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joelscurls · 7 months

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feel it in your bones

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pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 12.5k

summary: Two years ago, you finished your PhD and moved to Vermont. In the time since, you’ve gotten a job as a college professor, had your heart broken, and sworn off relationships entirely. Enter Joel, the father of one of your students, here for Homecoming Weekend – and too attractive to resist.

warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), alcohol consumption, fluff, smut, masturbation (f), mutual pining(?), sexual tension, grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cumplay / cum eating, some light biting, use of pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, etc.), reader has an asshole ex, no use of y/n

a/n: my first Joel fic! This is honestly a bit self-indulgent but I love fall and academia and Joel Miller so sue me okay. ty to my bby @caffeinated-validation for reading through this and offering your insight -- get you a partner who will beta your filthy Joel Miller smut for you lmao <3

You’ve gotten used to being alone.

You don’t mind it as much as you had a few months ago, the breakup still fresh, every touch of your own fingers seering into your skin when you’d remembered the way he’d touched you, the sound of your voice almost unrecognizable as you’d convince yourself each day to get out of bed and go to work, where you’d inevitably run into him. It was painful then, having to come home to the quiet, always far too aware of the sound of your own thoughts drumming against the inside of your skull.

Now though, you revel in that quiet. Sip your coffee in silence each morning. You’ve learned how to stay lost in your work, bringing home stacks of papers to grade and eating through texts to support your research while your dinner gets cold on the table in front of you. You’re well aware that this isn’t the healthiest way to cope, to just avoid it all, but it’s better than feeling.

You’ve sworn off relationships entirely. It’s a silent promise to yourself – that you’ll remain married to your work. You will devote all of your energy to making sure your students excel and that your research is strong. That is your life’s purpose, to make use of the PhD you worked so hard to get – not to be someone’s girlfriend or wife. And you’re fine with that, really. You’ve become immune to loneliness – or numb, maybe.

Regardless, you welcome the independence. You don’t have to worry about anyone else’s thoughts or feelings when it comes to the way you spend your own time. You’re free to do whatever you want. You can draw yourself a bath, fill it with bubbles, sit in it while you drain a bottle of wine into your mouth until the water runs cold. You can eat an entire box of dry cereal in one sitting while you re-watch your favorite show for the twentieth time. You can make yourself cum at any hour of the night with your vibrator or your shower head or your hand – and then go to work the next morning without a semblance of guilt.

Really, you like being alone.

Until you don’t.

It’s Homecoming Weekend at Sarah’s school.

She had insisted that Joel didn’t have to come, that it was mostly an opportunity for the college to milk donations out of sentimental alumni. But he’d missed her for the month she’d been gone, the house far too quiet with just him in it. In previous years, Joel had busied himself following Sarah’s departure with home projects. Three years in, though, he’s updated just about every room in the house, re-done the floors, built a brand new back deck.

In other words, he’s fresh out of distractions.

So, he’d made the trek to Vermont, with the excuse that he’d always wanted to experience a New England fall. It’s a lie, one that Sarah can probably read right through, considering he vocalizes his discomfort whenever the temperature drops below 70 degrees in Texas, but she goes along with it.

Besides, he wants to see what his tuition money is paying for.

In truth, Joel had been nervous when Sarah announced what major she’d decided to pursue. She had just finished her freshman year, prerequisite courses all completed. When she’d said the word – anthropology – Joel hadn’t even been sure what it meant. Since then, she’s explained it to him many times and in truth, he’s still none the wiser. Really, he’s just happy that she’s happy. Her passion for it is evident on her face any time she talks to him about the courses she’s taking, how great her professors are.

Especially you – she talks about you all the time – her mentor.

You’re supervising her on her thesis project – a qualitative assessment on students’ views on feminism and gender politics in the classroom. This past summer, Joel swears Sarah had mentioned your name more than her own friends’. She’d told him what courses you teach, what research you’ve conducted, all the countries you’ve traveled to for fieldwork. And she gives the best advice – Sarah had said one night over dinner – she’s like, my lifeline at school.

Joel doesn’t know you, but he’s thankful for you – for the guidance you so clearly provide Sarah.

There’s an Open House today for the Social Sciences college, which Joel tags along with Sarah to. He’s hopeful that he’ll learn something, come to understand the field and why Sarah loves it.

A buffet table stocked with refreshments sits on one side of the lecture hall. Sarah grabs them both cups of water infused with cucumber while Joel saves them seats at the back. There’s a slideshow projected onto the white board at the front, the current slide reading: An Introduction to the Social Sciences College & Our Current Research Efforts. A group of professors gathers at the front, name tags stuck to their button-downs and blazers. Sarah spots you as she sits down, pointing you out as she hands Joel his water.

“There – that one’s my mentor – the one in the plaid pants.”

Joel’s eyes follow her finger to the group at the front, scanning down the line. There’s a man, short and stocky with noticeably small hands hooked by the thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. Next to him, is a woman, taller than him, wearing a bright turquoise silk shirt, gold bangles decorating both of her wrists. And next to her is you, in the plaid pants.

Sarah had told him a lot of things about you, but she’d never mentioned that you’re fucking gorgeous. You’re smiling at something Turquoise Shirt has just said to you, and it’s like your entire face is glowing. Joel has to take a sip of water to collect himself.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you for the entirety of the presentation.

The dean of the college starts by briefly covering each department and what research efforts they have planned for the semester. Joel should be listening, he came here to listen – but he can’t get himself to focus on anything other than you.

You’re mostly focused on the presenter. Every so often, though, you distractedly toy with the buttons on your cardigan or twirl a strand of your hair between delicate fingers. And Joel is suddenly realizing how touch-starved he is after years of refusing to date – because just watching you, your hands – is about to send him into orbit.

You’re well-spoken too, he learns, when you take the microphone to discuss your current research project.

“This semester, I’ll be delving into the presence of food deserts in Vermont, and the effects these are having on the overall health of youth in the state,” you say. “We have received a sizable grant for this research, and I am thrilled to get started in a matter of weeks. This project will span the better part of the academic year as I speak to locals and craft surveys that will provide qualitative data to support my findings from the field.”

You press down on the clicker in your hand. A new slide projects onto the whiteboard. It’s a photo of you against the backdrop of a jungle, lush, green trees stretching past the top of the frame. The wide-brimmed hat you’re wearing covers most of your face – but that damn smile radiates through the makeshift screen.

“This is me last summer, in Peru. My research here was much more self-indulgent – I studied the important role that food plays in the average family there – and ate wayyyy too many sweets.”

The crowd laughs. It’s the first reaction they’ve expressed this entire time.

It’s entrancing, the way you command the room. You have such a calm confidence about you as you speak, words never once faltering as you stride back and forth across the front of the lecture hall. Joel isn’t much of a talker – maybe that’s why he feels like he could listen to you for hours on end. He thinks that you could read the damn phone book and his focus would remain unwavering. That your voice, velvet-soft, could spellbind him without much effort.

When your portion of the presentation ends, he’s more than a bit disappointed.

Students and their families filter out of the lecture hall. You situate yourself in a corner of the room for the actual Open House portion of the event, at the ready to answer any questions or, more likely, offer directions to another part of campus.

You smile as familiar faces and strangers alike pass you, reach for your to-go mug on the table behind you, and take a sip. The coffee is pretty much ice-cold now, but you still gulp it down, only after the caffeine anyway.

You place the mug back down with a light thud against the tabletop. Suddenly, a voice you’ve come to know well rings in your ear.

“Professor!”

When you look up, Sarah Miller is bounding down the aisle, signature smile plastered across her face. And there’s a man behind her, you notice, moving much slower.

He’s tall, broad shoulders pulling taut against the green flannel he’s wearing. He cradles a beige workwear jacket in the crook of his bicep,corded muscle visibly bulging against fabric. His other hand rubs at the scruff along his jaw, pointedly sharp in the patches where hair doesn’t grow.

He has a distinguishable nose, you notice as he gets closer, strong – large and hooked at the center of his tan face. It’s complemented perfectly by his plush, pink lips that seem to be set in a permanent pout.

In other words, he’s handsome – almost distractingly so, as he stands next to Sarah in front of you.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she beams – turns to the man next to her.

“Dad, this is my mentor,” She says your name.

He nods. His eyes meet yours. They’re deep brown, almost black – and undeniably entrancing.

“‘‘ts nice to meet you, Ma’am. I’m Joel.”

Ma’am.

It’s not like the word is foreign to you, given your profession. There’s something about the way he says it, though, that makes your head spin, his southern drawl dripping in honey-butter and bourbon.

Joel outstretches a hand. You shake it – try to ignore the way it dwarfs yours.

“Joel,” you repeat, eyes locked firmly on the space between his eyes. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“That was a great presentation you gave up there. You’re a good, uh – talker.” His expression is unreadable. His hands fidget at his sides.

You offer him a smile. “Thank you – I think? My students probably wish I would shut up sometimes. Right, Sarah?”

“Oh please,” she scoffs, “as if you’ve never seen your rating on Rate My Professor.”

She’s not wrong – you pride yourself on having pretty stellar reviews – but you also try your hardest not to let them get to your head. Sarah isn’t helping that, right now.

“Anyways,” she exaggerates the word, “what are you up to tonight, Professor? They’re holding an exhibition at the art center later, all student work – d’you wanna come with us?”

Your reflex is to say no. After all, he’ll probably be there. Your ex, Quentin, works in the art history department. And even though you’re over him, you’re not exactly looking for an excuse to be in the same room as him. But you technically don’t have plans tonight, and you can’t even think of a good lie right now with Sarah staring you down.

And then there’s Joel, standing in front of you, all broad shoulders and chiseled jaw – and you think, what a great opportunity to get to know him, you know, as the parent of your student. Definitely not as anything else, anything more. It is Homecoming, after all.

So, you say yes.

“Cool!” Sarah smiles, “Meet you there at 7?”

You nod, tell Sarah that sounds perfect, and that you’ll see them tonight.

Sarah starts toward the door. But Joel stands there for a moment longer. His eyes linger on yours, his wordless stare threatening to burn a hole in your head. You can feel the heat of it, beads of sweat beginning to form at the base of your neck. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying your hardest to conceal them.

A beat passes. It looks like he might say something, his mouth opening then closing again.

He gives you a courteous nod, turns on his heels, and follows after Sarah.

Joel hadn’t remembered the food being this bad when he’d visited for orientation. He struggles to keep down a particularly rubbery bite of chicken and reaches for his water bottle, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he focuses on not vomiting.

Sarah laughs next to him. “Hey man, at least you don’t have to eat this shit year-round.”

He grunts in agreement. “Gonna cancel your meal plan next semester and jus’ give you the money to buy groceries.”

She hums. Cocks her head. “That means I’m gonna have to learn how to cook – do you think Student Housing has fire insurance?”

Joel wants to roll his eyes, but it’s definitely his fault – after all, he can barely fry an egg without setting off the fire alarm. Their freezer has always been well-stocked with TV dinners and tater tots. So instead, he just shrugs.

“So what’s this art thing tonight?” He moves on to the salad on his plate, decidedly much safer.

“I don’t really know – my roommate asked me to go, she has some pieces in it, I guess.”

He nods. “And your professor – that was nice ‘a you to invite her.”

Sarah nods, smiles. “Yeah – you like her, right? I mean, you’re sure you’re cool with me asking her to come?” She asks, a mouthful of lettuce.

“‘Course,” he says, attempting to keep his voice level, nonchalant.

“I know you’re not really one for meeting new people,” she teases.

He mock-glares at her. It quickly softens into a smile. “Nah – she seems cool.” It’s an understatement, but Sarah doesn’t need to know that.

She doesn’t need to know that her dad is attracted to her professor.

Joel thinks that he might not have been so great at hiding it, though, when a few hours later, in the middle of watching an unarguably bad student production of Macbeth, Sarah turns to him and whispers that she’s not feeling well.

“Hm, is that right?,” he whispers back, unconvinced.

“Yeah, must’ve been the food.”

“We ate the same thing, Sarah.”

There’s a shout on stage. The actor’s voice cracks.

“Well I dunno,” she continues, “My stomach just doesn’t feel good.”

“Yeah, and what about that thing with your professor?”

He can see her smirk even in the dim lighting.

“Shit, you’re right. And I don’t have her phone number, so it’s not like I can text her...”

She groans. Joel thinks she should be on that stage right now.

“We can’t just ghost her.” Joel has no idea what that means. He doesn’t bother asking.

“Sarah-” he starts.

“Please. She’s such a nice lady, she doesn’t deserve to be stood up.”

He could say no. It’s not like he knows you, owes you anything. But in truth, Joel does want to see you again. And he’s well aware that Sarah might be trying to set the two of you up – ever-perceptive and hell-bent on her dad being happy – but he tries not to think about how embarrassing that feels, his daughter playing matchmaker for him. Because he wants to spend more time with you, get to know more about you, if you’ll let him.

He’s barred himself from forming any kind of real relationship with a woman since Sarah’s mother left. Not because she’d broken his heart, but because he’d needed all of his energy to go to Sarah. As a single father, he had always feared that he wouldn’t be enough for his daughter – wouldn’t give enough – that growing up in a broken home would leave her half of a person. That fear had fueled him to be the best dad possible – to work overtime so that he could provide for them, to never miss one of her soccer games or dance recitals. And so, he had never even considered dating, not seriously, anyway. It would take attention away from Sarah, and he couldn’t risk that.

He’s found it difficult to shake this principle, now that Sarah has grown up. He often grapples with the fact that Sarah doesn’t need him as much anymore – that she’s her own person living her own life. He knows he could date now, could meet someone new, open his heart to them. But he’s so used to fighting that human need for companionship, that it feels almost unnatural to let his guard down.

But now there’s you – your megawatt smile and your impressive intelligence and your care for his daughter – and suddenly he’s forgotten his own rules.

“Okay; I’ll go.” It comes out entirely too enthusiastic.

He can practically feel Sarah’s accomplished, shit-eating grin burning into the side of his head.

You leave campus around four pm, once the last of the Open House participants have gone.

You take a shower when you get home. Then you order sushi – stuff rolls of yellowfin and salmon into your mouth as you sit at the dining table still wrapped up in your towel, trying your best not to spill soy sauce on the half-graded essays that litter the tabletop. When you’re done, you retreat to your closet, treading on damp feet across the waxy hardwood floor.

And you definitely don’t think about Joel – not when you debate what to wear to the art exhibition, not when your fingers accidentally graze one of your nipples as you put your bra on, not when you get distracted while pulling your panties on by the pool of wetness that has formed between your thighs.

You definitely don’t think about him – because he’s Sarah’s dad, and that would be wrong.

So it’s accidental when his name falls from your mouth, fingers pressed against your clit, visions of large, calloused hands flashing behind your closed eyelids.

You cover your mouth with the curve of your palm to prevent it from slipping out again. Sink back into the mattress.

Then you press your fingers down harder.

Joel feels like a first-year student, wandering aimlessly across campus in search of the art center. Sarah’s directions had been, well, brief. She’d insisted he’d be able to find it no problem. Now though, in the limited light of dusk, all the structures look the same, bleeding together like watercolors against the evening sky.

He does find it, eventually, a three-story brick building tucked between the library and what looks to be a dormitory. Bright, artificial light seeps through the windows that line the bottom floor. The double doors at the front are propped open, people slipping in and out of them as he approaches.

He looks for you outside, searching for a familiar head of hair, the brown cardigan you’d been wearing earlier. When he doesn’t see you, he reluctantly makes his way up the stairs and into the building.

He spots you almost immediately affixed in front of a painting, studying it intently.

You’re wearing a different outfit than the one you had on this afternoon – a merlot-colored slip dress and a cropped leather jacket. He struggles to ignore the way the satin clings to you, the curves of your body excruciatingly accentuated. He has to remind himself that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, shouldn't expect you to stick around for long once he lets you know Sarah isn’t coming. You’ll probably make an excuse to leave shortly after, and he’ll be back on Sarah’s couch within the hour.

After all, why would you stick around just to talk to him?

You don’t see him when he sidles up next to you. He clears his throat and you startle.

“Sorry,” he brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to spook ya.”

You take a step back to face him and put a hand to your chest, your breath beginning to even. His eyes wander, for a moment, to where your fingers rest against your collarbone.

“Shit – it’s okay. Where’s Sarah?”

“She wasn’t feeling well, but she said I should still come. Is that – uh – is that okay?” He’s suddenly worried that this was dumb, that he shouldn’t have come, should’ve just let Sarah explain to you on Monday.

But your features soften then, a small smile forming between rosy cheeks.

“Joel, it’s fine; I appreciate you not ditching me.”

“‘Course,” he manages. He’s waiting for you to say something else – that you need to leave. But you don’t, and you both stand enveloped in the pregnant pause that lingers, bright overhead lighting and nerves giving Joel the start of a migraine he’ll have to ignore for the rest of the night.

He clears his throat. Turns to the painting in front of you. “So what’s this one, then?”

The painting in question is a mish-mash of shapes and colors. Joel can’t distinguish any one thing on the canvas. It’s all just a lot of…nothing. He knows it’s not for him when he thinks a preschooler with finger paints could’ve done this.

You bring your hand up to cradle your jaw, brows furrowed in contemplation. It looks like you’ll offer an actual, intellectual interpretation. So Joel isn’t prepared when instead, you say:

“Looks like a bad trip.”

A laugh bubbles out of him, the corners of his eyes creasing.

“Sorry,” you say, between giggles. “That was stupid.”

“No,” he says, swiping a hand over his jaw, trying to physically rub the embarrassing smile off his face. “You’re funny.”

He means it. He’s not sure how it’s possible that you’re funny, when you’re also so smart and interesting and gorgeous. It’s almost unfair. He thinks, fleetingly, that you’re way out of his league – a boring, old man like him.

You continue to the next piece, Joel following closely behind. It looks like it must be by the same artist. The same variation of shapes fill the canvas, just in different colors.

“Alright Cowboy, what’s your take on this one?”

Joel studies it for a moment – tries to find something he can pull out. Something tangible. Something funny, even.

He comes up empty.

“‘ts interesting f’sure. Lots of…colors,” he tries. He realizes how ridiculous he sounds. Laughs. “Shit…art ain’t really my thing,” he admits, arm stretched behind his head.

“So what is your thing?” Your voice is tinged with something – Joel tries his hardest not to let himself believe that it’s flirtation.

Your eyes are still fixed on the canvas in front of you. And Joel is thankful, because he thinks if you looked at him, let those eyes meet his, he’d break – tell you that right now, you’re his thing.

He doesn’t get a chance to answer either way, though, because he’s interrupted by a man’s voice behind the two of you.

“Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here!”

You whip around to face him. Joel turns too. The man is taller than you, but shorter than him. He’s wearing round, wire-frame glasses that sit like a suggestion on his nose, and a full suit, with a tie that has some god-awful, ugly pattern all over it. It looks like the art here, Joel thinks.

Joel’s eyes flit back to you, and he watches as your hackles go up. You back up, bumping into the canvas behind you. You curse under your breath.

“Quentin. Hey.”

“Glad you could make it,” the man, Quentin, says. He swirls a cup of what appears to be red wine in one hand. He leans in closer, brings the other hand up at the side of his mouth to conceal his words. “I know this isn’t really your scene.”

You shift uncomfortably. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m uh, venturing out, I guess. Trying new things.”

He laughs. It’s an asshole laugh, Joel notes. Everything about this guy screams asshole.

“About time!” The asshole puts a hand on your shoulder. You flinch. Joel’s hands instinctively bunch into fists at his side.

“So proud of you,” Quentin says. “Finally letting yourself be a little cultured.”

This guy can’t be serious.

You scoff. Grab his hand and flick it off your shoulder. He looks wounded. Good, Joel thinks.

“Yeah, because traveling the world has left me so very uncultured, Quentin.”

“Hey,” he puts his hands up. “Don’t take offense, baby. I know your little field trips are important, too.”

It’s the last straw.

In one movement, you’re pushing off the wall, shoving past Quentin, and making your way to the exit. Joel doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at the asshole, just follows after you out the door.

It’s gotten colder in the short time he’d been inside, he notices. A gust of wind nips at the exposed skin on his hands. He stuffs them haphazardly in the pockets of his jacket.

He finds you perched on the front steps, arms wrapped around your body protectively. He takes a few cautious strides forward. When you look up at him, you’re visibly distraught.

You groan as he sits down next to you. “Sorry. That was embarrassing.”

Joel wants to touch you, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, but he knows he probably shouldn’t – not right now.

“‘ts not embarrassin’,” he says, instead. His warm breath materializes in the cold air. “Not for you, anyway. That guy was clearly an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That was my ex-boyfriend.” You’re both quiet, then. The two of you sit there, side by side on the stairs, in comfortable silence. A few minutes pass. Joel notices you chewing on your bottom lip, like you’re considering something. When you speak again, your voice wavers.

“Would you want to go for a drink or something? It’s just, I really don’t want to be here anymore.”

For a moment, he can’t believe what he’s hearing – you’re asking him out? He takes a second to respond. You start to backtrack. “It’s okay if you don’t wan-”

“Hey,” he stops you. Makes sure you’re looking at him.

“I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Great.” Your hand drops to your side, brushing against his. He expects you to move it. He’s thankful when you don’t.

“I know a place–” you continue – “one that won’t be full of drunk college kids.”

“Great,” Joel parrots you. He stands, extends a hand to help you up. You take it, letting your palm rest against his for a moment longer than necessary when you’re upright.

“Cool,” you say, clearing your throat. You pull up the Uber app on your phone. Joel watches you book a driver. Then you turn back to him with a smile. It’s different from the one he’s seen before. It’s smaller, shyer.

“Larry will be here in 4 minutes,” you say.

The bar is a twenty minutes’ drive from campus – fifteen with Larry’s lead foot.

It’s more of a lounge than a bar, really – leather armchairs accompanied by low cocktail tables arranged throughout the single large, open room. A brick fireplace sits on the back wall, currently roaring with warm orange flames.

On either side of the fireplace are floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with vintage books, their illegible titles etched in gold along weathered spines. You can imagine that their pages are yellowed and dusty, and it’s so tempting to swipe one off the shelf to see, to smell.

The light in here is warm, a stark contrast from the bright white of the art gallery. It’s comforting, and you feel your body immediately relax when you walk through the entrance next to Joel.

The bar at the front is busy (it is Saturday night, after all), so you and Joel stand at the back of the crowd for a few moments, waiting for the people in front of you to get their drinks. When a group of men start forcing their way through right next to you, Joel immediately puts a large hand on your shoulder, turning your body towards his. He’s just being chivalrous, making sure you don’t get shoved, but it still sends a shockwave up your spine.

When a spot clears in front of the bar, Joel steps forward, bringing you with him. He orders a whiskey neat, then turns to you, asking what you want.

It’s difficult to think with his hand still on you, so you go with the first words that come to mind.

“Same as you.”

He stares at you for a moment, amused, like he can see right through you and the fact that you’ve never had whiskey in your life. But you hold his gaze, challenging him with your eyes, and he drops it. “Make that two,” he tells the bartender.

Once you have your drinks, Joel slaps a few bills down on the bar. You can tell he won’t let you do so much as offer to pay him back, so you don’t. You lead him through the lounge to a couple of chairs tucked away in the back corner, partially hidden behind an antique wooden partition – far enough from the main seating area, but still close enough to the fireplace that you can feel its warmth.

This is where you always sit when you come, usually with coworkers, once or twice with him. Quentin had been pretty critical of this place, like he is with everything. He’d complained that the wine selection could be larger – that they could have more French options. When you’d explained that most of their wines come from local vineyards, he’d just rolled his eyes.

You’re still reeling a bit from your interaction with him at the gallery, even as you settle into soft leather and feel a burst of warmth against your cheek. He was such an asshole, you think, taking a cautious sip of whiskey. You’re immediately repulsed by the taste of it, and you do a poor job of hiding the grimace that automatically spreads across your face in the crook of your arm.

Joe laughs across from you. “Not your thing? I can go grab ya somethin’ else,” he offers.

“No,” you insist, “this is fine. Just need to get used to it.” It’s a lie – you both know it – but he doesn’t push it.

Instead he leans back, swirls his own glass – which looks comically tiny in his grip – and lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“So, your ex is a real dick, huh?”

“You can say that again,” you mumble.

He quirks a brow at you. “Why’d you even date him?”

It’s a fair question. Why had you dated him? Loneliness, maybe? You’d like to blame it on that, but it’s not the truth – not entirely. Quentin had been kind, at first. He had seemed so interested in you and where you came from and what you were passionate about. He was a relatively good boyfriend, all things considered – until he’d grown tired of hiding who he really was.

You’d gotten a substantial pay raise at the end of your second year at the university. When you’d told Quentin, he’d gone quiet – practically gave you the silent treatment for days on end. When you’d finally worn him down, gotten him to talk, the most he could utter was that he was happy for you; he just wasn’t sure why he hadn’t gotten a raise like that yet.

It’s not like you were in competition – you worked for two entirely different departments, in different colleges. But it had been a constant losing battle nevertheless, to get him to stop comparing your successes. And when he’d found out you actually made more money than him – that had pretty much been the nail in the coffin.

You tell Joel all of this. You’re not sure why you do – it’s not like you can blame the alcohol after one half-sip of whiskey. You feel comfortable with him though, here, like this. He’s a good listener, too, attentively nodding every so often as you ramble.

When you’re done, he’s quiet. He stares at his drink, pursing his lips.

After a beat, he looks up at you.

“You deserve better than that, darlin’.”

You almost crumble under his gaze. His eyes are at least two shades darker than they had been a moment ago – and there’s something lingering behind them that you can’t quite place. Whatever it is has you feeling weak.

“You barely know me,” you joke.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I know enough, though. Could do much better than him, I reckon.”

You want to ask him if he has anyone in mind, if he would be better for you, but you can’t – not yet – not this sober. You take another sip of your drink, breathing through your nose as it burns its way down your throat.

You talk for hours. He asks about your family; you tell him how you moved out here two years ago on your own after you finished your doctorate program. He’s impressed by that, says you’re brave. You tell him you’ve never felt very brave.

It’s all so easy, talking to Joel in the dimly-lit bar you’ve been to so many times before. Sipping on whiskey as if you actually enjoy it. It’s never felt so much like home — not the bar, not this town. The thought is dizzying.

He asks about Sarah, too, how she’s doing in school. He insists that she doesn’t tell him much, and if she does, it’s about you and how great your classes are.

“I had never even heard of anthropology before she decided to study it,” he admits. “But I’m glad she did. It’s her thing, f’sure.”

You smile, knowingly. “Yeah, it is. She’s a great kid, Joel. You raised her well.”

He shakes his head humbly, but you don’t relent. You want him to hear this, really hear this. Because you get the feeling he hasn’t been told enough.

“She’s not just smart, Joel. She’s good. She’s a good person. That’s kind of rare nowadays — especially among her generation.”

Joel chuckles, his head hanging between his shoulders.

“I mean, shit,” you continue, “she brings me pancakes from the diner just off campus whenever she knows I’m stuck in my office working late. My other students barely even ask how I’m doing most days.”

Joel hums in amusement. His eyes are locked on a wrinkle in the leather of the arm of his chair.

“Joel,” you say, pointedly. You wait for him to look at you. When he does, his gaze is uncertain. “She’s a good person —“ you repeat — “and that’s because you raised her to be.”

“‘ts just southern hospitality, is all,” he mumbles.

“No Joel – it’s you.”

He stares for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing. His jaw twitches. And then he breaks, finally, a smile pulling at his lips.

“Thank you.”

His voice is so soft suddenly. It throws you off. It also turns you on – like, a lot, the gravellyness of it scratching your brain and your loins. You dig your nails into leather in an attempt to steady your quickening heart rate.

“No problem,” you mutter sheepishly.

Suddenly, there’s a buzz on the table – Joel’s phone. He picks it up, squinting at the bright screen.

“Sarah?,” you ask.

“Nah, ‘ts just my brother, Tommy.”

He types out a quick response and re-locks the phone, placing it back down on the table.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, jus’ asking if I think hookin’ up with a client is a bad idea,” he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

You don’t know Tommy, but you like him already – seems like a fun guy. And clearly values his brother’s opinions. It’s telling, you think.

“That’s right – you’re a contractor. You and your brother work together?”

“Yeah, we got our own business back home.”

“And you like it?,” you ask.

“Used to,” he laughs, “when I was more limber.”

You laugh too. You can feel the heat of slight intoxication, and something else, in your chest, your inhibitions dissolving in your bloodstream. And suddenly that horrible idea you’d had earlier to flirt with Joel doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

“Still look plenty limber to me, Mr. Miller.” The words leave you before you have the chance to stop them.

Joel’s hands tense on either arm of his chair. Despite your buzz, you still have half a mind to worry that you’ve fucked up, that there’s a chance you’ve misread this whole thing.

But then he sinks back in the chair, the leather groaning under him. He rakes his dark eyes over you. And the way he’s looking at you is unmistakable. He looks hungry. You feel like your entire body has been set ablaze.

Without thinking, you stand up, take a couple of steps toward him. Scan the lounge. Most of the remaining patrons are huddled by the bar, talking boisterously among themselves. Tucked in your little corner, the two of you might as well be in a different zip code.

“Whatcha doin’, darlin’?” Joel smirks up at you as you stand unmoving in front of him. He takes one of your hands in his and traces gentle, reassuring shapes along the back of it with his index finger.

Without a word, you hike your dress up to your thighs and straddle him, knees digging into the leather on either side of his legs. He hums approvingly as you sink onto his lap and cup his face in your hands. He places his own on your lower back, just above your ass. “This okay?,” you ask. It comes out breathy and wrecked.

“C’mere,” he says in that syrupy drawl, and then one of his hands is on the back of your head, pushing you gently against him, your lips slotting to his.

It’s messy and all-encompassing. He kisses you with a fervency that confirms this hasn’t all been in your head –that he’s been wanting this too.

The voices of bar-goers and the clinking of glassware are suddenly muted. All you can focus on is Joel — the way he tastes like whiskey and cinnamon gum, the way one of his large hands comes to rest at the nape of your neck, fingers tangled in the hair there while the other remains on your back, steadying you. The way he licks into your mouth after a few seconds with a groan, causing you to reflexively bare down on his lap.

You feel his cock swell underneath you and you grind against it, laughing low and quiet against his lips when his entire body tenses. He pulls back, blinking up at you with glazed-over eyes. Joel, all six feet of him, looks wrecked.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants. He looks down at where you’re hovering over his now fully-hard cock. “Gotta stop. Otherwise you’re gonna make me cum in my pants like a damn teenager.”

You pout at him, lifting your lower half off of his. You don’t stand up, though – not immediately, anyway. Instead, you take his head back in both of your hands. He lets you, blinking up at you wordlessly.

You’d known when you’d first seen him earlier today that he was handsome, but right now, his face so close to yours – you’re seeing all of the little details – the scar indented in his forehead, just above his right eyebrow; the flush that stains his cheeks, which you can guess is partly from the alcohol, but maybe also from you. He’s biblically gorgeous, which makes it difficult to pry yourself off of him.

You do though, after a minute, smoothing down your dress once you’re back on two feet. You feel a bit breathless, suddenly. And exhausted.

What time is it?

You retrieve your phone from where it’s been lodged in the cushion of your chair.

You tap on the screen, waking it up.

12:47?! When had it gotten so late?

Joel stands, adjusting himself in his pants. You can’t help but giggle at him — big, tough man looking positively ruined after just a few minutes of being under you. You feel pretty accomplished. He rolls his eyes at you.

“Shut up — just get us an Uber.” You don’t miss the smile that sprouts between his cheeks when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You wait outside for your driver — John M.

The cold Vermont air is sobering. You feel almost normal by the time the car pulls up, save for the dull, throbbing ache between your legs. You will it away as you crouch into the back of the silver Nissan behind Joel. The sound of the radio playing soft rock hits is a poor distraction on the drive home.

“Wanna come in?,” you ask Joel when the car comes to a halt in front of your building. You watch him ponder it, eyes glued to the roof of the sedan. But ultimately, he shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says. “Gotta check on Sarah.”

You nod, try to hide your disappointment. “Right.”

You open the door. Just as you’re about to get out, Joel stops you.

“Wait,” he says. “Can I see your phone?” You’re confused, but you hand it over. You watch as he pulls up your contacts and clicks the ‘plus’ button in the corner, an understanding smile pulling at your lips.

When he hands the phone back, his contact now in it, you grab his from off the seat next to him and do the same.

“I’ll text you,” he promises as you step out.

You turn back to him. “You better.”

He’s smiling when you shut the door.

You’re smiling when the car pulls away.

It’s only when you’re tucked into bed, phone charging securely on the nightstand that the thought crosses your mind: you’re catching feelings for someone again.

And then you feel sick.

Joel wakes up the next morning feeling giddy. It’s like he’s a teenager all over again – waiting by the phone for a pretty girl to call him back. Only this time, he’s waiting for a text.

He had messaged you almost as soon as he’d gotten back to Sarah’s apartment last night, asking if he could see you again before he goes back to Texas. He has no shame about it, he can’t – not when his entire mind and body are consumed by his overwhelming attraction to you.

He’d found it difficult to sleep last night, and not because the springs in Sarah’s cheap couch were digging into his already-damaged back. It was thoughts of you, and the borderline-painful erection they caused, that had kept him up.

Now, with the sun seeping through the living room windows directly into his eyes, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to be awake. He checks his phone immediately, and tries to ignore the way his heart sinks when he sees you haven’t responded yet. You’re probably still asleep, he tells himself.

He tosses his phone aimlessly back onto the couch and stands with a groan. His legs feel worse than his back, if that’s even possible.

Sarah still isn’t awake, so Joel meanders into her kitchen, in search of something to eat for breakfast. It’s pretty much what you would expect from a college student’s kitchen – bare bones. There are a few suspicious containers of leftovers in the fridge along with a Brita water pitcher and a package of cookie dough. In the freezer, several cartons of ice cream (all chocolate) and half a loaf of bread. And finally, in the cabinets, a few boxes of mac & cheese and an unopened jar of peanut butter.

Toast it is, then.

Sarah appears just as he’s raiding her drawers for a butter knife. “Morning,” she announces sleepily behind him.

“Hey, Kiddo,” he says, turning to face her. “Hungry?”

“Yeah. There’s a diner down the street. Thought we could get pancakes.” She yawns.

Joel grins. That must be the place you’d told him about – the one Sarah brings you leftovers from when you’re working late.

“You buyin’?,” he jokes.

“Only in exchange for the juicy deets from last night.” She pauses. “Okay, maybe not all the deets. There’s some things I don’t need to know – like why you got home so late.”

“Sarah,” Joel warns, but she’s undeterred, smiling like a Cheshire Cat with every one of her unbrushed teeth on display.

“Just get changed,” she says, and skips out of the room.

You’ve been staring at the text for twenty minutes now.

Had a lot of fun tonight. Can I see you again before I leave? Let me know if you’re free tomorrow (today I guess). - Joel

You should say yes – you want to say yes – so why can’t you get your fingers to move?

It’s a stupid question. You know why – it’s Quentin and your inability to shake the fear that someone else will hurt you like he did. If you keep Joel at arm’s length – continue to ignore his message – he can’t do that. You can just take last night for what it was – a fun time, a hookup – and stop this before it goes too far, before feelings get involved.

Because it never ends well, once they do.

You get out of bed without responding, but you leave the text open on your phone. You attempt to busy yourself with housework and grading. Again and again though, you find your fingers hovering over the screen, your mind wandering to the way Joel’s lips had felt on yours, the way the bulge in his jeans had felt against your clothed heat, the sound of his southern drawl when he’d called you darlin’.

Then you snap yourself out of it and place the phone face-down on the table.

This goes on for hours, a vicious cycle. You feel your resolve slipping more and more each time you pick the phone up.

The sun is high in the sky by the time you break, light bathing your kitchen and revealing all of the spots you’d missed when you’d dusted earlier. Your phone is heavy in the palm of your hand like a bomb – like if you don’t hit send right now, you’ll lose the motivation and it’ll detonate, taking any chance of you seeing Joel tonight and not self-sabotaging with it.

You close your eyes when you press the button and toss your phone somewhere across the room.

Well – you think – no going back now.

Joel is sitting on cold, hard bleachers at the Homecoming football game when he sees you’ve responded, the shouts of people in the stands around him not enough to avert his attention.

Hey, yeah, that would be great! Do you want to come to my apartment later? I have a bottle of wine we can crack into if you’d like. And I can order pizza.

The announcer is saying something about player #72 over the loudspeaker. He doesn’t tune in.

Joel types his reply and sends it:

Sounds perfect. I’ll come over around 7?

Sarah groans next to him. “You wanted to come to this game, dad. If you’re bored already, can we leave?”

His eyes shoot up. “No, uh – sorry. Just had to answer one text.”

Sarah narrows her eyes at him. They dart to the phone just as another message rolls in, your name flashing across the screen before Joel can hide it.

“Is that my professor?”

Joel doesn’t answer. His silence confirms enough.

“I knew you guys hit it off last night! See, dad, even though you didn’t wanna tell me at breakfast, I still found out. I always find out. Because Sarah knows all.” She attempts a maniacal, Disney villain-esque laugh.

Joel raises an eyebrow at her.

“You done?”

“So you going out again later? Do I need to make your bed on the couch, or should I just not bother?”

He ignores her. Someone gets a touchdown and half the crowd goes wild. He doesn’t bother to check what team scored.

He opens your latest message, instead.

Perfect. See you then, Cowboy ;)

His breath hitches at the nickname, at the thought of you calling him that again in person. The thought of kissing you again, if you’ll let him.

He doesn’t catch who wins the game.

Joel arrives at your apartment at seven o’clock on the dot.

Punctual, you note.

He’s holding a bottle of wine, gripping the neck with long, calloused fingers.

“Know you said you had some already,” he says as he steps over the threshold. “Just didn’t wanna come empty handed.”

The sentiment takes you aback. You’re not exactly used to dates bringing you gifts, especially ones this expensive, if the minimalist yet fancy label is any indicator.

“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, taking the bottle from him. You can’t quite make out the name – something foreign, etched in cursive.

“‘ts Italian, I think,” he mumbles, as if he can read your mind.

Your eyes shift from the bottle to Joel, standing in front of you in his Carhartt jacket, brows furrowed, gaze trained on the floor at his feet.

“Thank you,” you say more genuinely this time.

Joel smiles appreciatively. You motion to the space behind you.

“Come in.”

You lead Joel to the kitchen, just off the entranceway, and place the bottle down on the counter, gently. You tuck yourself in the corner, leaning back to rest your arms on cool granite. Joel mirrors you against the adjacent island.

“How’s Sarah?” you ask. “Feeling any better?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his scruff. “She was askin’ about you. Saw me textin’ you.”

“Yeah – guess you couldn’t exactly hide this from her, staying at her apartment and all.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Guess not.”

You pop open the bottle of wine. Pour glasses for both of you. Then you order pizza: one cheese, one sausage and pepper. The person on the other end of the line tells you it’ll be thirty to forty minutes.

“Gonna be a bit of a wait,” you tell Joel when you hang up. “Busy night, I guess.”

He nods, takes a sip of wine, and then places the glass down, his eyes unmoving from yours.

You realize then that he’d been staring at you the entire time you were on the phone. The way he’s looking at you – gaze the same as the one from the bar last night when you’d straddled him – has you feeling suddenly nervous.

“What?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks.

Oh.

You breathe out a laugh. It’s not funny – really, the opposite – but you hadn’t been expecting him to ask that. “Joel-” you’re going to say yes – fuck yes – but he interrupts you.

“Been dyin’ to since last night.” He’s so open, so earnest. It’s fucking hot.

“Joel,” you say again, louder this time. He freezes. His eyes widen, like he’s anticipating your answer.

“Please.”

It’s all he needs to hear. In an instant, he crosses the distance between you. He places his hands on the counter behind you, framing your body with his. You peer up at him and, fuck – he looks ravenous.

He kisses you – hard. His teeth crash against yours. It’s messy and hurried, but you don’t care – you want him closer, need him closer.

Your head swims with memories of the feeling of his bulge against your clothed core. The need to feel it again is all-consuming. You’re greedy for it. And with the time constraint, you don’t want to wait another second.

You pull back abruptly. Joel furrows his eyebrows where he looms over you, concerned.

“Joel,” you pant, “I need you.”

It takes him a second to compute what you’re asking. And then he’s nodding furiously.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, darlin’.”

You pull him back in with a hand at the back of his neck, digging your nails into the skin there. His tongue slips into your mouth with a groan. You’re minutely aware of him shrugging his jacket off, hearing the light thump it makes when it hits the linoleum. And then his hands are on you, wandering up and down your body like he needs to feel every inch of you. He tugs at the base of your t-shirt impatiently.

“Off,” he mumbles against your lips. You pull back only to do as he’s asked, and then you’re right back on him, sucking a bruise into the skin below his ear, your body claiming him subconsciously. His head falls back momentarily, revealing his bobbing throat. You scrape your teeth lightly along the skin there, eliciting a groan from Joel.

Your mouth continues exploring his neck as his fingers find the clasps of your bra, unhooking them quickly and tossing it aside. You don’t see where. You don’t really care – you’ll find it later.

He grabs your now-naked sides and steps back, pulling you with him. Then he turns you and pushes you back against the island.

He slaps the countertop behind you. “Up,” he breathes against your neck. You don’t argue. You don’t want to argue. You’re so used to being the one in charge, the one in control — right now you’re happy to bend to Joel’s will.

You grip the edge of the island with both hands and hoist yourself up so that you’re perched there, legs dangling.

Joel’s fingers immediately go to the button of your jeans, popping it open before moving to tug the zipper down. And then he’s helping you lift your hips so that he can pull them down and off. He adds them to the pile at his feet.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear splayed out on your kitchen counter in front of him. You feel like you should be self conscious, maybe even embarrassed by your depravity. But you can’t find it in you to be either, not when Joel is slotted between your legs, his dark eyes scanning over you hungrily. Showing you he needs you just as bad as you need him.

He rubs his hands over your thighs and up the sides of your body, mapping your curves with great concentration. “God damn,” he whispers, what seems to be, mostly to himself. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

You whine pathetically. Your patience is growing thin.

He smirks up at you, likely seeing in your face how desperate you are for him right now.

“‘ts okay baby, I got you,” he coos, suddenly sinking to his knees in front of you. His hands move closer to your clothed pussy, but not quite there, tracing light circles along your inner thighs. Then he replaces his fingers with his mouth, sending your hips bucking off the counter, chasing him.

The coarse hair of his mustache scratches the skin surrounding where he sucks and bites. You don’t care. You just want to feel it lower, against your dripping folds.

“Please,” you breathe, shakily. Through hooded eyes, you catch Joel’s satisfied grin. You realize then that he loves this — making you beg for it, for him. It’s a dizzying contradiction to the way he was practically begging to kiss you just moments ago.

He presses a chaste kiss against your skin, his lips infuriatingly close to where you need them most.

“Whatcha need, darlin’?” he purrs. The vibration of his voice just next to your core has you spiraling.

“Need your mouth,” you cry. “Please.”

“Where?” He nips at you, half an inch closer to your swollen clit. You can feel his breath. Your cunt reactively clenches around nothing.

“On my pussy, Joel” you plead.

He pulls away from you completely, looks up at you with devilish eyes.

“Good girl.”

He dips one finger into the side of your underwear, pulling them aside to reveal your glistening core. “Damn baby, you’re soaked,” he drawls. You catch the hint of pride that tinges his voice.

“Please,” you beg again, your voice wanton and broken.

Joel gently pets your throbbing clit with the pad of his thumb. The pressure he applies is feather-light, barely there. But still, after all the teasing, you can’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes you.

He chuckles darkly. “Alright sweetheart, I know – enough teasin’.”

He hooks both index fingers in the top of your panties, pulling them down and off in one swift movement. And then his tongue is on you, exactly where you need it.

He holds you open with fingers digging deliciously into the meat of your thighs as he licks long, languid stripes from your leaking cunt up to your clit, over and over again until you’re a whimpering mess underneath him. You struggle to hold your weight up on your elbows, watching him as he works you with his mouth.

He’s so good at this – too good at this. You tell him as much, between broken moans.

“Sofuckinggood Joel – holy shit.”

You swear you can feel him smirk against your heat.

He buries his face into your cunt then, nose pressed against your clit, and swivels his head back and forth, coating his mustache and beard in your arousal. He groans against you, like this is getting him off just as much as you. It’s all so obscene, so filthy.

You’ve never had a man go down on you like this – like they actually enjoy it. But then again, it doesn’t come as much of a surprise, not when it’s Joel. You’ve quickly come to learn that he’s attentive in every sense of the word. Knows just what you want, what you need – evident by the way his lips latch back onto your clit when you keen for him.

He keeps his attention there, switching between suckling on it – which is enough to make you see stars on its own – and lapping at it with short, shallow flicks of his tongue. He experiments with different angles, licking at different spots on the bundle of nerves until he finds the one that makes you cry out, your babbles of there Joel, yes, right fucking there, don’t stop, letting him know exactly where to focus.

You feel yourself quickly hurtling toward the edge. You just need a little bit more to get you there.

“Fingers,” you pant. “Need your fingers in me.”

Two of his fingers are at your entrance before you can even blink. You’re so wet that he slides them in easily, curling them against your walls. He expertly finds your G-spot, massaging it as his tongue continues to lap at your clit.

You gasp at the combination. It’s so good – so much. “Oh my god Joel, I’m so close,” you cry.

He doesn’t let up, doesn’t even look at you. His eyes are closed in concentration, fingers and tongue unrelenting. He’s lost in your pussy. You can tell he’s not going to come up for air until he’s given you an orgasm.

And it doesn’t take much longer – one, two, three more strokes of his fingers and you’re cumming hard.

Your vision blurs and your ears ring in your head. You’re vaguely aware that Joel is pinning one of your thighs down with his free hand to hold you in place as you thrash against the countertop.

He fucks you through it, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he continues to curl them against that spot, your clit throbbing against his tongue.

It is – without a doubt – the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.

He doesn’t stop when you’ve come down, eager to milk every last drop from your weeping cunt. The overstimulation is too much. Your grip tightens in his hair, weakly attempting to pull him off of you as you whimper nonsense above him. You manage to exhale his name, or something close to it, and he finally lifts his face.

His eyes meet yours, dark and hooded. He looks absolutely pussydrunk.

The entire lower half of his face is soaked with your slick. His shiny, pink lips pepper kisses along your inner thighs, smoothing over the spots he’d marked with his teeth just minutes ago. You feel so sensitive – you shiver under his touch.

His smile curves into your skin. He leaves one last light peck and stands up, grunting at the ache in his knees. You laugh, but you can tell by the darkness still looming in his gaze that he’s not done with you yet.

He helps you off the counter, steadying you with hands gripping your sides as you find your footing. Your legs feel like Jell-O, a welcomed side-effect of the earth-shattering orgasm you’ve just had. You lead Joel to your bedroom, leaving your clothes scattered across the kitchen floor.

He backs you toward the bed as soon as you’re in your room, lips latched to the side of your neck. The backs of your legs hit the mattress, and then he’s lowering both of your bodies onto it, cradling your head in his hand as you settle underneath him.

He sits back on his knees, pulling his t-shirt over his head to reveal his broad, tan torso. You’re pretty sure you’re salivating, lost in the slope of his shoulders and the wide expanse of his chest. Your eyes trail lower as he undoes his belt, followed by the button of his jeans. He shimmies them off along with his boxers, his large cock springing free, tip shiny with pre-cum, and hovers back over your eager body.

He dips down and presses his lips to yours, prying your mouth open with his tongue. He’s remarkably patient for how hard he is, his erection pressing into your thigh as he kisses you, slow and wet.

One of his hands grips your jaw, the other pressed firmly against the mattress next to you. Minutes pass like that, you and Joel losing yourselves in each other. Then you remember that you don’t have all the time in the world – that your delivery driver could get here any minute. In truth, you’re not even fucking hungry anymore – not for pizza, anyway.

You snake your hand up to the back of Joel’s head, pulling at his roots lightly. “Joel,” you breathe when he lifts off of you, “please fuck me.”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice.

“How do you want it, baby?” he purrs in your ear, his warm breath skating over your skin. “How do you like it?”

You breathe out a moan. No man has ever asked you how you like it. They usually just give you a few sloppy, ill-timed thrusts, whatever they can muster before cumming and leaving you unsatisfied.

But Joel isn’t just any man.

“Hard,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me hard.”

He growls, low and dark. “‘ts right, sweetheart.”

He lines himself up with your entrance, rutting against your folds a few times to gather some of your wetness with the tip of his cock.

Then he sinks into you, slowly, stretching your walls as he notches further and further in. There’s a sweet, stinging pain, one you hope, fleetingly, that you’ll be able to feel tomorrow – like a keepsake from him.

You sigh when he reaches the hilt, his tip nudging your cervix. He stills, letting you get used to his girth and you have to dig your nails into his back to keep from writhing under him. You don’t mind if it hurts – you just need him to move.

“Please,” you whine, unable to stop your hips from bucking any longer. “I can take it, Joel.”

“Know you can, baby,” he coos, beginning to rock slowly inside of you. The pleasure is immediate, washing over your body like a warm wave.

He picks up the pace when he’s sure it feels good for you, dragging his cock halfway out of you and thrusting back in, over and over again.

He grabs both of your legs, bending them so that you’re spread wide open for him, and grips the backs of your knees tightly as he slams into you. He can get so much deeper like this, his cock hitting a spot you didn’t even know you had. You let out a labored moan, fingers anchored into his delts.

“Talk to me darlin — tell me how it feels,” he pants.

“So – fuck, Joel – so fucking good.”

Joel drops his mouth to your shoulder, nips at the skin there.

His voice is in your ear, a low snarl.

“‘Better than that fuckin ex, I bet.”

You’d be annoyed by his cockiness – if he wasn’t so right.

But he is, and so you parrot, “So much better.” And then, because it’s the truth, you add, “the best.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips stuttering at your words. “Can’t say that angel, you’ll make me cum.”

He pulls out and slams back into you again, setting a new, devastating pace. He fills you up just to leave you empty, over and over again. You’re a babbling mess underneath him, couldn’t string two more words together if you tried. Luckily, Joel is happy to take over and do the talking.

“So fuckin’ pretty, babygirl. Make the most gorgeous noises, too.”

You’re so fucking close, you can only whimper in response. You feel your walls tighten around him.

He presses your foreheads together, his sweaty curls sticking to your skin. His eyes bore into yours.

“C’mon baby, show me – show me how pretty ya are when ya cum on this cock.”

He brings one hand down to your clit, rubbing sloppy circles over it as he continues spearing into you. You hike your newly-freed leg up over his lower back. A white heat licks at your spine. You barely have time to tell Joel you’re about to cum, your warning coming out a single cry of his name. He gets it, though, bringing you over the edge with his words.

“I got you, baby, I got you; you can let go.”

Your orgasm barrels through you, from the tips of your toes all the way up to your ears. Joel doesn’t let up his ministrations, talking you through it as you writhe under him.

“Thaaaats it. Good – ahh – good fuckin’ girl.”

The only word you can think of in your state of euphoria is his name, chants of Joel, Joel, Joel spilling from the back of your throat as you cum.

You’re squeezing his cock through your aftershocks, and you can tell he’s close by the way his thrusts become more and more uneven.

“Fuck – where do you want it?” he braces both palms against the mattress on either side of you.

“Inside – please, Joel,” you beg. “I’m on the pill.”

He curses in ecstasy, cumming seconds later with a series of low grunts. His hips stall as he spills inside of you. There’s so much of it – he’s nearly drowning your cervix, coating your walls with rope after rope of his spend.

He softens inside you, staying there for a long moment as you both come down from your highs. You’re sweaty, panting messes, and you can’t help but giggle at how spent you both sound.

“Good?” he asks, nosing at the space just below your jaw. It’s so soft, so gentle. Your stomach does a backflip.

“Yeah,” you say. “Really fucking good.”

He pulls out of you with a low, guttural noise. You sigh at the loss of him, your hand coming down reflexively to feel where he’s leaking out of you. His fingers graze yours, and he bumps them aside to scoop up some of your combined fluids.

He brings his wet, sticky fingers to your lips, humming when you immediately take them into your mouth and suck them clean, eyes unmoving from his the entire time. You bat your eyelashes at him, innocently as he pulls them out with a wet pop.

“Fuck,” he curses, “gonna get me hard again, angel.”

He lays down next to you, letting his head thump against the pillow, and flexes his biceps behind his head. You kind of hope he does get hard again, despite the fact that your whole body feels like liquid. Like if you were to try and stand, your legs would most definitely give out on you. They’re trembling right now, where you have them half-bent, heels dug into the mattress.

Your phone rings, then, snapping you out of your post-coital bliss. Fuck – the pizza.

You answer, trying your best to hide the undeniably fucked-out lilt of your voice as you tell the delivery person that someone will be right down.

Joel laughs next to you when you hang up. “I’ll get it – hold on.”

He jumps out of bed and dresses quickly. You’re gawking at him as he does. You can’t help it. This man – probably the hottest man you’ve ever seen – was just inside of you. You want to pat yourself on the back. He notices you staring as he’s zipping up his jeans and shoots you a wink.

Joel deadbolts your front door and disappears into the hallway. He returns moments later, shutting and re-locking the door, and strides back into your bedroom with both boxes. You can see the steam coming off of them through the cardboard.

He sets them down by your feet.

“In bed?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard.

“Well I’m not sure you can walk to the kitchen, darlin’.”

Your face heats. He has a point. But he doesn’t have to be so smug about it. You roll your eyes at him and mumble something nonsensical under your breath as you tuck yourself in under your duvet.

“What was that?” He quirks an eyebrow.

Long gone is the shy Joel from earlier this evening. He knows your body now, knows how hard he makes you cum. He’s a whole different man post-coitus – bolder. It makes you damn near melt.

And maybe you’re different now too. Because you’re pretty sure you’d give up your vow of solitude for him, if he asked.

It’s crazy, probably. You’ve only known Joel for two days, after all. But you can’t help the way that he ( and his dick) makes you feel. Like maybe there’s a promise of something down the line, however serious that something may be. You just know you want to give yourself the opportunity to experience it, no matter how it ends.

“Nothing.” You break, grin pulling tight at the corners of your mouth. “Just get me a slice of cheese.”

He lets his gaze linger for a second longer, the faux-threat of it heating you from the inside out. And then he’s vanishing into the kitchen, returning with two plates and a stack of paper towels.

He dishes up slices for the both of you, climbing into bed next to you and handing over yours.

He settles in with a content sigh.

You both eat in happy silence for a few minutes, Joel giving you a satisfied nod when he finishes up his first slice. “‘ts good,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Right?” you retort. “It’s my favorite pizza around here.”

He hums in agreement. Pulls the box of sausage and pepper onto his lap to grab another slice.

“So,” you start, “you’re heading home tomorrow?” It’s more of a statement than a question. You know he is. But still, part of you wants Joel to say no, tell you that he’s canceled his flight, that he’s decided to stick around for a bit longer.

“Yeah,” he says. You feel your heart sink. You silently curse yourself for being delusional.

“Are you excited?” you try. “To be home?”

He doesn’t respond right away – his forehead wrinkling and his lips falling into a small frown. You watch as he thinks on it.

“Not really,” he admits after a few seconds.

“I know you’ll miss Sarah,” you say, letting your head fall onto his shoulder.

He peers down at you with a heavy sigh. “So much…” His voice trails off, like there’s something else he wants to add, but can’t.

The air feels thick, suddenly – heavy. You try your best to lighten it.

“Can’t stay a bit longer? Let Tommy run things for a while?”

“No,” he laughs. “Pretty sure he’ll just end up screwin’ every client we got.”

“And you’d end up screwing every one of Sarah’s professors,” you tease.

His mouth falls open in mock-offense. He grabs at both your sides, suddenly, letting the open box of pizza slide off of his lap and onto the bed. He tickles relentlessly just under your ribs, causing you to squeal and squirm under his grip.

“Joel,” you cry in between fits of laughter. “Stop!”

“I don’t think so, darlin’,” he tuts. He removes one of hands momentarily, to toss your plate aside, and then he’s hooking one of his legs over your body, straddling you. He looks so big like this, his body hanging over yours. You feel content – safe. His hands release you, finally, coming to settle on either side of your head on your pillow. You blink up at him. He’s staring down at you with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

“Nothin,” he mumbles. “‘ts just, I wouldn’t, ya know. Sleep with anyone else, I mean. If you didn’t want me to.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You know that if you respond, it’ll come out way too eager. So you just blink at him again.

“Would you want to keep talkin’ after I get home?”

Yes, you want to say. Please. I don’t think I could go on without knowing if I’ll get to see you again – fuck you again.

You swallow. Collect yourself.

“Yeah. I would.”

You shimmy under Joel so that you can sit up. He straightens out, shifting his weight onto his knees. Takes both of your hands in his and pulls you up.

His eyes are still locked on yours. “I know we just met this weekend,” he says. “But I had a lot’a fun with you. I like you.”

Your cheeks warm. “I like you too, Joel.”

He smiles. “‘m glad.”

“Doesn’t have to be anythin’ serious,” he continues. Lets his fingers trace aimlessly along the inside of your arm. “We can jus’ see where it goes.”

“Yeah,” you nod, your heart squeezing in your chest. “See where it goes. I like that.”

And it’s the truth. You do. In the stillness, your legs tucked under the covers, Joel caressing you, you feel, for the first time in a long time, happy to not be alone. And you know you will be again, very soon, when Joel leaves to go back home. But then again, you won’t – not really. His voice will be there, a phone call away, and his body will be there, in the divot he’s left in your mattress. And you’ll have the promise of taking this slow, seeing where it goes.

You’ve never been so excited for the future.

end notes: tysm for reading! I may turn this into a series if people want more of these two <3 lmk hehe

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel x reader #pedro pascal as joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #fiiyb

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sacharinee · 11 months

Text

pairing: bestfriend!peter parker x fem!reader

sypnosis: after peter misses his chance to ask you out to the homecoming dance, he has to suffer the consequences of his own actions

wc: 1200+

a/n: hiii!! i have the urge to write again bc im bored and i dont wanna do my summer course work. this prompt is based on this post and loosely based on that one scene in the movie ladybird when she gets picked up by her date. i wrote this super quickly so not the best but i hope u enjoy :)

peter had it first. he had the idea, the flowers, the poster, your favorite chocolate strawberries all ready for you. until brad davis came in and stole everything.

now he has nothing. he’s on your bed munching on the melty strawberries as he watches you get ready for the dance; you’ve asked for his help in choosing which dress you should go for.

“okay how ‘bout this one, pete?” the boy glances up at you, mid-chew with his mouth open.

his eyes snake over the outfit you’ve chosen. you do a swift twirl to show off the pretty soft blue satin dress that falls down to your mid-thigh with an open back. the skirt of your dress rides a bit high revealing a little too much. peter gulps, running his hands down his legs, immediately your sweet honey perfume floods his senses, his brain feels a little fuzzy, and he thinks the room gets smaller while his pants get a tiny bit tighter.

however, your eyes are what he takes in the most. you look eager, nervous about his approval, and hopeful for his admission.

his eyes widen as he gives you a soft nod and a pursed smile, “super pretty.”

you stare back at peter, his hair is flared, and you see chocolate smeared on his bottom lip. his posture looks defeated and you can’t help but wonder what’s wrong with him.

you give him a sour yet confused face, “why is your face like that?”

peter’s eyebrows furrow at your expression, “my face- why is my face like what?”

“like…” you take a moment to think, “like- you look like that chef in that one movie with the rat, he’s got that same awkward funny looking face.”

peter barks out a laugh in disbelief, “alfredo linguini?? from ratatouille?!” “yea! that guy.”

the boy in front of you offers you a pout and rubs his eyes, “thanks.”

“sure thing.” peter glazes over your seamless makeup when you take a seat next to him, “so, you’re really not coming? why not? it’ll be fun, plus all of our friends are going” you whine.

peter kicks himself every day since you got asked out to homecoming by brad. he knows he should have made his proposal to you sooner, but now that he missed his chance, he feels like he’s lost you.

“oh, so brad’s our friend now? and nah, it’s alright. i’m just gonna go patrolling tonight, might get some good action.” his eyebrows suggestively

you muster up a smirk and breathe out a laugh, “right. maybe you’ll find your own ‘cupid of crime’ that’ll show you a good time.”

peter groans at you, “oh my god, margot robbie is so-”

honk!

“oh,” your ears perk up at the sudden interruption, “i guess that’s my date.” you quickly stand up and straighten your dress, taking nervous breaths.

“i’m good right? my dress? face? hair?” your fingers run through your shiny locks, “its- i’m, i’m okay?”

peter has an indiscernible look plastered on his face as he gazes out the window and back at you. he’s shocked you’d settle for this, and even more appalled at you’re excitement to go with a douchebag who can’t even meet you at the front door. he knows you deserve better than this, and he knows he would treat you so much better with much less than your date. his stomach turns upside down and he feels his face get hot, breathing through his nostrils as he struggles to control his disbelief. he slowly stands up and meets your anxious expression peering up at him.

“you aren’t gonna get in a car with a guy who honks, are you?”

it’s almost as if the entire atmosphere shifts. peter studies your appearance. your face shimmered sanguinely regardless, brighter than the glitter that sparkled atop your eyelids.

it was safe to say you were excited to go to the dance, even if your date wasn’t your first choice. you had been waiting endlessly for peter to ask you to homecoming. you were almost depressed at the thought thinking your crush didn’t like you back, but even more upset at the fact that your best friend didn’t even want to take you as his date, romantically or not.

you remembered the feeling of delight swirling through your body as betty gushed about ned asking her to the dance, and mj agreeing to harry’s proposal.

you only wanted the same for yourself. the same thrill and warm feeling of someone wanting to take you as their date. you wanted more than anything for it to be peter, but you figured he simply didn’t think of you like that as empty time and hopeless anticipation went by. so yes, you did settle for brad davis. he’s only ever been sweet to you, with harmless flirting and sultry smiles in the halls. plus you had a hunch about peter’s displeasing stance on the man, and presumed this may have tipped peter over just the right amount.

you simply blink at his desperate eyes and nod, your adamant expression not wavering, “i think, yes, i am.”

you offer him a wistful smile when you brush past him, grabbing your purse on the way.

“y/n, stop.” peter’s finger’s wrap around your small wrist, your charm bracelet dangling against his hand.

“are you serious? what, the shithead can’t walk a few feet and knock on the door like a real man?”

“peter!” you snatch your wrist back and his hands rise.

you feel heat rushing up your neck and settling behind your ears. you had wanted a reaction out of peter when brad asked you out, yes, but the entitlement he has to mention about the manhood of brad angered you.

“i’m just saying,” he steps back from you, licking his dry lips while he chuckles back at you. “a guy who doesn’t have the balls to greet you at your doorstep isn’t worth falling for.”

you scoff at him, he was so sweet and now he’s only taking his anger out on you. “well it’s a good thing that he’s just a friend then. what’s it to you anyways?”

peter disregards your last statement, “a friend?! y/n/n, listen to me. you’re being naive if you think he just wants to be your friend.”

another honk outside pierces your ears, yet you can’t seem to shake your stare on the boy before you. you narrow your eyes at him.

“you sound jealous.”

peter sputters nonsense out and breaks his eyesight away from you, nervously running his hands through his curls.

“jealous? me? pfft. never. i’m not jealous, i’m- i’m being absolutely reasonable.”

you keep your eyes on him as he looks down at the carpet floor. he sighs and drops down at your chair, scratching the wood on your desk. his head shakes and ever so softly murmurs, “seriously, why are you going out with him?”

peter continues to stare at the rotten wood he’s chipping, “brad asked me to be his date, so i’m going whether you like it or not. unless,” peter glances back up at you.

“there’s something you’re not telling me.”

hope bubbles down in your stomach, and you anticipate his confession, waiting to hear the words of his true feelings that you know for certain are deep down inside him.

except, he doesn’t.

the boy only blankly stares at your desk, clenching his jaw, and drowns everything inside, letting you down yet another time. you turn away, disappointed in peter, ready to leave him alone for all the false hope and hurt he has caused you.

“right, well, when your balls finally drop, let me know. i’ll be at the dance with my date.”

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omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts · 1 year

Text

It’s Been a Long, Long Time ❥

Pairing: Pre!Outbreak Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’re the school nurse at Sarah’s middle school and you’re volunteered to chaperone the school dance alongside her father, Joel Miller. After some other teachers upset you there, he makes a point of showing you how he feels while also teaching those assholes a lesson.

A/N: okay so i know i just wrote one but you guys were so sweet in the notes :) *sobbing* and im obsessed with him so another Joel Miller fic for you, this one’s more fluffy tho here’s a sweet, smutty one, inspired by that one scene in “The Lost Husband” YALL KNOW WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT, enjoy and feedback as always is appreciated >~< i cant stop writing him PREPARED TO BE SICK O’ ME

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, fluff, cheesy, just absolute fuckin fluff, mentions of death, months pre-outbreak, language, reader is insulted, slight angst, mentions of alcohol, slight age gap, reader has panic attack, public making out, jealous!reader, Joel loves his pet names, he talks you through it, oral f! receiving, p in v, praise, unprotected sex, y’all it’s a lot

You sip on your mug full of sugary coffee and rub your temple, tired from a night of little sleep. That’s when Sarah Miller, your favorite student, patient, and professional instigator, strides through your office doors with a big smile on her face.

You open up your snack drawer with an affectionate roll of your eyes, grab a pack of skittles, and throw it her way.

She catches it mid-air and sits down on the bed by your door, kicking her feet while she pops only the red ones into her mouth.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble one of these days, hun,” you breathe a laugh.

“Don’t worry,” she sighs, still grinning. “I’m on my lunch break and I finished it fast so I could come see you.”

You smile softly behind the rim of your mug, “Well, I’m glad to see you. What is it that you’re smiling so much about?”

“Awe,” she points to your mug. “You’re using the mug I got you.”

You look at the front of the mug, the words, “World’s Greatest Grandma”, on the front of if it with the word Grandma scratched out with a wash-proof marker and replaced with “Nurse”. She claimed she couldn’t find one that said what she wanted so she had to get creative. It makes you laugh every time you pick it up.

“It’s my most prized possession,” you nod, matching her expression. “Now answer my question.”

She leans forward, having finished off all the red skittles, and hands it back to you so you can eat the rest.

She says it in one, hyperactive breath, “I got my dad to volunteer at the school dance!”

You choke a bit on your coffee.

Setting down the bag of skittles and your mug, you look up at her and chuckling, “Why would you want to do that? Don’t most kids want their parents far away from their homecoming?”

She shakes her head like you’re not getting what she’s saying, exasperated, “I invited him for you, Nurse y/n.”

“I- Why would you-” you let out a nervous laugh before pulling yourself together. “Sarah. Why would you invite him for me, sweetheart?”

“Because you like him,” she props her head up against the wall behind her, a sly little smirk on her lips. She crosses her legs. “Obviously.”

You sip your coffee, a small scoff leaving you, “I don’t have a crush on your father, Ms. Miller. Since when do you play matchmaker, huh?”

“Since he asks about you like all the time,” she groans. “I told him that you’re coming and he basically dropped everything to come.”

Heat blooms in your face but you clear your throat and feign nonchalance despite it. It would be incredibly unprofessional for you to have a juvenile, little crush on a student’s father. Even if he is incredibly handsome, sweet, charming, funny, and a wonderful, single father to his little girl who you also have a soft spot for.

But you do and you’re convinced it’s a bit bigger than a little one. You don’t act on it though because you’ve kidded yourself into thinking it would go away, wither from neglect like a dying plant with no sun. However, that hasn’t worked out very well so far.

Sarah doesn’t miss the flush in cheeks and the small smile you dawn before maintaining your composure once again. She decides to hold onto this information instead of call you out because she’s nothing if not devious. She’s very observant for a 14 year old, you’re sure she gets it from her sharp father.

He doesn’t let anything get past him, like hair in your face that he pushes away for you, a fallen eyelash on your cheek, your shoelace undone, your ponytail getting loose and about to fall out, and whatever else. It’s been almost an entire school year of this, going on field trips, meetings, him picking Sarah up from school when she’s sick (whether she fakes it or not), and around your shared neighborhood because even if it was big in Austin, Texas, he made it feel so damn small.

And now Sarah says this and you can’t contain your excitement. But also your nerves were shot, you haven’t felt this way about someone in a long time. It scares the hell out of you.

“I’m not volunteering,” you laugh. “Why’d you lie to him?”

“Because I’m going to convince you to come,” she raises her eyebrows. “Please, please, please, please!” she clasps her hands together. “I’ll buy you all the skittles you want, I’ll take the red ones out of all of them for you, too!”

“What if I’m busy?”

“I know you’re not.”

You gasp, “Rude, Sarah! I should write you up for that,” you tease.

She smiles, “Come on, you can come and wear a pretty dress, drink punch, and eat free food. What’s not to like?”

“The bitchy moms and other teachers, for one thing-” you put a hand over your mouth. “I’m so sorry, Sarah. I shouldn’t have said that,” you chuckle, embarrassed, with your face in your hands.

She waves you off, “My father cusses like a sailor and I won’t tell. I don’t like anyone that works here besides you, anyway.”

“Well, now I feel like I have to,” you relent with a sigh, mulling it over. She was right in that you didn’t have anything to do, so what was the risk here?

She looks at you expectantly, mustering up puppy dog eyes to persuade you.

“If I go... no teasing me and your dad. He and I are just good friends,” you say, which is at least half true. “We enjoy each other’s company, nothing more.”

“Uh-huh,” she says in a sing-song, knowing voice, fingers crossed behind her back. “Sure, Nurse y/n. I promise.”

“I’m serious,” you point at her, taking the last sip of your coffee just as the class bell rings. “Now get out of here and go to math.”

She groans in protest but hops down from the table anyway and fakes being dizzy, “What if I have a fever?” She coughs.

“Then walk it off,” you chuckle, knowing she’s lying. “See you tonight, Sarah.”

She grins widely, waving, running out, “Bye! Dad and Nurse Y/n sitting in a tree-”

“Sarah!”

~~~

Walking into the schools’ gymnasium, you’re almost shaking with nerves when you walk in. You feel like a teenager again, anxious and waiting for someone to ask you to dance.

You slipped on a black slip dress with white trim at the ends and the sweetheart neckline, it hugs your body nicely and accentuates curves, dips, and makes your skin glow with a red sweater that hits at your waist and matches your red, strappy heels. Your hair is pulled back with barrettes to show off your makeup and fresh curls.

The dance has already started thirty minutes ago, so everyone’s already dancing and having fun to the child-friendly music that the DJ spins for the room. You pick up a red solo cup filled with crappy fruit punch and spot Sarah in the crowd with a few of her friends.

She waves enthusiastically in your direction before running over to you and hugging your side. “You look so pretty, Nurse Y/n!”

“Thank you, sweetheart. So do you!” you hug her back, trying the punch and wincing at the off-taste. “Tonight, you can just call me Y/n, if you want.”

She smiles, glowing at your arrival, “My dad’s over there talking to another parent. I’ll go tell him you’re here.”

You look up when she says this and meet his eyes from across the room, which means he was already looking. Joel Miller cracks a lopsided smile at you, excuses himself from his conversation with a pestering mom, and crosses the room to the two of you.

He’s wearing a red flannel shirt, rolled up on his burly forearms, tucked into a pair of dark jeans with a black belt holding the pants up. His hair is slightly wet from a shower, you presume, and he smells of aftershave and smoke and cedar wood. He looks so good, standing in front of you with those all-encompassing brown eyes, you think you might cry.

Those said eyes fall over you, and admire your dress, your hair, your everything. He looks down at his daughter, watching you both with avid attention.

“Don’t you have friends to get back to, chick?” he cocks an eyebrow down at his scheming daughter.

She rolls her eyes, smoothing out her blue dress. Her hair is braided into a bun at the back of her head, matching teal flowers pinned in her curls. “Okay, dad. Have fun!”

She races back to her group of friends and leaves you and Joel alone, two awkward adults who feel like kids again.

“You did her hair tonight?” you smile softly, gushing a bit now. “It looks so nice.”

He flushes and scratches the back of his neck, “Thank you. I tried my best, she did most of it. I just wanted tonight to be perfect for her. She forced me to come, though.”

“She got me, too,” you tilt your head, biting back a grin. “She should be a lawyer when she grows up, this kid.”

He looks out at her dancing with her friends and smiles fondly, “She would be great.” His eyes fall back down to you, “You look beautiful... by the way.”

You beam, “Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself, too, Joel.”

A blush spreads across his nose and cheeks, “Thanks. I was worried it was too simple and that I should have worn a suit... I didn’t know if it was nice enough to-”

You place your hand on his arm to stop his rambling, “You look great. Seriously. Don’t worry, all the moms and teachers will still drool over you.”

He pinches his brow when he stares down at you. You get the sudden urge to smooth out the small wrinkle between his eyebrows, ease his tensions.

“Really?” he pins you down with his stare, but his dark eyes are glittering with amusement. “You’re way off base, sweetheart, I promise you. None of them think of me like that.”

You ignore the heat blooming in your chest at the nickname, he used it often but it never failed to make your brain short-circuit, “They all talk about you.”

He raises his eyebrows, “You’re joking.”

Jealousy swirls in your belly at the thought of these women and the things you’ve heard around school, but you pull it together with a quick tilt of your head, “I’m not laughing, am I?”

He notices your jaw clench a bit and how you gulped before speaking, logging the observations for later, “How do you notice?”

“How do you not!” you say, moving to his side and unintentionally brushing your arm against his. He shivers. “It’s obvious. It’s hard not to.”

His eyes linger on your lips before glancing back up your eyes, “Maybe I’ve been distracted.”

You grow flustered under his gaze and look ahead, stammering, “Yeah... maybe. And well... Sarah tells me that they ask her about your life in the pickup line after school. So it’s proving to be borderline obsession,” you laugh.

He smiles softly, seeing past your nerves, “Poor Sarah. She must love that,” he says dryly.

“Sarah might say some choice words about them,” you shrug your shoulders. “She’s fine, though. I probably shouldn’t have told you, we tend to share secrets,” you look at him, filled with care for his daughter, for him.

“She adores you,” he says sincerely and you can tell by the warmth in his tone that he means it and appreciates it. “You’ve quickly become one of her favorite people within a little over half a school year. Tommy thinks you’re great too, from the few interactions you’ve had when he picks her up sometimes.”

You grin and his chest seizes at the light that exudes from your sweet expression, “Tommy’s a wonderful uncle. Good brother too. He talks about you often.”

“Oh yeah?” he looks at you, his voice sends shivers straight through you. “And what does he say?”

“Can’t betray a friend’s trust,” you shake your head, teasing.

He discreetly shows you his flask of whiskey, “Not even if I let you drink from my emergency flask?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you one thing,” you hold up a finger and he slips you the flask, cracking a dazzling smile, while you turn around and take a long sip. The DJ transitions the E.D.M to a slow song, something sweet and best to sway to.

He takes a long sip himself and tucks it away in his pocket again, holding out his hand to you, “Do you want to tell me while we dance, darlin?”

You look around the room, your boss nowhere in sight. There was technically no rule against dating a student’s parent, but you didn’t want the judgement. You knew the people around here talked and there would be rumors, shaming. But he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the room, putting himself out on a limb just to ask you to dance.

It didn’t have to mean anything anyway, it could just be two friends sharing a dance. You’ve danced with friends. It’s the same thing. Your internal monologue was racing a mile a minute.

“Are we allowed to? I mean, as chaperones.”

“We’re watching the students more closely.”

“Yeah, I just...” you pause, pinching your brow.

His face falls slightly. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to,” he starts to pull his hand away. “It’s really no-”

You put your hand in his, “I’d love to dance with you, Joel.”

Warmth blooms in his handsome face and he pulls you into the crowd of dancing people. Joel pulls you gently towards him, placing his hands on your waist as you wrap your arms up and around his neck. You both try to keep your distance, make a good example for the kids, but it’s growing increasingly harder for him not to hold you close and kiss you right here in front of all these people.

You catch Sarah giggling excitedly at you both dancing, whispering with her friends. You roll your eyes with a small smile.

You look up at Joel, resisting the urge to lay your head against his chest, “You still want to know something Tommy said?”

“Desperately,” he laughs.

“He told me you said I’m pretty.”

Rosy color spreads across his nose, but his eyes are darkened, his lips part slightly, “I should’ve known he’d tell you.”

“So he’s telling the truth?”

His eyes soften, “Of course he is.”

“Well... thank you,” you flush, blood rushing to your face, making Joel smile. You feel like a schoolgirl again.

He chuckles, eyes searching your face, “You’re welcome.”

You tilt your head, “You’re pretty, too, Joel.”

He spins you as the song picks up a bit and pulls you back to him, your dress spinning as you do. He pulls you back against his chest, hands in against shirt and his around your waist. Warmth radiates from his broad chest, his hands are calloused even through the fabric of your slip dress, and your breath catches in your throat.

He doesn’t pay any mind to the stares he gets for doing it, but he lets his head drop to your shoulder, writing love letters in your skin when he lets out a breath. He says nothing about the compliment but he’s holding you closer, and that’s all he needs to do. A quiet understanding washes over the two of you in that moment.

Joel’s always been the strong and silent type, but the longer the two of you have known one another, the closer you get, he’s begun to let more things slip. He begins to ramble, his nerves making an appearance when he’s near you, a teenager again. Then there are times like now when his actions do all the talking for him and neither of you need to comment on it.

Then there are others when he won’t shut the fuck up.

“People are looking,” you whisper.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“...No.”

“Then why do you care what they think?”

There’s a beat of silence before you sigh out the three words, “I don’t know.”

“We’re not Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey over here, the kids will be fine,” he teases. Then he lifts his head to bring your joined hands up to his side, moving you to the changed song with the more upbeat tempo.

You snort, “Wouldn’t that be something.”

“If we were somewhere else...” he muses, looking at you to gauge your reaction.

You meet his eyes, your own crinkling with amusement, “You’d do the lift?”

He throws his head back with a thunderous laugh, “I’d try for you.”

“Think I’m too heavy?”

“God, no,” he spins the two of you, dodging a pair of kids dancing. “I’m just old.”

“You’re like 35, Joel.”

“You’re only 27, you don’t get it yet,” he whispers into the side of your hair and you laugh, not even bothering to glance in the direction of the judgmental moms and teachers.

Joel Miller had a talent of making you feel like the only person in the room.

The song ends and you feel out of breath just from being this close to him. You step away from him and smile softly, “I gotta run to the restroom. I’ll be back.”

His eyes sweep over you, then he nods, “Okay.”

“What?” you grin. “No dad joke about not falling in?”

“I’m classy Joel tonight,” he chuckles. “No bathroom jokes.”

You shake your head with a laugh as you walk back towards the restrooms. Stepping inside, you move to stand in front of the mirror and grab your lipstick from your bag, fixing up your makeup. You try to calm your nerves, hands shaking when you bring the golden tube to your lips.

After taking a deep breath, your mind begins to wander about how his hands felt on your skin and how he thinks you’re pretty. The thoughts fill your head and litter your skin with goosebumps.

You don’t usually like being the center of attention, but with Joel around you, it was hard not to be. And you couldn’t say you minded it.

A few other women walk through the door and you recognize them to be Bethany, Sarah’s rude math teacher, Cara, a mom who gives you trouble constantly, and Kristina, another mom who thinks Joel is hot and constantly asks Sarah questions about him.

“Hey, y/n!” Bethany draws out in a sing-song, forced way that sends a chill through your body. “Saw you out dancing with Mr. Miller. Ain’t y’all cute?”

You look at her blankly in your reflection and she clears her throat.

“Adorable,” Cara’s shark eyes roam you over in the mirror, making you feel small as you fix your foundation. You don’t let it show though, you weren’t going to give them the satisfaction.

“Such a shame about Joel’s wife,” Kristina hums, putting on her own bright pink lipstick. “Wonder if he’s still looking for a stepmom for sweet little Sarah.”

The three of them laugh together and you feel your blood pressure quickly rise. Three wild vultures circling a carcass, kicking it while it’s down.

“Can we not tonight, ladies?” you turn around to look at them. “Let’s just forget this and have fun.”

“What do you mean, dear? This is fun,” Bethany blinks her stark, blue eyes, red lips curling. “This must be a lot for her though, girls. She’s probably having a rough time considering what happened to her.”

You freeze.

“Oh yeah...” Cara finishes her makeup and frowns at you. “I remember hearing your fiancee passed away before you came here, how sad.”

Your blood runs cold, sirens going off in your head, and a pounding begins in your skull. No one’s brought up Rick since you’ve gotten here, you’ve dodged the questions from the nosy parents, the gossiping neighbors, and the rude coworkers. You don’t know how they figured it out, and now you feel it, being back in the car with Rick the night that it happened.

Joel and Sarah didn’t even know, you had pushed it to the back of your mind so you would never find it again. Now it’s coming back like a wave, full force, and pulling you under the current until you’re drowning.

“Then you moved here to Austin in July,” Kristina slits her eyes at you and cocks her head to the side. “Now you’re trying to get back out there with Joel, huh? Like you’d really have a chance with him.”

She looks in your direction and it’s as if she sees right through you, past your carefully created facade and into your core, that sad, broken girl with no family left and nowhere to go.

Your eyes fill with hot tears, you want to run away, but you can’t move. You’re frozen, feet glued to the linoleum tile.

“I knew Rick... your fiancee,” Bethany says. “He was so sweet. We went to college together.”

“So sweet,” Cara looks at you and flashes another sickly sweet smile.

You inhale sharply, tears falling down your face. You hastily wipe it away, “I... I gotta go.”

You grab your purse off the counter and rush out of the door, slamming into a hard chest and a pair of hands that fly to catch you by the waist.

Joel stares down at you, grounding you, and your eyes begin to brim with tears, “What’s wrong, sugar? What happened?”

The words tumble out of you, wiping away the tears that slip out while you ramble on, “Nothing, I just... the women in there, they’re horrible, they hate me, and they make me feel like shit. They brought up Rick and they think you’re hot and they think we’re dating and I just wanna go. I’m just gonna go home-”

He looks over your head at three women leaving the bathroom, waving in his direction.

Joel looks back down at you before tucking his fingers into the straps of your dress and pulling you into a searing kiss. Your inhale sharply when his soft lips meet yours, and your hands grip onto his flannel shirt, sighing into his mouth. He slips his hands up to the back of your neck, tilting your face up to kiss you more completely, unraveling you in his capable hands.

Bethany stares at you wide eyed, getting the other girls attention, all jaws dropped in utter shock at the image before them.

His tongue dances with yours as he moves his lips expertly, his thumb gently rubbing against your cheekbone as he coaxes your lips open. He hums small praises while tracing shapes into your skin. You let a small noise slip past you, unable to contain how good he’s making you feel, swallowing your sadness and helping you breathe again.

He groans as he forces himself to pull away from you, struggling not to kiss you again. Forgetting you’re not alone.

Joel’s hands slip down to rest on your shoulders, lips flushed and swollen from the kiss, voice gravelly, “I hate terrible people.”

You look at him, mouth parted, lipstick probably smudged. He licks his lips before glaring at back at the women before they scoff and walk away, muttering under their breath.

Neither of you get the time to speak of it before Sarah is running down the hallway, after hearing the commotion. You and Joel split apart when she comes up, and she’s smiling widely.

“Kelsey asked if I could sleepover, can I go get my stuff at the house and go to her place? Pretty please,” she begs her dad, clasping her hands together.

He tears his eyes away from you and nods, smiling, “Yeah, that’s fine. We’ll head home and I’ll walk you there.”

Sarah grins happily before looking up at you. “Everything okay, y/n?”

You force a smile and fix a flower falling out of her hair, “Yeah, I’m good. And I think I’m ready to go, too.”

“Do you need a ride?” Joel asks. “I know you walked here cause we all live so close, but I don’t want you walkin’ home in the dark. Also Sarah’s got control of the radio on the way back,” he offers you a grin. “She’s got good taste.”

“We’re listening to 80′s hits,” Sarah nods, taking her job very seriously.

You nod, feeling better just by being near the two of them. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

~~~

“Head Over Heels” by Tears For Fears is blaring through Joel’s truck and you’re humming under your breath while Sarah is screaming it in the backseat. Joel laughs at his daughter in the rearview mirror.

Grieving your boyfriend’s death has been something you’ve pushed aside for a long time. You knew these women could be catty, but you never thought they’d be downright cruel to you, bringing up Rick the way they did. Looking out the window, you think back to the moment you felt frozen in that bathroom, unable to speak or move. You feel embarrassed for not standing up for yourself, blaming yourself instead of them and their hateful words.

Joel notices your faraway expression and rests his hand on your thigh in a way so Sarah can’t see. He rubs his thumb over your bare skin and it both calms and excites you, heat rushing to the apex of your legs.

You let out a small sigh and lean back into the chair, resting your hand on top of his. He has to rip his eyes off of you, willing himself to ignore your pleased exhales if he was going to drive properly.

He pulls the car into the driveway one-handed and comes to a stop, turning around to talk to Sarah, “Go grab your stuff, chick, and we’ll go to Kelsey’s.”

She nods and hops out, running towards the house.

Joel turns to you, hand still on your leg, clearly nervous, “Do you want... do you want to come inside? I have wine and some clothes you can put on, if you want something more comfortable.”

You search his set features for confirmation, “You sure? I can just walk next door to my house, I don’t wanna put you out-”

“Y/n...” he stops you. “You should know by now that if I say something I mean it, I promise you.”

You didn’t know if it was a good idea being with him alone like this, but you honestly didn’t want to be by yourself right now.

You relent with a nod, “Alright. You had your chance to change your mind,” you flash a sneaky smile.

The two of you step out of the car and head into his house. Sarah’s already tumbling down the stairs, changed into pajamas with a packed bag slung over her shoulder, “Ready to go when you are.”

“Damn, you got ready fast, kid,” he laughs despite himself. “Let’s go.”

Sarah runs up and hugs your side, “Bye, y/n!”

“Have fun with Kelsey, be safe, okay?” you squeeze her shoulder.

Joel whispers to you as they walk to the door, “There’s shirts upstairs and some shorts you can borrow. Make yourself at home, okay?”

“Okay,” you smile softly.

They head out and leave you alone in the dimly lit house. You exhale slowly and head up the stairs to go to his room. You look around at the messy bedroom, one king size bed with blue covers, and minimal decorations. It felt like him, smelled like him, cedar and oak and smoke. You open one of his drawers to grab one of his big tee shirts from work, and a pair of baggy gym shorts.

You slip out of your dress, let down your hair, and set your red shawl down on top of it. You tug on the big tee shirt and pull on the gym shorts. As much as you had liked that dress, you feel like you can finally breathe now, much more comfortable in your sleepwear now. The clothes smelled of him, too, and it filled your chest with heat, a red glow pouring out of you.

You’re in Joel Millers room... wearing his clothes.

You can’t help but look around at the photos of Sarah and him in framed photos, some hung on the wall and others propped up on his drawers. There’s one photo that catches your eye in particular, though, the side of it folded in and tucked into the frame. It’s Joel smiling down at Sarah, just a baby in his arms, and there’s a part of the photograph hidden. But you spot a glimpse of a yellow dress in the corner, the rest of it hidden away.

You wonder if it’s Sarah’s mom. You don’t know much about her, just that Sarah says she never got to know her, and hardly remembers anything about her. It broke your heart hearing that, wishing she could have, but also selfishly wanting to be that person for her.

“Found what you needed?”

You jump at Joel’s sudden presence in the room and turn around to him. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to snoop, I-”

He smirks and it feels like a lit match to your insides, “I know, darlin. Nothing to be sorry about.”

His eyes trail over you in his clothes, your arms folded under your chest, “You look good in my clothes, sweetheart. Better than I do, that’s for sure.”

You smile, “Thank you. And thanks for letting me borrow them. I feel better.”

He pinches his brow together, “Do you want to talk to me more about what happened? We don’t have to, but just know I’m here.”

You take a step towards him, “I know, I just haven’t talked about him in a long time.”

“Him?” his eyebrows raise.

You laugh at his shock, moving past him so he follows you downstairs, “Down, boy. I’m single, wouldn’t have let you kiss me if I wasn’t.”

He blushes. “Well, then, what about him?” he trails behind you to his kitchen. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

You love his Texan drawl and voice a bit too much, how deep and molasses like it was, how it coated you in sweetness and didn’t let up. Maybe it was because you weren’t from here and you weren’t used to it. But his was different and it affected you all the same.

“I might tell you,” you hop up on the countertop. “Over a glass of wine.”

Joel cracks a smile, happily obliging your request with one of his wine bottles, “I can do that.”

He pours you a glass of red and hands it to you, “So... who’s Rick?” He sips his own.

“My um... my ex fiancee,” you say, taking a long sip of your wine. “It feels weird calling him that...” you let out a dark laugh. “-since the two of us never ended it ourselves, it sounds wrong. But he uh-” your voice gets thick. “He died the beginning of last year.”

His face falls, genuinely on your behalf, wanting to wrap you in his arms, but also wanting to let you continue, “I’m so sorry, y/n.”

You’ve heard that more times than you can count from friends, family, and strangers alike, but from him, it’s one of the most sincere you’ve ever heard. You actually believe he truly cares and you wonder why you didn’t tell him sooner, maybe worried you’d scare him off. You wanted a fresh start in a place where no one knew Rick, where no one knew what happened.

“Thank you,” you sniff, mustering up a small, grateful smile before you continue. “It was New Year’s Eve. I didn’t know he had been drinking... he really seemed fine,” you recount like it was just yesterday that it happened.

“He didn’t see the ice on the roads,” you take another long sip, hands shaking again. You clear your throat, “I tried to help him, I thought we would be fine. But there was a bridge... and we went off. He got me out,” you blink the tears away, breathing out the words as if expelling them from your person. Like you wouldn’t have to hold onto them anymore. “He didn’t.”

“I’m alive because of him,” you inhale sharply, finally looking at Joel. “And he’s dead because I didn’t notice...”

He frowns, “It is absolutely not your fault, y/n. It’s a horrible thing that happened and it is not because of you.”

You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand and it breaks Joel’s heart a bit more and more, “I haven’t thought about it in so long. And they brought him up in the bathroom. I don’t know how they found out, I haven’t told a soul here.”

Protectiveness slips into his deep tone of voice as he steps towards you, it sends a shock through you, “What did they say about him?”

You shake your head, letting out a laugh, “It’s not important.”

“It is absolutely fucking important,” his eyes darken when he speaks to you, you’d never seen him so worked up before. “I’ll go to the damn superintendent if I have to, they’re grown ass adults. They shouldn’t use the death of your fiancee against you.”

You can’t help but let a smile slip through, “It’s cute how mad you are about this.”

He scoffs, mirroring your amused expression, “Believe me, I’ve dealt with the wolves before. They ask you inappropriate questions and dig into your personal life, pushing your boundaries like it’s nothing. No one can have any secrets around here.”

“Yeah,” you sniff. “I noticed that.”

There’s a beat of silence before he sighs and says quietly between the two of you, “When they found out about Sarah’s mom leaving her when she was a baby, they brought it up to her at a school picnic. Made her feel small. She ran home, crying her eyes out. I’d never seen her so upset. I was scared what I would do. It broke me.”

You nod in understanding, “That’s awful, Joel. I’m sorry. For you and for Sarah.”

“The next time they brought it up, Sarah asked Bethany why she’d been divorced six times. You should have seen the look on her face,” he laughs and you join him, throwing your head back at the mental image of Bethany’s pinched, angry face.

“Oh my god, I love Sarah so much,” you let your head fall into your hands, still laughing loudly in the otherwise silent kitchen.

“I was very proud,” he grinned.

“I’d hope so,” you tilt your head slightly. “She gets it from you. I wonder how she got that information about Bethany.”

“Beats me,” he smirks and you narrow your eyes affectionately in his direction. “Smart kid, that one.”

The two of you let the moment sink in for a bit in the silence. Joel’s standing between your legs now, hands on either side of your thigh, steadying himself. He searches your face like he did at the start of the evening, fingers itching to touch you again.

“Should we...” you finally say, pulling you both back into reality. “Should we talk about the kiss back there?”

“What’s there to talk about about?”

You frown, filling with a sense of dread that you’ve misread this entire night, “What do you mean?”

He jumps to fix what he said, hands falling to splay out on your thighs, “No, baby, wait not like that-” he sighs. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’m out of practice with this, sweetheart-”

You press a kiss to his lips, causing him to abruptly cease his rambling. You tilt your head and pull away from hm after just a couple seconds. He leans against you even after you’re away from him, lips trying to follow you.

“I just meant...” you whisper with a small smile, looking up at him through your lashes. “Like what does this mean? Because I haven’t done something like this since Rick and I’m trying not to feel guilty...”

“Guilty bout what?”

“For moving on.”

“You shouldn’t feel guilty for that,” he shakes his head, lowering his voice. “I understand if you’re not ready though. It took me awhile, to open again, I still haven’t completely... But I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you. And I know I’ve never met Rick, but I believe he’d want you to be happy. With whoever, even if it’s not me.”

Your heart cracks open at the sweetness of his words, splitting you in two right in front of him. You know you shouldn’t feel bad, even if you’ve moved on from loving Rick, a part of you will always mourn and have a place in your heart for him. You needed to realize there was more than enough room to let other people in too.

Your eyes soften, “You’re more out of practice than I thought if you think I’ve moved on with anyone else but you, Joel Miller.”

His eyes darken with something like raw desire and complete adoration, something like love that you haven’t seen in a long, long time. You don’t know if he’s been looking at you like this all along and if you’ve just now begun to notice.

Joel leans down to whisper to you, hand on your neck, thumb tucked under chin and other fingers on the side of your throat, squeezing just so. You dreamed of this, thought if he would be rough or sweet, when he was really a stunning, swirling mix of both.

“You were so jealous earlier,” his voice is wrecked in your ear, low and gravelly. “I thought I was just imagining it at first, but talking about those moms that think of me, you got so red. It was so sexy, sweetheart.”

You gasp a little, wanting to deny it, tease him. But who were you both kidding? You were jealous, and now there’s a warm satisfaction in the center of your chest at the fact they were wrong. Singing insults, saying he wouldn’t want you. Now you’re in his kitchen in the middle of the night wearing his shirt and he’s in between your legs, pressing against you.

“They said I didn’t have a chance with you,” you tangle you hands in his shirt, tugging him closer.

He shakes his head, eyes never leaving you, “I’m only yours, baby. Always have been.”

You all but pounce on him in that moment, wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging him close. He laughs just before you softly press your lips against his, the rumbling, beautiful sound vibrating against you. You’re tugging at each other almost immediately, his hands pulling and sliding up and down your waist while your arms wrap around his head. You fingers slide through his brunette curls, pleasantly humming at the satisfaction of knowing his hair is just as soft as you imagined, how even his rough hands feel gentle, and how his lips move with yours, slowly, languidly, painfully.

“You’re beautiful...” he kisses the words into your neck, repeating it over and over. “My beautiful, beautiful, girl.”

“Joel...” you sigh out and tilt your head back.

“Puts your arms around my neck, baby,” he whispers, arms pulling your legs up so they wrap around his torso. “What I want to do to you won’t work exactly on my kitchen counter.”

You quickly oblige him and he carries you up his stairs, your hands and lips never leaving each others. He stumbles while holding you, making you giggle into his shoulder, shrieking when he almost drops you.

“Was this the kind of lifting you had in mind with me tonight?” you smile softly into his skin.

He kicks open his bedroom door, “I’ve always had this in my mind, sweetheart.”

You both drop onto the bed, wanting to take this slow but also get to what you’ve both been wanting as soon as possible. He’s atop you, hands on either side of your head while you kiss like college students, handsy and messy and surprisingly amazing. How fast you two fit together, how good it feels. He grinds his lower half into yours. You moan into his mouth, earning one from him, both enjoying and exploring the other.

“I wanna taste you, sugar,” he lifts your chin up with his fingers, kissing down your chin then your neck then your collarbone and chest.

You wordlessly slip off your, his, shirt revealing that you have nothing on beneath it. He inhales sharply, taken aback by you. Your fingers scramble for the buttons of his flannel and you honestly think you break a few, moving so quickly.

“Impatient, are we?”

You look up at him through your lashes, “Just know what I want.”

Joel shrugs off his shirt, undoes his belt, and pulls off his jeans. You barely have time to admire his toned body, broad shoulders before he descends. He tugs off your, his, shorts, tosses them, and kisses everywhere his fingers leave, wet, open mouthed whispers against hot skin that make moisture pool between your thighs. His lips trail from your belly to your inner thighs and back up again.

“Nothing underneath?” he kisses the soft flesh, noting the slick at the apex of your legs. “This all for me, darlin?”

You nod when he licks a stripe up your cunt, “Only you, Joel.”

He buries his face in you, eating you out like a man starved, rutting against the bed like he’s enjoying it as much as you are. You all but scream at the way he’s unraveling you with his tongue, circling your clit, accompanying his skilled mouth with his equally capable fingers, bigger than yours

When you tug at the ends of his hair, he groans into you, the noises fueling the coil in your gut, begging it to splinter and snap. He sucks hard and you let out a loud moan at the feeling. He holds you down against the bed with a palm flat against your stomach as you begin to lift your pelvis. Joel’s tongue enters you while his fingers take over, stimulating you with gentle rubs and flicks.

Your orgasm washes over you, the pressure relieving through every nerve and vessel, his name a prayer leaving you over and over. Wishing for him to come fix you again.

You pull him up to you and bring him down to press your lips against his. He melts into you, arms wrapped around you while he holds you close, filling you out in all the right places while you taste yourself in his kiss.

“Can I...?” you ask him, hands slipping down to palm him through his boxers.

He groans, head falling into the crook that meets between your neck and shoulder, “As much as I would enjoy that, baby... we’re gonna need to do that later. Need to be inside you.”

You look at him for a moment, just breathing him in as cheesy as it sounds. It’s only hit you now how much you’ve been longing for this.

“You have all of me,” you tell him, moonlight sculpting his handsome features.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that, y/n...” your name is blanketed by his voice, delivered to you in the way Zeus gives the world lightning. Simple bursts of electricity that can tear the earth.

You hold his stubbled jaw in your hands, rubbing his cheek with your thumbs. He doesn’t remember a time anyone has ever looked at him like you do, gently, adoringly, openly.

Joel puts his lips near your ear, kissing your temple, “Are you ready for me, sweetheart?”

You nod as he pushes himself inside you and you bite back a moan into his shoulder.

Your hair is in messy tendrils in every which way and you’ve never been more breathtaking to him. The color of your eyes brighter, skin flushed with warmth, and lips puffy. His eyes scan over your face, committing your soft and sharp features alike to memory. Lust blown and glowing with dewy sweat.

“Eyes on me, beautiful,” he holds your jaw in his hand, kissing you again.

He quickens his pace and you whine into his mouth, nails digging into his skin. You wrap your legs around his torso and he hits you so nicely. He rises and looks at you, lips swollen and red from kissing, eyes clear and pupils large, and face flushed with heat.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he praises in your ear, littering kisses across your jaw. “Wanted you for so long...” he find your lips again with his own.

You mewl into his lips, licking his tongue as he pushes inside you again and again and again.

This past year of stolen glances and touches seem so pointless when it could have been this, this beautiful mess of limbs and lips and tongue. You never knew euphoria until this moment.

Joel’s hips begin to stutter and you’re both already close to release. You lick up his throat and kiss a constellation across his jaw, feeling him gulp under your touch.

“Keep kissing me like that, sugar, and I’m done for.”

You can’t help yourself, overwhelmed with feeling as the two of you reach your climax together. Blissful and stupid. His lips wander down your neck and nipping that sweet spot, as you arch into him.

You whimper and his movements slow as do yours, walls tightening around him. He reaches down and rubs your clit with his expert fingers.

You finish together, mouths open and hands all over each other’s bodies. It overcomes you in a tingling, perfect sensation, continuing on in euphoric waves, leaving you aching and wanting more. He kisses you through it and it aches, all of the love you have pouring into him and him into you.

As you both lay there, chests heaving slips parted, he smiles down at you.

“Will you go out… with me?” Joel says sweetly, kissing your temples. “That usually comes first but we- I…”

You interrupt his nervous ramblings with a soft kiss, “The answer is always yes.”

You interrupt his nervous ramblings with a press of your lips quietly, “Yes. The answer is always yes.”

Joel rubs his knuckles over your cheek, softly and adoringly he looks at you. You tuck yourself into his arms under the blankets. Your chests heaving, out of breath but happy. Everything you both have wanted for a long, long time, laying right in front of each other.

“Can I...” he searches your face, face red and nervous you’ll say no even when you’re in his arms. “Can I take you out tomorrow? I usually do that before this, but we just... I-”

You interrupt with a kiss, his new favorite thing, whispering, “Yes, Joel. The answer is always yes.”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #the last of us smut #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal joel miller #fanfiction #smut #bella ramsey #ellie the last of us #ellie

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kimpossibly · 1 year

Text

— dating dick grayson

ੈ✩‧₊˚ sfw & nsfw under the cut

PAIRING: dick grayson x fem!reader WARNINGS: there is some nsfw content underneath the cut (i labelled it so it can't be missed). there are also mentions of fighting, cuts, bruises, general vigilante stuff. SUMMARY: just some cute (and some spicy) headcanons for dating our beloved nightwing

NOTE: I love writing for this character so much — specifically because I've heard from sooooo many people that my boyfriend looks exactly like him. It actually became such a recurring joke with my friend group that we dressed up as Dick & Barbara Gordon for homecoming. But the resemblance is so uncanny it's actually insane — hence why I love this character so much. I hope you guys enjoy this thing I wrote at three in the morning!!

ੈ✩‧₊˚ sfw

Dick is so protective, just as a person. Of family, of friends, and especially of you.

If you're a Titan like him, he's the first to jump to your side in a fight — not because he doesn't think you can handle yourself (he knows you can) but because he can't bear not having you in his eye line during a fight. If something were to happen when his back was turned, he'd never quite be able to get over it.

In the middle of the fight, he's constantly shouting to you, asking if you're okay, if you need help. And after the fight he's the first one to you, asking if you're hurt.

And if you're a civilian and you somehow get caught in the middle of his work? Oh my God this man will lose it. His top priority disappears and is instantly replaced by making sure you're safe and well out of the way of danger.

The 'patching up each other's wounds' trope is strong with Dick

He always wants to know how and why each little cut and bruise got there

❝ Wait, where did this one come from? ❞ ❝ Remember when the guy pulled out all those little throwing knives? ❞ ❝ Ah. ❞

I feel like his love languages are words of affirmation and physical touch — he loves both giving and receiving them.

He'll always pull you aside to tell you he loves you before he goes into a fight.

He'll reassure you with forehead kisses instead of kisses on the lips. They just feel more safe and comforting.

But the ultimate way he makes you feel safe and comfortable is by cuddling. He loooooves cuddling.

Nothing makes him happier than wrapping his arms around you and holding you tight to him. He loves falling asleep that way, tangled up together, because it lets him know that you feel completely safe around him.

He knows he can be an imposing person, so he always does his best to make you and everyone else feel safe around him.

And let's be honest, that man is a giant teddy bear.

But he can be pretty scary when he wants to be.

Like I kind of said earlier, if someone is messing with you, he's the first one to be by your side to defend you

At the end of the day, he loves coming home to you and knowing that you'll be there for him every step of the way.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ nsfw — mentions of hickeys, oral (f & m receiving), praise, roughness, fingering

Dick is a pretty selfless person — he's always concerned about other people, he's a bit of a people pleaser, etc.

Thus I firmly believe he's a giver over a receiver.

They don't call him Dick for nothing—

He also definitely has a praise kink, both for giving praise and receiving it.

His favorite, of course, is calling you a ❝ Good girl ❞ and telling you how well you're doing.

He loves to go down on you. There's nothing he finds more beautiful than looking up at you from in between your legs, seeing your face contorted in pleasure as he brings you over the edge.

He also looooves when you pull his hair. It's a sign that he's doing well at making you feel good. This ties in with the whole praise thing.

He never pressures you into anything and always makes sure to get consent before doing something.

He also loves to wake you up by going down on you. He obviously asked for consent the night before, but he just loves the surprise of it.

Or he'll even just wake you up by pressing kisses to your neck and gently fingering you

It isn't until you're awake and moaning that he'll smirk at you and say good morning.

The auDACITY

And if you want to go down on him? I mean...he won't refuse.

I don't think his initial instinct is to be very vocal, but once he feels perfectly comfortable and safe with you, oh Lord is he vocal.

He's a very gentle person in general, but every once in a while he needs to let off some steam.

You'll come back from a fight and you'll barely have the time to shut the bedroom door before he's pulling you to him and kissing you.

The suit stays ON

He can get a little rough, but he always makes sure that you're okay with what he's doing.

But he loves after care — and he's great at it too

Like I said earlier, he's a cuddler, but if you're both up for it he'll jump in a shower with you

He doesn't normally like to leave marks because he doesn't want the others to start asking questions, but every once in a while he likes giving you a hickey or two.

But he places them strategically on your collarbone, where they'll be just barely hidden by your shirts and revealed by the merest tug on the neckline (and yes he does take advantage of this)

You're a little more enthusiastic about hickeys than he is

Luckily, in his, er, line of work (???) hickeys can more often be explained away as bruises

Like if it ever gets brought up, he just brushes it off.

❝ What's on your neck? ❞ ❝ It's uh, just a bruise. ❞ ❝ Oh. Looks like a hickey. ❞

Dick will just kind of freeze up, caught of guard by the directness of that statement, and you'll just smile and wrap an arm around him, pressing a kiss directly to the so-called ❝ bruise. ❞

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buckybuckyboo · 1 year

Text

Homecoming

Summery: Bucky, your boyfriend is coming home from a long mission with his boyfriend Steve. You decide you want Steve to join both of you.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI. Unprotected sex, oral (M & F receiving) Threesome,

A/N: I do not give permission for my fics to be posted on other sites, copied or translated. All mistakes are my own. Feedback is always welcome. Likes and re-blogs are appreciated

Word count: 1,782

The boys were coming home and you were so excited! You tidied the apartment and waited for Bucky. Bucky and Steve had been away on this mission for 3 months, 3 MONTHS!! Anyone looking from the outside in would be very confused about your relationship. Steve and Bucky were together, and you and Bucky were together. But you couldn't be happier, you love Bucky deeply and you loved how open you both were with each other. Wanda had texted you, letting you know they were back at the tower and you asked her to let you know when they had left so that you could prepare for their homecoming. You waited patiently for them to walk through the door. You hear both of them laughing down the hallway and your heart skips a beat. You could almost burst with excitement!

You see Steve swing the door open and Bucky behind him "Welcome home guys!!" Bucky runs to you, scooping you up in his arms, and hugging you tight. "Are you both okay? Any injuries?"

"Just a couple of cuts and bruises, we're okay"

"Good!"

Moving over to Steve giving him a kiss on the cheek and a hug "I ordered your favorites, it should be delivered in a few minutes"

"Thank you Y/N we are starving!"

"You're welcome, Steve. I'm just glad to have you both home safe and sound"

Bucky grabs you again wrapping his arms around you "I missed you, baby"

"I missed you too Bucky, it's very quiet without you around" You laugh.

Bucky just can't seem to keep his hands off you and you're not complaining but Steve is sitting on the couch all alone but then you get distracted by a knock on the door.

"That's the food! Do you wanna go sit Bucky?"

"Sure, thanks baby"

"You're welcome babe"

Grabbing the food and bringing it to the little coffee table where the guys have made themselves comfy on the couch. After they have had enough to eat, you all curl up on the couch. Bucky is in the middle of you and Steve. You had yourself wrapped around Bucky's arm and you weren't letting go anytime soon. The only thing you were focused on was his fingers rubbing on your thigh. Missing his touch the whole time he was gone but you didn't want to seem too eager and you didn't want to just take him from Steve. Bucky leans over to you kissing you passionately, oh you missed those lips so much. Steve stands "I'm gonna give you guys some privacy" Pulling away from Bucky like something has taken over your body "Please stay". Steve stands there looking at both of you.

Bucky breaks the silence "You want Steve to stay sweetheart?"

"I- I want him to stay.... and join us"

Both Bucky and Steve looked surprised, did they never think like this? It's almost every man's dream to have a threesome right? "What do you say, Steve? Wanna join us?" Steve sits back down on the couch beside Bucky "Are you sure Buck? She's your girl"

"I'm sure Steve if this is what she wants, I have no problem with it. I get to be with both the people I love" He leans over kissing Steve, then he turns his attention to you "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Steve I'm sure" Looking at Bucky who gives you a soft sweet smile then back to Steve. Leaning over and pressing your lips softly to Steve's. Your hands move up into his hair, pulling him closer and kissing him more passionately. Bucky picks you up and moves you in between him and Steve, laying you on your back on the couch. Reaching out for Steve, he leans down kissing you again as Bucky kisses along your stomach and pulls your sweatpants off. His kisses trail down your stomach and over your clothed pussy. Steve slips his hand under your shirt massaging your tits, pulling your bra down so he can play with your nipple.

Bucky slips off your panties, kissing along your inner thighs. You don't know where to keep your focus until Bucky slowly drags his tongue through your folds, your hips rolling against his mouth. Placing his hands on your hips, he holds you in place as he keeps lapping at your core "Mmm I kissed this pussy so much, it's like I've been starved for days and now I finally get to have a full meal. No offense Steve". Steve just smiles down at him as he removes your shirt and bra. He kisses along your skin, taking his time with each nipple then making his way back up to your mouth. Filling Steve's mouth with moans as Bucky sucks on your clit. Your hand moves to undo Steve's belt and jeans, reaching in and wrapping your hand around his leaking, aching cock. His breath hitched in his throat as you spread the pre cum around his tip.

"Can I taste you, Steve? Please?"

"Yes baby, yes you can" His voice was low and shaky. He leans down once more kissing you. Freeing his cock from his boxers and stroking him a few times before gently licking the tip of his cock, then taking the tip of his cock into your mouth and sucking gently while moaning.

You take his cock as far as you can into your mouth and slowly suck on him, trying to tease him while moving your hips against Bucky's mouth. You never thought hearing Steve moan would make you even wetter "Oh fuck! Bucky I'm gonna cum please don't stop! Feels so fucking good!" Steve leans back down taking your nipple into his mouth again, adding to the pleasure. Your orgasm quickly washes over you, holding a firm grip on Bucky's hair as he never stops till your body is shaking. As you come down from your high you can still feel Bucky between your legs, gently sucking on your clit and leaving wet kisses on your thighs and stomach. He smiles up at Steve pulling him closer and kissing him passionately, this sight made you want them both even more.

"How does she taste Steve?"

"Better than I could ever imagine Buck" You giggle up at the two of them. Bucky looks down at you and smiles "Oh we are not finished yet with you princess" He stands taking his jeans and boxers off and sitting back on the couch. "Turn your back to me and sit on my lap princess" Nodding you do as you are told then slowly sink down on his cock, both of you moaning. You missed so much how his cock felt inside you, stretching your walls. Steve is looking at both of you and stroking himself as he watches. Your pussy is on full display for him with Bucky's cock in it as he fucks you from below. Steve kneels in front of you taking your clit into his mouth and gently sucking as Bucky fucks.

"Oh fuck, that feels so good"

Your hand rests on the back of Steve's head, Bucky whispering in your ear "That's it, baby girl. You're our good girl, right? Taking my cock so well like always baby. God, I missed you so much!" Bucky's thrusts become harder, your pussy clenching down on his cock as you cum again with a loud moan. Bucky's cock slipped out of your pussy letting Steve lap up all your sweet juices, he can't help but moan at the taste. He loved tasting you off Buck's tongue but tasting you for himself is much different. You rest back against Bucky as you come down from your high once again but then, Bucky starts moaning in your ear. Looking down, you see Steve sucking on Bucky's cock "Wow Bucky, she tastes amazing off your tongue but even better off your cock. Come on sweetheart, milk his cock for me" He slips Bucky's cock back into your pussy and leans up kissing you.

Bucky buries his cock deep inside you "I'm gonna fill you up, baby girl. Have you missed being full of me huh?"

"Yes Buck, please fill me up and maybe when you're done, Steve can fill me up some more?"

"Fuck yes baby girl" He moans at the thought of him and Steve's seed mixing inside you. His movements become sloppy as he fucks you. "Oh fuck baby! I'm gonn- gonna cum FUCK!!" he stills inside you, and you can feel his cock twitching inside you. His seed coating your walls. As his cock slips out of your pussy, Steve is there to catch what is left on his cock, moaning as he sucks the cum off Buck's cock. Bucky kisses along your shoulder and up along your neck. "Steve, come here, please fill me?"

He leans over you and Bucky and kisses you softly as he pushes his cock inside and wraps your legs around his waist. Leaning your head back on Bucky's chest while you moan, catching a glimpse of Steve and Bucky kissing as Steve starts to move faster and harder. "I'm gonna cum Y/N, you're so fucking tight. God, you feel so good"

"Yes Steve, please fill me up. I wanna be yours and Bucky's girl. Please cum inside me"

Bucky's hand moves down your body, his fingertips finding your clit and massaging in little circles making you cum. Your pussy clenching around Steve's cock making him spill his seed inside you "Oh fuck!" Steve moans while rutting against you.

The three of you lay on the couch together cuddling and kissing, enjoying the little bubble you are all in. You don't remember falling asleep but when you woke up you were in bed laying on Bucky's chest. You lay your hand out behind you expecting Steve to be behind you but he wasn't there. Bucky felt you move and woke up "Good morning sweetheart" "Good morning Bucky, where is Steve?"

"He slept in his bed"

Why would Steve sleep in his bed and not with you and Bucky?

"Did I upset him?

"Of course not baby, maybe he just wanted some rest after the mission and the welcome home" Bucky smiled as he leaned in kissing you. Then you heard some noise in the kitchen "I'll be right back baby, just getting a drink"

Leaving the room and heading to the kitchen. "Steve?"

He jumps dropping his cup on the counter top "Oh hey Y/N um I was just going for a run, I'll see you later"

He hurries out the door. Bucky walks up behind you "Everything okay?"

"Buck, Steve is acting weird. I did something wrong I know I did"

----------

Part 2

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #sabastian stan #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #bucky smut #beefy bucky #bucky barnes x female reader #stucky #steve x bucky x reader #stucky x reader

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jujutsukatsuki · 2 years

Text

I got bored and listened to the song Ex-Girlfriend by Melina KB. This is the outcome <3

“Camie. It’s good to see you.” His mom squeals as she stands from the table and hugs the model sized girls.

“It’s amazing to see you too Mitsuki!” Her ruby red lips smile before she looks to you. Her head cocks to the side like a confused puppy. What you wouldn’t give to knock that pretty little head off her slender shoulders.

You shake your head a bit before you give her a smile and stand from the outdoor dining table.

“Whose this?” She looks at Mitsuki who has a genuine smile as she looks at Camie. You listen to how Mitsuki explains that you’re Bakugou’s new girlfriend, that you’ve been dating him for over a year now.

Camie Utsushimi. You envied everything about her. How pretty she was. How she was good at everything. How happy Bakugou looked in photos with her from homecoming, prom, graduation.

Though you loathed the way she broke him. She had built the man before your eyes and torn him down in the blink of an eye like he was nothing but trash under her designer kitten heels.

He told her that he wanted to marry her, she rejected him, broke up with him on the spot and said she was seeing someone else, all in the same breath.

Even though it had been three years since the two had broken up, Camie still lingered.

The scarf his mom wore that Camie bought her for her birthday last year. Her phone number being favorited in bakugou’s phone until a few months back when he asked you to call someone for him. The way her name would pop up during stories from his friends and his face twisted up into regret and sadness.

The gold bracelet you found in his bathroom when you were looking for some rubbing alcohol, love notes stashed away in random places.

You couldn’t not envy her.

“Y/n, Y/n? Sweetheart see you alright?” You jumped when you felt a warm hand on your cheek, your eyes made contact with Mitsuki’s.

“Yeah, I’m.. I’m.. I’m not okay.” You whisper as you sit back down, Camie is long gone now, leaving just you and your boyfriends mother.

“Is it Camie?”

You silently nod

“You know, I prefer you over her.”

Your head shoots up as you look at the gorgeous blonde woman.

“Yeah, I mean, she shattered Katsuki, my son and I may have our differences but I’ll still be mama bear when I need too. She was also super bossy and only ever cared about looks. She never took an interest in stuff Katsuki liked. Always got on my nerves.” She sips her coffee like nothing happened. Like she didn’t just settle your nerves in a second.

“Honestly, I’m still only friendly with her because I like the gifts she sends.” She snickers and sets her cup down.

Your mouth opens as you stare at the woman. She snickers again “Honey, close your mouth, you’ll catch flies, now come on, we have to meet our boys at the restaurant down the street.”

You stand up with her and she locks her arm with yours. “You’ll never have to compete with her, I promise, Katsuki is head over heels for you.”

“Promise?” You ask her softly.

“Promise.” She confirms.

#Katsuki Bakugo #Katsuki Bakugou #Katsuki Bakugo x reader #Katsuki Bakugou x reader #Katsuki x reader #Bakugou #bakugo #Bakugo katsuki #Bakugou katsuki #Bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #Bakugo katsuki x reader #Bakugou katsuki x reader

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rogersideup · 10 months

Text

Nice to be Kneaded

Chapter twelve

Homecoming

Series Masterlist

Previous Part: Courage Next Part: Cardboard Castle

Word Count: 7,220

Warnings: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI. Mentions of medical equipment, loss, abuse, PTSD, anxiety and depression.

"Alright, just a small pinch." Bruce explained to you before inserting an IV catheter into a vein in the ditch of your arm.

This moment felt a little unreal. Sitting criss-crossed in an armchair in the Avengers living room in their own compound somewhere in upstate New York. Bruce Banner, the fucking hulk, on your left giving you medical attention, and Steve on your right, holding your hand giving you emotional support.

After a whole night of Steve trying his hardest to nurse you back to health with lots of love, cuddles, and bribery in the form of your favorite Chinese food, you just couldn't keep anything down.

Even though you wanted to drink and you desperately wanted to shove Crab Rangoons down your throat, you just couldn't. Half a glass of water and two bites of fried rice had you feeling nauseous and uncomfortable. This time, the discomfort wasn't from trying to out eat a super soldier.

Steve was such a sweetheart, he didn't push it too hard, but he did push for exactly what was happening right now. Some fluid and parental nutrition through an IV to get you right on track for a smooth recovery from what the agents put you through. He could tell that although settling more and more by the minute, your nerves were still off the chart. Your lack of eating made perfect psychological sense, but he still wanted you to feel better.

So he convinced you to let Bruce do this, and you agreed without hesitation. The lack of medical environment and the never ending warmth you've felt from every Avenger you've met thus far made you feel comfortable and brave enough for something like this. Really, it was no biggy.

The IV went in without a hitch, and you barely even felt it.

"Okay, I'm going to flush this out with a little bit of saline. It might taste kind've metallic in your mouth for a few moments. That's normal." He told you while inserting a syringe looking thing into the end of the line going straight to your vein.

Just like he said, you tasted metal. "Ooh" Your eyebrows pinched together. "Weird."

"I think it tastes like expo markers" Steve commented.

"How do you know what expo markers taste like?" Natasha asked, head leaning to the side with a grin.

"I don't know... it just tastes how they smell." He shrugged.

"You're so weird, Rogers." She commented before looking back down at her laptop.

You giggled at her comment before biting your tongue considering he was right next to you.

"Come on, back me up, Sweetie." He asked.

"I wish I could" You laughed. "But I have no idea what you're talking about."

He pouted, Bruce didn't even give him a chance to rebuttal. "You're all set and ready to go. The bag should be done in about an hour then I'll come take the IV out."

"Thank you, Bruce, I appreciate it." You grinned.

"Of course, I'll be back in a bit." He gave you a polite nod before leaving again.

As Bruce left, Nat sprung up from her spot on the couch and approached you and Steve before knocking his hand off of yours.

"Let me have her" Nat said, walking around the back of your chair.

"What the f- Nat!" Steve complained.

"Stealing his girl and he still won't drop the f bomb" She teased, running her fingers through your hair that you washed yesterday but had yet to do anything with.

You had no idea what was going on, but you remembered the first warning Steve gave you about being around the Avengers, there would always be chaos. So you sat there with an uncontrollable smile as Nat played with your hair, and Steve argued with her like a child.

"You aren't stealing anyone from me." Steve whined. "What are you doing? Did you even ask?"

"She has such beautiful hair, I want to braid it." Nat answered Steve, then leaned over to see your face. "Is that alright, Cupcake?"

"That's more than alright" You grinned.

"Cupcake?!" Steve puffed playfully. "I know you're not calling my girl Cupcake."

"How is it any different than sugar cookie?" Nat asked as your cheeks blushed at Steve calling you his girl.

"I don't know, it just sounds patronizing." He complained.

"Do you feel patronized, Cupcake?" Nat asked you, parting your hair from behind the armchair you were sitting in.

"This feels like a trap." You giggled, reaching out to hold Steve's hand again. He accepted it quickly, then gave it a little squeeze.

"Smart girl" Nat smiled.

The three of you chatted away while she sectioned your hair down the middle, and worked on the first of the two french braids she was putting into your hair.

Once it was finished she tied off the end with a hair tie, then worked on the next one on the other side. You guys were so preoccupied I'm the easy flowing conversation that the opening door, and approaching footsteps went unnoticed.

"What is this?" An iconic voice asked, immediately sending a shiver down your spine.

You looked from Steve's laughing face over to the source, none other than Tony Stark. Steve's face fell into an expression that was much more guarded, and you immediately felt uncomfortable.

He warned you about everything. Talking raccoons, blue Cyborgs, bickering, weapons you might see, emergency codes you might hear. You felt prepared for every situation but this one.

You didn't know what terms Steve and Tony were on, but you did know he was one of the most powerful people in the country. Quite honestly, you didn't even know if you were allowed to make eye contact, or speak unless spoken to. So you sat respectfully quiet, and tried to keep your cool.

No one responded to Tony as he pointed to you, a measly little thing sitting criss cross in a chair wearing Steve's clothes that were far too big for you, with an IV in your arm, all while Natasha braided your hair.

"Make a wish foundation?" Tony asked again.

"Oh god, Tony-" Steve scuffed, shaking his head.

"Okay? Another super-person I need to worry about?" Tony's eyes went from Steve's to Natasha's, everyone but your own.

"Well, she's certainly super, that's for sure" Natasha smiled.

"So, no one's going to tell me who you are?" Tony finally asked you, looking at you directly.

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out, so you looked at Steve to help guide you through this. He could see the worried look in your eye, so he took over.

"This is my-" Steve stared fully confident before realizing that you didn't even really have a title in his life.

Girlfriend. No? He never officially asked you to be his considering you both knew he had to leave.

Friend? Kind've, but not really?

Neighbor was an absolute no, you were way more than just a friendly face next door.

He looked at you, and you were thinking the same thing he was. The confused look on his face made you bite the insides of your cheeks to hold back laughter.

"Well I'm certainly a girl, and I'm definitely his friend." You took the pressure off of him. If the two of you were doing down, you would go down together.

"Wait a second," Tony started. "You're sugar cookie?"

"Didn't know I had a reputation around here, but I guess so." You confirmed.

"No way." Tony shook his head. "Let me see your hands"

With reluctance and no confidence whatsoever, your put your hands out to him. He walked closer and saw the scar on your palm.

"Well no shit!" He enthused. "A baker who caught a falling knife, you're real! That's incredibly stupid by the way, you should always let the knife drop."

"Why are you here, Tony." Steve redirected him, you could hear the annoyance in his voice and feel the tension in the room.

"Just here to grab some stuff then I'll be out of your hair." Tony addressed him, then immediately started pestering you again. "So, what's wrong with you?"

"Oh, I just- I was arrested and it's bee-"

"No" Tony cut you off. "I mean which wires are loose in your head that makes you want to play stuffin' the muffin with Rogers?"

"Enough." Steve put his foot down.

"Leave her alone, Stark." Nat sounded from behind you.

"Damn, tough crowd. Reminds me of exactly why I'm leaving for the woods and never coming back." Tony quipped. "Peace out."

You watched as Tony left, and Steve let out a breath of annoyance. You didn't need to see Nat's face to know she was holding back a smile.

Silence fell over the three of you for a little while, it seemed as though Steve was steaming in a lump of his own negative emotions over the billionaire while Nat kept her mouth shut as to not fuel the fire.

In attempts to calm him down without even needing to use your words, while simultaneously comforting yourself, you pulled his forearm onto the arm of the chair you were sitting in. You played with his fingers and rubbed his soft skin.

When the second braid was done, Nat tied off the end then hugged you from behind while excusing herself to get some work done.

Still feeling emotionally and physically exhausted from the past few days, you readjusted with your IV arm out where it should be, but curled your legs beneath you and rested your head on Steve's arm.

You could feel him relax under your touch, and his hand moved up to gently cup the side of your head before placing a kiss to your temple.

"M'sorry about that" Steve apologized quietly. "Really wasn't expecting him to be around today... or ever."

"Don't apologize, it's not your fault." You reminded him. "Never thought I'd be here, but this is definitely a story I'll tell my grandkids one day."

Steve giggled at your comment, the thought of you old and grey with grand kids running around with endless cookies in their hands made him smile. "I never really thought you'd be here either but I'm glad you are."

"As cool as this is though, I can't wait to get back to Greenwood." You explained, feeling homesick. You barely ever left the small town, so being away combined with the three most terrifying days of your life, you were longing for your own house.

"I can't even tell you how much I miss it." Steve shook his head in disbelief. "I miss the bakery."

"The bakery misses you too, she told me every day." You joked.

"I wonder if Bruce can make this IV drip faster so we can leave sooner" Steve pondered.

Unfortunately for Steve, he had to wait the full hour before he could take you home. But luckily, getting you home was a breeze.

You were a rockstar in the Jet, to Steve's surprise, you found in interesting. Tiny bits of your personality were starting to shine back through as you asked him a million and one questions about what everything did on board. He was more than happy to answer every single question, and let you push every single button so long as it didn't interfere with a smooth flight.

Sometimes he found it really easy to normalize these aspects of his life that were completely out of the ordinary to the average civilian. He didn't know if it was because it was a survival tactic of his own, or because he so desperately craved to feel normal even when most of his life was everything but average, but he found so much happiness and beauty in sharing moments like this with you.

You quickly brought him back to earth, and your childlike curiosity and amazement for even something as simple as transportation that was a normal part of life as a superhero reminded him of all the ways his life was enriched.

This time bringing the Jet to Greenwood was a lot more welcomed with a lot more accommodations. The police department cleared Steve to land in their private runway and store it in their hangars. Immediately upon exiting, you were met with the chief and a few officers who came to check in on you and make sure you were okay. And for the first time ever, you saw Steve hold himself high and be greeted with respect by anyone in Greenwood.

The police escorted you two home, which lead to more fascination by you because you had never been in a police car before. Steve reminded you more than once that it was a really great thing that this was a whole new experience for you, but once again he couldn't stop smiling.

Both of you had never felt more relief than when he opened the car door and helped you out. Waiting for you in your driveway was a handful of your friends and neighbors who were worried sick about you, and had heard about your arrival back home.

While each one greeted you with long, tight hugs, hair pets, back rubs, and cheek kisses, Steve watched from a slight distance while he sorted out the rest of the information the police needed to make sure you were as safe as could be.

His heart was happy knowing you were so loved by your community, and when he caught a glimpse of all the flowers and letters and pictures in his own driveway that you had told him about, he couldn't help but to feel loved as well.

After Steve introduced himself to everyone at your homecoming, he got you back in your house safe and sound. Right back where the journey started, you picked your phone up from underneath the couch and plugged it in.

He could see it on your face that you were still drained regardless of the excitement of getting back home. Some of your employees and friends had promised they'd be over at your place tonight with dinner and good company to try and ease up the hardship of the past few days, so now was a good time to leave you alone.

You were thankful to have someone like him who understood your needs without even having to express them, someone who understood the value of processing your thoughts by yourself without being offended.

So he tucked you into your bed, then sat next to your hip before giving you a series of sweet kisses.

"Are you doing okay?" He questioned genuinely.

You grinned and nodded, feeling relaxed and relieved. "thank you for rescuing me, Stevie."

"That's what I'm here for, Sunflower." He rubbed your cheek with his thumb. "I'll be back here in a few hours, but if you need me before then you know where I live."

A smile took over your face, then a thought occurred. "Hey, can I have your real phone number now?"

"Are you hitting on me?" Steve questioned cheekily.

"Of course I am" You confirmed. "What's a pretty boy like you doing all alone in this part of town?"

He shook his head at your antics, before giving you another kiss. "Yes, you can have my real phone number now."

"I'm really moving on up in this world." You celebrated.

"I'll put it in your phone on my way out." He assured you. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay" You agreed as he tucked you in tighter.

"I love you" He reminded you sincerely.

"I love you too" You happily wrapped your arms around him in a goodbye hug, this time you kissed him. "So so much."

He said goodbye then put his real personal phone number in your contacts just as promised before making his way to his house. Checking the inside before dealing with the fanfare in the front, he found something he suspected, the loss of some of his clothes.

But, everything else was just as he left it but tidier. He could tell you had gone in there a few times to clean up and make sure everything was as it should be.

After checking upstairs he made his way back down to the garage to open up the big door to make clearing out the front of his house a lot easier. The pile of broken down cardboard boxes neatly stacked against the wall reminded him that he still owed you a cardboard castle.

Steve opened up the door and spent hours picking up each letter and reading every word, looking at every picture, saving every little shield and stuffed animal that was left for him. Some of the kind words brought tears to his eyes, most of them were words of thanks for what he and the Avengers did and how they continued to be a beacon of hope during uncertain times.

It reminded him of how much had changed since he was in Greenwood last, it looked a little different, felt a little different, but now it was a little different. Because as neighbors walked by they finally made it a point to introduce themselves and apologize that they had never come by before now.

The a few of the neighbors kids even came out to talk to him, their parents pulling them away after asking for a picture. This time around, the eyes on him felt starstruck rather than judgmental.

Although some of it felt hypocritical, he was happy to be back and involved in a community rather than having to isolate himself and hide from the world. Every word, every picture, every dead flower and passing neighbor felt bitter sweet.

That was until he was in the middle of reading another letter he had picked up from the ground and he could hear footsteps approaching behind him. He stopped what he was doing and looked back with a friendly smile, only for it to drop when he was met with Georgia rather than another new friendly face.

She wasn't worth his time, he didn't even want to hear her out after what she did to you. Yes he heard all the awful things she had said about him. Terrorist, war criminal, out of control, selfish, manipulator, but he didn't care. He could let all of that go, in fact, sometimes the avengers needed to be criticized by civilians. But what she did to his love was unforgivable.

So, he ignored her and proceeded to read the letter right where he left off. This one was from a 17 year old named Jack, currently telling him all about how his plans for the future. He wanted to go to school to become a fire fighter and a paramedic as the avengers inspired him to save lives ever since he was just a little ki-

"You killed my husband." Georgia's voice sounded from behind him.

Ah yes, another thing Steve has had to come to terms with. People directly blaming him for the loss of people he had no control over. Guilt ate him alive over the blip every single day, but he was working on it and this simply wasn't helping.

"I'm sorry?" Steve turned around, eyebrows furrowed.

"Michael is gone. He was blipped." Georgia explained.

"I'm very sorry for your loss." Steve monotoned, turning around as to end the conversation before it got out of hand. His heart was beating out of his chest.

"You don't even have remorse." She practically spat. "Do you even care? Look what you've done."

Steve took a big deep breath before he bit his tongue and turned back around to face her. "Last time I checked, I was trying my absolute hardest to make sure nobody had to go through this. My hand isn't the one that snapped."

"How hard could you have possibly been trying? I have to live everyday without the love of my life because the Avengers can never get their act together."

"Well if it's any consolation I lost a lot of people that I loved too." Steve scoffed, heart beating even faster, trying so hard to push down the guilt. "People I loved died trying to keep this from happening. So I'm sorry for your loss, but we really did all we could."

Georgia rendered silent for a few moments as she could unexpectedly see the pain of what he had gone through in his eyes, and the faded scar on his forehead. But it wasn't enough to appease her anger and hatred. Nothing was. "You took my sweet baby away from me." All he did was cock an eyebrow and tilt his head to the side, not understanding who she was referring to. "She was nothing but kind, all she did was mind her own business and run the bakery but you swooped in here and you changed her."

"I didn't take her away from you" Steve shook his head. "You pushed her away. That was your own choice."

"I pushed her away because I already knew what was going to happen and I was trying to spare her." Georgia explained. "Has she even told you anything about what the last men like you did to her?"

"I have an idea, yes." Steve nodded. "I understand and appreciate that you're trying to look out for her, but I would never hurt her. She's a grown woman, she makes good choices, and you went about it all wrong."

"Oh? Really? You'd never hurt her?" Georgia scoffed.

"Do you understand how traumatic the passed few days have been for her because you reported her to the government?" Steve questioned. "They hurt her, you hurt her, and now she has to pick up the pieces all over again. I don't want to hear anything else about how much you care about her, because someone who cares wouldn't cause her even more pain."

"Had you never been here, I would've never had to report her." Georgia pointed out. "And you know what? If I put the pieces of this stupid little puzzle together and I didn't report her, then I would be a criminal too. So guess what? That's also your fault."

"Her criminal record is completely clean by the way, but I did notice that assault charge on yours from a few years back." Steve chirped. "Spitting on an officer is not a good look."

"You killed her mother." She barked. That statement took Steve down a notch... or two. "She just lost her dad not too long ago, and now her Mom is gone. Of course she didn't tell me that, I found out on a Facebook post she was tagged in. Did you know about that?"

"We haven't talked abo-"

"Of course you didn't, and guess what? She's never going to tell you that. You know why? Because she's incapable of healthy relationships." Georgia ranted. "She's going to love you so hard but emotionally shut you out whenever things get hard in her head so much so that it'll suffocate you. I'm the only one who knows what really happened between her and her ex, she didn't even tell her Mom. Wherever her Mom fell flat in the emotional support department, I picked up that slack. And guess what? She doesn't have either of us now. And that's your fault."

Once again, Steve was speechless. He wasn't sure if it was from her words or her audacity, but either way he wanted to throw up.

"I don't care who you are or what you've done. I see past the whole superhero facade. You say you'd never hurt her and she believes it, but I don't because you've already hurt her in the worst way imaginable."

"But you've done nothing wrong, right?" Steve questioned. "You're just this perfect person who's done nothing but improve her life?"

"I know what I did wrong, the difference between you and I is that I can admit that while you sit here and act like you're better than everyone else because you wear stars and stripes."

"Georgia, I've felt unimaginable guilt every single day of my life since I became Captain America." Steve admitted. "Survivors guilt. Guilt that I haven't done enough. Guilt every single time I try to relax. Guilt that I put the kindest person I know in a tough situation. And though I don't need to explain myself to you, you have to understand that I'm human too. I try my hardest to be the best that I can be and make good choices, but sometimes I mess up. Should I have just left her alone at the start? Yeah, probably. But she was the only person I could connect with after almost a whole year on my own. She made me feel like I could keep going when I was about to give up. Yes, she knew who I was, but she chose to stay by my side. Do I regret letting her do that? Absolutely not. Do I feel guilty about everything I've put her through? Every waking moment."

"So why do you continue to be in her life when you could so easily just let her go?" Georgia questioned.

"Because I love her, and the one thing I will never allow myself to feel guilty about is staying with someone I love." Steve explained. "She was loyal to me at my lowest and I intend on being there for her whenever she needs me. So I'm sorry that Thano's blipped Michael, and I'm sorry for unintentionally driving a wedge between you and her, but her and I have enough on our plate at the moment so please just give her some space."

"I don't hate you, Captain Rogers, but I will continue to be your harshest critic."

"I don't need you to like me, and I am my own harshest critic." Steve stood his ground.

"Take care of her, treat her well." She lectured. "By all means, you've got to do better than this."

"I'm not interested in continuing this conversation."

"I'll be praying that she tells you the whole truth about what happened with her last boyfriend, and that her love doesn't suffocate you into insanity like it did to him."

"I know gods, ma'am. Your prayers don't mean anything to me." Steve sassed, throughly annoyed by Georgia's comments. "The only person I feel suffocated by is you."

"So be it."

She walked off back to her own house, Steve let out a puffed breath, trying his hardest to remain composed regardless of the nausea and anger settling into the pit of his stomach.

Luckily, reading the rest of the letters and clearing off the rest of the driveway did wonders to improve his mood. Though he still felt awful for the reality of what he did to you, he felt better nonetheless.

Even better after a shower, a change of clothes, and the promise of you behind your front door when he made his way back to your house half an hour before everyone else said they were going to arrive.

"Stevieeeee!" You cheered enthusiastically, opening your arms wide for him.

"Baby! It's been so long!" Steve cheered with your same enthusiasm, accepting the hug after stepping into your house.

"It should be illegal for a man to look this handsome in a t-shirt and jeans, you heathen!" Your smiley face did wonders for his mood.

"Says you, pretty girl." Steve said before kissing you. "Ooh, you smell so nice."

"Thanks, I tried." You shrugged. "How's it feel to be back?"

You started walking further into your living room, Steve trailed behind you like the big dog he was.

"Feels great" You could hear the smile in his voice. "I cleared out my driveway. Surprisingly, a lot of people are actually happy to have me here."

"I could've told you that, you should see how insane the bakery has been since everyone found out you were hanging out there."

"What?" Steve questioned, wanting you to elaborate.

"A line wrapped around the building every morning" You nodded proudly, gracefully plopping down on the couch. "Everyone from every surrounding town wants to try the same treats Captain America has been eating. We usually sell out around noon, but haven't had the hands or kitchen capacity to keep up with the demands."

"Oh gosh" Steve sat next to you, welcoming your legs being thrown over his thighs as he threw his arm around your shoulder. "I'm glad business is going well, but you and your poor employees must be exhausted"

"I was pretty worried about it when I was in custody, but I talked to the head baker not too long ago. She held down the fort perfectly."

"Has there been press?" Steve asked. "I haven't been checking local news at all, it's been a little overwhelming."

"I understand" You placed your hand on his chest to feel the comforting thumps of his heart against your palm. "Yeah, there has been. A lot of people try shoving cameras in my face or try asking me about you. I try my hardest to just be polite while not saying anything about you. Which is really hard by the way, you're my favorite person and I could talk about you for hours."

"I'm sorry that's happening" Steve sighed, gently running his knuckles down the side of your cheek.

"Don't be sorry" You grinned, reaching up and grabbing his hand. Guiding it to your mouth, you kissed the back of it. "If anything, you've brought in a ton of business and new customers. The store has never been so busy even with the other half of the population still around, so thank you."

"Nope, uh-uh." Steve denied. "The line is wrapped around the building because you're amazing at what you do. You're not allowed to accredit your success on anything other than that."

"I'd be ignorant, and it would be a disservice to not acknowledge everyone who's helped me get to where I am, I certainly didn't do this on my own." You grinned, both of your connected hands now resting in your lap as you squeezed and massaged his lovingly yet absentmindedly. "I think that's a beautiful thing, by the way. I really cherish the love and effort it takes to keep the bakery running. Every person who adds to its success story makes me love it even more."

Steve squeezed your hand and let out a sigh. "You're heart is too good for this world."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." You raised an eyebrow.

"No, it's definitely not." Steve grinned even though the residual guilt was pounding at the forefront of his brain, "Sometimes I just have a hard time believing that I deserve so much grace for everything that I've put you through."

"You're far too hard on yourself, Honey." You told him sympathetically. "You know what you've put me through?"

"Hmm?" He questioned.

"You've put me through one of the best friendships I've ever had. You've put me through facing my fear of being trusting and vulnerable to new people in my life, less lonely hours by myself in the kitchen, more time smiling and laughing, so much more time loving." You reminded him. "But you also did put me through that five mile run that one time and I'll never forgive you for that."

A real laugh escaped his throat, and you smiled in accomplishment. "That was your idea."

"I don't care." You denied with a giggle. "I didn't even know who you were yet, and I signed myself up for a run with Captain America. I deserved a warning... or an Advil... or like, a gallon of caffeine first."

"Well now you know for next time!" His cheeky smile poked through.

"Yeah... next time!" You said super sarcastically. "My point is, I can tell you feel guilty, but I don't blame you for any of it. I love you, I love that you care so much, but I just want you to relax."

Steve closed his eyes for a moment to try and get your reassurance really sink into his brain.

"We both deserve to enjoy each other without all the weird emotional strings and heavy baggage we've had with us before, and now we have a whole month together."

He leaned closer to you and laid a loving kiss on his lips. They were as sweet as him, it lasted a while, but you were perfectly happy to kiss his brain noise away.

"You always know how to make me feel better." He stated, your two foreheads pressed together.

"I'm my happiest when I'm with you." You smiled against his lips.

"I love you, baby" He stated before reconnecting your lips for a little while. The two of you stayed like that for a while, holding each other close and exchanging slow, romantic kisses. But it wouldn't be Steve if his mind wasn't always one step ahead of himself, so he pulled away when a piece of information came to the forefront of his mind. "Would this be a good time to tell you tha-"

He was cut off by the doorbell.

"No, actually, now is a terrible time to tell me." You joked with a giggle as you slowly got up off of him and the couch. "You should hold onto that thought for a few hours while we socialize then just hope you remember it later."

"Yep, I'll just live with this information for a few more hours, no problem." Steve laughed, getting up to follow you, hoping it didn't look like the two of you had been making out for ten minutes.

Company filled your house and warmed the inside of the walls alongside the parts of your soul that had felt so cold and dark for months. Friends, neighbors, and coworkers alike, you all ate dinner together while exchanging stories and laughs.

After dinner everyone squeezed in the living room around the coffee table. Uno cards and wine glasses occupied its surface while everyone sat shoulder to shoulder on the couches and on the fluffy rug. Occasional competitive shouting sounded from the area while a few of the bakers in the group had snuck into your fully stocked pantry to provide a tray of brownies and a batch of warm chocolate chip cookies.

Steve was almost overwhelmed by the sense of comfort and familiarity he hadn't felt in a long time. It was this small town magic he had always heard about. A group of people, most of whom had never met each other before, coming together and truly enjoying each other.

Just for you, there were strangers sitting together on your living room floor, a shared blanket across their laps, and giggling together after a glass of wine. Your sweet employees in the kitchen teaching your neighbor the secret to the perfect chocolate chip cookie with a gooey center and a crispy edge. You snuggled on the couch with your head resting on one of your best friend's shoulder, while Steve made his rounds and got to know everyone as much as he could.

Each one was kinder than the last, and each one asked him questions about himself. They weren't about the Sokovia accords, or what Thanos had ripped away from everyone, they were about his interests and hobbies, what he did to occupy his time, and how long the two of you had been together.

Through a mixed group of people, the one thing they all had in common was their love for you, and that was more than enough for them. Strangers became friends, and Steve finally felt like he might've been part of the small town community.

Steve's mind ran back to that same night you suggested a cardboard castle. You invited him to the neighborhood game night at Georgia and Michael's place, but rather than attending, he watched the lively get together through a double pained glass window and open sheer curtains from across the street. He remembered how isolated he felt after all that time on his own, how badly he craved to be surrounded by people who cared.

And now here he was, inside the four walls, surrounded by people who cared, and right on track to getting all he's ever wanted since his mom passed leaving him on his own at 18 years old. A family.

The Avengers were a little less than put together at the moment, and that wasn't their fault as a collective, but he was happy to have some real, normal people in his life to keep him grounded. The only thing that could've made him feel complete was if Nat, Sam, and Bucky were here.

But he had you, and you were more than enough.

Committed to forcing you to relax and enjoy yourself after all you had been through, he helped the girls clean up the kitchen, refilled wine glasses, and did all the dishes.

Then when the time come and the grip was dropping like flies, he offered rides home just in case anyone was too sleepy or had one glass to much, and stood in the driveway to make sure everyone got to their cars safely in the dark.

Of course it was a safe neighborhood and everyone lived on the block or just a few minutes away, but who would Steve Rogers be if not a protector.

As he leaned over the porch railing watching the cars drive away and enjoying the fresh, crisp air, you came out to join him. You wrapped the blanket around your shoulders around his too, and your arms snaked around his waist in a side hug.

His arm was quick to sling around your shoulders and pull you in closer before pressing a kiss on your forehead. You couldn't help the invasive smile tugging on the corners of your lips. He was happy, you could tell he was, and you were happy too.

An easy, simple, small town life with Steve was something you could imagine for yourself. Blanket covered snuggles on the porch under the stars, a house full of people you cared for, the man you loved dearly in your arms.

"How are you doing, my love?" He questioned above you, both of you looking out into the neighborhood.

"Good; happy." You said confidently. "You?"

"Good and happy." He copied your answer.

"Even better now that you finally got a homemade cookie?" You questioned knowing it was one of the things he had missed the most in his time away.

"I think I ate five, no joke." Steve smiled.

"You deserve them all." You squeezed him tight. "Will you stay over tonight?"

"Of course."

"Or we can go to your house? Whichever one you want." You threw out there. "Fist night back, we can be wherever you missed the most."

"Well I missed you the most, so I'll sleep whenever you want to sleep."

"Well we're already here, so might as well." You shrugged. "Hey, what we're you going to tell me earlier?!"

"Oh! Right!" Steve perked up. "So, remember how you like... hid me away for all that time and like... made me so happy and took good care of me and then you were abducted by the government and I yelled at them really bad?"

"Yeah," You laughed at his means of explanation. "I think I remember that."

"Okay good." He smiled. "So I thought the government owed you for A, doing super illegal stuff to you and B, doing them a favor by keeping me safe and sound so I bargained a deal with them as reparations of sorts."

"What was the deal?" You asked, eyebrows furrowing together.

"Well for all the time you spent with me and kept me from losing me mind, I made them pay off your mortgage. So, your house is completely taken care of." He smiled.

You turned to him, shock smeared across your face. "What?!"

"It's done." He reassured you. "No more home loan, you owe nothing else. It's all yours."

"Steve-" tears welled in your eyes, feeling the weight of the world slip off your shoulders.

"And for the time they took you away for the bakery, your business rent was payed off for the rest of the five year contract." He explained the kicker.

"No way." You shook your head.

"Yes way." He nodded in assurance.

"That's too much, you didn't have to do that." A tear slipped off your cheek.

Thought business was doing well again, those few months of being closed were weighing on you. Once again, this was a huge relief.

"I didn't do anything other than get you want you deserved." He reminded you. "All it took was some glaring and some yelling."

"Damnit, Baby. I didn't want to cry anymore!" You playfully yelled at him, very gently hitting his chest before he pulled you against him and you hurried your face in it.

Gently swaying you from side to side, he continued to explain. "I can't imagine life has been easy for you since we met or even before then, but any chance I have to make it better I'm going to take no questions asked."

"But this? This is a lot Steve, that's a lot of money. And the business?"

"Use the rent money to give yourself and your employees a raise. You all work hard, you deserve it." He suggested. "I told you, the Avengers are yours now and you'd get everything you deserve because of what you did. You were here exactly when I needed you. You took good care of me, so now I get to take good care of you."

"I'm so grateful, thank you so much."

"No, thank you." He kissed your forehead before you looked up to kiss his lips.

"Wow, I'm going to sleep so well tonight" You laughed, wiping the tears off your cheeks. "I'm back home, I'm feeling better, I get to sleep in a completely paid off house, and my favorite person is back here with me alive and well. That's all I could ever want."

"What if we throw in a bag of spicy Doritos?" Steve questioned playfully, raising an eyebrow.

"That's too much, that would be an embarrassment of riches." You laughed, a yawn taking over.

"Alright, let's get you to bed, Honey." Steve giggled before kissing you and sweeping you off your feet like a groom carrying his bride through the doorway.

You shrieked before laughing and tightly wrapping your arms behind his neck, peppering kisses all over his face.

Right before bringing you inside and closing the door, Steve caught a glimpse of Georgia staring at them through her window.

Now she was the one watching game night through the windows, watching love after her lover was gone, and living an isolated life away from the people she once loved.

Maybe now she'd understand Steve a little better, everything he had to go through, all the choices he had to make, the extreme isolation through the hardest part of his life.

He made eye contact and gave her a friendly grin, empathizing with the feeling of loneliness. But now he knew better, and now he felt better than he did before.

He would never feel guilty for loving you.

Next Part: Cardboard Castle

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