” I gasp, my voice breaking. “I should, but I don’t.”

He groans, the sound raw and guttural, and his hips slam into me harder.

The desk rattles under the force of him. Every thrust slams me forward, the wood biting into my hips, papers skittering across the surface. His belt clinks with the movement, the leather ends snapping against his thigh. The wet, obscene sound of him driving into me fills the office, sharp and steady under the rain against the glass.

Joel’s breathing is a harsh, uneven grind in my ear; short, punched-out grunts every time his hips hit mine. The muscles in his thighs bunch and release with each deep push, the heat of his body pressed up against my back.

“I hate you,” he rasps, but it’s hollow, false, trembling. “I hate how fuckin’ good you feel. Hate that I want you like this.” His breath stutters, a curse falling from his lips as his body shakes against mine.

The desk creaks like it might give, and still he doesn’t slow; hips pistoning into me in a frantic, punishing rhythm, each thrust punctuated by the slap of skin on skin and the low, raw sound he makes when it’s good for him.

It builds like the storm outside, relentless, consuming. His voice is in my ear, curses and broken fragments of my name, his body driving into mine until I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but take him.

The orgasm crashes into me, causing me to scream his name, thrusting myself backwards on his cock.  "F-fuck! Joel!" 

His rhythm starts to falter, the hard, steady pumping giving way to rougher, deeper thrusts that grind me into the desk. He’s louder now, the grunts spilling into curses, voice rough and low in my ear. Every breath drags out of him like it hurts to hold it in, hot against the back of my neck.

"You're so goddam tight. F-fuck, I’m’m….gonna cum." 

And then he’s shuddering, clutching my shoulder like he’s drowning, forehead pressed to my spine, the sound that rips from him half-groan, half-prayer.

"Inside," I beg, my body vibrating. "Please!" 

"No," he grunts as he viciously pulls himself from my cunt and begins stroking himself furiously, the wet slaps frantic.

One hand remains on my shoulder, keeping me pinned to the desk as he strokes himself over and over. But I want to make him fall apart. I want to be a part of it. My breath comes in ragged gasps.

“Finish inside me,” I demand, voice rough, edged with desperation.

“No.” He sneers, knuckles white on the desk, jaw tight. “Stop askin’,” he growls, teeth clenched, eyes dark with frustration. “You know we can’t do that.”

Every stroke makes his thighs tense, makes his throat work, a low sound slipping out that’s more animal than man. He’s fucking glorious and I am in awe, watching him over my shoulder.

“Joel..”

His eyes snap open at my whimper, locking on me, wide and furious with want. 

“Inside,” I beg, ass angling up for him. “Please.”

His breaths are rough, ragged, each one punched out of him like it hurts to hold back. His shirt is stretched across his chest, and his jaw works like he’s chewing on the urge to let go. 

“Shouldn’t.”

Even as he groans that he shuffles forward and presses back up against me, cock hard and teasing at my entrance, dragging just over me without going in. His hands grip my hips like he’s trying to stop himself, jaw tight, every muscle coiled.

“Don’t let me do this,” he hisses, voice low, ragged, teeth clenched.

“I want it,” I grind back against him, pressing into the heat, whining. “Joel it’ll feel so fucking good. You know how good it feels to fuck me.”

His hips twitch, a shudder running through him, but he holds back, biting out another curse. He lets out a sharp exhale and pushes just a fraction inside, teasing, testing me with the head of his cock.

I moan around it, rocking my hips, desperate. “I need more.”

The noise he makes rips through him, half curse and half desperate groan. It’s raw and guttural, the sound of a man breaking, and it makes my stomach twist with heat knowing I’ve dragged it out of him.

“Like last time,” I whisper. “Fuck me full.”

With a low, furious growl, he slams into me, hands gripping my hips so hard I gasp. Every thrust is jagged, messy, and brutal. His grunts and curses fill the office, raw and guttural, each one punctuated by the slap of skin against skin.

“You’re fucking relentless,” he rasps, voice thick with rage and need. “Manipulative little bitch, making me do this…”

The pressure of his wide hand between my shoulder blades pins me in place on the desk, forcing me to take him deeper. My body jolts with every slam of his hips, the sound of it sharp, wet, obscene.  I’m gasping, whimpering, arching back into him, and it only drives him harder.

“Makin’ me fuck this messy pussy full.”

The smell of sweat and sex thickens in the air, damp clothes clinging, rain still hammering the glass behind us. I can feel the tremor in his thighs, the twitch of his stomach pressed into me as his pace grows wild, desperate.

I can hear the faint catch in his throat when he goes deeper, the guttural curse he spits against the back of my neck.

"Fucking filthy little slut," he groans, even as he keeps stroking himself, tugging so fast the sound of clapping is like thunder. 

His pace goes savage, sloppy with need, desperate and punishing. He leans over me, pressing me to the desk, voice thick, every word rough and cutting.

“Gonna pump you full right here on my desk.” His hand slides from my hip to the front of my thigh, forcing me open wider for him. “Bet you’ll think about it every time you walk in here.”

I cry out, biting the edge of the wood, knees trembling, begging for more, pushing him to lose whatever control he’s clinging to. And he does, driving into me harder, faster, grunting curses and filthy words, full of rage, lust, and self-loathing. Every slam, every hiss, every rough command is hate, raw and messy.

My eyes begin rolling back in my head. His body is tilted back, watching how his wet cock is filling me. I’m completely gone, babbling about how good his cock feels, my ass rippling against every slam of his pelvis. I’m so close again.

His pace stutters, and then turns brutal, like his own words lit a fuse in him.  I gasp, gripping the edge of the desk as the wood digs into me. “Don’t stop” I moan, meeting him push for push.

“Not ‘til I’m empty inside you,” he promises and then he’s slamming into me so hard the desk creaks, both of us chasing the end.  His thrusts go ragged, desperate, each slam sloppier than the last, grunts breaking into low, choked curses.

I can feel him twitching against me, the tension coiling tighter with every slam and I cum again, drenching his cock, fluttering around the head. He spreads my cheeks, watching as it drips down the length of his cock, drenching the curls at the base.

“Fuck-I’m gonna-” he groans, voice cracking, gritting his teeth as he loses control. “You’re… fuckin’… I can’t… God damn it…” He shudders violently, hips pumping wildly, voice jagged, raw.

The first shudder wracks him and he jerks against me, teeth clenched, a strangled growl torn from his chest. The next comes faster, each slam punctuated by a hiss, a curse, a guttural groan as he spills, ragged and messy, heat hot and heavy, pounding into me like punishment. His hands are on my thighs, pulling them apart so he can finish as deeply as possible. My feet aren’t even on the ground anymore, he’s just holding and fucking into me.

“God, you –fuck… hate this… can’t stop… fuck…fuck it’s so good-” His voice is all broken, a filthy jumble of rage and lust, spitting out every word of contempt he feels for both of us as he rides it out, flooding my cunt with his cum.

His last shudder leaves him pressed hard against my back, chest heaving, jaw tight. For a long moment, there’s only our breathing, ragged and uneven and the pounding of rain. It’s like the fog in my brain has lifted and I’m very aware that I’m pinned to the desk of my boyfriend’s father. That is cum is leaking down my thighs. The world goes cold.

What did we just do?

The weight of Joel lingers for a beat too long before he pushes back, the sudden loss of heat making me shiver. Slowly, Joel pulls back, leaving me cold, my jeans twisted low around my calves. I stay there, terrified of what comes next

I stay bent forward, palms flat, catching my breath. The wood is damp under my hands, sweat, maybe, or the condensation from my skin, and the air smells thick with us.

Joel’s zipper rasps in the quiet, the clink of his belt buckle too loud in the empty office. The rain has softened to a steadier patter, tapping against the glass like it’s trying to remind us the world is still there. I can hear him breathing behind me, uneven, like he’s still trying to get himself under control.

When I finally turn, tugging my clothes back into place, he’s a step away, grabbing the box of Kleenex from a nearby desk. He hands it to me without speaking.

The washroom light is too bright, clinical, buzzing faintly overhead as I clean myself the best I can. I come to wash my hands and grip the edge of the sink. My reflection stares back at me, skin flushed, lips swollen, hair mussed like I’ve been caught in something I shouldn’t have survived. I barely recognize myself. 

My stomach twists hard, revulsion crawling up my throat. I turn on the tap, splash cold water over my face, but it doesn’t help, the girl in the mirror still looks ruined, still looks like someone who bent in front of her boyfriend’s father and begged for his cum. The shame comes in waves, heavier each time, until I can hardly breathe under it.

I exit the bathroom to see Joel braced on the edge of the desk like if he lets go he’ll fall. His head is bowed, eyes shadowed, jaw clenched.

“What the hell have we done,” he whispers, voice cracked wide open.

My throat is tight, my words gone. The shame of everything has overtaken us both leaving the world feeling tilted and broken.  My phone buzzes, breaking the quiet. I check it, feeling unsure. "The Uber is here... Should I -"

“Go.” The word is rough, final, shaking. His fists curl on the desk, knuckles red. “Just go.”

The storm outside swallows me as I exit, the weight of what we’ve done pressing heavier than the rain. 

What have we done?

__________________________________________

you wanted this

you have flour dusted on your cheeks, a smear of cherry sauce on your chin from working for an hour at the kitchen. the smell of baked goods fills the air, swirling with sweetness. your hands fidget with the oven’s handle, opening and closing it with an unsteady grip. 

you’re baking pie for joel – cherry, one of his favourites, according to maria. the rays of sun warm your skin as they peek through the sunlight, and you think of him as you wait for it to bake. you’ve never been any good with patrols, or survival, you don’t know how someone like you had stumbled her way through the apocalpyse. sometimes luck plays out in strange ways, and you wish you were old enough to remember the world from before. a world where you didn’t have to brave clickers for red ribbons in your hair, and pretty lace trims for your clothes.

you’re baking a pie for joel miller, because he fixed your shower last week, and you’d been dealing with cold water for god knows how many days before that. you tried to trade fruits with him, leftover stuff from the kitchens where you worked, but he didn’t want anything in return. said he did this for a living before, before the world fell to shit.

you barely remember the world before it went to shit, too young to remember outbreak day. but you know what happened to joel back then, everyone does. maybe there was a world out there where he didn’t have to go through whatever he did back then, but this is the only world you know, and so you bake a cherry pie for him, as a thank you.

he makes you…feel a way that you don’t quite understand. from the day he’d shown up at your house (unprompted, until he told you that maria had asked him after you’d complained to her) there was a feeling in your lower stomach, heat. you blushed at the sight of him, heart raced as you hid behind plates of coffee in chipped mugs, handing them to him as he worked. your heart stopped in your throat when he bent down to work on the pipes, his muscles bulging out of his thin white tshirt.

he wore a white tshirt, that stretched over his body, and you couldn’t help but stare – and it felt wrong. to want. that’s what you’d always been taught, flowers that shouldn’t be crumpled uselessly. your mother always told you that, that you were only to want your husband.

joel wasn’t your husband, but he made your breathing restless, made you want to cross and uncross your legs, a tightness that coiled in your stomach which never let go. it’s embarassing that you’re like this, that you barely know anything when your friends know so much. 

that night you buck your hips against the mattress, so desperate for a release that you don’t know how to reach. but you think of his fingers, thick and big as they wrapped around the spanner and the pipes, screwing and unscrewing. your panties are wet that night, imagining him, his fingers on you, damp from nothing but the thought of him. 

but he just fixes the pipes and leaves, you doubt he cares for someone like you. he didn’t even attempt to talk to you when he was at your house for three days. he just grunted when you offered him coffee, and maybe annalise was right, maybe men are animals. 

but you want to say thank you, he fixed the shower and you could finally have hot water again. you don’t have much, don’t go out on patrols because the tiniest noise sends you into a mess of blubbering tears. 

you always laugh a little too easily. that’s what they say, your eyes as bright as the sun when something makes you smile. you’ve always been like this, a little too over emotional over everything. when something made you happy, you were delighted, always jumping for joy. when something made you sad, it tore you up on the inside.

they always did call you a little soft for jackson, for this world, but you want to do something for him, say something to him. tell him how you feel, and perhaps a cherry pie is enough for him?

the oven beeps, and you blink away your thoughts, with a huge smile on your face. you were going to be there for him, make something for him that he loved. and maybe he’d look at you, and then tell you why your core ached when you saw him, help you with that.

*

thing is, he has been looking at you. 

a pretty young thing, new in jackson with your beautiful eyes that shone like the sun. you were beautiful when he first saw you a few months ago, and you’re beautiful now. 

jamie took you out on patrol the first week you showed up, and you ended up a fucking mess when you heard a snap in the woods, turns out it was a deer, but the way you looked, you could have easily been a doe yourself, with your big wide eyes and wobbly legs. he’d brought you back, and joel had seen you properly for the first time, with your shaking hands and that big sweater that you were bundled up in, slipping off your shoulder, showing off the little bra strap you had on underneath. baby blue with a lace ribbon bow tied, and his breath hitched.

you were beautiful and pure, and he wanted to keep you safe in a world as fucked as this. 

you help out in the kitchens often after that, and that’s where he’s seen you from time to time, flour on your cheeks or handprinted onto your dress, sees you from the mess hall when he’s eating with ellie or tommy, talking about dinosaurs or buildings. something or the other, at least, but he’s not paying attention, because he sees you. hair tucked into a braid that’s falling loose, your eyes catching the lights. 

you flit around jackson like a bird, in your bulky sweaters, swapped out for gingham summerdresses when spring comes. bows in your hair, a soft smile on your face as you bake cookies and cakes for the community, sweet, just like you.

you’re too young for him, his bones ache and his vision blurs without his glasses, but there you are, kneading dough and serving the people of jackson like some pretty angel, and he can’t get enough of you.

he took the job of fixing your shower immediately when maria mentioned it, an embarassed blush on his cheeks when tommy ribbed him about it for how he took it without any hesitation. 

and he stares. stares at you as you bend over the sink in your house, your sweatpants tight against your ass as you lean to scrub the dishes. and he stares at you as you bashfully smile at him behind cups of coffee, and he stares at the way your chest rises and falls when you fall asleep on the couch one day.

and he’s too old for you, but he needs you.

*

you’d worked so hard. that’s all you remember. because in the end you’d worked so hard. you’d found the ingredients for the pie, you’d foraged for cherries, traded for dough. you had sugar, and you made three pies before it to make it just right for him. you’d worn your pretty dress, put the ribbons in your hair. you’d done everything for him, to make him happy. 

you’re so desperate for his approval it hurts, he’s as old as your father, maybe older, and you knew his grunts meant that he could barely stand you, but you need him so much it’s miserable. 

you knock on his door, strange, unfamiliar feeling in the bottom of your stomach again, strange to knock on a man’s door when you are like so. 

it swings open instead, and you hear laughter, the sound of cutlery and ceramic. it smells good, like steak or something fancy. you could barely cook, and your eyes prick with tears. 

there’s soft laughter, and there is joel’s voice, oh so soft. he’s making someone laugh, a woman, joel is on a date. because of course he is, he has a life that isn’t you, you don’t even register to him, desperate and pathetic in your attempts to impress him.

he calls her mary, and she’s as old as him. probably. probably smarter than you too, can go on patrols and doesn’t start crying at the drop of a hat. isn’t pathetic like you, in the kitchen, giving away pastries as favours. she probably knew how to kiss him too, and do all the things a couple does together, and you knew nothing, pathetic. pathetic. 

she kisses him properly, and he lets out a moan, and that’s when the pie slips out of your hand and hits the floor.

“what the —“ he calls out, looking at you as you stare at him in shock, betrayal on your face? the mess of the pie is leaking all over his hardwood floors, and mary glances at him as they break apart.

“joel?” she asks, pushing him away with a firm hand, “who is she, what’s she doing here?”

“fuck if i know.” is what he says, in his cruel voice, and your vision blurs with tears. he’s so carelessly cruel, mean with his words, “fucked my floors, that’s for sure.”

*

“it’s a date.” his voice is carefully cold, eyes staring at the mess you’ve made by dropping the cherry pie on his wooden floor. 

you drop to the ground immediately, ridiculous that you’re acting like this. he was just kissing someone else, it was fine, he barely looked at you, he barely knew who you were. and here you had come, desperate for a whimsy that you didn’t even know how to voice. he did not fucking care about you, clearly.

“you’ve fucked up my floors.” he growls, and you squeak, desperately wiping it away with your dress, the cherry jam stains your gingham dress red, and you swipe at it.

“i’m sorry joel, i promise, it won’t happen again.” you repeat, sounding so sad and scared, your eyes burn with tears, running down your cheeks. you won’t drop the pie on the floor, won’t stain his goddamn floors, won’t crash his stupid date.

but it’s too late, he’s angry at you, his date’s (mary) stalking out of the door, and your hands shake, covered in jam and pastry as you desperately try to wipe it off the floor, “i’m- i’m- i’m- sorry joel.” you mumble, so sadly, tears hitting the floor with a patter, “i’m sorry, i’m so fucking sorry.”

“you should be.” he spits, angrily, you can feel the hate in his voice, “let my date go, ruined my floor, girl you’re a clumsy mess.”

your eyes fill up with fresh tears, and they’re salty as they dry on your lips, “please—“ you beg him, scrubbing at the floor with no avail, the dark red stain not leaving. 

“fuckin’ stupid.” he says, and your hands shake, you gather up the mess of the pie and run back to your house, a few away, with the foil tin in your hands. god why did you even think — ridiculous with your dreams. 

you sob into your hands, curling up on the couch, and you hear the door squeak as it opens. heavy footsteps thud in, and you can smell joel. leather and wood. masculine, big. a man, rather than the boys you could ever know. 

“i ain’t mean it—“ he starts, a hand on your shoulder as you sob pathetically on your couch, the same couch he stared at you as you slept. “i promise, i ain’t mean it.” he repeats, his calloused skin against your soft one, and how could he have not known, how could he have not known?

“i thought—“ you hiccup, brushing your eyelashes with your hand, you’d washed them in hot water, and they’re still damp and warm, “joel i thought—“

you cried again, and he gathered you into his arms, couch creaking as he sat next to you, chin resting on your head until you just breathed, sniffling against his chest.

“i thought you were mad at me.” you wipe your tears against his tshirt, he’s wearing a nicer one than the one he wore at your house, and you can feel his soft stomach against you, “thought i fucked up so bad joel, m’damaged goods anyway.”

“y’aint damaged goods sweet girl,” he strokes your chin absentmindedly, “y’a good girl.” the way he says good girl, your stomach tingles again.

“but your floor—“ you stammer, nuzzling into him more. 

“fuck the floor.” he sighs, then strokes your cheek, “didn’t think someone like you would be interested someone like me.”

it’s your turn to look confused, and you do, staring at him with your big doe eyes. 

“i…baked the pie for you?” you swallowed, “never thought you’d be into a girl like me.”

your nose twitched, “ ‘s all for you.” you nuzzled into him again, and you felt his big fingers trace your hips, circle your soft skin. 

he slides a hand under your dress, and he feels the dampness of your panties. plain and white with a simple lace trim. 

“all this f’me too?” he asks, a little desperate, a little rough, and you nod, the feeling already too much for you. you let out a little whimper as he pushes away your panties to feel your pussy, throbbing and desperate.

“have you…?” he ask, looking at you expectantly, but he knows the answer anyway. from your bright eyes and your soft smiles. how shy you were when you brought him coffee, spoke to him, or any of the other guys in jackson. 

you shake your head, and he just lets out a low laugh, “ s’okay, i’ll be gentle with a good girl like you.”  

he circles your clit gently, and you feel your arousal slicking against your thighs, you buck you hips up and he laughs — “eager, are we?”

you just shake your head again, too emotional they say, too reckless, too prone to run into anything headfirst, 

“n-no” you breathe, your hands gripping his tshirt, “p-please.” you sigh, shaking in his arms. 

“see how messy y’getting for me already?” he smiles down at you, and then presses at your clit again, sending a jolt of pleasure through you, your toes curling in your socks. 

“always, always j-joel-“ you stutter out, before another wave of pleasure knocks you down, “just a mess for y-ou.”

you aren’t a mess just for him, you’re a mess in general — but you’re a mess this way for only him. 

“this is going to hurt a little, okay baby girl?” he says it so gently, “deep breath in?” and you follow, dumbly, before he slides a finger inside you, thick as he pushes in and out. 

the stretch burns for your virgin cunt, but you let out a pathetic moan that has his cock twitch needily. he’s fucking you on your couch, making you moan with a single finger.

without a warning, he slips another one in, and you whine at the stretch, so loud it would bring wolves. his finger stretches your tight hole out, and you rock your hips against his side, so so needy. 

he fucks you with his fingers, pushing in and out as you writhe and moan, neglecting his cock for your pleasure. 

“ah — s’not — ah enough—“ you gasp out, breathily, between your moans, he curls his fingers in a way that hits a part of you that makes you see stars, but the throb is painful, and it is not enough. and you need him. 

“s’more than you can take.” he warns you, your tears slipping out of your eyes as you stare up at him, mixing with your hair.

“please pease pleasepleasepleaseplease” you whine, and he thinks with someone like you, someone as sweet as you, as soft as you. 

not here, not this couch.

“bedroom?” he asks, and you weakly raise your hand to point to the second door down. he isn’t going to fuck you on the couch, too crude for someone like honey. the bed, your bed.

he pulls out his fingers, and you feel so empty. whining as he takes them out, sticky with your slick as he tastes it. sweet, just like you. just like the treats you bake jackson. 

he sweeps you up in his arms, a bridal carry. you are is bride, and he is your husband, he wants to marry you, make the whole waitin’ thing worth it. keep that tight cunt forever.

your room is soft, a double bed with pink sheets. a desk with a snuffed out candle, baking books everywhere. a radio that doesn’t work, and a half eaten slice of victoria sponge cake on the desk.

your cunt drools, drools in his grip, you’re leaking so desperately everywhere and when he places you on the bed, he starts to unbuckle his belt.

“y’sure?” and when he pulls down his underwear, his cock springs out, hard and red, weeping with precome. 

“yes joel, please.” you whisper, and you’re wet enough to take him already, so he slides it in. 

each inch, burns. it’s so much thicker than two of his fingers, and each inch burns, but it feels so good. your eyes roll with each inch, and you can barely form a thought, let alone say words. 

your cunt chokes him, so tightly, as his thrusts get rougher, cock head kissing your womb as he tries to imprint his cock into you. 

your eyes flutter as he pushes all the way to the hilt, sinking into you, “no one else gonna see you like this.” he growls, and you just shake your head, of course nobody would see you like this, you’re his now. his silly girl, “say yes slut?”

but you’re too far gone. too far gone as his hand comes down to rub on your swollen clit again, and your walls are squeezing him so tightly, he’s going to cum in you, make you as his.

and wouldn’t that be nice, the softest girl in jackson and him, roughened by years of misery. 

“s’mine, okay? y’sweetness is mine.” he thrusts again, and you come with a promise on your lips, agreeing with him. you’re his, his. the man you have been dreaming of for the past six months, his entirely. 

you gush on his cock, making a lewd moan, all sticky and all tangy as he thrusts into you again, chasing his own high. you squeeze him so tight, and he comes with thick ropes of his cum coating your inside

your hands fist the sheets, and your eyelids close with the overstimulation. he stays in you for a few moments, then pulls out, his cum, mixing with a little blood and your arousal, leaking out of your abused hole. 

“i’m all yours,” he gathers you up in his arms, kissing the top of your head, “no one else compares to that cunt of yours, promise.” 

you sigh, so deeply heady that you’re almost falling asleep, “s’good.” you slur, with exhaustion, “never-“

“yeah, i know.” he says gently, and then strokes your hair, letting the sounds of jackson’s afternoon lull the both of you to sleep. 

endnotes: ya i didnt know how to end it i was gooning near the end. um. thumbs up. i need this so bad like its destroying my soul. happy saturday. also is it really make up sex if they were never together to start with. thoughts.

people who wanted to be tagged: @realultracunt @lovelyladiess @styleslfreak @mytearsricochetm @shivispunk @tayl0rsvers1on @freythecrazyfae @karispotters11 enjoy this old man freakery with me

Of course, there were still traces of what “till death do us part” once meant — a shared bed, matching cups, a smaller pair of shoes by the door beside his, and what was the most convincing proof, a son.

But that was not enough to ensure that the rose of love that once bloomed years ago still shone with the same brilliance beneath the monotonous and hollow veil that now covered their present.

In fact, the flower that once symbolized their love and marriage had withered long ago. What began as a strong and loving union had turned into petty, pointless arguments that always ended in paranoid accusations of jealousy — the kind that inevitably led to the slow destruction of what used to be a sacred marital bond.

Although the question here wasn’t why his marriage was falling apart, but rather whether you cared in the slightest that he was still married.

It’s not like you ever gave it much thought. The reason Joel hadn’t gotten a divorce was because the legal process would’ve been just another pain in the ass in his already exhausting routine — and because his wife still clung to the idea of “the sake of their son,” a son who was already a grown man in his twenties, yet treated as if he were still a toddler.

But if you wanted to be completely honest with yourself, the answer would be no; you did not care in the slightest about the miserable state of your boyfriend’s parents’ marriage.

What did matter to you —and occupied your thoughts far more often than the dirty fantasies you were always daydreaming about— was the fact that it was your father-in-law’s bed where you had ended up most nights.

It had never been your intention for things to turn out this way. From the very beginning, there had always been a warm familiarity between you and Joel. Maybe it was the way his hugs lingered longer than they should, or the way his voice changed ever so slightly whenever he spoke to you.

Whatever the reason might have been — though you were convinced it wasn’t just one — it had turned into something darker. Something addictive. You knew perfectly well that, even though both your relationships were going through rough times, nothing justified the affair you were having behind your partners’ backs.

And guilt did gnaw at you, in the quiet moments when peace dared to visit. You knew that if he ever found out, he’d hate you —hell, he’d probably hate Joel too. But when Joel’s calloused hands were on your skin, when his cock was filling you up— there was no room for shame. Only pleasure. Only sin.

His touch, his voice, his kisses — everything about him was addictive. He was the forbidden fruit you couldn’t stop eating from, no matter the guilt that followed after. You were weak when it came to him, and it didn’t take long before you gave in.

And that’s where you were right now — trembling thighs spread wide across Joel’s lap, cock stretching you open slow and steady on the living room couch.

Your little whines broke the silence, high-pitched and desperate as you tried to sink down on him. His lips curved into a smirk, beard scraping warm against the curve of your neck as his hands steadied your waist.

“Easy now, baby girl,” Joel rumbled, voice low and sweet in a way that made your stomach flip. “Take your time. Daddy’s thick, gotta ease her open.”

Your cunt fluttered around the fat head of his dick, the feeling of his manhood snug inside your walls making you squirm. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he held you there, refusing to let you drop all at once.

“Daddy,” you whined, the word fragile and needy. “S’too big… it won’t fit,” your hips jerked in helpless little circles, like your body couldn’t decide whether to fight him or pull him deeper.

Joel chuckled, the sound rough, amused, and full of heat. He spanked your ass lightly, the crack of it echoing in the room. “I know, baby, I know… You’re takin’ me just fine, sweetheart. Sweetest little pussy I ever had—spoilin’ me rotten, darlin’.”

The praise made you melt, made your pussy clench down on him so hard he hissed through his teeth. “Fuck, baby... you always come crawlin’ back to me all needy after fightin’ with my boy, huh?”

Your stomach twisted at the reminder. The fight with your boyfriend still echoed sharp in your mind—his harsh words, the way he accused you of never being satisfied, of always wanting more.

And maybe he was right, you did want more…

Just not from him.

“Shh now,” Joel soothed when your eyes watered. He tipped your chin up, thumb brushing your lip softly. “Don’t think about him. Think about your old man. Daddy’s the one takin’ care of you, ain’t he?”

“Yes,” you breathed, nodding quickly. “Only you, daddy.”

“That’s my girl,” he praised, guiding your hips down until you were fully seated on his cock. The stretch burned, making your thighs quiver, but fuck if it wasn’t perfect. You gasped the moment he bottomed out, feeling overwhelmed as Joel groaned, forehead pressing against your temple. “Good little girl… Takin’ me so deep. Pussy knows who she belongs to.”

You whined again, burying your face in his neck as he bounced you slowly, using his grip on your ass to lift and drop you on his lap. Each push dragged a choked moan out of your chest. The pace set by him was deliberate, almost teasing, just enough to make your clit throb for more.

“See how perfect you fit?” Joel murmured, planting wet kisses along your jaw. “He don’t know how to treat you right, sweetheart. Always yellin’, always naggin’, makin’ my little baby cry. But daddy makes it all better, don’t he?”

“Y-yeah,” you hiccuped, body trembling as his cock nudged that soft spot inside you. “You make me feel so good.”

“That’s right,” he rasped, one hand sliding up your back, the other smacking your ass hard enough to make you yelp. “My sweet girl. Daddy’s good little girl.”

You whimpered, rocking slightly in his lap, cunt clenching greedily around him, begging silently for more.

“Bet he don’t even touch you right,” Joel rasped, his mouth hot against your ear. “Bet he leaves my baby girl cryin’ in bed, achin’ for somethin’ he can’t give.”

“…Daddy—!”

“Shh, baby, I got you,” he whispered. “Just bounce for me. Wanna hear them pretty noises. That’s all daddy needs.”

Your hips moved faster, chasing friction, your slick coating his cock as he groaned low in his chest. His voice dropped darker, sweeter—praise laced with sin. “He don’t deserve you,” his palm smoothed down your back, firm and possessive. “Never did.” He tilted your chin up so you couldn’t look away. “But I do.”

Oh god.

Your lashes fluttered, mouth falling open as you started to sob little moans. “Need you, daddy… please, need you so bad—”

Joel spanked you again, sharp but not cruel, making you jolt against him. “I know, baby,” his lips lightly brushed against yours, gently nibbling on them. “C’mon now, move those hips for daddy. Show me how bad you need him.”

You whimpered, bouncing down harder, thick length hitting the deepest parts of your warmth. The wet slap of your cunt against his thighs filled the living room, punctuated by your desperate little cries every time his balls smacked your cheeks.

“Good girl. Doin’ so good for me.” Joel praised, groaning low. “Look at you, ridin’ daddy’s cock like you were made for it. So much better than him, huh? He couldn’t handle this sweet pussy even if he tried.”

Tears pricked your eyes—not from pain but from the sheer intensity of it.

And perhaps from the truth in his words as well.

“Shh,” Joel soothed, kissing them away even as he fucked you deeper with a sudden, brutal thrust of his hips. “Don’t cry, baby. Daddy’s got you. Always.”

The rhythm grew rougher, his hands guiding you up and down, spanking you in between, every praise soaked in possession. “Just like that, pretty girl, ride daddy nice and deep. Gonna fill you up, baby. Give you everything he can’t.”

His words tangled with the echoes of the fight—your boyfriend’s accusations, the way he said you’d never be loyal. And he wasn't wrong when he yelled that truth in your face.

But as Joel’s cock pulsed inside you, as he whispered filthy praise into your ear, you knew where you belonged.

You sobbed, feeling that familiar bliss curl hot and dizzy in your lower belly. He started fucking up into you harder, chasing your high before he even contemplated his own orgasm. “Gonna come for me? Gonna let daddy have it?”

“Y-yes! Daddy, please—! Please—!”

“Let it go, baby, let it go, soak all of your old man’s cock.” You cried out, the sound muffled against his chest as he coaxed you to come.

Not long after you shattered around him with a cry, milking him hard as he held you against his chest. “That’s it, angel, just like that… I gotcha, always gotcha, sweet thing.” He kissed your temple, chasing his own high desperately.

Moments later, his whole body stiffened under you, burying himself deep as his spend filled you up to the brim.

His groan was low, raw, his hand cradling your head with adoration as he stayed there, cock snug inside you, keeping you as close as humanly possible.

You clung to him, trembling with the aftershocks, guilt swirling somewhere in the back of your mind—but drowned out by the warmth of his arms.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered. “Daddy’s proud of you.”

You blinked up at him, face flushed and damp. He brushed his thumb over your cheek, gentling you after the roughness.

“Don’t you worry about him,” Joel said firmly, eyes dark with something possessive. “Long as you need me, I’ll be here. Always, baby.”

And despite the shame that twisted in your gut, you melted against him, letting his love swallow you whole. Because no matter how wrong this was, you believed him when he said that no one else would ever love you like this.

And maybe he was right.

Because only daddy knows best.

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