#pedro fics
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The Girl in IT - 2. Off to the Races
A Boss! Joel Miller x IT Specialist F! Reader AU
Previous Chapter │ The LIST │ Series Masterlist
Chapter Rating: E (18+, MDNI)
Chapter Preview: You hesitantly reach for the massive bouquet, looking at the beautiful mix of colors in awe. "Joel," you breathe, "They're beautiful."
"The woman at the shop said that certain flowers can have meaning. She asked me about you." He points to the flowers in your hand. "Lilies, well, they mean infatuation. Chrysanthemums, for excitement." He points to the pink rose. "For sweetness and admiration."
"and the carnations?"
"For fascination and enchantment."
"Joel.. you don't mean that, do you?"
He chuckles. "Oh, I absolutely do, Sugar. Those flowers are just my way of expressing what I already know."
Chapter Warnings and Tags: Joel Miller is hungry and wants to EAT, Smut, One massive Tess sized-cockblock, Boss x Employee relationship, Time Jumping to and fro, Joel Miller is a silly flirt, Joel jumps right in, Explicit language, Did I mention smut?, Soft boy Joel Miller
Word Count: 3.6K
A/N: You GUYS. YOU GUYS (!!!!!)
Thank you so much for all of the love for the first chapter of my silly little series with my even sillier Old Man Joel and his Sugar. I am absolutely flabbergasted by all of the likes, reblogs, and comments from all of you, it really means a lot to me! Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You have no idea how much it means to me.
I have the first few chapters written and planned out, and I hope to post at least a new chapter once a week. I can't make any promises as I go back to work next week, but I will try. I apologize in advance if I skip a week, it is not my intention to let you guys down.
I hope you all enjoy!
Today.
[Hey Sugar, are you in your office right now?]
Yes, did you need something, Mr. Miller?
[Yes, actually, I do. I'll come to you, don't leave!]
A knock on the door startles you.
"Hey, Sugar?" Tommy Miller's voice rings out from the other side of the door. "Have you seen Joel? I know he said he had to ask you about something, but that was an hour ago-"
"Yeah?" you reply, almost in a whine, your head tipped back in pleasure as you try to muffle a scream. "Joel? No, haven't seen him around. No, not since this—"
There's a pause, and then Tommy's voice comes again, this time with a hint of amusement. "Still wrestling with his laptop, huh? The man can't even change his wallpaper without causing a crisis. I'll check his usual spots. If you see him, tell him Tess needs him in her office, pronto."
Just then, the muted sound of a cough under your desk catches your attention. You look down to find Joel, crouched beneath the desk with a sheepish grin on his face.
"Now, where were we?" he chuckles, his eyes meeting yours with a mischievous glint.
“Joel!” You smack him playfully as you roll your desk chair back. “Tess will have your head if you don’t show up soon!”
“But I’m starving, baby! Just let me have a little snack-“ he pulls your chair back to him as he situates himself under your desk, lifting your skirt as he smiles at the sight of your barely-there scrap of lace one would call underwear. “Shit baby, is this for me?” He lowers his head to your aching cunt, his arms wrapping around your thighs as he pulls you closer to his mouth. He rubs the tip of his nose along your slit, a satisfied smirk forming on his lips. He licks at your covered mound, the tip of his tongue adding just enough pressure for you to gasp out in pleasure. “I asked you a question, baby girl. Who did you wear these panties for?”
“You,” you say breathily, covering your mouth to muffle up your moans as he plants kisses along your thighs. “You, Mr. Miller. Only you.”
“Who owns this pretty pussy?”
"You do, Sir."
"Damn right, I do." Joel licks his lips as he pushes your panties aside, licking your clit. "Fuck, she's aching for me, isn't she?" He locks his eyes with yours, his mouth hovering over your pussy. "Can I?"
You nod, not trusting yourself to keep quiet.
Joel shakes his head, displeased with your answer. "No baby, use your words-" he growls, nipping at your thighs as you wince in pain.
"PLEASE Joel, keep going!" He smiles at your eagerness, licking and parting your folds with his tongue. He pins you against his face, tightening his hold on you as your body trembles.
"Fuck, you taste so fucking sweet-"
"JOEL!" Tess's voice reverberates through the hallway, the urgency evident in her heavy-footed approach, each step echoing past your office door. "Has anyone seen him?!"
Joel lets out an exasperated groan, his head dropping onto your lap as you suppress a giggle. "Duty calls, Mr. Miller. Can't keep your boss waiting, can you?"
"I am the boss, just so you're clear on that."
"Sure, Joel, keep telling yourself that."
Joel crawls out from under your desk with a grunt, stumbling onto the carpet with a thud. "I'm definitely too old for this shit," he mutters, trying to regain his footing.
"It's your list, Mr. Miller. You make the rules, I just help you execute it," you quip, smirking as you extend a hand to help him up.
He takes your hand, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He yanks you towards him, and you end up falling into his lap. "Right where I want you," he smirks, capturing your lips in a kiss.
You smile as he starts to kiss along your jaw. "You are insatiable."
"Only for you, Sugar."
"JOEL, FOR FUCKS SAKE!" Tess bellows from across the building.
"You better go before she breaks down all the doors," you wince as you give him a small frown. "Again."
Joel sighs, pressing one last kiss on your forehead. "Fine, but once I'm done with Ms. Pain in my ass-"
"You're going to go back to work like a good boy?" you reply sweetly, straightening out your skirt as Joel heads towards the door. He gives you one last glance as he turns the doorknob, a hungry look on his face.
"This isn't over, baby girl. When I come back, I expect to eat."
Ten years earlier.
"Joel! Tommy! Thank you so much for coming! Please, come in, come in!"
Joel straightens up and smooths out his flannel, nervously fiddling with his tool belt slung taut on his hips. He gives a curt nod to the client, turning to his side expecting to find Tommy next to him. His eyes narrow at the empty space. "Tommy, you fuck," he hissed under his breath at his brother, who was casually smoking a cigarette off to the side of the client's perfectly manicured lawn. "Put that out and stop fucking around, we're getting paid for this shit!"
Tommy takes a long drag, exhaling a long plume of smoke before flicking the cigarette onto the street. "This is small-time shit, Joel. We should be playing with the big dogs, not wasting our time doing residential work. How much was the bid?"
"20."
"Bullshit. This is no more than 5, and you know it. It's just a fucking scorched roof, and at only one side, it's not even a complete replacement."
Joel scoffs at his brother, his eyes narrowing in irritation. "Have you seen the size of this fucking house? We're in fucking Westlake Hills, for fucks sake. Think of the potential! Maybe we can convince them to replace the entire roof, replace their windows... fuck, I just want to make a good impression!"
"Oh, so is that why you're dressed like a fucking moron? Cowboy boots? Really? You're 46, not 26." he appraises him as he makes his way towards the front of the house. "Don't tuck in your shirt, man. I can see your fucking beer belly from here!" Tommy looks towards the front door, the client having already retreated into the home. He cocks his head and whispers to his older brother. "Is the wife hot? Shit. Maybe I should have run a comb through my hair-"
"They want this project done in a month."
Tommy whips his head towards Joel. "Are you fucking KIDDING ME? JOEL-"
"Boys!" The client's voice cuts through the building tension between the brothers, a sweet conspiratory smile on her face. "Are you coming?" She looks out into the distance beyond the brothers, a big smile blooming across her face. "Oh, Sugar! come and meet the boys who are fixing up the roof, you know, the side where your antenna thing exploded?" She beckons to the figure who was suddenly behind them, motioning her to join their conversation.
She's a sweet little thing, Joel muses, all nerves and jitters like a baby calf attempting to walk for the first time. So fucking cute, he thinks to himself. You were dressed for the brutality of the Austin summer, with barely there cut-off shorts and a tiny white baby tee, the sweat forming on your skin wetting the thin fabric, and if Joel looked hard enough, he swears he saw the outline of your nip-"
"Baby," the client rings out, forcing Joel to look away in embarrassment, a blush forming on his neck all the way up to his face. "You remember Joel Miller, the contractor we ran into in the mall?"
"Yeah. I remember. Hi, Mr. Miller."
You cringed as you approached, your head downcast as you awkwardly reached your overbearing mother. "Tommy, come and meet my daughter, we call her Sugar, because she's so sweet! She's back home from UT Dallas, she's working her way up to her master's in IT! We're all so proud of-"
"Mom," you whine, glaring at the ground as you shift around uncomfortably. "I don't think they care about what I'm doing at school."
"Don't be silly, Sugar," the mom chided with a dismissive wave. "These fine gentlemen surely appreciate a smart, capable woman, right, Joel? Tommy?"
Joel, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected introduction, nodded with a friendly smile. "Absolutely, ma'am. Education is valuable, and we're glad to have such esteemed company. It's hard enough to go through earning your bachelor's, I'm sure it's hell trying to navigate trying to get your masters!" Joel clears his throat as he gives her a nervous smile. "You look great, by the way. You look well rested, I reckon this break is doing you some good."
Tommy, giving Joel an amused look, chimed in. "Smart is the new sexy, Sugar. Nothing to be shy about. I agree," Tommy winks at his brother as his smile widens at Joel's nervous shuffling. "Joel sure likes them smart and capable, alright."
You blushed, still uncomfortable with the attention. "Well, uh, nice to meet you, Tommy, and it's nice to see you again, Joel," You mumbled, avoiding eye contact.
"Pleasure to see you again too, Sugar," Joel replies.
Tommy chokes on nothing as he witnesses his brother taking the girl's hand in his, placing a soft kiss on it.
"Oh, brother of mine," he whispered to himself, shaking his head at seeing how smitten his brother was for you. "For fucks sake, what the hell am I going to do with you?"
Six Months and One Week ago.
"Sugar? Is that you?"
You turn towards the deep voice, smiling at the body that it's coming from. "Mr. Miller, it's nice to see you again. Thank you so much for this opportunity-"
"I heard from your mother that you got that Masters, I'm proud of you, girlie."
"Oh," you stammer, "It was nothing-"
"Don't do that," Joel says with a frown, shaking his head in disappointment.
"Do what?" you ask, matching his frown as he steps towards you. You can't help but gasp at his sudden boldness. You keep your hands glued to your sides, willing yourself to not reach out to his chest. You forgot just how much he affected you, even if it's been a decade since you've seen him last. He's older, sure, with strands of grey peppered throughout his curly hair... but he's different too, the remnants of his boyish charm morphing into something harder, more rugged, more broad. You tremble under his scrutiny. You force yourself to meet his heavy gaze. "Do what?" you repeat out louder, your voice getting caught in your throat as you push an errant strand of hair away from your face.
"You shouldn't downplay yourself like that. Earning something like your Master's is a big deal, don't sell yourself short like that, okay?"
You grant him a small smile. "Okay."
Joel, satisfied with your answer, nods. "Want to grab a cup of coffee with me?"
Six Months Ago.
"Are you sure she's good? Joel! Are you fucking listening?" Tess snaps, her fingers snapping for emphasis as Joel jolts in surprise. "It says here that she's been working at the Geek Squad for the last eight years; that's hardly enough experience to run an entire department—"
"She has her masters in Management Information Systems from UT Dallas, and the person who vouched for her-"
"Yeah, her mother? If she's as old as you, I highly doubt she can grasp what we need... what are we doing Joel? Are we just letting little old rich ladies headhunt for us now? I don't need no privileged priss in some ball gown running IT, we're a multi-million dollar company-"
"... who didn't even have a decent IT department in the first place, and now that Gloria is retiring, shit, Tess-" Joel runs his hands through his hair as he groans in frustration. "... she's better than everyone else we've interviewed, hell- at least we know that she's a lifer, being that she's worked for minimum wage at Best Buy for almost a decade! We have a chance to bring someone in to help out with the draftsmen, shit, she's even proficient in Revit! Tess, level with me: with her knowing that 3D modeling shit - we need her! More than she needs us!"
"So it's not that you want to fuck her, then?" Tess rolls her eyes as she throws your resume on his desk. "Yeah, Tommy mentioned your little high school crush on her, it's funny, you conveniently forgot to mention that-"
"Tess, don't."
"So if we decide to hire her, I won't catch you fucking her in your office? Her office? The conference room, the supply closet..." She glares at him, tipping her head back as she pinches the bridge of her nose in annoyance.
"For fucks sake Tess, are we hiring her or not?"
Tess rises from her seat, running her hands down her slacks to straighten them, and gives Joel one last glance. With a half-smile, she shakes her head as she heads toward the door. "I'll email her an offer. If she takes it, she takes it... But, I will be starting her off at our base pay."
Joel nods, suppressing the urge to beam as much as he'd like. "That's fine."
"Oh? And Joel?" She pivots back to Joel, hand on the doorknob. "I didn't hear a no. If I catch you guys in my office, I will fucking castrate you, you hear?"
Two weeks ago.
Subject: About that list...
11:30 am (30 min ago)
Sugar,
Thanks for saving my ass last night. The meeting with The H Hotel went off with a hitch and Tess was none the wiser for my little mishap... no harm, no foul, right? Right.
About earlier today, when you said "Let's do this", was that a "Yes, maybe?" or a "Yes, definitely?" because I would very much like to do this, with you, at your pace, of course. I don't want to pressure you or anything. I'm just fucking excited, you know? You have no idea how much I've wanted to talk to you back then... I let shit get into my head, you know? Fuck. I'm rambling.
Thank you for giving me a chance, Sugar. I promise I will do everything in my power to make it worth your while.
Joel
Subject: RE: About that list...
11:45 am (0 min ago)
Yes, definitely. Yes to all of it.
When do you want to start?
One week ago.
[Hey Sugar, are you busy?]
Not at the moment, I'm about to clock out for lunch, what's up? Did you click on a phishing link again?
[Sugar, have a little faith! Say, I'm about to head out to lunch too, meet me in the parking lot in 5?]
That's rather forward and presumptuous of you, Mr. Miller. What if I had already brought lunch from home? What if I was looking forward to eating my adult lunchable?
[What the hell is an adult lunchable? It sounds terrible! What if I take you to that little Sushi joint down the road? Would that be enough to convince you to come out with me? I'll let you snack on the lunchable on the way there.]
Hey! Don't knock my charcuterie! Also, Doesn't that "little sushi joint" have a two-month waiting list? It's impossible to get in! I thought that it was only open for dinner?
[Baby, don't you know that we built that restaurant? Masayoshi is a good friend of mine, and he owes me a favor. All it takes is one call, what do you say? Nothing's impossible for my Sugar.]
Nothing's impossible for my Sugar. Sugar. My Sugar. You read Joel's message over and over again, your stomach growling as you contemplate the current state of your life. If someone had told you six months ago that you would manage to not only crawl your way out of the depths of Geek Squad hell, snag a decent job, and catch the eye of your hot-as-fuck boss, you would have laughed in their face at how ridiculous that sounded. It is ridiculous - how one little mistake led to having everything you could have possibly wanted out of your minuscule life, hot man included. So what if you haven't had a serious relationship since college? It's not like you were with your ex long enough for you to go all the way, and even then, you weren't remotely even into him, he was too skinny and nerdy and didn't scream 'man' at all. His nervous laughter and awkward shaking did nothing for you. Joel, on the other hand- now that was a man. A man you wouldn't mind climbing like a tree, all thick and firm and sturdy...
[Sugar? You still there? Are we doing this or not?]
You snap out of your daydreaming, your decision already being made. Your hands shake as you type out your response, your fingers striking the keys with a finality that you never would have thought you would ever have the courage for. Well, you think to yourself as you press enter. Here goes nothing...
I'll be right there. See you soon.
[That's my good girl.]
"Hey, Sugar," Joel greeted with a playful grin from the driver's seat of his F-150, his arm casually resting on the open window. His eyes lingered on you as if savoring the moment. "Hop in, Masayoshi is heading over to the restaurant now."
You rolled your eyes with a teasing smirk as you approached the passenger side, clamoring into the cab with a bit of awkward grace. "Just like that? A single call to your chef friend, and he drops everything to cater to your every whim? Color me impressed, Mr. Miller."
Joel chuckled. "Well, what can I say? I am sort of a big deal." He reached for your hand across the center console, fingers intertwining, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin. "Is this okay, Sugar?" He lifted your hand to his lips, planting a gentle kiss. You couldn't help but smile, feeling a delightful flutter in your stomach. Turning your head away, you mumbled, "It's very okay, Mr. Miller."
"Now, what did I tell you?" Joel teased, a glint in his eyes. "It's Joel, none of this Mr. Miller nonsense. Save that for when we're crossing off items on my list, alright?"
You couldn't help but laugh nervously, a blush creeping up your cheeks as Joel's easy charm and forwardness caught you off guard. "You're going to be the death of me, Joel," you quipped, half-jokingly, half-serious, unsure how to navigate the sudden closeness. The air in the truck seemed to hum with a subtle tension, and you wondered if Joel could sense the rapid beating of your heart.
Joel's gaze held a playful sparkle, and he grinned. "Well, Sugar, I hope it's a good way to go." He revved the engine, and the truck rumbled to life as he pulled out onto the road.
"So, Sugar, tell me something interesting about yourself," his fingers tapping the steering wheel to an imaginary beat.
You chuckled, playing along. "Well, Joel, I like to teach myself new things, I have a British shorthair named Sir Bubbles, you know, because I was obsessed with Bridgerton, And, by the way, it's Mr. Miller only when executing things on your list, right?" you teased, recalling his earlier remark.
Joel shot you a sly grin. "Sharp memory, Sugar. You're catching on quickly."
As you neared the sushi restaurant, the conversation seamlessly transitioned to lighter topics. Joel shared stories about his work, and how it felt working with Tommy and Tess, and you found yourself drawn into his earnestness and honesty. The playful banter continued as Joel made his way towards the edge of town, your cheeks hurting from how easy it was to smile in his company.
Parking the truck, Joel turned to you with a playful glint in his eye. "Ready for some sushi and more of my irresistibly charming company, Sugar?"
You roll your eyes, feigning reluctance. "Oh, the charm? I don't know if I can handle it, Mr. Miller."
He grins, opening your door with a flourish. "Well, brace yourself, because it's coming."
As you step out, Joel pauses, reaching behind your seat. "Wait a sec," he says, unveiling what looks like the botanical equivalent of a small garden. "A little something to brighten up your day."
You raise an eyebrow. "Is this part of the list?"
Joel chuckles. "Maybe."
You hesitantly reach for the massive bouquet, looking at the beautiful mix of colors in awe. "Joel," you breathe, "They're beautiful."
"The woman at the shop said that certain flowers can have meaning. She asked me about you." He points to the flowers in your hand. "Lilies, well, they mean infatuation. Chrysanthemums, for excitement." He points to the pink rose. "For sweetness and admiration."
"and the carnations?"
"For fascination and enchantment."
"Joel.. you don't mean that, do you?"
He chuckles. "Oh, I absolutely do, Sugar. Those flowers are just my way of expressing what I already know."
You playfully roll your eyes, holding the bouquet to your chest. "You're quite the charmer, Mr. Miller."
"Only for you," he replies with a wink, taking your hand as you both head towards the sushi restaurant. "After you, baby girl."
After lunch, you and Joel emerge to find the heavens have opened up, rain pouring down in sheets. Joel stops you in your tracks, his eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of sincerity and mischief.
With a twinkle in his eye, he asks, "Mind if I tick off the first thing on my list?"
You smile, stepping closer to Joel as he tucks an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, the both of you soaked to the bone.
"Yes please, Mr. Miller."
Taglist: @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat, @gwendibleywrites, @joeldjarin, @brittmb115, @thewiigers,
@auteurdelabre, @quicax3, @casa-boiardi, @amyispxnk, @untamedheart81,
@paleidiot, @bbiophiliaa (I apologize if I missed anyone, but if you are looking for any of my fic updates, please feel free to follow my updates blog @chiriwritesstuffnotifs!)
As always, dividers by @saradika-graphics
#The Girl in IT#joel miller fanfiction#pedro pascal#joel miller x you#joel miller#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#joel miller x female reader#joel tlou#joel the last of us#pedro fics#pedro pascal characters#pedropascaledit#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal characters fanfiction#pedro pascal smut#joel miller fanfic#joel miller smut#joel miller fic#joel miller imagine#the last of us#the last of us fic#the last of us fanfic#tlou fanfiction#tlou#the last of us hbo#tlou hbo#tlou fic
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Title: Something Sweet
Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader
Summary: You’re new to the team in Colombia and all alone on your birthday. Your partner, Javier Peña, decides to do something sweet for you.
Tags: Set vaguely during season 1 before Javi gets extra angsty, canon compliant-ish, reader feeling lonely, sassy!reader, flirty!javi, alcohol (wine), brief mention of a gun bc I feel like a DEA agent wouldn’t just answer the door all willy nilly, kissing, javi asking for consent, but y’all did share a bottle of wine, kissing, fingering f receiving, marking, unprotected PinV, cuddling. I always write angsty Javi, but this is FLUFF, so sorry if it’s OOC, I’m slightly out of my element here.
WC: 2107
A/N: This fic is a birthday gift for @psychedelic-ink. Sil, you’re a wonderful friend and you do so much for the Pedro Pascal Fandom community on top of being an incredible writer. So, with some help from @pedrorascal with the beautiful gifs, I schemed up a little fic for you. I hope you love it! Happy Birthday and Happy Holidays AHHHH.
Moving to a new country two weeks before your birthday, which also happens to be Christmas Eve, is not ideal. You moved to Colombia from Miami after a promotion, earning a spot on the elite team working to catch Pablo Escobar.
The last two weeks have been a whirlwind, trying to catch up on all the facts of the case. You have to learn every sicario by sight and all of their names, aliases, and frequent hang outs. You have to learn about everything Escobar has done in Colombia, all the cartels and how they connect, it’s all extremely exhausting and time consuming.
Which is why you have no friends yet, unless you count your new partners Javier Peña and Steve Murphy. Which you don’t. You barely know them, and from what you’ve seen so far, Peña is an asshole. Steve might be okay, but you just haven’t had time to get to know him yet.
You take off your windbreaker and hang it on the back of your chair. It’s kind of ridiculous that you have to work on Christmas Eve, but there’s no rest for the wicked and therefore no rest for you either. You sit down and open the first file on your desk, immediately getting down to business without so much as a greeting for your partners.
A couple hours into the work day, a shadow darkens your desk. “What do you want, Peña?”
“God damn, hermosa. Touchy today? I brought you a coffee.” Peña sets the cup of lukewarm black slop on your desk and leans further into your space, peeking at the files you’re reading.
“Yes, actually. Did you need something or did you just come over here to bother me?”
“I just came over here to compliment your nails, actually,” he takes your hand in his, inspecting your nails, and then looks into your eyes. “I like the color. Suits you.”
You feel heat rise to your cheeks. Peña is cute. Gorgeous, really, but you don’t make a habit of flirting with your coworkers. “Thanks… They were my birthday gift to myself.” You tug your hand away from him and place it in your lap.
“It’s your birthday?” He asks, still leaning much too far into your personal space. You nod and look back down at the file.
“I have to get back to work now,” you almost whisper to him, all your bitter snark from earlier replaced by a sense of melancholy. There’s not a soul in this entire country who knows it’s your birthday today. Aside from Javier, now, you guess. Javier lingers for another moment before pushing off your desk and leaving you to your work.
You’re starting to pack up for the day when Peña comes up to your desk again, sitting on the corner.
“So what are your plans tonight?” he asks.
“Huh?” You don’t have any plans. A phone call from your friend in Miami and a bottle of Chilean wine maybe.
“Your plans? For your birthday?”
“Oh. I don’t have any. Don’t really know anyone yet so…” you trail off. You feel kind of pathetic, even though you know it’s completely reasonable to not have a group of friends yet.
“Me and Murphy could take you out?”
“Oh um–”
“Actually, Jav,” Steve calls out from his desk. “Me and Connie have plans tonight. Christmas Eve and all,” he gives you an apologetic look.
“It’s fine really. I’m gonna have a nice relaxing night in. Thanks though.” You put on the best smile you can and head for the door.
You hang up the phone after your short call with your friend. It’s expensive to call long distance, but she stayed on with you as long as she could. She told you all about her new boyfriend and that everyone had wished you a Happy Birthday and Happy Holidays. You’re grateful she didn’t ask about your job or your love life.
As you pop the cork on a bottle of wine, there’s a knock on your door. You stare at the door questioningly, as if it will tell you who’s there. Who on earth could be knocking at your door at 8pm on Christmas Eve?
You grab your gun and sneak over to the door, peeking through the peephole. Broad shoulders and a dark head of hair are all you can make out through the tiny lens. Javier? You set your gun on the side table and pull open the door.
“Peña? What are you doing here?”
He turns around and holds his hands out to you. “Brought you something.” He’s holding a birthday cake, clearly store bought, decorated with a generic “Feliz cumpleaños” scrawled on top. A bright smile lights up your face.
“Oh Javi, you didn’t have to!”
“I wanted to. You gonna invite me in for some cake?” He raises his eyebrows at you.
“Oh! Yeah sure. Come in!” You step to the side to let him through and close and lock the door behind him. “Sorry about the mess. I’m not fully unpacked yet.”
“I’ve been here for 7 years and I’m not fully unpacked. It’s fine.” Javi reassures you. He sets the cake down on your kitchen counter and starts rifling around for plates and silverware.
“I can do that,” you try to move him out of the way, but he’s having none of it.
“No, it’s your birthday. Let me. You pour yourself a glass of wine and go sit on the couch.”
“Fine… thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
You grab a couple glasses and the bottle of wine and carry it to the living room with you. You’re kind of shocked he’s here. He’s always flirty in the office, but he’s like that with everyone. He’s not what you’d call friendly otherwise. Maybe he just feels bad for you.
Javier drops down onto the couch beside you holding two plates with hefty slices of chocolate cake. He hands you one of the plates and a fork. “Happy birthday. I’m not going to make you do the whole candle thing.”
“Thank you, Javier. This is really, really nice.” You feel like you might cry. It’s just cake, but you felt so alone, and it’s like he really saw you. He saw through whatever exterior shell you were wearing and decided to try to make your day better.
“Just Javi is fine. And it’s not a big deal, really. You deserve something sweet on your birthday,” he says looking down at the cake in his hands.
“It is to me. A big deal, I mean,” you say softly before taking a bite of the cake. It’s nothing special, just a plain chocolate cake, but it means so much to you.
You and Javier, Javi, chat about where you’re from and how you came to work for the DEA. You tell him about living in Miami, about the promotion that brought you here. You finish the bottle of wine and a couple more pieces of cake and the conversation doesn’t stop for a long time.
Late in the evening, you finish a story about your 6th birthday, one your aunt always told to the whole family every single year at your birthday dinner. He’s sitting close to you, his thigh pressed against yours despite there being plenty of room on the couch to sit without touching. It makes your heart flutter a little.
You don’t know if it’s the wine or what, but the little crush you have on him is getting pretty hard to ignore. Javi smirks at you, reaches up, and brushes his thumb over the corner of your lip.
“Got a little icing there, cariño,” he says, his voice lower and huskier than it has been all night. He brings the icing smeared thumb to his mouth and sucks it between his lips. Your eyes track the movement, pupils blowing wide. He really is pretty.
You feel yourself lean in toward him, almost unconsciously chasing that thumb to his mouth. He brings his hand up to your cheek and searches your eyes for a moment. He must see what he was looking for because he pulls you closer and presses his lips to yours.
His lips are soft, warm, gentle on yours. You grab his face in your hands, not wanting him to pull away yet. He slips his tongue along the seam of your lips and you part them, letting him in. You’re not sure who makes the move, but slowly, your back is lowered to the couch, Javi a comfortable weight on top of you. Your hands explore his broad shoulders, the muscles of his back, his trim waist, as he plunders your mouth with his tongue.
“Can I touch you?” He rasps against your lips.
“You already are,” you giggle. “Sorry. Yes, Javi.”
He huffs a laugh into your mouth and slips a hand into your lounge pants, fingers finding your dripping seam. “Wet for me already, hermosa?”
Your cheeks heat up in slight embarrassment, but you nod. You’re soaked just from kissing him. By the feel of him against your thigh, he’s not better off. He pushes two fingers inside you and presses his lips back to yours. You gasp into his mouth, hands fisting in the back of his shirt.
His fingers immediately find the spongy spot deep in your core. He curls them, dragging the pads of his fingers along your g-spot with every pump of them inside you. You cling tightly to him, burying your face in his shoulder.
“Come for me, baby.”
Your body responds to his command instantly, the tension in your belly releasing into waves of pleasure. Your cunt flutters around his fingers and you whine into his neck as he works you through it. You collapse back onto the couch, and he wastes no time dragging your pants off you.
You hear the clink of his belt opening, the sound of it hitting the floor. You sit up on your elbows to watch him as he strips off the rest of his clothes. You bite your lip, drinking in the sight of the gorgeous man before you.
He takes your hands in his and pulls you to your feet before pulling your tank top off you. “Shit, hermosa,” he whispers almost reverently as he takes one of your tits in his large hand, rolling the nipple between two fingers. “Gorgeous.”
He kisses you again, wrapping his strong arms around your body and pushing his chest flush with yours. “Bedroom, cariño?”
You walk him back to your room, barely separating your lips from his for the entire journey. You fall back on your bed and he follows, settling between your legs. His lips drag down your jaw line to your neck as he lines himself up with your entrance. Javi sucks a mark just below your collarbone as he slowly thrusts inside you.
You wrap your legs around his hips and pull him deeper into you, whining at the stretch. “Fuck, Javi.”
“Working on it, cariño,” he teases as he bottoms out inside you. He pushes himself up on his elbows and stares into your eyes as he pulls out and thrusts back in smoothly. Your mouth falls open, a little huff spilling out as he bottoms out again. He feels so fucking good inside you.
Javi sets a steady pace, thrusting into you hard and slow, eyes never leaving yours. When your eyes flutter shut and your back starts to arch in pleasure, he slips his arm under your back, pulling your hips higher on his thighs. The new angle is everything. You gasp out a moan every time his cock punches deep inside you.
Javi is everything in this moment. Your world narrowed to the feeling of his cock pounding into you at that same maddeningly slow, hard rhythm. You feel yourself tightening around him, feel a coil winding in your belly tighter and tighter.
Javi’s lips find yours again with a kiss that’s more a clash of teeth and tongues than anything as you come hard on his cock. Javi lets out a low groan into your mouth at the way you squeeze him. He thrusts into you a few more times, fucking you through your high, before he quickly pulls out and spills all over your belly.
He rests his forehead on yours for a moment, catching his breath. He kisses you deeply one more time before falling to the bed beside you. Javi pulls you into his arms, not paying any mind to the mess he made on your stomach. He holds you close, kissing the top of your head.
“Happy Birthday, cariño.”
#Javier Peña#Javier Peña fics#Javier Peña fanfiction#Javier Peña x reader#Javier Peña x you#Javi Peña#Javi Peña fics#Javi Peña fanfiction#Javi Peña x reader#Javi Peña x you#Javi P#Javi P fics#Javi P fanfiction#Javi P x reader#Javi P x you#Narcos#Narcos fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro fics#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedrostories
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Treat Me Like A Slut - jack "whiskey" daniels x f!reader
warnings: explicit 18+. *MDNI*
a/n: I got the title of this from the Kim Petras song with the same name. It inspired the filth below.
y'all already know by now my sister in smut @katiexpunk helped me flesh out deets & all that. couldn't do it without you bestie babe. <3
word count: 4k+
summary: Jack returns home from a mission. You have a surprise and a request for him.
tags: Jack calls reader a slut multiple times (at her request), masturbation (m and f), size kink, unprotected P in V, oral (m and f receiving), cum eating, orgasm denial, codewords, dom/sub dynamic, pet names for reader (sugar, baby, sweet girl, kitten), reader calls Jack cowboy, references to Jack being a trained killer, reader buys and wears lingerie, established relationship, brief mention of anal play, Creampie !!!!, no physical descriptions of reader, excessive use of Daddy, rough sex, ankle biting, toe sucking, a whip gets mentioned, size kink, spanking, one (1) titty slap, Jack has some funny lines in this one, bruising, and finally Jack is just a menace in this one – sweet and kinky AF.
smut after the cut.
Jack hates jerking off.
Well, he hates jerking off when he could have you. Nothing can replicate the feeling of your lips on his cock or being buried deep inside your pussy. He fucks his cock in his fist anyway, not that he has much of an option at the moment. Sweet, salacious memories of you flood his brain as he tries to melt deeper into the mattress and he attempts to forget the past few weeks. This mission has been long and drawn out; time he would rather spend with you.
You’ve been dating for three months now and can’t stay away from each other. Like a moth drawn to a flame, Jack wants to constantly be in your orbit. When he first asked you on a date, you both agreed to take it slow. “I don’t wanna pressure you, sugar,” he said, and you had agreed that slow is good. You quickly learned that neither you, nor Jack, know the concept of the word. Your first date turned into an entire weekend together. Once he had sampled a taste of your sweetness, there was no going back.
It’s been an agonizing week for Jack. He’s always had a flair for the dramatics, but you can hear it in the tone of his voice that he isn’t exaggerating when he says this week has nearly killed him. Sure, being a Statesman is dangerous and he flirts with death on the daily, but being away from you? He’d rather be given the Old Yeller treatment than to have to be without you.
“Fuck, fuck,” he moans, taking a final few tugs at the silky smooth skin of his hard shaft before cum erupts out of him and onto his toned belly. “Fuck,” he says, letting out a long sigh, hand still on how pulsing cock as he stares at the ceiling wishing you were here to lick the spend off of him.
***
You were able to keep yourself busy and enjoy your alone time at first, but as the week went on, you became more impatient. Needy.
Tonight, your apartment feels smaller than usual, the air thicker, as you pace back and forth across the hardwood floor. The book you had been engrossed in lay forgotten on the coffee table, its characters suspended in a world you couldn’t quite bring yourself to re-enter. Your mind was too focused on Jack.
You check your phone for the umpteenth time, the minutes ticking by at an excruciatingly slow pace. The silence in the apartment echoes the restlessness in you. You feel a knot tightening in your stomach, a want, a need, a feeling of unease.
An orgasm might help, you think, but no matter how hard you try, your methods of self-pleasure never seem to fully satiate you. Sure, you’ve made yourself come a dozen times this week, but it’s not the same. You’re spoiled now; Jack’s expert hands, mouth, and god his cock have taken your pleasure threshold to new heights. He’s given you the best orgasms of your life, and now what you’re able to accomplish on your own is slightly abysmal. It’s infuriating or splendid, you can’t decide which, that he seems to know your body more than you do.
Despite knowing it won’t help, the siren call of your cunt wins over. As you lay on your shared bed, engulfed in the smell of his cologne still clinging to the pillowcases, the faint buzz of your vibrator and your sweet little sounds that drive Jack crazy add new noise to the silence. You imagine Jack and the slow, tantalizing drag of his cock in and out of you as you fold like a house of cards letting the aftershocks of your orgasm lull you to sleep.
Just one more day until he’s home.
***
The first light of morning filters through the curtains, kissing the room in a soft glow, you stir from your slumber. You let out a big good morning stretch, and clear the sleep from your eyes. As you sit up, the duvet cascades from your shoulders and you take a moment to bask in the quiet beauty of the morning. Today’s the day.
The list of things you have to do before your cowboy comes home already starts running through your mind like the end credits of a movie, and you spring out of bed and get ready for the day.
As you stroll through the downtown area, with only one bag in hand, you just so happen to walk by a lingerie store. Call it chance or fate, but the sexy tight number in the window catches your attention.
“Hey there sweet pea, what brings you in today?” the older woman greets you as you walk through the doors to the shop. She doesn’t particularly fit the vibe of the store, but her presence is a bit disarming. Of course, you’d shopped for lingerie before, but always online and never in person, so you’re a tad nervous.
“Oh, hi – uh, well I was just out running some errands,” you say, slightly lifting your bag as if to signal this isn’t planned before continuing, “the piece in the corner caught my eye, would it be possible to try it on?” you ask, your eyes dropping to the floor as you tuck a loose piece of hair behind your ear.
“Oh sure, honey, that’s a gorgeous one!” You smile and give her your size, and she tells you to look around the shop for anything else you might like to try on. You grab a handful and she leads you to the dressing room, telling you her name is Darla and to holler if you need any different sizes.
You save your favorite, the one from the window, for last. As you slip into the ensemble, the fabric feels luxe against your skin. It’s a lacy, scarlet red babydoll with a thong to match. You admire yourself in the mirror, letting your palms playfully dance over your curves. Any nervousness you feel walking into the store is slowly replaced with a new sense of confidence. Lost in the fantasy of how he’ll respond, there’s a little flutter in your stomach.
“How’s it going in there? Need any help with the laces?” Darla asks. You’re not sure if it’s in her job description to be so kind to her customers, but you like her.
“Great – I, I think I found the one,” you say, opening the curtain to let her finish fastening you into the fabric.
“Oh honey, you’re a knockout,” she says, and you feel your skin warm at the compliment. “Your man’s in for a real treat.”
Yeah. He really is.
***
Once home, the hours seem to pass by slower than molasses, as Jack would say.
You decide to take an ‘everything’ shower to kill time and to compliment your new purchase. You have the time, so you decide to go the full nine; you put on a hair mask, exfoliate, shave, and gua sha your face. You giggle as you remember Jack watching you do it once, except he couldn’t say ‘gua sha’ correctly, mispronouncing the ‘gua’ as ‘goo’.
You moisturize your body in your favorite body butter, the one that Jack thinks smells delicious, and paint your nails to match the lacy number you’ll be donning this evening. Pampering yourself like this, giving yourself the self-care you’ve been needing, amplifies the arousal that’s been brewing all day.
You illuminate the room with a warm flicker of candles, their soft glow creating an ambiance to the room around you while the dulcet tones of your favorite vinyl grace the air at a low volume. You slip into your red number and put the finishing touches on your look as you admire yourself in the mirror. You look hot, and you know it.
You’re ready to pounce on Jack as soon as he walks in.
Suddenly, the unmistakable jingle of his keys in the lock alerts you that he’s finally home. You hear the little creak of the door as he pushes it open, and then the commanding cadence of his boot-clad footsteps, a sound you could identify any day. You feel a buzz course through your body at your excitement as you take your place on the bed.
“Honey, I’m home,” Jack echoes through the entryway.
“In here!” you respond, throwing your voice in his direction.
As Jack swings open the bedroom door, his jaw practically descends to the floor in sheer astonishment, his bag meeting the ground with a resounding thud. A stunned silence envelops the room, his dark brown eyes riveted on you, unblinking and filled with an intensity that leaves him momentarily speechless, while a palpable hunger reflects in his watering mouth.
Holy. Fuck.
“Hi baby, I missed you,” you purr, your eyes locked on his, as you crawl on all fours like a tigress to her prey to finish greeting him, “did you miss me?” you ask, all flirt and no question in your voice, rising to your knees on the mattress to give him a better look at your body.
He must have died and this is heaven. There’s no other explanation for the beauty that is you before him.
He approaches you, his broad hands finding your hips as you interlace your fingers behind his neck. With his body pressed against you, you can already feel his rock-hard cock twitching in his tight, nearly painted-on jeans.
“You have no idea…” he growls in the nape of your neck before pulling away to eye you in a ravenous manner that makes your heartbeat in your pussy.
One of his hands leaves your side, and he reaches up to angle your chin towards him. He looks you in the eyes in a way that makes you feel like you’re the only woman in the world, his eyes saying all of the things his mouth isn’t. He smiles at you for a moment before he leans in and plants his lips on yours. He begins to kiss you languidly, and you both let out soft moans in unison at being in each other’s presence again. His groomed mustache tickles your lips, making you giggle into his mouth.
He pulls back, fiddling with the hem of the baby doll. “You wear this just for me?” he asks, his warm hand splaying on your tummy.
“Mhmm,” you respond, but it comes out sounding a little more like a moan than a reply. “I wanted to surprise you,” you confess while looking down at where his hand meets your stomach, “wanted to look sexy for you, Agent Whiskey,” you look back into his eyes, giving him a little wink, your allure calling out to him; snatching him up faster than any lasso ever could.
Jack normally doesn’t like his work to bleed through to his personal life, but hearing your honeyed voice call him Agent Whiskey is enough to make him abandon all the rules.
“Darlin’, ya always look sexy to me, like a goddamn sex kitten,” he drawls, leaning in to plant tender kisses on your neck, his grazing his teeth over the soft skin of your neck. You giggle, playfully swatting at him. “‘M serious, you are divine,” he adds, divine coming out more like deevine.
You may be the sex kitten in his eyes, but he’s the one lapping you up like a bowl of milk. His hands roam over the tight fabric that graces your body, and you get lost in the feel of his touch. His grip on you is tight, even though you’re fully pressed against him, he wants you closer. His need, his lust, awakens something carnal in you, causing you to lose control of your tongue as you all but word vomit, “Treat me like a slut.” Well, we probably could have eased into that conversation.
He pulls back and eyes your face in disbelief – this must be heaven – before a knowing smirk washes across his face. “Is that what you want, hmm? Want Daddy to get rough with ya, baby?” The hand that’s gripping the soft flesh of your hips begins to migrate down to your ass.
You whimper; becoming putty-like in his hands, more than ready to worship at his altar.
“Tell me, baby. Use your words like a big girl,” he urges, squeezing your ass with more force.
“Yes, daddy,” you choke out, “I want you to be rough with me, please…please.”
“My pretty girl wants me to treat her like a slut, then that’s what she’ll get,” He removes the hand on your hip, and the other from your ass, before guiding them to find yours. He interlocks your fingers together and looks at you a bit more seriously this time. You see the darkness that flickers behind his eyes. You know Jack is a dangerous man – a trained killer – but he’d never hurt you. No, this darkness is something different, it’s an insatiable desire to consume you in every way possible, to give you anything you desire.
“Wanna set some rules first, ‘kay?” he says, his voice low. You nod.
“If at any point you want me to stop, slow down, don’t like something, whatever, you tell me, alright? You remember our code word?” he asks, and you nod again. “Good. Now, you don’t get to touch me unless I tell ya to. You don’t get to come ‘til I tell ya to. Got it?”
“Yes, daddy, I understand,” you respond. He lets out another knowing smirk and palms himself through his jeans.
“‘M gonna take good care of ya, baby girl. Now, you gonna show daddy what a good little slut you can be?” he asks.
“Yes, daddy. Wanna be a good slut for you.”
You’re a little surprised at how quickly you slip into submission, although you shouldn’t be. Not when it comes to Jack. He’s a master at getting what he wants, and you’re not sure if there is anything that you wouldn’t do for him.
“Good girl. Now, off the mattress and get on your knees,” he orders, already unbuckling his jeans to free his wicked big cock.
You do as he says, feeling yourself sink your weight onto your shins and the coolness of the hardwood beneath you. “Open your mouth,” he says, his heavy cock in hand, stroking it to get it to full length.
You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, patiently waiting for your next instructions.
He continues to stroke himself, looking, admiring, the gift of a woman that sits before him. As he pumps himself, he takes a few steps forward so that he’s hovering above you. Your big doe eyes look up at him, and you’re drooling at the sight of him like you always have.
His thumb ghosts over his red and weeping tip, and he uses it to collect the dribble of precum that has beaded through his slit to wet the tip of his cock. He taps the mushroom head of it onto your tongue a few times, a sticky string of saliva trailing between him and your tongue with each lift before he eventually plants the tip fully in your mouth. Your lips lock around him, and you begin to moan, reveling in the heady taste of him. You want so badly to move, to take him deeper into your mouth, but he hasn’t told you to do so. He tangles one of his hands in your hair, firmly pulling; not too gentle, but not too rough, either.
Jack slides your mouth off of him. He’s admiring your present state; spit and precum smeared across your mouth and down your chin, hair disheveled and your eyes delirious from lust.
“Change of plans,” he says, offering no explanation as to why he’s suddenly depriving you of sucking him off.
“Don’t worry ‘m gonna take of ya, like I always do,” he says, kicking off his boots and shucking the rest of his clothes to the floor, “hands and knees on the bed, baby.”
You don’t need to be told twice. You’re clambering over yourself to follow directions, legs unsteady from your agonizing need.
Jack drops to his knees behind you, takes his thick finger, and slips it into your crack, under the lacy string situated between your cheeks. He pulls back on the thin string and releases it, the snap causing a pleasant sting against your skin.
“Soaking wet,” he hums, ‘always so fucking wet, you perfect girl,” he rasps, running that same finger through your seam, along the drenched lace, causing you to whimper. “Who’s got you so wet, baby, hmm?” he asks, knowing the answer, he just wants to hear you say it.
He lands a light swat on your ass when you don’t answer him. It sends a shiver through your spine, more arousal dripping into your thong.
“‘M not gonna ask you again. So tell me, who’s got your pretty pussy so wet, baby?”
“You, Jack, always wet for you, only you,” each word comes out shaky, so aroused you might collapse if Jack doesn’t alleviate the ache soon, “Daddy, please,” you cry.
Kneading the flesh of your ass he grunts in approval. “S’right baby, you’re mine. All mine.”
Jack pulls the thong to the side, revealing your dripping cunt to him. He spits down, trailing from your asshole to your clit, your legs clench in response. You’re using all your might not to move. This doesn’t go unnoticed by him, after all, it is his job to notice things; even on the subtlest level.
Ghosting a fingertip over your tight ring of muscle, rousing you, “You like it when I touch you like that? Touchin’ your other slutty lil hole?”
“Y-es, fuck,” gritting out through ragged breaths. He files that information for later, a smug grin plastered on his face.
He swipes his tongue from your clit up your entrance. He moans in response to your taste like you’re the best dessert he’s ever had; you whimper from the spark of pleasure of the warmth of his tongue. He teases you a few more times by lightly skimming up and down, licking you from your clit down to your aching hole. You can’t help but squirm, rocking your hips back to meet his mouth, chasing your high. He smacks your ass again, a reminder to keep still.
“Need more,” you whine pitifully, his grip on the back of your thighs is now ironclad, blocking you from gaining more stimulation that isn’t provided by him.
He halts his movements and pulls his face away from your pussy, but still close enough that you can feel his hot breath when he speaks, “I know I don’t need’ta remind you to use your manners.”
“Please, daddy, I need more, fuck, fuck, fuckkk!” you desperately cry.
“Good girl, askin’ so nicely,” punctuated by shoving a thick finger into your weeping entrance.
Jack pumps his finger in and out at a steady pace, all while flicking his tongue across your throbbing clit. When he thinks you’re relaxed enough, he slips in a second finger, and the added sensation and drag against your soft walls has you barreling towards the edge of your orgasm.
He can tell you’re close by the way your cunt grips down on him, tightening like a trap, one you never want him to leave. He slows his pace, edging you until you’re writhing in his grip. “Daddy, please, please let me come,” you’re heaving, covered in a sheen of sweat.
“My little slut gets to come when I tell her she can,” he torts.
Once he senses you’re no longer as close to finishing as you were, he slowly picks up his tempo once more and the attention he places on your clit brings you right back to the boiling point. Your fingers card through his dark locks as you hang on to him for dear life, doing your best not to come without permission.
“J–Jaa-Jack,” you cry, “I can’t hold on much longer, I’m going to come, I need to come.”
He wants to continue to edge you all night, but the growing ache from his neglected cock begins to get to him. As much as he wants to continue to devour you, his blood-filled shaft has other plans.
“Alright, you can come, let me hear you, pretty girl,” he whispers against your mound before his lips find their home around your clit, and his tongue begins to circle against it in just the right way. With his permission, you let out a sigh of relief; your orgasm washes over you like the ocean onto the shore, it’s loud and strong.
Jack gathers the slick seeping out of you onto his fingers and sucks it off, his eyes fluttering shut as he savors the final taste of your release. “That’s finger lickin’ good, baby,” he says. You might feel inclined to cringe at that, but you’re too fucked out to mind, but a little giggle escapes your chest at the comment. Only Jack could find the perfect balance of vulgarity and humor.
He drops both of his large palms to your thighs and begins to massage them with a soothing amount of pressure, grounding you through your floaty, blissed-out state, and it’s not before long that the need for more returns. He gently pecks soft kisses on your lower back, murmuring praises against your skin. Such a good girl, you did so good for me, my sweet and pretty girl. He’s sensual and sweet amidst the dominance he’s displaying, the duality makes your heart beat fast and your pussy flutter.
He rises to stand and positions himself behind where you’re bent over. He strokes his heavy cock as he marvels at how good you look like this, bent over, ass up, just waiting to be stuffed full of him. He lines the tip of his cock up against your wet and waiting cunt to gather a little bit of your slick on the head of him before he begins gliding his cock up and down through your messy folds. The sensation on your somewhat sensitive clit makes you let out a small little whimper.
“Want daddy to fuck you, pretty girl?” Just like before, he already knows the answer, he just wants to hear you beg for it, beg for him. His ego is as big as his cock. His words are as much of a tease for him as they are for you; his resolve begins to crumble further with every moment he’s not buried to the hilt inside you.
“Yes!” nodding your head despite the way it’s still spinning, “please—”
“Think she can fit it,” he asks, not giving you a second to answer as he drives the length of him inside you with no restraint. Your body jolts forward on impact and he clutches your waist, pinning you in place. Both of you are unmoving, gasping to catch your breath as you adjust to his size. It’s a stretch every time and you delight in it. “Course she can, cuz my girl is a perfect little slut,” he says, dragging his cock in and out of you with ease as your wetness coats him.
‘Fuck, baby. You feel so good, it’s like this pussy was made for me, just fuck, just for me,” he says, willing himself to not bust inside of you already, but it’s hard. Having you like this, at his mercy, coupled with the time he spent away from you, he’s shaking in his proverbial boots.
You start to reach your hand behind you to hold onto his arm, but stop, remembering the rules. You don’t get to touch me unless I tell ya to.
Jack beats you to the punch, “Go on, darlin’, grab hold’a daddy. You’re gonna need it.”
Just as soon as you wrap your hand around his forearm, he pulls almost out of you entirely before slamming back into you, the tip of his cock punches your cervix and you let out a little welp. The intensity of the relentless pace he has set has you breathless, keyed up, on the edge of another orgasm. He continues to fuck in and out of you, plowing into your pussy at a devastating pace; no mercy to be found.
Lecherous sounds echo through the bedroom; Jack’s hips slapping against the flesh of your ass, the wet squelch of your pussy, guttural groans and whines.
“Such a good fuckin’ slut for me, kitten… you take this cock so good, so fuckin’ tight, Jesus…” Jack rambles in between his thrusts.
“Tell daddy how it feels,” he commands, landing a sharp smack against your ass. “Feels so good, daddy, mmm, feel so full,” you sputter, an octave higher than you usually speak.
“Yeah I know, baby girl,” he pulls out, manhandling you onto your back, jerking your legs over his shoulders before he slams back into you in a matter of seconds, the intensity of it causes your tits to bounce and Jack loves the sight of it. The angle has his cock punching your cervix brutally and deliciously. Your cunt grips him tighter as you watch the way his jaw goes slack as he pummels in and out of you. He can use you like this forever and you’d be fine with it.
Jack turns his face to graze his teeth across your ankle, then bites the soft flesh, eliciting a yelp from you. The look in Jack’s eyes is voracious. He’ll never have enough of you.
“Eyes on me, baby,” he growls, gently slapping one of your tits through the cups of the babydoll to redirect your eyes into his. Locking eyes with one another while Jack ravages you has you hurling into another orgasm.
“Fuck, I’m so close, daddy,” just shy of shouting.
A cheeky grin breaks out on his face as if he’d gotten an idea just now. Jack lifts one of your legs off his shoulder and holds it steady, your foot now directly in front of his face. Without warning, he shoves your middle two toes into his mouth.
“Jack!” You actually shout this time. A mix of surprise and bliss.
“Scream my name as loud as you need to, sugar,” he teases, but admittedly, he loves seeing how loud he can get you to cry out his name.
He runs his warm tongue along your ticklish toes and you’re done for. “Can I come daddy? I’m so fucking close, please I need to come…” panting like a dog in heat.
“C’mon give it to me, pretty girl, gimme another and I’ll fill you up with my cum,” he encourages. He’s not far off from where you’re at. “Been such a good slut for me tonight, soak this fuckin’ cock…”
He’s rutting into you with such great force, you know you’ll be sore tomorrow. That thought is the last push you needed; you’re clenching around Jack while you’re coming; entering a rapturous daze.
“Oh fuck, Jack—fuck, ah!” mewling loudly. Your juices drip out of you onto his cock and the sheets. He loves how messy your pussy is.
“That’s it baby, mmmm such a sweet mess you made for me…” cooing at you.
He slows his speed way down, but keeps the thrusts deep, helping you ride out your second orgasm of the night.
A few hard, deep, slow thrusts and Jack is spurting his spend in your pussy.
“Fuuuuuuuuuck, baby,” halting his movements, resting his forehead against yours. The sticky sheen of sweat clings in the air; the distinctive smell of sex permeating the room.
He showers your face in tender kisses, leaving no patch of skin untouched. You adore the way Jack will fuck you within an inch of your life and will be caring and attentive afterwards.
***
Both of you lie still tangled in each others’ arms, Jack breaks the silence, “Maybe I should leave more often,” in that post-sex-husky-raspy voice you love so much.
“Nuh-uh, this week sucked without you. Leave for that long again and it’ll be you getting treated like a slut,” you taunt. You giggle uncontrollably, still under the effect of your climax.
He puffs out an exhale of relief. He’s not convinced you have a dominant bone in your body until you reveal that you purchased something else in addition to the red number still lingering on your body.
“You should see what else I bought,” you say, your voice suggestive enough to perk Jack’s ears up from his nearly fucked out comatose state.
He opens one eye and looks at you with an inquisitive face. You let out a smirk, and jump up from the bed, a bounce in your step, as you walk over to the dresser across the room.
Jack’s jaw actually falls to the floor this time when he watches you reveal a long, black, leather whip.
“My turn, cowboy.”
#jack daniels fic#jack whiskey daniels#jack daniels x you#jack daniels x reader#jack daniels smut#fanfic#clawing at my cage#fanfic writer#agent jack whiskey daniels#agent whiskey smut#agent whiskey fic#agent whiskey#agent whiskey x you#agent whiskey x reader#agent whiskey x female reader#pedro fics#pedro characters#pedro pascal#fanfiction smut#smut#fic writing#pedrostories#pedrohub
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You Were Marked: Day Twenty-One point Five (Din)
pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C
word count: 2.9K
chapter summary: Din takes a bad decision and makes it worse.
warnings: angst, mention of incest, inbreeding, suicide, infertility, masturbation, English and Mando’a cursing
***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***
You Were Marked: Masterlist
You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter
Din stared at Marathel. “When do we …”
“When do we leave?”
Din was unable to speak. Marathel could hear his breathing in the helmet as he continued to stare at her, and she knew that he normally took care to not let his breathing be heard. I have broken him, she thought. I have destroyed his soul, set it afire, burned away any care or affection he could ever have for me, and that is as it should be, but I am sorry I had to hurt him so to do it.
Din swallowed the bile that had risen again in his throat, burning his sinuses. I can’t, I can’t. Her words seemed to have filled him with a poison that threatened to burn him down to nothing. Never, never, had he heard of such an existence as hers. Anyone else would have died. Anyone else would have killed themselves — should have killed themselves. And she tried, oh she tried, but whatever oversaw this horrible universe, be it the Force, or Frith, or a cruel Maker and Destroyer of Worlds, kept her alive. Alive and beautiful and smart and talented and kind, despite being filled with pain and shame and self-loathing and guilt. And love, for Frith’s sake, love, love for Grogu and even for him, because she’d had to love him to empty out her guts like this to him, to share her agony in the hopes of …
“Bounty Hunter?”
He looked back up at Marathel, and there was concern in her voice and on her face, concern for him; she’d just described how she’d survived the most horrific existence possible, and she was concerned for him?
As he stared at her, one part of his mind continued the litany of I can’t I can’t, but another part of his mind was desperately trying to remind him that he loved her and nothing else mattered.
But it did.
It did matter.
It mattered to him that she hated his Creed. His Creed, the one thing that some days kept him going, that made his own life worthwhile. It mattered to him that she believed her Hold and his covert were alike. It mattered to him that she believed his Creed worked at the expense of others. It mattered that she believed he’d used his Creed to hurt her. It mattered that she believed that her … birth circumstances made a difference in his feelings for her.
It mattered, because as much as he would hate to admit it, there was the possibility that she could be right.
Marathel watched Din’s gloved hands clench into fists. She was suddenly struck with horrible anxiety; she was reminded of her dream — the Bishop disguised as Din, stalking towards her with the intent to do her harm. It frightened her to see those fists, because she had just spent however long telling him the most disgusting and degrading things, and then she had the audacity to make a comparison of her circumstances to his Creed, to a man whose hands could kill her as easily as caress her. That was an unforgivable thing that she did. And she did it because … to her it was the truth. Her truth. And right now, that was the only truth she cared about.
Marathel heard him swallow and take a shaky breath, but he still said nothing, and his visor pointed towards a point over and beyond her shoulder. She leaned forward, and softly said, “Din?”
“I can’t,” he softly uttered, shaking his head.
Marathel nodded, and leaned back against the wall, and she went back to looking at the night sky as Din turned and walked out of the room.
As he left, he practically crashed into Cobb, who grabbed him by the wrists, muttering, “No, you don’t … don’t you dare …”
“Leave off, Cobb …” hissed Din as he worked to twist his hands away. He almost succeeded, but he was distracted and upset, and Cobb got a tight hold of him again.
“Don’t you fucking dare walk away from her! She needs you right now!”
Looking past Cobb’s shoulder, Din could see a weeping Silnima, curled against the wall. Din stopped struggling. “I can’t, Cobb.”
“You better, if you love her like you say you do,” replied Cobb. He released Din’s hands. Din took a step back. He looked at Cobb for a moment, and then he turned and continued down the corridor. Cobb sighed deeply. Silnima had paused her crying to see Din walk away, and she was wracked with fresh sobs.
Down in the courtyard, ten feet below Marathel’s window, Fennec and Boba sat on the hard-packed ground. Fennec leaned back against Boba, and his arms, wrapped around her, gave her another squeeze. “I hate it when I’m right,” muttered Fennec, and Boba said nothing, but kissed the top of her head.
Silnima went to the kitchen to cry in private. Cobb stood just outside Marathel’s room, watching her watch the sky. She’s too quiet, too still. She only lost it a little there, the rest will go soon, and I think it will be like a Sandcrawler exploding.
Cobb walked up to Marathel, and reached up to gently pull on her arm and her leg. “No, don’t,” she said, twisting away, but he kept pulling at her. “You shouldn’t be touching me,” muttered Marathel.
“You ain’t got no cooties, now come down here.” He gave her another tug, and she let him lift her down from the windowsill. He pulled the chair aside to pick up her blanket, and he wrapped her tightly in it. As Cobb sat back down, he hauled her onto his lap, picking up her feet to tuck them at his hip. Marathel sat stiffly in his arms, looking down at him. Cobb looked up at her, and he placed his hands on her cheeks, his thumbs softly stroking the hair at her temples. He whispered, “I’m so sorry, honey.” His warm hazel eyes bored into her silver ones as he continued to stroke her hair, and finally her eyes filled with tears, and she wilted against him, into his arms, and her head fell to his shoulder with a wail.
Din walked all the way to the landing tunnel, straight to the landing gear of the Crest. He stepped behind the landing gear, in darkness and out of sight, stripped off his helmet, and vomited into the sand. Twice. He dry-heaved, spit, and swallowed, but the sickness was still inside, an insidious toxic feeling. Tears threatened, but he kept them back by sheer force of will and replaced his helmet. His Creed. His strength, his salvation. He walked around to the side of the ship and slapped the ramp control.
Din walked up into his ship, his mind whirling. He couldn’t go into his tiny quarters because that was where she had lain, dying. He couldn’t go into the cockpit because he’d dreamed of her up there. He couldn’t go into the fresher because he’d masturbated to thoughts of her in there. Her blood had been tracked over every square inch of this ship. Her blood was in the metal that made his helmet. His Creed was now tainted by her.
Marathel.
Never had another person uprooted Din’s life in such a volatile manner. He had lost both his parents, he had been adopted into a warrior religion, he had lost his mentor, he had gained… well, a son. He was a murderer, an assassin, a mercenary, a bounty hunter, and now an ersatz father to a little green Jedi, which, in the scheme of things, should have been enough excitement.
But no, he had to get tangled up with a woman, and not just a woman, this woman. Not another Mandalorian, not another mercenary (although, to be fair, Xi’an had turned him off from ever attempting that again), not even the quiet and lovely Omera. A Mandalorian — even one from another sect — would be understanding of his Creed. At least Omera had been respectful as she questioned his Creed. To hear Marathel say she didn’t give a shit about it upset him greatly. How dare she? How dare she attack the core of who I am? How could she be that cruel?
He pulled off his helmet and dropped it on the floor. He kicked the crate into the center of the floor — near the divot he had placed there — and sat, leaning over, his elbows on his knees. His misery was too familiar; it was the same as when he first realized what the Dilimgau was, how it had been used. He thought he might howl now as he had then, but instead, no sound left his lips other than the breath from the bottoms of his lungs. He hugged himself tightly to keep his chest from exploding open with the pain.
Why are you crying, son?
I can’t, Father.
What’s got your thermals in a twist, kid?
I can’t, buir.
And he couldn’t. He couldn’t fathom how to wrap his head around everything he had just heard. He was an engineer’s son, although he was a bounty hunter and an assassin, a murderer and a criminal. He still had the mind of an engineer, and he wanted so much to fix this, and he had no idea how.
How do I find the root cause of this kind of pain? How do I compartmentalize her suffering? Her cruel words to me? Her background, the fact that she’s …
He couldn’t bring his mind to form the words, the truth about her that he’d suspected yet not allowed himself to believe about her familial relationship with the Bishop. The man who was her father, her grandfather, going back for who knew how many generations, was also supposed to be her …
Don’t say lover, don’t even think it!
… sexual partner and the father of her children. That was her purpose in life, to be an incubator for his progeny.
Thank Frith she was sterile. That happened, he’d heard, in clans such as hers, as if nature abhorred the practice and made it self-destruct. It was taboo among the Mandalorians, obviously, but very taken especially seriously in his covert, which was small and only had a few families. Relationships were severed once consanguinity was discovered, and he’d heard of pregnancies being terminated on the rare occasion it occurred. It was another reason that bringing in foundlings was such an honored tradition, although this particular reason was not spoken out loud.
But there had been one in his covert. It wasn’t found out until the child was half-grown and near the age of taking the helmet. Two young men had finally revealed that the child’s mother, their blood aunt, had molested and abused them when they were younger, and this child was the result.
The mother and child were drummed out of the covert, her helmet confiscated, stripped of her Mandalorian heritage. Din had struggled with whether he would feel sorry for the child or be disgusted by its existence. He had asked his buir about his conflict, and he had responded that all three of the children deserved pity regardless, for none of it had been their fault. But then his buir said, if you can find it in your heart to have a grain of sand’s worth of pity for the aunt, for she was sick of mind, heart, and soul … then you’ll be a better man than I could ever be, kid.
The idea that inbreeding was the preferred practice of continuing the population was one of the foulest things Din had ever heard of. The possibility that she could have brought forth another generation was monstrous to him. But truly, it was not her fault, for what else did she know?
Remember the first day? The second? Those days when you were still unaware of the depths of her ignorance? She didn’t know what a ship was. What planets and stars were. How can you blame her for what she had no way of knowing?
He knew he had to pity her for what she suffered inside that Hold. He had to pity her for the circumstances of her birth, and how she would continue to suffer because of it. If he could pity her for those things, then he had to find a grain of sand’s worth of pity for her ignorance of his Creed. She didn’t understand because she couldn’t.
If Marathel would allow it, I will teach her my Creed, why it’s so important to me, why it is so essential to the core of my being. If she cannot, or will not, then I know I will have done my best by my Creed.
I don’t always have to like her, but I must try to love her as best I can. And if I love her, then nothing else matters.
I’m so sorry, my ma’mwsh ha’laa.
Din finally collected himself enough to return to the palace. He had abandoned her, thought only of his own pain and not hers, and he had to try to make it right. He fucked up again, he was only human, and he didn’t know what the hell he was doing. He still didn’t know how to process at least half of what Marathel said, nor could he process half of the conflicting emotions he felt.
He had never heard anything so vile before, and he had been an assassin for the Empire. He was a murderer for a living, and hearing what Marathel endured after going through that door made him physically sick. But he had to try, for her sake, to help her continue to endure, because he …
He stepped up to the door, hearing Cobb’s voice, low, soothing. Din moved into the doorway to see Marathel, wrapped tightly in her blanket, cradled on Cobb’s lap. She clutched at his neck, weeping. His arms held her tight as he gently rocked her. Cobb’s face also held tear-tracks, and he glared at Din, as if to say, this is where you should be, you should have been the one to hold her, comfort her, tell her that none of it mattered. But you couldn’t, so I did, and there is no helmet between me and her. Cobb held Din’s eyes as he kissed Marathel’s cheek, keeping his lips against her soft skin much longer than was necessary before dropping his face to her shoulder. Her hand went up into Cobb’s hair, her fingers twisting in the strands.
Suddenly it all made sense. Her drawing away. Her telling him to let her go. Her inability to return words of love. Her hatred of his Creed. Cobb’s insistence on being alone with her, keeping Din away as long as possible. So it’s true, thought Din. You son of a bitch. Guess what, friend? You can have her. You deserve each other.
The thought flew through his head unbidden, shocking him, but not enough to shake off his anger. He ground his teeth until his jaw ached.
No, no. Strike that. You don’t get her. I don’t get her.
No one does.
She’s going back.
Din snapped, “We leave tomorrow morning.” Marathel’s head came up and half-turned to him, her face red from weeping, but she still was able to blush, infuriating Din even more. He spun and left her room, heading to his room and back to Grogu. As he passed the kitchen, he saw Silnima, her face in her hands. He ignored her sobbing and continued down the corridor. He entered his room and his eyes fell on Grogu, his pride, his joy. He was that boy’s father in all ways that mattered. Like Olba was for Marathel. Not that it did any good. No one protected those children. No one protected those women. Let them die out, let that horrible place fall out of existence. And if Marathel wants to go back to die out with them, then I’ll take her back, and gladly let her go.
Unmanarall and its sick, perverted culture — including Marathel —wasn’t his battle. Grogu was his battle. His Creed was his battle.
Din crawled into bed, carefully placing a protective hand on Grogu’s tiny chest, feeling the small beskar rondel under the little shirt. A shirt Marathel had made. His Mama.
Grogu’s going to lose his Mama, thought Din, a fresh pang shooting through his heart.
He’s young. He’ll forget her. I will too, in time.
He wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Maybe that would be long enough to forget her. But sleep would not come, even after he had — several times — replayed and dissected and diagrammed every word she had said to him tonight, every inflection in her voice … and then her ugly words about his Creed, and the sight of her hand tangled in Cobb’s hair. Every root cause analysis he tried to effect had a different beginning and a different course of action he should take, muddying his rational thought. Exhausted, confused, heartbroken, Din lay there, his hand resting on the little warm body of Grogu, wishing he could sleep. He turned off his visor, and stared into the darkness, wondering why he could hear singing, and the smell of baking bread.
You Were Marked: Next Chapter ->
#the mandalorian angst#din djarin angst#mando angst#star wars fanfiction#starwarsficnetwork#pedro fics#pedro stories#pedrostories#pedrohub#din djarin fanfiction#mando x fem oc#mando x female oc#mando x plus size oc
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Kindred - Chapter 5
Main Masterlist
Series Masterlist
AO3 link
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Maxwell Lord x f!Reader (Nanny)
Word Count: 7.8k
Chapter Summary: You and Max finally go on a date, and get to have an entire night together without the impending threat of a 6 year old sleeping just down the hallway ;)
Chapter Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Smut. (So much smut). Oral sex. Vaginal fingering. Maxwell's tie from chapter one makes a return to the scene and I'm telling you now it comes with its own warning. Unprotected p in v sex. Creampie. Multiple orgasms. Praise kink, goodboy!maxwell. If I missed anything else, lmk!
Saturday morning you wake up, unfortunately, to cold sheets beside you and an otherwise empty bed. It’s early, you know this because the alarm to get Alistair up hasn’t gone off yet and you idly wonder where Max has gone to. You did go to bed rather early last night because he had been so jet lagged so you’re not surprised he’d been up early, his internal clock probably still not readjusted back to this timezone yet.
You sit up, rubbing your tired eyes and a little smile crosses your lips when you look down and are reminded that you had gone to bed in Max’s dress shirt last night. Almost as if on instinct, you grab the collar and bring it up in front of your nose and take a deep inhale and a dreamy little sigh escapes you when the lingering scent of Max invades your senses. You’ll have to remember for next time how absolutely divine it is to wake up in his clothes that are still smelling of him so you can make sure you do it again.
And given Max’s reaction to seeing you in it last night, you don’t think he’ll be opposed to the idea.
You push out of the bed to get up and go to the bathroom when a little folded piece of paper on the nightstand catches your eye. Opening it up a smile automatically crosses your lips when you recognize Max’s loopy handwriting.
Angel, got up early, thought I’d get a head start on my day to be sure I’m free in time for dinner. I’m looking forward to it and can’t wait. Will pick you up at your place (this is a date, and I’m a gentleman!) at 7:00. See you then, Maxwell xoxo
You have a little giggle at his note. It’s sweet that he wants to treat this as authentic a date as possible. And he rightly assumed you’d want to go to your own home to get ready there. Of course you have basic essentials here, but you really want to go all out on your hair and makeup for tonight and look your best so you’ll need to go home first where you have access to your full arsenal of beauty products.
Your fingers ghost along the end of the note where Max had signed his name with hugs and kisses and you feel like you’re in fourth grade again and just got passed a note from a boy you’re crushing on. You laugh to yourself and shake your head but you refold the note up regardless and take it into the bathroom with you to shove it into the pocket of your discarded Pajama shorts from the night before because you are absolutely going to be keeping this cute little note and tucking it away somewhere safe in your room later.
The rest of the morning is busy. You get Alistair his breakfast and then park him in front of the TV so you can get some things done around the house. You do Alistair’s laundry, strip Max’s bed and remake it with fresh linens (though you’re hoping the two of you are just going to ruin them tonight, you still want everything to start off as perfect as possible) and then as your waiting for the laundry to finish a thought crosses your mind and you grab Alistair and get into your car for a quick trip down to the corner store.
You’re not home very long before Alistair’s mother arrives to pick him up and the two of you exchange hellos and have a quick little chat while Alistair runs down the driveway to get in the car, eager to get his weekend with his mom started.
“Oh, before you go,” you begin as you run quickly over the kitchen and grab the few things you had picked up from the store this morning and put them all in a bag. “I figured you haven’t been home in a couple weeks, you probably wouldn’t have fresh milk and bread and basics and stuff and I’m sure the last thing you want to do now is go grocery shopping” you explain as you hold out the bag to her and she smiles warmly at you and puts a hand over her heart.
“Oh my gosh, that is so thoughtful, thank you so much! You’re right, I didn’t even think about that, my head is just…” she motions wildly with a wave of her hand, “all over the place, you know?”
“I’m very sorry about your mother” you say sincerely. “I’m glad at least that they think they can help her. She’s very lucky to have you to be with her” you offer a kind smile.
“Thank you, yes, we’re staying optimistic” she smiles back. “And thank you for just… everything you do for Alistair, and of course for stepping in the last two weeks, last minute like that. I’m sure Max has expressed how much he appreciates it but I really do as well, so thank you” She smiles again and reaches to place a hand on your arm and offers a small squeeze.
“It’s no problem, I love that Alistair to bits. He’s a really great kid” you say sincerely and Sofia nods in agreement.
Your pleasant chat however is broken up when Alistair hangs his head out the car window and starts yelling for his Mom to hurry up and you both have a little laugh at his impatience (’gets that from his father’, Sofia remarks) but you say your goodbyes and wave from the door to Alistair until you see the car disappear down the street.
The rest of your day seems like it just drags on and on. You decided to head home after Alistair got picked up and do a little tidying around your apartment and then try and distract yourself with first a book and then some TV until it's finally late enough that you can shower and begin to get ready for your date. Now the time seems to pass way too quickly and you’re still putting the finishing touches on your appearance when you hear a knock at your door.
“Shoot” you mutter as you run off to the bedroom to grab your shoes. Thankfully the pair you had your mind set on wearing tonight is right at the front of your closet so you don’t have to waste time ransacking the place and you quickly slip them on before turning to your full length mirror, smoothing down your dress and giving yourself a final once over. Satisfied with the result you take a steadying breath and then head for the door, smiling wide when you open it.
“Sorry, I was just-” the words die on your lips as your gaze immediately zeroes in on the tie he’s chosen to wear this evening. The tie. The infamous navy blue tie with the gold paisley pattern that started it all. Tonight he’s pairing it with a black three-button suit with a light blue shirt and gold cufflinks to match the pattern color in his tie and it takes you a few seconds to realize you’ve stopped speaking and you’re just standing there staring at him with your mouth still half open mid-sentence.
“Angel you look breathtaking” Max compliments, snapping you back to reality. His smile is bright and genuine as he takes another step forward and leans in to brush a kiss to your cheek.
“And you look very handsome, Maxwell. I like the tie” You tease with a wink and you see a bit of a blush rise up his neck.
“I thought you might” he smirks and then begins fiddling nervously with his cufflinks before he smooths his hands down the imaginary wrinkles in his jacket and squares his shoulders again, taking a breath.
“Are you ready, my dear?” He asks and you nod.
The restaurant Max takes you to is beautiful. All low lighting and romantic candlelight and an extensive wine list that is almost all in French which you don’t speak a word of, but thankfully Max seems to know what he’s doing and orders a bottle of something after only a brief glance at the menu.
“Very good choice sir” the waiter agrees with a curt nod and then turns to take his leave.
“Do you think they always say that?” You find yourself asking suddenly, your face scrunched up a little in thought.
“What’s that?” Max asks, not following.
“Complimenting your taste in wine. Like do you think you could order the most dog shit wine on the list and they’re just pre-programmed to tell you that you’ve made an excellent choice?” You say and Max rewards you with a genuine laugh that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. You don’t really go to fancy places like this (mostly because you can’t afford it) but you’ve seen enough of these scenes play out in movies and television to know what they’re like.
“Well I guess next time we’ll order the… what was it? Dog shit wine? And we’ll see what happens…” He jokes and now it’s you that’s laughing, just as your server returns with the very good bottle of wine.
“Are we celebrating anything this evening?” The waiter asks, making polite conversation as he holds his arm out with a napkin draped over it and pours a small sample of the wine for Max to taste.
“A… first date” Max replies after a moment, winking across the table at you and you give him a smile in return, the butterflies returning to your stomach.
“Oh first date, wow. Forgive me, you just seemed so comfortable with each other I thought perhaps a wedding anniversary” The server comments just as Max gives the wine a quick swirl around the glass before taking a small sip.
“Excellent” Max concludes on the wine and the server gives a nod before he fills Max’s glass and then your own and excuses himself, saying he’ll be back shortly.
“To my radiant wife on our wedding anniversary” Max says teasingly, raising his glass to you.
“Easy slugger, let’s just try and get through the first date first and see how it goes, okay?” You joke back before clinking your glass against his and you both take a sip.
Dinner seems to fly by. Maybe it was because you had barely seen each other for a week, but you and Max never seem to run out of things to talk about. You ask him a lot of questions about London because you’re genuinely curious about the city and the architecture and the culture and he’s fairly knowledgeable despite not having spent a lot of time there himself. He asks you about what your travel bucket list would be - London excluded, he already knows it’s one of the places you’d love to see - and the conversation just continues flowing until you’re cleaning the last morsel of creme brulee off of Max’s offered fork while your server drops off your bill at the table.
“Max thank you for dinner, that might have been the best meal I’ve ever had” you tell him as he closes up the leather bound fold after tucking his credit card inside and hands it back.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it Angel” he smiles warmly at you, reaching across the table to hold your fingers with his.
“I mean it Max this is… It’s really nice, that you did this for me. For us” And you mean that. Max didn’t have to take you out or spend money on you but he wants to and you’re more than happy about it. Not that you need him to take you to fancy places or spend money on you, but it's just nice that he wants to put in an effort.
“Look, I know things may be a little… unconventional for us” Max begins with a shrug, his thumb rubbing across your knuckles now of the hand he’s still holding. “But you deserve this. To be treated right. Special. Because you are, very special to me” he finishes and brings your hand up to place a kiss to the back of it.
“Thank you Max” you smile warmly and give his hand a light squeeze.
The drive back to Max’s house is practically torture. Your whole body is thrumming with an excited but slightly nervous energy. It feels like you’ve been waiting for this night, for this moment, for so long when in reality it’s only been a couple of weeks.
And you still can’t believe he wore that damn tie… certainly not helping matters any.
“You um… still want to come back to mine?” Max asks a little nervously from beside and seeing that he’s just as flustered as you are, it actually helps settle your own nerves and you give him a smile, reaching across the console to interlock your fingers with this over the gear shifter. The question almost throws you for a loop before you realize that Alistair is not home which means technically you could just go back to your own place for the entire weekend until Sunday night if you wanted to, because that’s what happens when Alistair is not there to be cared for, you go to your own home. But that was before. Before Mr. Lord was just Max. Before you were his Angel.
“More than anything” you answer him with and the relieved breath that leaves his lips doesn’t escape your notice. It also doesn’t escape your notice how Max’s foot presses a little bit harder down on the gas pedal once you’ve confirmed your destination.
When you get inside the house Max looks a little nervous again, hands smoothing down over the tops of his thighs as he stands near the doorway.
“Do you want some more wine?” He asks but you simply shake your head and give him a coy smile.
“No”
He smiles back, releasing a breath and then takes a step closer to you so you’re mere inches apart. He cradles your face in both his hands and then he’s kissing you. It’s deep and slow and sensual the way he breathes you in and slides his tongue against yours as you swallow each other's moans. He takes a step closer, walking you backwards until your back hits the front door and he’s still on you, never breaking the kiss. One of his large hands leaves your face and smooths down your side to hold at your waist while the other finds purchase on your throat, angling your head just right so his mouth can begin its slow attack on the other side as his lips slide down your jaw to your neck.
“Max,” you breathe out, chest heaving already. Max only answers you with a moan into the hollow of your throat as he kisses and licks at the soft flesh.
“Baby, take me to bed” you whisper into his ear and he plants a couple more quick kisses on you before he pulls back slightly and wordlessly grabs your hand and leads you up the stairs.
You get into the bedroom and immediately notice how candles have littered the room on every surface. Max must’ve set it up when he got home from work, and he quickly starts moving around the space to light each one while you wait patiently, standing next to the bed.
“Someone was presumptuous” you tease. “Thinking you were gonna get lucky on a first date huh?”
Max lights the last candle and then strides over to you and tucks some hair behind your ear before his hand rests on your cheek as he confesses quietly, “Angel I’m already lucky”.
“Sweet boy” you smile before taking his hand from your cheek in both of yours and bringing to your lips to kiss his palm. “Will you…” you trail off, dropping his hand but turn your back to him so you’re facing the bed and gesture with a nod of your head to the zipper at the back of your dress.
Max agrees with a nod but deliberately takes his time with it, because of course he does. Both his hands land on your hips and he pulls you a little closer so he can lean forward and start placing kisses all over the back and sides of your neck and an involuntary shiver runs down your spine.
“Feels good Baby” you murmur as you tilt your head back to rest on his shoulder, giving him better access and your arm reaches up behind you to hold around his head so your fingers can push through his hair.
Max hums into your throat, continuing to place hot, wet kisses everywhere he can reach as his hands begin smoothing upwards until he has a handful of each of your breasts in his hands over your dress and he gives a little squeeze and you moan, your hand in his hair gripping a little tighter.
He’s kissing your neck and side of your face and alternating between massaging your breasts and just running his hands all over your stomach and chest and sides for several minutes and it’s like he’s everywhere all at once but you still need more.
You need out of this dress, for starters.
Max thankfully seems to be as in tune with your body as you and knows what you need before you have a chance to voice it and finally you hear the slow drag of the zipper at the back of your dress coming down. A little drawn out whine leaves your lips when Max’s tongue starts following the path down your spine where he’s slowly revealing your smooth flesh to him and the lower the zip goes, so does Max until he’s suddenly down on his knees behind you when the dress finally falls to your feet and he’s helping you step out of it.
“Pretty” you hear him mumble as his hands come up to drag along the edges of the the baby pink lace panties you had picked out at the mall yesterday. It matches the bra you’re wearing as well, only he hasn’t noticed that yet from his position behind you.
“Max,” you whimper as his mouth plants little kisses to the globes of your ass.
“Lean over the bed” he instructs you, gently pushing on your lower back and you follow the pressure of his hand, bending at the waist until your top half is lying down on your stomach on the side of the bed while your feet are still planted on the floor with Max behind you on his knees.
“Max?” You begin to question what exactly he’s doing as he gently pushes your legs a little wider apart but then a gush of air leaves your lungs and you moan out loud when he suddenly pulls your panties to the side and buries his face in your cunt, licking and prodding at you with his tongue.
“Oh my god!”
“Mmmm, you taste so good Angel” he praises as he continues licking through your folds and reaching a little further forward to swirl the tip of his tongue around your clit and your knuckles turn white as they grip the bedspread, hanging on for dear life while Max unravels you whole. Something about him being on his knees for you is doing all kinds of things to you and you turn your head so your cheek is resting on the bed and try desperately to look behind you so you can get a view of what Max is doing but you mostly just see the top of his head and his hands on your ass.
“Baby let me turn over, wanna see” you pant, a little breathless from how close to the edge Max has brought you already. He groans into your throbbing center and places a few more kisses before he dutifully shuffles back a few inches giving you some room. You flip over onto your back, legs still dangling over the edge and push yourself up on your elbows. Max’s pupils are blown out, his hair is a wild mess and his chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath and calm himself down but as always, he can’t help himself around you. He’s sitting back on his heels, hands on his thighs seemingly waiting for your permission to begin again and hell if it doesn’t ignite something even further in you.
“You look good like this baby” you mention with a grin, bringing one foot up to rub into his shoulder and his eyes close as he lets out a little whimper. He turns his head and bends it down slightly to place a kiss to the inside of your ankle and then brings a hand up to smooth up and down your calf.
“I like you on your knees for me” you begin, biting on your lower lip when his eyes reopen and stare right into yours, lust blown and wanting. “But I’d like it even better if you were naked” you add and he raises an eyebrow but otherwise says nothing before he starts to undress.
He begins by shoving his jacket down his arms and tossing it aside, then loosens his tie and starts undoing his shirt buttons one by one. His hands go to pull the tie up and over his neck but suddenly you reach a hand out in a gesture to stop.
“Wait!” You say and he freezes, tie half way over his head. “Leave that on” you instruct and you hear him whimper a little ‘fuck’ and does as he’s told, pulling it back down around his neck and then freeing himself of his dress shirt next.
“It’s been driving me crazy all night” you say in explanation. “You were a naughty little thing weren’t you, wearing that tie for me, hmm?”
“Yes Angel, I’m sorry” Max is practically squirming. Hands smoothing over his legs, desperate to be back on you but he sits otherwise still and waits for you to release him.
“Take off everything else” you instruct, lightly shoving at his shoulder with your foot before removing it and he quickly scrambles to his feet and eagerly tugs and pulls at his belt to get it free and then shoves his pants and boxers down the ground and kicks them off until he stands bare before with just the tie still loosely hanging around his neck.
You say nothing, but make a 'come hither' gesture with the crook of your finger and Max takes a step forward so he’s standing between your knees and then he bends forward, close enough that you’re able to grab the end of his tie, wrap it around your hand and pull him close so you can rise up further on your elbows and kiss him. He brings one hand down flat on the bed to hold himself up and the other rests gently on your rib cage, his thumb softly caressing back and forth as you kiss and lick into his mouth. You’re kissing for a few long moments, occasionally tugging on the tie to bring him even closer and then he moans into your mouth when your free hand reaches down and gently strokes his length from where it hangs just mere inches away from your still clothed sex and you can feel how hard and ready he is for you already. He’s practically trembling above you. If he lowered his hips just an inch or two his cock would be against you and he could take what you’ve both been waiting so long for, but you’re not quite done with him yet. The tempting vision of him stripped down and on his knees pleasing you is just too good to pass up.
“Back on the floor, my gorgeous boy” you instruct as you pull back from him slightly. “I wanna cum in this pretty mouth first” you tell him, running a fingertip along his bottom lip and he groans but then pulls it into his mouth and sucks.
“Yes, good boy” you praise him and he grins before resuming his kneeled position on the floor between your legs.
“May I?” Max asks, placing his hands on your hips and holding the elastic edges of your panties.
“Yes baby, take them off”
He wastes no time, peeling them off your legs but then does take just a quick moment to rub the material between the pads of his fingers as a smile spreads across his lips.
“They’re almost too pretty to take off” he comments, mesmerized by the little scrap of lace in his hands, but then his head turns to your glistening sex between spread legs and his eyebrow raises as he drops the panties to the floor, forgotten.
“But not as pretty as you” he adds, shuffling slightly closer on his knees and then grabs your hips with both hands and hauls you further to the edge of the bed so your ass is practically hanging off of it. You don’t have to worry about falling though because suddenly he takes both of your legs and drapes one over each of his shoulders and his hands come down to wrap up under your thighs and hold you down at your hips before he’s diving straight back in and your whole upper body practically jolts upright at the sudden burst of pleasure that rocks you.
“Mmmmmm” he moans into your sex, lapping at you and nuzzling and kissing and sucking and your hips and thighs are already trembling from his efforts.
“Yes, Max. Fuck, so good” you pant, lowered back down onto your elbows again and watching Max as he eats you out like a man starved. “Oh baby you’re so good”
That seems to spurn Max on even further and he buries his face deeper into your wet heat, moaning his appreciation for your praise into your core and sending little vibration shockwaves through you.
“Oh fuck,” your head falls back onto the bed, not able to hold yourself up anymore and your ankles cross over each other behind Max, trying to keep him as close as possible. “More, god please Max, I need more”
Ask and ye shall receive apparently because the next thing you know one of his hands leaves your hips and you’re feeling a completely new and strange sensation at your entrance. His fingertips are prodding you but there’s something else, a barrier between his fingers and your hole and it’s smooth and silky and suddenly you’re jolted back up onto your elbows as you realize he’s using his fucking tie on you.
He brushes it through your folds, smearing your juices over the area where his fingers are behind it before he’s back at your entrance and shoving two fingers inside covered by the tie and you cry out.
“Oh fuck! Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck! Ohhhhhh Max, oh my god, yes baby, yes”
Max groans into your cunt, licking into you with renewed enthusiasm as he feels you climbing that peak that he so desperately wants to push you over. His fingers are still working you in and out and his tie is going to be fucking ruined but it’s the last thing on his brain. He has half a mind to frame the damn thing by this point anyway. Build it its own trophy case and display it proudly on his bedroom wall over his bed.
“Baby I’m gonna cum” you whine, trembling under his hold on you as the taught thread in your lower abdomen threatens to snap. “Oh please, please” you beg, needing just a little bit more and he gives just what you need, sucking your clit into his mouth as his fingers curl into just the right spot and you cry out, lurching forward so you can grab the back of his head and ride his face as wave after wave releases over you until you’re completely drained and you flop back down onto your back, completely boneless and utterly spent.
Max slows down but continues softly licking and kissing and nuzzling into you, moaning his adoration for you into your still throbbing sex. He carefully pulls his fingers and the tie out of you and you let out a little groan at the loss of feeling so full of him. He begins planting kisses to the top of your mound and then insides of your thighs before he finally takes your shaking legs off his shoulders and crawls up and puts his hands under you so he can haul you further up the bed and then he collapses at your side on the bed, his hand coming to rest on your stomach and rubbing small comforting circles on it.
“Was that okay Angel?” He asks so quietly, your sweet Maxwell. Checking in even after giving you an earth shattering orgasm.
“Baby” you sigh, chest still heaving from exertion. Your brain can’t seem to formulate any kind of sentence so instead you roll onto your side to face him, grab a fistful of his tie again and kiss him, hard.
“That was incredible” you say, pulling back after a few long seconds of kissing. “But you can literally never wear this tie in public again or I’ll fucking die from embarrassment. I don’t care if you get it dry cleaned or not, this scrap of silk is never leaving this bedroom” you insist, but your tone is playful and he knows you’re far from upset at how he used it.
Max just smirks at you and then brings your hand up that’s holding his tie and places a kiss to your knuckles.
“Yes I think this one will have to retire” he teases. “It’ll be just for us” he adds with a little wink before he pulls it over his head and tosses it to the floor.
You lay there another minute, still trying to catch your breaths and then Max’s fingertips are tracing the bottom edge of your lacy pink bra and he’s smiling as he pushes himself up on one elbow to look down at you.
“Matching set” he states as he’s just now noticing anything not below your waist, a little smirk forming at his lips. “Somebody was presumptuous for a first date” he teases, tossing your own remarks back at you and you laugh, tossing your head back.
“Come here” you finally say, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to kiss you.
The kiss is soft and unhurried as you lazily stroke each other's tongues and explore mouths. One of Max’s hands starts smoothing up your side and then moves to your breast, massaging it under his large palm and you press your chest further into his touch and let out a little moan.
“Max?” You mumble between kisses.
“Hmmm?”
You break the kiss, hold his face with both your hands and look him in the eyes as you say the words that you’ve been wanting to for so long.
“Make love to me?”
Max simply nods his head once and then lowers just slightly to press one last kiss to your closed lips before he pulls back.
Wordlessly you both reposition on the bed so neither of you are at risk of falling off the edge. You settle on your back at the top of the bed by the headboard, head nestled in a sea of pillows and Max crawls over top of you. You push up slightly so you can reach behind yourself and unclasp your bra, pulling the straps down your arms and tossing it aside, wanting to feel completely unburdened when Max lowers his body onto yours.
“So beautiful” he murmurs, so softly you almost don’t even hear it, like he’s just simply overwhelmed by you.
“Sweet boy” you hum, bringing a hand up to brush through his hair.
“By the way I um… I have an I.U.D. just so you know so…” you trail off, you don’t think you need to spell out anymore what you’re telling him and he smiles, bending down to capture your lips again.
“Are you ready Angel?” He asks once he pulls back from the kiss and you nod your head eagerly.
Max pushes himself up to his knees and grabs for one of the discarded pillows on the bed and drags it towards him, tapping your hip with his hand and you lift your hips so he can place it underneath you. He repositions himself in between your legs but before he does anything else he leans down and places warm wet kisses all over your body; to each of your breasts, your sternum, your ribs, abdomen, hips, and one final kiss to your mound before he straightens back up on his knees again and you can’t help it but you’re smiling at him like an absolute fool in love.
His hands come down to rest on each of your outer thighs and he drags them up and then back down until his hands hook under you knees and he pushes your legs up so they’re bent at your knees with your feet flat on the mattress and then finally he grabs his achingly hard dick and guides it notch at your entrance.
“Um Max,” you start before he actually pushes inside you. “It’s been um… a while?” You admit sheepishly, your cheeks coloring slightly. “Will you just, start slow”
Max doesn’t answer right away, just lowers his upper body down so he can kiss you, soft and sweet and full of promise.
“Whatever you need Angel” he whispers against your lips and then presses a kiss to the tip of your nose before he raises back up just slightly, and then he guides himself inside, slowly, inch by inch and letting out a soft groan when he finally gets inside your warmth.
“Are you ok?” He asks, stopping about half way in to check with you. Your bottom lip is between your teeth but you nod your head enthusiastically. There’s a stretch for sure but it’s far from unpleasant. You want more.
“Baby you feel so good inside me, keep going” you encourage and he has to close his eyes and take a breath so he doesn’t slam his hips the rest of the way into you like he wants to when he hears words like that falling from your lips.
“Angel you’re,” he trails off for a moment, sucking a breath through his teeth as he pushes deeper inside. “God you’re so tight, feels so good”
You’re not surprised, it feels like he’s splitting you open (though in the best possible way) and you certainly weren’t lying when you said it’s been a while. You haven’t dated in an embarrassingly long time since your last ex broke your heart and you haven’t been interested in anybody until Max came into your life. But now that he’s here, there’s no one you’d rather be with.
He finally bottoms out and you release a breath you’d been holding as Max stills inside you.
“I’m ok, you can move” you assure him but he shakes his head just slightly and doesn’t move.
“Just um… I just need a second” he says and then proceeds to take a few deep slow breaths and your lips curl up into a sly smile. Maybe it’s been a while for him too and the fact that he needs to concentrate so hard on not cumming immediately does give your ego a bit of a little boost.
“My god Angel you’re so perfect” he groans before he finally pulls almost all the way out and then pushes back in and you moan, hands coming down to grip the sheets beneath you.
“Ok?” He asks and you nod frantically.
“Yes, baby keep going, I’m ok"
And he does. He pulls nearly all the way out again and slides easily back in over and over again at a slow pace until you’re freely moaning and he knows you’re past the initial stretch. He shifts slightly, pulling your legs up further so your feet are off the mattress and he’s pushing them towards you, folding you in on yourself while still pumping his hips in and out and suddenly he’s hitting deeper which each thrust with how he has you held and your hands come up to grip his biceps, fingernails digging into his skin.
“Oh god Baby, you’re so deep in me, feels so good” you’re panting and moaning and doing everything you can to chase his hips with your own.
“Yeahhhh, just like that” Max soothes, his slow thrusts gradually gaining momentum with every whine and whimper that passes your lips, encouraging him. “Fuck you feel incredible”
He pushes your legs further still until he has you practically folded in half and he’s holding himself up above you almost in a push-up stance and begins lowering himself up and down, up and down over and over again sliding in and out of you at a much faster pace now and he’s hitting you so deep it’s like he’s impaling you with his cock with each push and you’re instantly brought to the edge; writhing and moaning and shaking underneath him.
“Yes Max, right there, oh fuck, baby. Oh don’t stop”
He doesn’t. He doubles his efforts, slamming into you over and over as you cry out and dig your nails so hard into his skin that he has to grit his teeth through the pain but he fucks you through it, getting lost in the blissed out expression that comes over you when you finally hit that peak and the second your relase washes over you he has to pull out and squeeze at the base of his cock for a moment; the way your walls just clamped down on him nearly sending him over his own edge.
Your giggling in your fucked out euphoria and it causes a little huff of laughter out of Max too as he strokes his length a few times and then brings it down to push through your folds to cover him in your slick again and your hips jolt at the oversensitivity before you settle once more.
Max lowers himself onto his side, having used up much of his stamina in the last position and rearranges you again so the pillow is no longer under you and just your leg closest to him is now raised as he holds it up and he pushes back inside you before easing in and out slowly again.
“Ohhhhhhh,” you whimper, eyes closing voluntarily at the pleasure the new angle gives you. He continues going slow for now, thankfully (probably for both your sakes) because you’re still overstimulated and he wants to make himself last as long as possible.
He fucks you slowly, his forehead coming down to rest on your shoulder as he pumps his hips in and out, in and out. You feel that slow build again, deep in your abdomen as the minutes tick by and he continues his steady and deep thrusts.
"Angel you feel amazing" he murmurs against your skin. "Feels so good to be inside you"
"Oh Max" you whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Baby I love having you inside me, don't stop"
Before too long your little whines and whimpers let him know you’re getting close again so he takes two fingers and and sucks them into his mouth before bringing them down to play with your clit and you lurch forward, pushing up on your elbows as another impending orgasm racks your body. Max pushes harder and faster with each thrust until he feels your walls flutter around him and whispers little words of encouragement into your ear, giving you that final push over the edge.
“Oh my god, yes, yes, yes,” you chant, delirious. It hits you as hard as the last one and you cum with a long drawn out moan as Max slows his thrusts once again.
“Fuck Angel” Max groans and suddenly he’s pulling out of you and on his knees between your legs before he lowers himself down and starts licking and mouthing at your throbbing cunt, apparently needing to give his dick a break so your night doesn’t end before he wants it to.
“Baby, oh my god, I can’t” you’re squirming below him, barely past your last peak when you feel another quickly approaching right on it’s heels. Max doesn’t let up, feeling the way your thighs lock around his head he knows your close again. He spreads your lower lips with his fingers and swirls his tongue around your clit before sucking it into his mouth and you're practically convulsing from underneath him, trying desperately to thrust up into him and chase the pressure of his tongue.
“Fuck I’m gonna cum again”
Max moans into you and then shoves three fingers inside you without warning and curls them and your resolve breaks instantly and you’re flooding his mouth and fingers with your release and he keeps moaning as he happily laps you up with long broad stripes of his tongue up you’re center until your pushing at his shoulders, the stimulation too much.
He relents, thankfully, and removes his mouth and fingers from you and crawls back up your body again until he’s laying on top of you, one arm holding himself just steady enough up so that he’s not crushing you with his weight and he leans down and kisses you soundly. You moan when you taste the evidence of your multiple orgasms on his tongue.
He keeps kissing you like there’s nothing else in the world he’d rather be doing but you know he’s got to be painfully hard by this point and in all honestly this has gone on far longer than you initially expected it to and besides that, you don't think you physically have it in you to give him another orgasm. Being your first time together and all, you certainly weren’t expecting the marathon that Max was putting you through (not that you were complaining, mind you).
“Baby” you murmur between kisses and then your hand travels between your bodies until it reaches his cock and you wrap your hand around it. He moans into your mouth at your touch and you smile into the kiss as you guide him back to your entrance.
“I won’t last” Max admits, shaking his head gently, his forehead coming to rest on yours.
“I know, let go baby”
“Fuck” he curses before pushing inside with one deep thrust and you both moan in unison. He felt beyond amazing before of course, but having him like this with his weight on top of you and kissing you tenderly as he rocks in and out of you is just everything you ever wanted it to be.
He tears his lips away from yours after a minute and sucks a breath in through his teeth as he starts pistoning into you harder and faster, his thrusts becoming sloppier as he gets close to his release.
“Yes Maxwell, cum for me sweet boy, please baby” you encourage him and that seems to do him in. He cums with a loud groan as he pushes into you a few more times, cock pulsing inside of you as he empties himself and then slumps down on top of you, breathing heavily and his heart racing against yours.
“Good boy” you whisper quietly into his hair, bringing your hands up to push through it and Max whimpers into your throat and you feel his cock twitch inside you.
“Stay inside me sweet boy, please, just a little bit. Wanna feel you” you coo and Max nods frantically against your neck. You knew he’d like that. You wrap your legs around his back and gently begin rocking your hips, doing whatever you can to keep him from softening inside you too quickly and soon he’s matching your little thrusts with his own until finally he pushes once more as deep as he can and wraps his arms around you in a tight hug for several long seconds and then he regretfully pulls out and rolls over onto his back, his cock soft and spent between his legs.
“Baby that was incredible” you tell him, snuggling up to his side and leaning down to plant a kiss to his chest.
You were incredible” he corrects and you playfully roll your eyes and swat his chest.
“Fine we’ll call it a draw” you tease before placing another kiss, this time to his shoulder.
“I’ll be right back” Max says, rolling to the edge of the bed and pulling himself up on tired legs with a groan. He wanders into the bathroom and you hear the faucet running for a few seconds before he’s back in the bedroom and sitting down beside you at your waist with a washcloth in his hands.
He brings it down between your legs and cleans you up with the warm towel and you hum your thanks to him, wrapping a hand around his upper arm. Max had to be without a doubt the most attentive lover you’ve ever had and it makes your heart swell as you watch him carefully drag the warm cloth over you and then lean down to plant a single kiss to the middle of your stomach before he rises back up to go dispose of the cloth into the laundry basket. He stops to blow out each of the candles on his way back to you, bathing the room in darkness.
“You’re so sweet to me” you sigh as he crawls into bed beside you, lifting the covers over you both.
“‘Course,” he smirks. “You’re my Angel”
“I’m glad we waited” you hum as you snuggle further into his side. “That was well worth it”
“It was everything Sweetheart, thank you” Max says, leaning his head down to kiss your forehead.
“Not bad for a first date” you giggle and Max laughs, rubbing his hand up and down your back.
You swing one leg over his and try to ignore the tingling in your overused sex as it brushes against his thigh and then drape an arm over his chest so you’re half lying on top of him and he uses the arm that’s underneath you to gently run his fingertips up and down your sides and back, wherever he can reach and his free hand grabs for your leg on his and hikes it a little higher. He smooths his hand up the back of your thigh until he reaches your ass and gently kneads the soft flesh in his hand before releasing and repeating the pattern and you hum into his chest, placing a kiss to it.
You could absolutely fall asleep like this. And within minutes, you do just that.
Taglist @boliv-jenta @suzdin @macabremads @heavennumber2 @prolix-yuy
#maxwell lord#maxwell lord fanfiction#maxwell lord x f!reader#pedro pascal cinematic universe#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro fics#pedro pascal characters
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okay, okay. working doubles all weekend and then taking visiting family back home in the next state over on tuesday. not sure what my bar schedule is but i’ve got my warehouse one for the next two weeks, so here’s the plan! most of my writing is purely self indulgent but still wanted to get this all down in a concrete way. I really am thankful for anyone who takes the time to read or even recently reblog and comment (!) on my little drabbles
tentative writing plan for wips:
the melting point chapter 4 - end of next week
return the favor chapter 14 - end of month
gonna flesh out my din djarin x force sensitive!reader piece for beginning of next month
gonna flesh out javier peña piece for beginning of next month
most of these can be found under my AO3 account with the username penvisions277
#personal#dev talks#writing#writing wip#wip#pedro fics#din djarin x f!reader#din djarin#din djarin x reader#din djarin x you#din djarin x force sensitive! reader#the mandalorian#triple frontier fanfic#triple frotnier fic#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales fanfic#frankie morales x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us fic#the last of us#javier pena x reader#javier pena fanfic#javier peña#narcos#narcos fic
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Teacher's Pet
Joel Miller x virgin f!reader
Summary: 25 years old, anxiety-ridden, and still a virgin, you ask your friend Joel for advice on your upcoming date. But you're more of a...hands-on learner. And he's more than happy to help.
Warnings: PWP, unbalanced power dynamics, virgin!reader, neighbor/bff/more experienced! Joel, age gap, first kiss, virginity loss, fingering, oral (f receiving), frequent check-ins, soo much banter and Joel is a menace also so soft and sweet :')....(ends on a cliffhanger but there will be a part two I swear).
w/c: 7.7k idk what happened
a/n: I am resurfacing for your monthly reminder that I do in fact still write!! Inspiration for this came out of literally nowhere but I took it and RAN with it and I think I like it?? As always, thank you to my baby love @undrthelights for helping me with this and always listening to my rambling and for being my biggest enabler Ilysm
Part Two
my masterlist
"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever."
Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck pound in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed.
"A what?"
"Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head.
"No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?”
"Seriously, Joel. Fuck off" you snap but with no bite or heat behind it. You bring the sweating bottle of beer to your lips and finish the rest of the now lukewarm liquid off in one gulp.
"What? I just find it hard to believe that you've never even had a kiss. Didn't you go to high school? Didn't you ever get invited to a party? Didn't you go to college? College kids do the do like all the time”
"Clearly not all the time" you mutter, a tad bitterly.
Joel raises his hands defensively and takes a sip of his own beer. "Just seems crazy is all. There's gotta be some chick or dude out there willing to take pity on you and pop your cherry."
You audibly gag at his choice of words. "I don't need a pity fuck, thanks." You stand from the couch and head over to the fridge. The bottles of cold alcohol inside are calling your name and you want something that will help soothe your nerves. You're not a big drinker, but when Joel is prying into your love life like he is now, you wish you were.
"Okay,” he starts from the living room. “Maybe I worded that wrong. What I meant to say was, there's gotta be someone out there who would be more than willing to show you a good time."
You groan and let your forehead fall against the fridge door. "That's the whole point! I came here to get advice for my date, someone who might actually be interested in me, and all you've done is make fun of me for not having fucked anyone yet. So thanks, Joel. You're a real pal."
You push away from the fridge and slam the door shut, a second beer in hand.
"Alright, alright, calm down." He says, hands in the air as if you were holding him at gunpoint as you head back to the couch. "Look, if this guy really likes you then he's not gonna care. Probably won't even be able to tell if you are or aren't."
"You think so?" You ask hopefully.
"Well, I mean, unless you're like... super bad."
Your heart drops into your stomach and you glare at him, "Joel."
"Oh come on, I'm kidding. You're not gonna be bad, okay? Just, go into it with an open mind and just relax. If he tries something you're not comfortable with or makes you feel weird, tell him. And if he gets pussy, dump his ass."
"That simple, huh?" You scoff.
"Well, yeah. You're the one who made it complicated by thinking it was a big deal."
"It is a big deal, Joel! I know nothing!
"Nothing? You ain’t ever watched porn? Jesus, I had no idea you were such a prude."
You can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes and slapping the back of your hand against his arm. He yelps and laughs, rubbing his arm.
"I've watched porn before" you retort.
"What kind?" he asks with a wiggle of his brows.
"None of your fucking business" you respond, feeling your face heat up.
Joel's lips quirk into a shit-eating grin and you're quick to smack him again.
"Okay okay, sorry!" he says through his laughter. "So what exactly are you afraid of?"
You're not really sure how to answer. It's a combination of so many things, most of which are irrational fears and insecurities. Sure you've seen it all done before, but you're well aware that none of it is realistic. At least, not completely. And just the fact that you're freshly 25 years old without a single notch in your bedpost makes you dizzy with anxiety. It's not like you're saving yourself or anything, it's just that hook up culture has never agreed with you and there's never been an opportunity that made you feel like it was the right one. That is until now, with your cute coworker who you thought was miles out of your league asking you out on a third date. And now, the prospect of being in bed with him is looming over you like a dark cloud and the last thing you want to do is mess it up.
"I guess, I'm just afraid that he's gonna be disappointed, or I'm gonna weird him out, or I'm gonna do something wrong and embarrass myself.” Joel nods along and listens. "And if it is bad then we still have to work with each other and then what if it's awkward and everyone knows about it and then he hates me and--"
"Okay, whoa slow down there, buddy" Joel says, putting a hand on your shoulder. "One, you're overthinking this. You're literally thinking like, five steps ahead of what's actually going on. It's a date. And even if it does end up in the bedroom, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. No one's forcing you, okay? He can't. No one can."
"I know, but I want to," you reply quietly.
"Alright. Then do."
"I don't know howwww!! " you whine, flopping backwards into the couch.
Joel groans and sits up a little straighter, scrubbing a hand down his face.
"Well, there's no magic trick, I don't have a secret sex manual I'm holding out on ya."
You sigh, shoulders sagging as you look over at him. The idea comes out of nowhere, well, not exactly from nowhere, but it pops in your head so fast that you then have to bite your tongue before the words bubbling up from your throat come tumbling out.
It's not a bad idea, not necessarily.
You've been good friends with Joel ever since you moved in next door last year. An unlikely pairing, a 40 year old contractor and an almost 25 year old office worker. But after offering him a six pack as part of introducing yourself to the neighbors, you'd gotten along famously. He fixes things around your house and you send him home with hot dinners and warm, gooey cookies.
It's an easy friendship, open and honest and supportive, and Joel has never given you reason not to trust him. He's a good guy, if not a little brash, but you know deep down he means well. And it doesn't hurt that he's objectively attractive, with his tall and sturdy frame, strong, calloused hands, dark messy curls....It's not a bad idea.
It's an absolutely insane idea.
You continue to stare at him, clenching your teeth together to hold back the question sitting on the tip of your tongue.
"What?" he says, looking back at you.
"Nothing" you mutter, eyes flicking away.
"You've got that face you make when you're about to say something really stupid, so just get it out."
You glare at him again, not enjoying the way he can read you so well.
"I wasn't gonna say anything."
"Well now you're lying."
"I'm not."
"You're doing it again!"
"Doing what?!"
"That face!"
"I'm not making a face!"
"Yes you are! Just spit it out!"
You groan and hide your face in your hands. You blame it on the one beer even though you know you’re not anywhere close to being drunk because how else would you justify what you’re about to say? You wait a moment, thinking about the weight of it but your mouth opens before you can stop yourself.
"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever."
Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck and hear it in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed.
"A what?"
"Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head.
"No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?”
His eyes are wide, and he looks incredulous. You can't blame him, because the more time that passes between your suggestion and now, the more ridiculous the idea seems.
"I’m sorry, that was…It was stupid. Pretend I didn't say anything. Let's just watch a movie." You move to grab the remote, but Joel's hand covers yours, stopping you.
"Is that what you want?"
You look at him, searching his expression for any sign of disgust or apprehension. But all you can see is the same Joel you've known for months, patient, warm, and understanding.
"I know. I know it's stupid. But I can't get this date out of my head, Joel. It's all I can think about and the more I do, the more worried I get and I just don't want to fuck it up. And I know we're friends and this is weird and gross, but I just thought that... maybe, I could have some practice, so to speak."
He doesn't say anything. Just keeps looking at you, the panic rising in your chest the longer the silence stretches. You start to fidget, wringing your hands together in your lap.
"I'm sorry, that was way out of line" you say, moving to stand up, your skin sweaty and hot with embarrassment and your feet ready to run out the door and never come back.
But Joel catches your wrist, gently pulling you back down to sit next to him.
"Joel" you whine, not wanting him to humiliate you any further.
"It's okay, come here."
His voice is softer than before, and his eyes are kind. You let him pull you closer, the two of you sitting knee to knee. You can't bring yourself to look him in the eyes, not with your cheeks and the tips of your ears burning like they are, but Joel doesn't push. He simply moves his hand from your wrist, sliding it into yours. His palms are rough and warm, and the simple touch alone is comforting.
"You really wanna do this?” he asks softly. You can feel his eyes boring into you. “I mean, I'm not exactly a prize winning catch. And it's not like there's a shortage of willing men out there."
You shrug and chew the inside of your lip.
"Yeah, but you're my friend and I...I trust you."
There's another pause, and you wish that you could just disappear into the couch and erase this moment from your memory.
"How drunk are you?" he asks, glancing at the beer bottle on the coffee table.
"You saw me finish one bottle. And half of another. I’m barely tipsy."
"Not drunk?”
"Nope."
"You're gonna remember this tomorrow."
"Uh huh."
"And you still want to?"
You groan for the millionth time and squeeze his hand.
"Yes I want to! Look, if you don't want to then that's fine. It was just a dumb suggestion and we can just forget this ever happened."
He hums, considering your words. His hand slips out of yours, and you think that's it, you've scared him off and washed the friendship down the drain. That you'll have to hide from him from now on, that you'll have to pack your things up and move because the mortification would be too much, and that he'll hate you, and—
His two fingers sliding under chin surprise you, and he tilts your head up. He's looking down at you with that same even expression, eyes big, soft, and warm as he slides his hand over to cup your jaw in his palm.
"If you want to stop at any point, just say so, okay? I won't be upset and we can go back to the way things were before. Got it?"
You nod, your throat suddenly too tight to speak. His thumb sweeps over your cheekbone, the tender touch is enough to make your heart skip a beat. There’s no way this is actually happening. That your first kiss is going to be with your 40 year old menace of a neighbor. That you’re going to, how did you put it, get a sex lesson from him. His gaze flicks down to your lips and back up to your eyes and you’re positive you’re no longer able to breathe.
"Can I kiss you?" he asks softly. You nod.
You're sure he can hear the thumping of your heart in his own ears as he leans down. His other hand comes to rest on your hip and when his lips touch yours, a soft, tentative pressure, you're not prepared for the electricity that shoots through you.
He's barely done anything and already you feel like you're floating. Your own hands reach out to clutch his shirt, keeping him close, afraid he'll pull away and leave you cold and wanting if you don't. But he stays put, pressing himself against you, his lips working gently against yours. You follow his lead, kissing him back while trying not to overthink it.
It's nothing like the kisses in the movies or the books, where fireworks explode behind your eyelids or where your foot pops up in the air. It's far more subdued, more quiet and subtle. But the warmth that pools low in your belly and the goosebumps that erupt on your skin when his tongue slides against the seam of your lips, light and quick, makes you absolutely melt.
He pulls back before you can really react, and you're left with a dizzying rush of both blistering desire and excruciating anxiety. You want to pull him back in and never let him go. But your heart is beating so fast you can hardly breathe, your nerves are buzzing, and the urge to run and hide is nearly paralyzing.
"Was it bad?" you ask tentatively, cheeks heated.
"No" he replies, giving your hip a squeeze as a smirk plays on his lips. "It was fucking awful. Worst kiss of my life"
"Shut up!" you hiss, pushing him away with a hand on his chest. He laughs, the sound easing some of the tension in your body.
"I'm just teasing" he says, voice dropping lower. "C'mere, we can work on it."
His lips find yours again, and you try not to smile into the kiss but it's hard when you can feel the way his lips are quirked up as well. It doesn’t take much else to get you to relax and let yourself fall into the moment, into the gentle press of his mouth and the warm hands on your hip and your cheek. He swipes his tongue against your lips again, his fingers pressing lightly into the hinge of your jaw to tilt your head back and coax your lips apart.
You let him, sighing as his tongue glides across yours, hot and smooth and sweet. Your hands slide up his chest, finding purchase around his shoulders, and when you move forward, pushing yourself against him, he grunts softly but lets you. He kisses you until the both of you are gasping for air, and when he pulls back, his lips are wet and red and you're certain yours must be as well.
"Better?" you ask, a bit breathless.
"Getting there" he answers with, his breath warm where it fans across your cheek.
"You're such a liar" you say with a goofy smile.
"Yeah, I know. Now try again, practice makes perfect.”
You roll your eyes but lean back in nonetheless. It's a bit more heated this time, the feeling of his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip making you squirm. His hand rounds over your hip, palm smoothing to the small of your back to pull you closer, the heat of his body radiating through your clothes and warming your skin. Your hands move on their own accord, no thought behind the action as they slide up to his shoulders and then his neck, your fingers finding home in the curls at the base of his skull. When you give them a slight tug, you're rewarded with a muffled grunt from Joel. Emboldened, you pull back, lips swollen and tingling.
"You’re a good kisser,” you pant. "Is that something people usually say?"
"When it’s true" he says, grinning at you. "And since I know you're gonna ask, I'd say that was a C+, maybe a B-."
You scoff but blush furiously at the smile he flashes, his eyes crinkling in the corners.
"Well then, tell me what to do next. What do I need to know?"
Joel hums as he thinks for a moment.
"What do you want to do?"
You stare at him for a second, blinking.
"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you" you say, shaking your head a bit.
"Well, how far do you want to take this?"
You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy. You can’t deny that when the idea popped in your head it was accompanied by the mental image of you naked, spread out on his bed, but the actual act of asking him, or better yet, actually doing it is... intimidating to say the least. Are you really about to let him go all the way, to see you bare and vulnerable, let him pop your cherry as he would disgustingly put it? All just to “prepare” for a date with a guy who might not even like you that way?
Yeah, probably.
"All the way" you answer. “I want to go all the way”
He doesn’t pounce on you like you expected, doesn’t press his lips against yours in a frenzied kiss that you had half hoped for. Instead, he simply looks at you, his brown eyes boring into yours, searching.
"Are you sure? You can always say no and you're not gonna lose me as a friend if this isn’t what you actually want. I don’t want you thinking that."
You can't help the laugh that bubbles up and slips out, because of course Joel, your kind, thoughtful Joel, would say that. He's a good man. A great one, even.
"Yes, I'm sure. But if you don't, I get it, I can just leave and-"
Joel laughs, the sound traveling up from deep in his chest, the rumble vibrating against you.
"Sweetheart, I wouldn't be doin’ this if I didn't want to. Just makin’ sure this is what you really want."
"I want it.”
He squeezes your hip and swipes a thumb over your cheekbone once again.
“Alright then.” He nods, firm and resolute, and then looks around the room. “ We’re not doing it here, though. If you're getting the full Joel Miller experience, we're gonna do it right.”
Your eyes roll reflexively, but your heart picks up its pace regardless.
"I’m not gonna do anything if you call it that ever again."
"Fine, fine,” he relents. “Let me show you what a good, thorough fucking feels like. Better?"
Your jaw drops, and he's laughing at you, his body shaking with amusement.
"Fuck you" you grumble, shoving him away while trying to hide your coy smile.
"Yeah, that's what I'm hoping for," he says with a wide, self-assured grin.
"I'm leaving" you declare with a false sense of offense as you rise to your feet. Joel is quick to do the same and before you can take a single step away, he slips a finger through the belt loop of your jeans and tugs you back into him, wrapping an arm around your waist.
"I’ll stop, I’ll stop. I'm sorry" he says, not sounding it one bit.
You huff, but let him pull you closer until you’re pressed against his chest and you have to tilt your head back to look at him.
"I’ll be good. I promise."
"Liar"
"Well, yeah. But I can promise that I'll make you feel good."
You can't help the giggle that spills out and he kisses it away, his lips warm and plush and sweet against yours. The hand not resting on your lower back comes up, curling around the nape of your neck and keeping you close. You sink into him, and the fog creeps in again, dulling the rest of the world, making it seem fuzzy and distant, like the memory of a dream. All you can focus on is him, the warm solid weight of him against you, the strong arms holding you, the way his mouth moves against yours. And then he’s pulling back all too soon and you have to stifle a whine.
"Come on" he says, tugging at your hand.
His bedroom is dim, the little lamp on his nightstand and the faint glow of the moon through the curtains providing the only light. You swallow and take a deep breath as you step inside, your bare toes digging into the plush carpet, his hand warm and large where it grips yours.
He holds onto you as he sits on the edge of the bed. You step forward, letting him pull you between his knees. His hands settle on your hips, and you can feel their heat through the fabric of your shirt.
He doesn’t ask if you're sure again and you’re grateful because you’re not sure if you could form any kind of response right now. Instead, he slides his hands up and under your shirt, fingers dancing across your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. Your breath hitches as his hands smooth over your ribs and around to your back, the tips of his fingers mapping out the curve of your spine, skimming over each notch and bump. They climb higher, the fabric of your shirt bunching around his wrists.
“Can I take this off, baby?”
Your heart jumps to your throat but you nod anyway. He grabs the hem and tugs your shirt up and and you lift your arms so he can slip it off over your head. He tosses it aside, the fabric falling to the floor beside the bed. You’re left exposed, vulnerable and bare, save for the worn out bra you wear, a few too many washes and a few years past its prime.
Your hands itch where they hang by your side with the instinct to cover yourself, hide the imperfections that you know so well, the stretch marks, the softness of your stomach, the way the cups of your bra are just a bit too small and spill over the tops.
But then he’s pressing his lips to the space just above your navel, his scruff tickling your skin and making the muscles in your abdomen jump and twitch. His hands find your waist again, and when his lips continue their path upwards, his palms follow, skimming up your sides, thumbs tracing the outline of your ribs before stopping at the band of your bra.
"This too?" he asks, voice quiet and husky.
"Yeah" you answer with a squeak, and he grins like a kid in a candy store.
His fingers undo the clasp deftness that makes your knees go weak, the straps slipping from your shoulders and the whole thing sliding down your arms, landing somewhere near your shirt.
"God, baby, look at you" he murmurs, his hands cupping the underside of your breasts, his thumbs sweeping over the tops and then down the slope and around your nipple. Your breath hitches, the gentle touch sending a shiver up your spine. "You're fucking perfect."
The praise is unexpected and it sends a jolt of heat through your core. You whimper quietly and his hands are on you again, the calloused palms rough on the soft skin of your breasts. He kneads the flesh, squeezing gently before rolling your nipples between his fingers, pulling and pinching and teasing.
He pulls you closer and ducks his head, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes dark and hooded, and his pupils blown wide with desire.
"Can I?" he asks.
"Please."
He leans in and wraps his lips around a peaked nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, the gentle heat of his mouth on your skin making your knees weak.
His mouth works on one breast, tongue flicking and teasing while his free hand continues its work on the other. Pleasure builds and coils deep inside, the sensation unfamiliar but certainly not unwelcome. You whimper and he pulls away, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before giving it a sweet parting kiss.
He turns his attention to the other, his teeth grazing over the stiff peak and drawing a whine from your lips. He sighs when your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling at the strands until he groans softly against you. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, the flat of his tongue pressing against it and dragging up and around, swirling and flicking. You’re already breathless, panting, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead.
"Feels good, Joel," you whisper shyly.
"I know, honey" he says, a soft smile pulling at his lips when he pulls away. "Feel good anywhere else?"
He doesn't wait for a response, simply slips a hand between your thighs, cupping you through the denim, the simple action making you squeak.
"Here, huh?" he says, the heel of his palm pressing against you.
You gasp softly and nod, biting your lip, too shy to say anything.
"Get on the bed, baby."
You comply, crawling onto the mattress and scooting backwards towards the pillows, sitting at the head of the bed as you watch him. His eyes never leave you as he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. Your heart thumps as you stare at his bare chest, his tanned skin dotted with a light dusting of salt and pepper hair. He's broad, his shoulders thick and chest solid. Your fingers burn with the urge to reach out and touch him, so you do, extending a tentative, slightly shaky hand.
He watches you closely, eyes flitting down to the palm pressed against his chest before meeting yours again, his mouth curling into a smile.
"You can touch" he says, reaching down to curl a hand around your wrist and bringing it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the center of your palm before guiding your hand back down to his chest. "I think most people would enjoy that."
"You're having entirely too much fun with this,” you mumble while your fingers spread out across his pec.
"It is fun" he counters, his own hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, thumb pressing against the seam of your jeans and rubbing up and down. "But it'll be more fun once these come off"
Your lips part, a puff of air rushing out.
"You gonna take them off?" you ask, the words slipping out, bold and unbidden.
He grins, his brow quirking up.
"Look at you, being all bossy"
"You like it" you say, finally feeling some of the anxiety slipping away, the familiar and comfortable banter between the two of you slipping into place in a new, unfamiliar situation.
His smile takes up nearly his whole face as moves closer.
“I sure do.”
He looms over you, bracing himself on an elbow next to your head before ducking down to kiss you, his tongue easily slipping into your mouth, warm and insistent. You sigh into it, your hands finding the warm, bare skin of his back, muscles gliding beneath your palms as you slide them up and around, fingertips digging into his shoulders. He's so warm and solid and you can't help the little noise that slips out, a soft, needy moan. You're about to break the kiss and beg him to touch you, give you something, anything, but he pulls back before you can.
"Impatient. I like that too" he says, voice barely above a whisper.
He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin. He continues his path, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbones and down the valley between your breasts, his beard tickling your sternum.
His palm presses into the top of your thigh, and you instinctively open your legs for him, his hand immediately moving to cup you through the denim, thick fingers pressing against the seam and the bundle of nerves just below. Your hips rock up, seeking more pressure and he grins, entirely too pleased with himself right now.
You huff, and he laughs, the sound rumbling in his chest, but he relents, undoing the button and zipper of your jeans and tugging the fabric down, revealing the pair of pink panties underneath.
Joel sits up, pulling your jeans down your legs and letting them drop off the side of the bed, the sound of the denim hitting the floor indicating that you've officially crossed a line that neither of you can come back from. But if the hungry, desperate look on his face and the way you're practically vibrating underneath him are any indication, neither of you want to.
"I'll start with just my fingers, yeah?" he says, his hands running up the insides of your thighs, touch light and teasing, the tips of his fingers brushing the edge of your panties. You nod dumbly, at a complete loss for words right now.
He ducks his head, his lips landing on the smooth skin stretched over your hip bone. You squirm, ticklish, and he grins. His mouth is a great distraction from his hand, which has found its way back in between your legs, his fingers now pressing against damp fabric.
"Shit" he curses, his touch firm. "Fuckin' soaked already. Am I just that good?" he quips with a smirk.
"Jesus do you ever shut up" you gripe, but the effect is ruined by the whimper that escapes you when his thumb sweeps up, pressing hard against your clit.
"Oh, that's a pretty sound" he murmurs, repeating the motion to pull out another one, your hips bucking against his hand.
"Now," he starts, his tone shifting to the same one he uses when he's about to impart some life lesson. "This guy you're gonna see, or any man for that matter, should always take care of you before himself. That's just common fuckin' sense. And if he doesn't, you send him on his way" he continues. "Because a man that don't wanna see a woman get off is no fuckin' man at all"
You're about to interrupt, tell him he's an idiot and ask him to please, please, get on with it, but his fingers sliding under the elastic of your panties, swiftly pulling them down your legs steals the breath from your lungs. Your pulse sky rockets and you shift underneath him, crossing your thighs in instinctual effort to hide yourself from him.
"M'sorry I didn't shave or anything" you blurt out, your throat tight with anxiety and embarrassment once again
Joel just shakes his head as he pries your legs apart.
"Baby, I could not give less of a shit about that."
"But-"
"No" he says, the word firm, an edge of command to his tone. "You’re not apologizin’ for that. And if a man gives a shit, he's a fuckin' child who doesn't deserve the honor of bein' between these thighs" he says, pushing your knees further apart.
You nod and bite your lip, the words that are just so very Joel, settling in your chest and easing the tension in your body. You let out a long, slow breath and relax, trying to ease the nervousness.
"There ya go" he says, his fingers dancing along your slit, gathering the slick pooling there. You shudder at the gentle touch, your hips rolling up just a bit before you force them back down into the mattress, trying to keep yourself still.
"Nuh-uh. None of that" he says, immediately noticing the movement. He slides his free hand under you, his palm pushing into the small of your back and encouraging you to move again, to lean into your pleasure. "You take what you want, baby. Show me how good it feels. That's all I wanna see."
You squirm and whimper, the simple, almost lazy touch driving you insane. You've touched yourself before, brought yourself over the edge while imagining what it would be like to have the things you read about and watch in videos happen to you. But you've never managed to make yourself feel this good, never felt pleasure so intense, never felt a burning pressure in your abdomen so demanding that it radiates all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.
And he's barely touched you.
"How's that feel?"
You can't even form the words, so you just nod and hum, the sound a mix of a whimper and a moan, your hips rolling up against his palm. He chuckles, and then the pressure increases, the friction building, his fingers slipping down, collecting more of your wetness to ease the drag against your skin.
He moves his fingers down, down, down, the tip of one circling your entrance, gathering the wetness pooling there. You whine loudly, any shame and modesty you once had replaced entirely with desperate need and pure desire.
"Please, Joel" you whisper, voice shaky.
"I gotcha" he says, dipping his fingertip in, just barely, and pulling a moan from deep in your chest. "Gonna give you what you need"
You groan, a long, low sound as he slowly sinks his finger into you. It's nothing like your own, so perfectly thick and long/ And you found the spot before, the spot that he curls his finger up into, but never at this angle, never with the perfect amount of pressure that he's applying right now.
"Mmm, look at that" he coos as you clench tightly around his finger.
"Joel, god, feels so good" you whimper pathetically.
"I know, honey, I know."
You clench again, the cockiness and self-assured attitude that usually gets under your skin now ignites your whole body in an entirely different way. He keeps his eyes on your face, watching as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drops open, your head tipping back as the pleasure builds.
"Another" you beg, the fullness not nearly enough.
"Greedy girl" he chides, but he pulls his finger out, and slides two back in. You swear that you could come from this alone, but he doesn't let you, the hand that was supporting your lower back disappearing, only to reappear between your thighs, his thumb circling your clit with firm, steady strokes.
White hot pleasure wraps around the base of your spine, the dual sensations of his fingers and his thumb sending you spiraling. The sounds falling from your lips are unrecognizable, high and desperate as your mind goes blissfully blank, your entire focus on the heat coiling in your abdomen. Your eyebrows pinch together and you bury your face in the pillow next to your head, trying to hide the ridiculous expression you're surely making, but you inhale the traces of his shampoo and cologne that cling to the fabric, the scent pushing you even closer to the edge.
You try to hold back. Surely you're not supposed to come this quickly, not just from two fingers and a thumb. Surely that's a sign that you're an easy lay, or too inexperienced, or-
"Just let it happen, baby. I can feel it, Just let go" Joel says, his voice cutting through the thoughts racing through your mind, his fingers crooking inside you and dragging across the spot that makes your hips stutter and a cry fall from your lips.
You can't hold back any longer, the pleasure cresting and crashing down around you. You squeeze his fingers, your back arching, the heels of your feet digging into the mattress as you roll your hips up into his touch, seeking more and more and more. And he gives and gives and gives, working you through it and drawing it out for as long as he can before you melt into the mattress, bones and muscles liquid and warm and satisfied.
He pulls his fingers out, and the sudden emptiness draws a disappointed whine from you, his answering chuckle making you smile.
"That was- fuck" you sigh, not quite capable of coherent thought.
"Absolutely mind-blowing? Yeah I know" he teases. You roll your eyes but don't say anything because it's true, and his cocky grin fades into a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches you return to Earth.
"Can I- can I return the favor?" you ask, your gaze flicking down to the noticeable bulge in his jeans.
He grunts and shakes his head.
"Not yet. Got somethin' else in mind."
You frown and push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as he shifts from his position. You're about to ask what he's going to do until he's settling himself on his stomach between your thighs. You suck in a sharp breath as you realize exactly what he's got planned and your heart jumps, anxiety clouding your mind once again.
He rests his cheek on your thigh, his eyes meeting yours.
"Alright?"
You swallow and nod, licking your lips.
"Yeah. Just... no one's ever-"
"Yeah, I got that much, that's why we're here" he says, smiling smugly when you glare at him.
"But what if it's not good? Or I don't taste good? Or-"
"Stop" he says, the single word halting your runaway train of thought. "You need lessons in relaxing, not sex. You're so fucking tense all the time"
"Sorry" you say, immediately cringing.
He sighs, his breath ghosting over the skin of your inner thigh, making you shiver. "What did I say about apologizin'?" he says, his tone slightly sharp.
"I know. Sorry- shit, sorry! Fuck!"
He barks out a laugh and you huff, bringing up both hands to scrub over your face.
"See what I mean?"
"Yes, yes, you're very smart and know everything"
He hums and nips at your thigh.
"Damn right I do."
You want to snark back, but his mouth is moving, his lips trailing down the inside of your thigh and towards where you're aching for him, slick and wet and throbbing. He takes his time, laying kisses on your thighs, hips, and stomach, his scruff scraping the sensitive skin, huffing out a laugh when you start to squirm, your patience wearing thin.
His hands smooth over the soft flesh of your inner thighs, urging you to spread them wider before spreading you open with his thumbs, exposing you completely. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and the urge to close your legs and hide yourself from his gaze is overwhelming, the embarrassment making your skin burn. But before you can even think about closing them, his tongue is on you, sliding up the length of you and circling your clit. The moan that escapes you is embarrassingly loud and high pitched, but the mortification is easily swallowed up by the pleasure.
He hums against you, the sound and the feeling sending a shudder through your body. Your hands grip the pillow behind your head and you try not to buck up into his mouth, but your attempts are futile. He doesn't seem to mind though, in fact you think it spurs him on, his tongue flattening against you and lapping at you messily, the wetness he's coaxed from you smearing across his mouth and chin.
The sound is lewd and obscene, the sloppy, slick noises and the soft grunts and groans that rumble in his chest as he works you up. He pulls back, his breath coming out in pants, his chest heaving as he looks up at you, his eyes dark and hooded.
"Don't know what you were worried about" he says, his voice low and raspy. "You taste fuckin' divine"
His beard is shiny and damp, his lips glistening, hair messy from where your fingers were tangled in it. The sight of him looking so completely disheveled and filthy has you clenching around nothing, the ache almost too much to bear.
He doesn't say anything else, just ducks his head and gets back to work, his mouth moving with a renewed urgency, his hands gripping your thighs and pushing them further apart, allowing him better access.
Your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open, a constant stream of moans and whines and babbling pleas and praises falling from your lips, but you're not really sure what you're saying, not really sure of anything except the intoxicating pleasure coursing through your veins.
You hear him moan, can feel the vibration against your skin, and you glance down at him, and that's a mistake. The sight of him, his eyes closed and brows drawn together in concentration, his cheeks hollowed out as he sucks and nips and laps at you and– is he fucking grinding his hips into the mattress?
You're fucked.
A throaty moan tumbles past your lips as your hips start to rock, a rhythm forming as you chase your orgasm. His hands leave your thighs and he slides one arm up, the weight of it resting against your abdomen to keep you still while his other hand snakes down, fingers dipping inside again, finding the spot that makes you see stars.
"Fuck, Joel, please, oh my god, I'm so- please"
He groans in response, the hand on your stomach pressing down harder to meet the two fingers curling and stroking inside of you. You cry out at the increased pressure right as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud, his fingers moving faster and faster. Flames lick up your spine and spread throughout your body, threatening to burn you alive.
Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, knocking the wind out of you and turning your limbs to jello. Wave after wave of blinding euphoria crashes over you and all you can do is cling to the pillow and arch your back, your toes curling as he continues to work his fingers and tongue, happily letting you ride his face and grind into his mouth.
He doesn't let up, not until you're a whimpering, trembling mess, physically pushing his head away when it becomes too much. He pulls back reluctantly, a wicked grin plastered to his face, his chin and mouth absolutely soaked. You're panting, struggling to catch your breath as the aftershocks make you shiver despite the content warmth spreading throughout your entire body.You feel sated and sleepy, a bone deep satisfaction making you feel boneless.
But as you come down from your high, rational thoughts start to filter in and you suddenly remember the reason this all started in the first place.
You're here to learn, he should be teaching you how to please a man.
How to please him.
You watch as he gets off the bed and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. Your eyes shamelessly rake over him, the dusty pink flush that decorates his neck and chest, the curve of his belly down to the impressive bulge in his jeans.
You push yourself up, ignoring the way your arms tremble with the effort. He looks at you, his eyes scanning your face no doubt looking for signs of distress.
"You ok?" he asks, eyebrows pinched together in his typical concerned Joel fashion.
"Yeah" you say, a little breathlessly. "But I still want to..."
Your voice trails off and you glance down at his crotch, hoping he gets the message.
"That's alright, baby. It's a lot, we don't-"
"No" you interrupt, a hint of desperation in your voice. "You said you would teach me. Please, Joel. I-I wanna learn" You hope it's a good enough cover to the fact that you really just want him, your original goal forgotten. "I just don't want to embarrass myself" you add, pouting slightly for good measure, praying to god that he can’t detect the underlying want for him and him only.
He watches you for a moment, seemingly contemplating his decision. And then his eyes narrow, because of course he knows. There's never been an instance where you succeeded in lying to this man. He always, always knows when something is off.
"Alright" he says, a slow smile spreading across his face, something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. "Dick sucking class is now in session"
You groan, your face twisting with visible disgust.
"Oh my god, that was terrible."
"What? It's true" he says with a shrug.
"That is- no, no way. Never say those words ever again. Ever." you say, pointing a finger at him accusingly.
"Or what?" he challenges, taking a step towards the bed.
You gulp and lick your lips.
"Or..."
He waits expectantly for a response. You have none, so you just shake your head and look away.
"Yeah, that's what I thought"
You glare at him and then sigh.
"You're a bully"
"Am I?” He asks, taking a step back to give you more room. “ 'Cause you're the one that asked me to teach ya. On your knees, kid. Let's see whatcha got."
You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress a grin. You don't know how he does it, but his ability to make a joke or a quip out of anything always has a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, even when the jokes are awful and the puns are terrible. Even when the joke is about you getting ready to suck his dick.
"You're a bully and a pervert" you say, sliding off the bed and sliding to your knees, the plush carpet doing a decent job at protecting your joints.
"And proud of it.”
"Pride is a sin."
"So is premarital sex, so I'll see you in hell, honey"
You snort and look up at him from your place on the floor, grinning widely.
"You're ridiculous"
"You love it"
And that's the thing, isn't it?
Because you do. You love his innate ability to make you laugh, to make you smile even when he's about to take your fucking virginity. He knows how to comfort you, how to put you at ease, when to push you with his teasing and when to pull back and let you take control. You've never met a person who has so effortlessly made their way into your heart.
And here you are, on your knees for him under the false pretense of practicing for a man who's name you can't even remember right now.
You shake your head, the motion clearing the thoughts and the emotions that were swirling in your head, the ones that make you want to stand up and kiss him, kiss him until your lips are numb and you're left gasping for air.
"Joel?" you say his name softly.
"Yeah, baby?"
"Teach me."
Part 2 is already in the works I promise hehehe thank you for reading I hope u all enjoy!!
#joel miller smut#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x you#joel miller one shot#joel miller fic#the last of us#tlou fic#joel miller#pedro pascal characters
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Swelter
A/N: This happened because the SAG Awards made me horny. I have no other explanation for my behavior, no other defence. Maybe that I was listening to ur dad by VIAL. Obviously also a huge thanks to @strang3lov3 for being the cutest love bug I know, and for putting up with my brainstorming sessions.
Summary: You have a crush on Sarah’s father. It is summer, it is hot, and you just want a cold drink.
Pairing: Joel Miller x reader (no y/n)
Tags: +18 smut, best friend’s dad, significant age gap (reader is 19-22, Joel is in his mid-40s), SEXUAL TENSION, bee stings, groping, voyeur to some degree, f masturbation, dirty talk, an endless amount of pet names, sexy play with a soda can, praise kink, car sex, daddy kink, fingering, unprotected piv sex, joel’s cock is huge in this, creampie, premature ejaculation, pussy eating, come eating, squirting
Word count: 6.8k
Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54233479
Swelter
A warm Texas breeze blows through the open window of Sarah’s childhood room, making the see-through pink curtains move elegantly from side to side. It hits your back right underneath your halter neck as you lay on Sarah’s bed, caressing your bare skin and making you think of him. You wonder if his hands would have the same effect on you because you find yourself shivering but not from feeling cold. He is somewhere here, and his daughter doesn’t even know that her best friend obsesses about that fact.
Sarah hasn’t changed her room since she was a teenager. She told you this the first time she brought you here, which is almost a year ago today. You were here last summer too, thrilled to be invited to spend a few weeks of your summer with a friend from college and you and her have been inseparable ever since, even if you are so different from each other.
You have your face in a woman’s magazine, propped up on your elbows so you can suck on a popsicle stick whilst turning the pages. There’s a page with the recipe for ‘The Best Fudgy Chocolate Cake Ever!’ next to a page on how to lose weight, and it makes you snort.
“What?” Sarah turns on her chair, pausing the video on her computer.
“What kinda woman are you? You can choose one, but only one. Don’t get greedy now!” You make a scratchy voice but then pop your ice pop in your mouth to hold up the magazine for her to see.
“Seriously? We can’t win,” she groans dramatically, “Chocolate cake always. I just want to be happy, and that looks like a serotonin boost.”
Suddenly, the door opens without any warning. It’s him. Mr. Miller. You quickly remove the popsicle from your mouth, not about to show him how your lips are stretched around the sugary snack. The open door causes a draft to blow the smell of his cologne your way, and it is intoxicating beyond your imagination because you relish in it in secret.
“Dad,” Sarah says with exasperation, “I thought being an adult earned you the privilege of more privacy.”
“It’s gettin’ colder outside now,” he states and ignores her comment, hand resting on the doorknob, “The Adlers need Mercy to be walked, and the pavement’s coolin’ down.”
“I walked him when I was fourteen,” she furrows her brow and you suppress a snicker, “I’m twenty.”
“Just ‘cause you’re grown, don’t mean you can’t do right by ‘em,” he states matter-of-factly.
“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you say from your spot on the bed as Sarah fumes quietly, absentmindedly reaching to pull the short skirt of your dress down. He can probably see the start of your ass from how it has been riding up as you lay down on the sheets.
“Hiya darlin’,” he replies and you swear you can hear a restrained sound in his voice. He turns to Sarah again, “Get your butt off that chair.”
“Fine,” she follows through on her orders but still wants to argue, probably embarrassed at being ordered around by her father in front of her friend. She gestures to you, “And what about my guest?”
“She’s grown too, which means she can probably entertain herself the half hour you’ll be gone,” he dares wink at you, and blood courses through your veins.
“I’ll just get that assignment done while you’re out,” you reassure and try not to seem like your core is shaking.
“See?” Joel looks triumphant.
“You’d make a hell of a lawyer,” she deadpans at her father and walks past him.
When he closes the door and leaves you alone in the bedroom, you can feel your popsicle having melted, its syrupy water running down your fingers. You switch hands and suck the sticky fingers into your mouth. The action makes Mr. Miller’s image flash in your mind and you press your thighs together before getting up and finding your laptop.
You find that it’s near impossible to concentrate on proofreading your assignment in the tiny bedroom after just five minutes of being alone. It’s not that you can’t concentrate in the Summer heat but no matter what you do, your mind keeps circling back to Joel’s voice as he called you darling. It heats you more than the sun ever could, and with every tap on your keyboard, your mouth gets more and more dry.
Eventually, you push yourself to stand from your seat at the desk and make a decision to go fetch something to drink, and it is definitely not with the intention of accidentally bumping into Sarah’s father. Not even when you do not find Joel in the kitchen and decide to bypass it altogether to continue into the garage in hopes of being successful in your search for a drink (obviously).
This infatuation started last year. It took you about ten seconds - from walking into the kitchen and shaking Joel’s hand - to realize that Sarah was cursed with having him as a father. Firstly, he was outrageously handsome; always wearing washed-out t-shirts that clung to his shoulders, always smiling with teeth, sporting salt-and-pepper curls, and sometimes even shocking you by entering the kitchen with working gloves on. However, when he opened his mouth and spoke, a southern drawl dripped from his lips and made your whole body tense up. He was charming, respectful, and laughed at the right moments. Most importantly, he laughed at every damn attempt that you made at being funny, and while it was probably an attempt to be nice and make you feel at home, it spurred you on terribly to win him over at every opportunity.
Despite all that, those opportunities weren’t many. He was also cool enough to know that his daughter didn’t want him hanging around all the time, and so he spent many days either in the garden to mow the lawn in competition with the rest of the fathers down the street, in the garage to fix up some old truck, or with his brother, Tommy, and Tommy’s wife who always had some DIY-project going on.
Thus, the summer became one of tanning sessions in the garden, movies in Sarah’s room, stolen glances at Joel Miller whenever he came inside to quench his thirst after hard labor, and secret longing whenever he had kept away for too long.
One particular day last year, Sarah had failed to mention that her father would be home most of the last days you were in their house, and because he was always out, you were getting more and more comfortable with walking around in your towels post-showers or leaving the door unlocked when changing.
The particular event had happened in the morning when the house had been silent except for the kitchen where Sarah was preparing breakfast, using a large box of pancake mix and the whole fruit section of the local grocery store for topping. You had just showered, standing with your head in your suitcase to search for the last few pieces of clothing you had that were clean when there was a rap on the door and a pull of the handle not even a second later.
“Sarah, I need—“
You whipped around at the sound of a new voice entering the room. Your heart nearly burst out of your chest, feeling as though it was fighting its way out between your ribs as embarrassment began to flood your system. Even so, you stood too frozen to reach for something to cover yourself up.
Joel was in the doorway and dead silent, looking as if struck by lightning. Like earlier today, his hand had been resting on the doorknob and in the painfully short moment that the both of you were processing the situation, you saw that his grip tightened enough to whiten his knuckles.
And then it happened, the thing that had soaked you in forbidden desire and delicious excitement; his gaze had flickered down your body and taken you in for the briefest of seconds. His gaze had traveled from the hard peaks of your nipples to the shape of your hips and the softness of your young cunt.
“Fuck,” you heard him utter as he remembered himself and his self-awareness made you finally grab the top you were going to be wearing that day to cover up your quivering body. He slammed the door shut and spoke through it, “Christ, ’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
“It’s okay, Mr. Miller,” you promised but he was already gone. You immediately locked the door afterward to come so hard with two fingers on your clit that you had to hold onto the chair by the desk.
God, you want him to look at you like that again, want to tell him it is all for him. Now, as wrong as you know it is, you find yourself searching for an excuse to get him to ogle you and the chances are higher if he actually spends time with you.
“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you announce yourself as you enter the garage through the door in the kitchen. Joel has his head inside the hood of his truck, leaning over to inspect something that you wouldn’t understand anything about anyway. He grips the front side of the engine room to push himself to stand, closes the top of the hood of his truck, and turns around to face you.
“Hey kiddo,” he returns with a smile, “How many times do I gotta say to ya that it’s just Joel?”
“Alright, Mr. Miller,” you tease, “—I mean, Just Joel.”
You hear him laugh softly but you don’t dare look at him, afraid that you’ll spontaneously combust. He goes to the utility sink to wash his hands, saying nothing more and making you feel insane for coming apart in the silence.
“I’m just getting something to drink,” you explain when it becomes too much, “Sarah’s room is boiling hot.”
“That’s fine, take what you’d like,” he replies, and there’s a kind teasing in his voice. “But don’t touch the orange sodas. Those are mine.”
The concrete floor of the garage is cold on your bare feet as you pad across the floor where an old bottom-freezer refrigerator stands in the corner, humming in the otherwise quiet room. It has seen better days, and it seems like Sarah has tried to cheer up its weathered appearance by covering it in stickers and ugly magnets.
“Now I have to get one of those,” you giggle and pull the door open, scanning the contents and noticing that the sodas are on the bottom shelf. You hesitate for just a second, and then you choose to bend over instead of crouching down. Behind you, Joel Miller is completely silent.
In the beginning, it hadn’t been your intention to let the crush fester in your brain and turn it into something more but last week, during dinner out on the terrace, you had accidentally sat down on a bee and gotten stung on the back of your thigh. The cry you had let out had nearly made Joel tip over the table to get to you, his chair falling backward as he got up from his seat.
“Fuck! Ow ow ow!” You cried and hobbled around on the grass. The pain was unbearable but the shock only seemed to make it worse.
“Sarah, please get some ice and some antihistamines. There should be a bottle on my nightstand,” Joel ordered quickly and she rushed inside. He walked toward you, grabbing at your shoulders to ground you but his touch only heightened all other sensations. He dug his thumbs into you and your head swam, “Sweetheart, ‘tis just a bee, shh, calm down. I need to remove the stinger. Lemme see ya.”
“It really fucking hurts, Mr. Miller,” you said with a whine as he guided you to one of the loungers that Sarah and you had dragged out from the shed earlier that week.
“I know,” he finally let go of you so you could think just a bit more clearly, “Lemme take a look. Lie down on your front.”
You followed orders with the realization of how much you trusted his judgment, that he would treat you right, moving carefully because the flex of your thigh muscle was making the pain worse. The wooden lounger burned slightly against the front of your thighs, and you pressed your cheek into its slats while screwing your eyes shut.
The wood creaked behind you as he knelt on it with one knee and suddenly, his broad hand was perched on the top of your thigh in an attempt to keep your skin taut. You sucked in a breath but he only mistook it for more pain.
“It’s alright, sweetheart. I can see it,” his breath was slightly quicker but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions, “He really got ya right on your inner thigh. Hold on.”
Your eyes shot open when his thumb ran towards the innermost part of the back of your thigh, a sort of panicked arousal spiking from your chest and thighs. He paused for a second then murmured something, a swear word that you tried to take as frustration. There was a beat but then he cleared his throat, “Can you bend your leg a little? I wanna make sure that I get it on the first try.”
“How?” You asked stupidly. The image of how he would be looming over your backside made your heartbeat go down between your legs, “My dress’ll ride up.”
“Just bend the knee a little, pull it towards your chest,” he explained and cleared his throat once more, “On my life, I won’t look.”
So you did as he told you, and sure enough, your dress betrayed you by crawling slowly up to sit around your hip instead of the middle part of your thigh. You looked back at him when he started picking at the stinger with his nails, and you hoped that he would not notice your gawking at his concentrated expression.
A flash of the day he had barged in on you naked flashed in your mind because his eyes were so focused on not staring at you that you nearly whimpered when you saw his eyes flicker to the spot of dampness between your legs for no more than a second.
You had worn white cotton panties that day so they would not be seen through your dress. They were straining against your pussy in this position and all he had to do was reach out, and he’d find your clit poking against the fabric from how excited you were feeling.
He had had the perfect outline of your cunt, and it’s the same now as you bend over to get to the very bottom of the fridge, reaching for a cold drink that just happens to be his favorite. You know that he can see everything, and the worst is that you know he already has. Twice. The mere thought is so dirty that your heart starts pounding in your chest and sends heat through your already hot body, so you hurry to stretch to your full height again.
With a cocky grin that is mostly put on to hide your anxious excitement about what you have just done, you turn to face Joel and walk to stand in front of him and his car. His cologne fills your nostrils again, and the scent seems once again to have a direct line to your cunt because you have never felt more empty. In front of you, Joel’s jaw is clenched but other than that, he seems a lot more calm and composed than you.
That is until you jump onto the hood of the car and scoot back, letting your bare feet dangle out over the edge. You crack open the soda in your hand and take a sip that is a little longer than intended. The satisfying burn of the fizz grounds you in the warm climate, but it is even more heavenly as you tuck the skirt of your dress between your thighs so you can place the cold can there.
Joel shakes his head with a sigh but you know he is playing a game as much as you because he cannot help but crack a smile back at you, “You’re trouble, I knew it the second Sarah brought ya into my house.”
“Oh, whatever will I do?” You ask dramatically and lean back against the windshield.
“Go morally bankrupt?” He raises a brow. If only he knew what is going through your mind. You catch him looking at you in the fashion that you have craved when you sigh deeply and cause your chest to push out.
“Only that?” You take another sip and some of the contents spill down your chin in a thick, sticky trail due to the angle you’re sitting in. You reach up to wipe it away with your index finger and then dare to suck your finger clean with the intention of mimicking the way that you had licked it clean earlier when it had been coated in melted popsicle.
“Give it here,” he says. You lock eyes with him. However, your eyes widen slightly when he nods at the can and takes it from between your thighs. There’s electricity shooting through your nerves the second his fingers touch the fabric of your dress but they intensify to a dizzying degree when he takes a sip of the soda too.
Like a reflex, the sight of him drinking from the can that’s been nestled between your thighs makes your legs fall out to the sides. You’re worse than an obedient dog in your horniness, reacting the same way to the way he moves as it would to the sound of a bell ringing.
Your dress rides up slowly along your thighs, revealing your sweaty skin that feels sticky by now and Joel clears his throat after briefly looking down. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and when you realize the effect it has on the poor man, you grab the hem and pull upwards, “It’s so hot outside today. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to the heat here in Texas.”
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says and his face has got a pinker tint, pulse visible on the side of his neck. With his free hand, he grabs one of your knees and starts nudging your legs together again. He yanks your skirt down, “I know I’m always teasin’ ya but you can’t be doing this.”
“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you say with exasperation and move your legs out again, “It’s just very hot… and it’s not like you haven’t had a peek.”
“Hey now,” he leans forward to place the can of soda on the roof of the truck, “That ain’t a fair accusation.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” you reply, chewing on your bottom lip, “But you’re not denying it.”
“Don’t tryna make me look like the pervert here,” he scolds, taking a step towards you and causing your stomach to do somersaults, “I noticed the way you went real quiet when my hands were on you.”
“What do you mean?” You furrow your brows in confusion, “Your hands were never on m–”
“Did that bee sting really hurt that much?” He clarifies. Oh, you think whilst he smirks with triumph. Something has switched in the air surrounding you, the atmosphere has become more daring, “Yeah, I saw her; your pussy wet f’me.”
It’s true. If you think about it too much, you can still feel your heartbeat in the places where he touched you, and the pulse is rapid and overwhelming. You can’t imagine what it'll be like if he touches you underneath your dress, even if it’s simply on the outside of your panties. The thought has your underwear starting to dampen, the fabric starting to stick to you, and make you painfully aware of the wetness between your legs.
“Did ya touch yourself after?” His eyes have darkened slightly. His pupils are dilating with desire for your answer, and you nod hesitantly, overwhelmed by the need to tell him everything.
“During my shower that you told me to take,” you confess and hear him make a sound low in his throat at the mental image, “I couldn’t stop myself— I wanted you so badly. The thought of you inside me...”
This is a crossroad, you realize, you’ve said your deepest secret of depravity. On one hand, you can bolt out the door or you can make a move to show him what you really came down here for. The latter is risky but Joel is so goddamn decent that you know that if he doesn’t want this - which you doubt is the case at this point - he’ll gently reject you and never mention it again if it means that his daughter will continue having a best friend.
However, as your mind races with scenarios of what could or could not happen in this moment, Joel pulls you back into reality as his hand, cold from gripping the can, rests on your knee again but this time, it doesn’t try to make you decent like before. Instead, it slides up under your skirt in such a slow motion that you find yourself holding your breath.
“Is this what’ll quiet down that mind of yours?” He asks in a low voice, eyes flickering from your face to down between your legs and back again, “If I take a peek more to get it outta our system?”
“What are you doing?” You ask as if you do not know. It’s your turn to be scandalized by bluntness, and you find yourself gripping his arm but not hard enough to signal that you do not want him to continue. You hope that he realizes that this is not you rejecting his advances.
“I ain’t doing nothin’ that you haven’t already silently begged me to do. Perhaps sometimes - and God help me, I will probably regret it - you just needa follow your instincts when a pretty girl like you has been sendin’ me heart eyes all week,” he almost sounds annoyed with you, and to stop yourself from being scolded, your hand loosens its grip on him until you remove it altogether. He smiles, “Good girl.”
“You shouldn’t—“ you feel a rush of blood to your head, adrenaline kicking in as your thoughts circle around the repercussions that this can bring. In all honesty, you had only walked in here to have Joel’s eyes on you but now, you are getting more than you bargained for and it is making you so turned on that your mind is clear and foggy at the same time. Boldly, you sit up on the car’s hood so you can reach for the buckle of Joel’s belt, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“You’re damn right we shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he agrees immediately but doesn’t stop. His warm and rough palms skim further up your thighs until they settle by your hips, his thumbs teasing the elastic band of your panties. He starts to drag them down, the fabric nearly snapping in two when you barely register that you have to lift your ass to help him.
His fingers unintentionally caress your calves as he slides the underwear down to eventually pull them off your ankles and feet. The sensation makes your body wake up even more, a gush of wetness smearing your inner thighs and you know that you have to pull your dress up soon if you don’t want it stained.
In front of you, Joel reads your mind. He shoves the hem of your dress up as far as he can without a word with desperation in his trembling hands, and you move to let him bunch it up around your waist so he has a full view of what waits - and for long has waited - for him.
When your cunt is revealed to him, he groans like he is in pain at the sight of the slick shining on your soft youthful skin. You can see how hard he is in his jeans, cock straining against the zipper at the front of them.
He looks like he wants to touch but hesitates. The first sign of his inner conflict. You remember that he did say just a peek as if there’s an unspoken agreement that he is not to cross the line of touching what he shouldn’t want to have. It would definitely be a nuclear decision if he chooses to do it anyway. It makes you want it even more, and another gush spills from your glistening slit when you clench from excitement.
Joel swears under his breath, something that sounds like fuck it and it sets it in stone; he is going to ruin you for eternity right here on his car. He steps closer until your spread knees bump into his sides, and without saying anything you move to yank his jeans and briefs down, settling them around his hips with a soft gasp as you take in the sight of his fully hard cock. He is huge. So huge that your mouth starts salivating like you’ve already been fucked stupid and your walls try to clamp down on nothing. It’ll hurt. You want it to if it means that you won’t doubt if it ever happened tomorrow.
“Tell me you want this too,” he seeks your reassurance.
“So fucking badly, Mr. Miller— Joel,” you say without any hint of second-guessing in your voice. You scoot further forward on the car and lean back so he has better access, trying your best to be elegant in your messy state, “Please, want you in me.”
“Jeez, honey,” his breath shakes, “Already so eager. I haven’t even felt if she’s ready f’me.”
With one hand gripping your left thigh, he uses two fingers on his right hand to slide through your wet folds and you don’t think you have ever been this turned on for anyone; when he flips his palm upwards and shoves two fingers inside of you, you feel more arousal drip from your cunt and pool in his hand. The longing you have felt since you saw him for the first time finds somewhere to empty all its desire and desperation into, and you whine like you’re in a state of agony.
“Shhh…” he soothes and curls his digits inside of you until you think you might start crying, squelching cunt trying to pull him further into you as he fingers you lazily. Your gaze drops to how his cock twitches whilst standing in the air, “You’re grippin’ me so good, doll, can’t wait to fuck this pussy. Don’t cry like that. Be patient.”
“Please, I’m so—“ your palms are flat on the hood of the car, your mouth hangs open in ecstasy and you stare down at where his ring- and middle finger disappears repeatedly into you, “It’s yours, please.”
“I know it’s mine, don’t gotta say it, I know,” he coos at each of your whimpers, gets you worked up until you are just on the brink of coming, and then he moves quickly. He pulls his fingers out of you, smears his cock with what you’ve soaked his whole palm with, and leans over your gasping frame to nudge at your quivering hole.
When he finally enters you, the both of you gasp in unison. He struggles with it for a moment, rubbing the skin just below your belly button to make you relax because he is so much bigger than you had first anticipated, and such a tight fit that you think he might split you in two.
“Goddamn, you are tight,” he says through gritted teeth, “Feels fuckin’ amazin’.”
“Ah,” you feel like letting yourself turn into a drooling mess already, pulsating around him from the way your body struggles to take him, “Joel, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can, honey,” he encourages, showing no signs of pulling out of you to free you from the burn of his girth. He growls low in his throat as you struggle with it, and you know it’s because your walls are clenching around him as you involuntarily move, “Stay still, let her get used to it.”
“It hurts,” you whine, sliding slightly on the metal underneath your ass. He presses his hips forward even further and causes you to whimper but in doing so, he holds you firmly in place by using his strong frame.
“I know but ya just gotta relax,” he goes on. He places one hand flat on the hood of the car and then places the other right on your hip, thumb going inwards to find your clit. It pulses under his finger, trying to find out whether to find the pain delicious or not.
When his thumb starts going in circles on you, your thigh muscles start to twitch and flex from burning desire instead of uncomfortable pain. He presses down a little to stroke your sensitive nub with even more determination and smiles at his success when a moan slips from your mouth, “That’s it, honey. Just enjoy this until you’re creamin’ on me, and then I can fuck her real good.”
Your walls start to flutter a few seconds after the first new round of pleasurable sounds leave you, and the more his finger moves on you, the easier it gets to take him because the pain turns into nothing more than a dull ache in the background of ecstasy. He has you breathing faster and faster, and in return, he starts moving his thumb up and down to make his touches more direct.
God, your clit is hardening underneath his torment. He stares at what he is doing, an occasional grunt leaving him from how you involuntarily squeeze his length, and you know that he can sense it, suddenly smirking to himself as you near your climax. He admires the sight of you, eyes glued to the way the hood of your clit has drawn back, “Babydoll, look at that. Such a pretty pussy, clit peekin’ out and all. Does she wanna come on my cock?”
“Please, yes, oh please,” you nod repeatedly, mouth hanging open in an o-shape and breaths coming out in small puffs. Your climax is within reach, and Joel looks concentrated as he more than willingly hands it over to you whilst buried deep inside of you. The concentration on his face is probably from keeping himself from spilling inside of you too soon, but God, he looks gorgeous as he determinedly strokes your cunt.
“Yes, yes, yesyesyes— oh God, I’m… fuck, I’m coming!” You shake with pleasure as he causes your pussy to spasm, your hands barely able to find out what to do and making you grab at both the metal underneath you with one hand and his wrist with the other. Your eyes are squeezed shut but you do not doubt that he is staring at you in awe as you come so hard that reality fades.
“Good girl,” he rasps, voice unsteady and hand hitting the hood of the car as the feeling becomes overwhelming, “Oh sweetheart, you’re choking my dick so g—“
He swears quietly and then loudly, and suddenly, his cool demeanor crumbles because he is spilling his load inside of you with a pathetic and strained grunt. His hips stutter slightly and warmth spreads slowly inside of you, mixing with your own arousal.
You look down to where the two of you are connected, feeling fucked out despite not even having had the chance to feel him move inside of you. His come has started to spill from you already, dripping obscenely from your cunt.
“Fuck,” you hear Joel say above you. He slips out of you and leaves you gaping and mewling for a second, starting to take a step back. You catch him with your legs before he is too far away, and he reluctantly steps close to you again. He looks embarrassed but gives you a smile to hide it, “Felt too good, honey. This pussy’s makin’ me all sweet on you.”
“I’m that irresistible?” You grin in your post-orgasmic haze, not really giving a crap about the lack of a proper fuck from how much dopamine is coursing through your veins.
Joel takes hold of your thighs as they are wrapped around your body and lifts them off of himself, “You’re makin’ an old bastard like me weak in the knees, so maybe. Hah! Comin’ too soon like a goddamn teenager.”
“I liked it,” you admit without hesitation, still basking in the sweet afterglow, “Made me feel sexy and powerful.”
He scoffs but can’t fight the smile on his face, “Now now, don’t get cocky on me. Crawl back a little, spread ya legs f’me.”
You giggle and do as you are told, presenting yourself to him on the hood of his car. You plant your bare feet on the metal, lay back against the windshield, and smile.
“Now look at that,” he tuts as he admires his work; white ropes of come dripping down from your slit and onto the surface beneath you. He lays both hands flat on the car and leans forward, and before you know it, his mouth is covering your whole cunt and he eats from you like he’s paid to do it.
“Jesus,” you groan, throwing your head back and grabbing onto the roof of the car with one hand whilst the other finds Joel’s hair. You tug and he moans against you, sending vibrations through your whole lower body and beginning the first stirrings of another high. You don’t think that you can take it, squirming just like you had done moments earlier.
Joel makes a sound of disapproval. He scoops his arms under your thighs until he can lay his hands on top of them, holding you tightly against his mouth and causing you to cry towards the ceiling when he makes your second orgasm approach so quickly that nothing in your brain makes sense except what he is doing between your legs.
The hand on the roof of his car goes to his head too. You slide your fingers on both hands through his hair until they lay at the back of his neck, and then you yank once more at the curls there. His tongue works at your clit, swiping back and forth over it until you think that you might see God.
However, it doesn’t stay there. Instead, it is replaced by his nose so that he can eat his own spill straight from you by dipping his tongue hungrily inside of you.
“Joel— holy fuck, you’re incredible,” you close your eyes to concentrate on your pleasure. Who knew that the man could fuck with his tongue? He is warm and wet inside of you, slurping pornographically until you are clean of any remains of his come.
You are just about to finish a second time when he halts whatever he is doing. He pulls back only a few inches so you can still feel his uneven breaths against your cunt.
“No! Please,” your eyes fly open, you cry desperately, and throw your head forward dramatically. You want to thrash but he still has your legs locked in his arms, so you decide to pull out the big guns and hope for the best, “Please, Daddy! Pleasepleaseplea—“
“What the fuck did you just say t’me?” He looks up at you but you are too busy screwing your eyes shut in agony whilst whining for more. He growls and releases one of your legs, “I was already gonna make you a happy young lady but now, I’m gonna make you come so hard your little brain goes dumb. See how it feels. Impatient girl.”
His hand goes between your legs. He turns his palm upwards and then shoves two thick fingers inside of your pussy like earlier, curling them slightly and then pumping them so quickly that blood starts speeding through your system a second after and your heart rate goes so fast that you know that you are just about to come.
“Joel, oh my— fuck!” You whimper.
“Wrong word,” he replies.
You correct yourself immediately because there’s no way he is stopping again to chastise you once more, “Daddy, oh I— mhmm, I’m gonna come for you. Don’t stop, please, please Daddy, pleasepleaseplea—!”
He responds just how you had liked: He closes his mouth around your swollen clit and sucks hard, finally severing all connection to your brain and you come so hard that you actually squeal. Joel groans against you, feeling you squeeze the digits he has buried deep inside you. He draws back his fingers, pressing upwards the whole way.
Clear liquid squirts from you the second he pulls them out. The gushes that follow are so intense that the leg he isn’t holding anymore shakes so violently that the metal rattles under you, the car staining with your come. He repeats the move again and again, over and over, and watches the steady trickle down the hood and onto the concrete floor that turns a dark gray.
Euphoria courses through your being as you come in a way that you have never felt before. Your limbs tingle as warmth spreads out from beneath your belly button, your cunt pulses with eager pleasure, and you sob through the waves that crash over you without giving you time to recover from the last. The whole room feels brighter and its colors more vibrant.
“Shh, baby, let it happen, feels so good, don’t it? That’s it,” Joel coos at you the whole way through, guides you through it when you barely know how to use your words. He has straightened to his full height again but you don’t know when, and he has slowed his fingers down to tease out a few aftershocks. You whimper feebly at each one, and when Joel seems satisfied with what he has drawn out of you, he covers your whole mound with his palm to soothe the feeling of overstimulation that settles.
“Soundproof,” he mutters, once again reading your mind when you come to your senses again and start thinking about your noise levels with furrowed brows and eyes flitting from him to the garage door. Your heartbeat has started to slow again, and the relief of knowing no one has been able to hear you makes you slump against the windshield and breathe deeply.
The remnants of your orgasm have made you smile, your body slipping into a deep state of satisfaction when the anxieties have been dispelled. Joel moves his hand up your lower body until it settles between your breasts, still covered by your dress. He caresses your heaving chest, looking at you boyishly for the first time, “You good? Didn’t cause any brain damage, did I?”
“You think this truck has ever seen action like that before?” You joke breathlessly.
“Probably ain’t the first time I disappointed a gorgeous lady in its presence,” he says with an apologetic smile, “Sorry ‘bout that.”
“Disappointed? You’re insane,” you stretch your arms above your head to get some of the last bits of euphoria out of your body, trying to ignore the way he has just called you a gorgeous lady. He probably means nothing by it. As your stretch peaks, you moan gently, “I came two times. Hard. I’m not complaining.”
“Just saying that I woulda liked to do it… properly, I guess,” he talks as he stuffs himself back into his underwear and pants, most likely trying to feel the least uncomfortable about mentioning his overexcitement. Automatically, he steps back when you jump off the car to adjust your dress.
“This doesn’t have to be a one-time thing,” you try to act casual as you say it but there’s no way you are accepting the best sex of your life to be a thing you will never have again, reducing it to a movie merely playing behind your eyelids as a cruel reminder of what is unattainable.
“And when would we have time for that?” He asks, zipping up his jeans. He wipes his hands on them, “We can’t, honey.”
“We just did,” you mumble, picking up your underwear from the floor. You turn the panties in your hands, just about to bend down to put them on before deciding against it. Boldly, you stand in front of him and stuff your sticky underwear into his front pocket; closest to his crotch. There are extra pairs in your bag in Sarah’s room. He can have these.
He looks down briefly and then finds your eyes. His jaw clenches as he weighs his words, “When?”
“Aren’t you driving me to the airport on Sunday?” You smile and kiss his cheek, and then you leave him, your soda in hand and a mess on the floor.
.
.
.
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Whatever My Wife Wants
Summary: On your honeymoon, Javi decides to break out a new accessory you've never seen him wear before. Little does he know, that seeing him wear a chain for the first time is about to drive you wild.
Word Count: 4.5K
Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)
Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also its your honeymoon so who am I to say), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, paise kink, literally the biggest, fattest, ugliest breeding kink (I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not), marriage kink (?) creampie, cum play, kind of exhibitionism (like if you SQUINT), talks of starting a family, Javi LOVES his wife, Javi in a CHAIN, Javi on his honeymoon deserves its own warning, did I mention that Javi LOVES his wife?!
A/N: shoutout to my sweet @honeyedmiller for this request after reblogging this MASTERPIECE from @enstatia. It's supposed to be a painting of Din, but it gave me such big Javi vibes, and I really haven't been the same since picturing the one and only Javier Peña in a chain (bc If i can't unsee it, you shouldn't be allowed to either) 😵💫 Also shoutout to Lucien Flores for singlehandedly ruining my life today with that new clip from the Uninvited (but also you can't tell me that this outfit is so Javi on the beach coded PHEW)
Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!
Javi had never been one for jewelry- well, that was until a few days ago when a new golden wedding band had made a home on his hand. Since you had slipped it on his finger, Javi couldn’t get enough of watching it glisten in the warm, tropical sunlight on your honeymoon, a reminder that filled his heart to the brim to know that he was yours forever.
Javi’s new wedding ring was the only jewelry that he had ever pictured himself wearing, until you had mentioned to him in passing while shopping for new clothes for your honeymoon how good he’d look with a chain to go with any of his outfits he had planned for the trip- considering there was no way Javi was going to have no less than 4 buttons undone on his shirt at any given time while basking in the tropical warmth of your honeymoon paradise.
Later on that week, he had dug around in his dresser to find a thin, golden chain necklace he had back from his time in college, that hadn’t seen the light of day in too many years to count. But, given your enthusiasm for the idea of him wearing something like it, Javi had decided to pack it with him in his suitcase to surprise when the time felt right.
Well, after being a few drinks deep at the pool bar from earlier, Javi’s slightly tipsy confidence had him feeling like now was the perfect time to try out his new accessory to see what you thought. Digging through his suitcase, he pulled out out the chain to go with the rest of his outfit for your dinner on the beach, clipping the necklace around his neck as he looked himself over in the mirror, quickly fixing his hair and adjusting his shirt, undoing one more button than probably necessary to show off his new look.
And while he could admit that he didn’t look half bad with it on, and figured you’d like the new surprise addition to his wardrobe, there’d be no way in hell he could have ever prepared himself for the viscerally awestruck reaction you’d have to the thin, gold chain dangling around his neck.
“I can practically feel you burning a hole through my chest, Hermosa.” Javi chuckled, raising an eyebrow at you as he took another bite of his food, giving you a playful smirk at the way you had been ogling at him ever since you had noticed the thin gold chain resting across his tanned skin as you began your walk through the hotel to head to dinner.
“Oh shut up, it’s not my fault you’re so hot. You’re making it very hard not to look, in my defense.” You sighed, trying to get yourself to focus on your food instead of staring at Javi for the rest of dinner, despite the fact that the only meal you had your eyes on was sitting across the table from you. “There’s already something about you being my husband that makes you somehow even hotter than you already were, and now with this?” You picked up your fork, gesturing to the chain dangling between the parted fabric of Javi’s shirt, “I think you may be trying to legitimately kill me.”
“Figured you’d like it. Didn’t think you’d like it this much.” Javi smirked, biting down on his lip before taking another bite of food, his cheeks growing flushed and warm as he looked at you admiring him, wondering how in the hell he had gotten so goddamn lucky. “Thanks, Mrs. Peña.” He laughed, taking another bite of his food, shooting you a quick wink.
Mrs. Peña.
God, if that alone wasn’t enough to send you over the edge already, your new last name, combined with the incredibly attractive man you had gotten it from that you now got to call your husband? On top of that stupidly hot chain he had decided to throw on with his outfit? There was definitely something else you were hungry for other than the half cleared plate below you.
It was then that you couldn’t have been happier you had been seated at a table on the edge of the beachside boardwalk, tucked behind a few stray palm trees, secluded enough out of view that you had no problem reaching under the table to rest your hand on Javi’s knee, toying with the hem of his shorts before letting your fingers creep further and further up his thigh.
“Are you almost done with your food?” You asked, your voice sweet and sultry as your hand brushing against Javi’s crotch immediately caught his attention, making his eyes go wide as he sat up straight, setting down his knife and fork to look down in his lap. “Because if you are, I can think of something else I want for dessert when we go back to our room. Something I want really bad. You wanna feel how badly I want it?”
Javi swallowed hard as your fingers wrapped more firmly around his bulge, gently massaging his dick in your grasp, before grabbing his hand and guiding it to brush along the slit of your sundress and closer to your core, aching and dripping with arousal. Letting his fingers creep up the inside of your thighs and ghost over your folds, his eyes went even wider, jaw practically dropping open to feel that you were not only absolutely soaked, but also not wearing any underwear at all. Using every ounce of composure he had to keep from falling apart right then and there at the dinner table, letting out a deep sigh as he cursed under his breath.
“Jesus fucking Christ. Fuck, baby… Yeah, I can be done right now.” He groaned, nodding at your proposition before wrapping his hand around the meat of your thigh as he took a long inhale, staring you down with darkening eyes and a devilish grin across the table.
Never had you been more thankful that the resort you had picked to stay at was all inclusive, because if either of you had to wait a minute longer for a server to get your bill so you could get back up to your room, the probability of impending implosion would have been practically inevitable.
Firmly intertwining your fingers with his as you grabbed his hand, you were nearly dragging Javi through the hotel to the nearest bay of elevators, pleasantly shocked to find no one else waiting with you to travel up to their room, leaving the two of you alone to catch the next elevator back up to your floor.
Without a word, the second the elevator doors had closed, the two of you were on top of each other, a messy dance of tongue and teeth crashing together, Javi’s hands palming the meat of your ass over your dress while yours roamed over his chest, tracing the freckles of his tanned skin up to the golden chain dangling in the open buttons of his shirt, stopping to wrap the necklace around your finger, tugging Javi closer to you.
“Fuck, you look so good with this on, baby.” You moaned, your words hot against Javi’s skin as you nipped at his neck, chain still tangled in your grasp. “I can’t wait to fu-”
Barely aware of the fact that you had reached your floor, the ding of the elevator was enough to catch your attention and cut you off from completing the rest of your thought before the doors slid open, revealing a group of couples waiting for their ride down to the lobby. Frantically trying to play off the fact that if the elevator ride had gone any longer, you two definitely would have been seconds away from fucking in it, you gulped, giving Javi a nudge to his ribs to bring him back to reality, the two of you quickly trying to slide past the other guests without making a scene.
As the door closed behind you, you and Javi couldn’t help but giggle at the fact that you couldn’t seem to take an elevator trip alone without almost being caught making out like a pair of horny teenagers (which, to be fair, a pair of horny teenagers probably would have had more self control than the two of you being newlyweds on your honeymoon).
With your room only being a few doors down from the elevator, Javi began fumbling in the pocket of his shorts for his room key, working around the full hard on he already had under the fabric from how pent up he was. Quietly cursing under his breath until he found it, as soon as the card was swiping over the lock of the door, Javi was yanking you through into your room, instantly beginning to pull down the zipper to the back of your dress as you fumbled your way back to the bed.
Your dress fell to the floor in a crumpled pile before Javi was tossing you onto the mattress, shocked to see that you also hadn’t even bothered to put on a bra, revealing your glowing skin and obnoxious tanlines from your time spent out in the sun.
“Dirty fucking girl, not wearing anything underneath that dress for me. Fuck me, Hermosa. God, you’re so beautiful. So fucking perfect. My perfect wife.” Javi growled, dropping to his knees at the edge of the bed to part your legs, draping them over his shoulders as he admired the wet mess between your thighs, your slick already coating your folds, glistening in the dim light of your hotel room. “My perfect wife and her perfect fucking pussy already so wet for me.
Dragging his fingers through your folds, collecting your arousal as he ghosted over your throbbing clit, you let out a soft whimper in protest, sitting up on your elbows to look down at Javi, peppering kisses along the soft skin of your thighs.
“Javi, fuck- Baby, I wanted to go down on you. You look so good, I-I wanna taste you, Jav, p-please.” You moaned, your argument becoming less and less convincing as his kisses traveled to your center, nose brushing against your aching bundle of nerves before looking up at you with a lustful smirk, tightening his grip around your hips to hold you in place.
Javi shook his head as he laughed quietly to himself, watching you squirm and buck your hips towards his face, so desperately worked up and aching that the mess between your legs was really beginning to contradict your need to get Javi off before yourself.
“Cariño…” Javi tutted, almost mockingly, digging his fingertips deeper into the meat of your flesh, “You’re not going anywhere ‘till I get a taste. I can’t leave my poor wife all worked up like this, can I?”
Before you had a chance to respond, the flat of Javi’s tongue was dragging through your heat in a long, broad stroke, firmly pressing against your clit, looking up at you with a satisfied grin as you threw your head back in pleasure, a soft whimper escaping from your parted lips. As the last of his lick slid through your folds, you shuttered at the feeling of the metal of his chain ghosting over your cunt as it dangled from his neck, only to cry out as you could feel the other piece of jewelry he was wearing on his left ring finger sink deep into your entrance.
“Oh f-fuck-” You whimpered as another finger breached your tight hole, already sucking him in with your warm, wet walls while his digits curled, bumping against the sweet spot inside you that he knew made you crumble.
“That’s it, baby girl.” He cooed, thrusting his fingers in and out of your cunt before diving back between your legs like a man starved, his tongue dancing in a swirling pattern of flicks and strokes between your folds as he lapped you up. You could feel yourself rolling your hips against his hand, whining at how thick and full he felt inside you, even more so now with the wedding band that had made its permanent home on his finger, taking every chance he could get to watch you cover the glistening gold ring in your arousal as yet another way to prove that you were his.
Javi could feel your pussy beginning to flutter around his fingers as your bottom half squirmed against the sheets of the bed, the knot in your stomach beginning to tighten, tingling building at the base of your spine. Latching his lips around your clit, he began to suck at your sensitive nub, his hand thrusting faster and deeper into your cunt, feeling you slowly coming undone under his touch.
“Oh shit- fuck, fuck, Javi, I’m so close baby, oh fuck, fuck, I’m gonnaaahhhhhh-” Just like that, you were falling over the brink of collapse, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave, pleasure flowing through every inch of your veins as you met your high, feeling the smirk of Javi’s smile pressed against your cunt as you soaked his face, his free hand wrapped around your hip, holding you in place for him.
“Fuck, I swear, I’ll never fucking get over that.” Javi mewled, pulling back enough to sit on his heels, admiring the wet and puffy mess your pussy had become, gently pulling his fingers out of your heat, looking down at the way your arousal coated his fingers, covering his wedding band. “Fucking soaked me, Hermosa. You like feeling my ring when I touch you like that, baby? Knowing I’m all yours forever?”
With your chest heaving in heavy breaths, you nodded frantically, blissed out look plastered across your face as you stared up at Javi, lust pooling in the dark brown of his eyes as he brought his soaked fingers to your mouth, tugging at your bottom lip as, opening your mouth for you to suck him clean, the warm and tangy taste of you still fresh on his skin.
“You taste so fucking sweet, baby. Mi esposa sabes muy dulce.” (My wife tastes so sweet) Javi cooed, gently tugging his fingers out of your mouth, standing up to lean over the bed, caging your body under his as his lips crashed against yours in a needy mess of longing and desperation.
You could feel how painfully hard he was through the fabric of his shorts, his bulge straining against the seams of his zipper as he rubbed against your thigh, laying on top of you with one arm propped up beside your head, the other gently cupping your face, thumb rubbing back and forth along your cheek as he kissed you with the tender intensity that set your insides ablaze with desire, longing, no, needing to feel him buried deep inside you as you screamed his name.
It really had been your intention to suck Javi off the moment you had gotten back to your room, to drop to your knees and worship the beautifully handsome man you now got to call your husband and turn him into the same type of moaning, whimpering mess that he had just made you, but with the ferocity of each kiss and the instinctual jerk of Javi’s hips, there was nothing you wanted more than to be filled by the sweet sting of his cock pounding into you, over and over.
“J-Javi, fuck- I need to feel you baby, please. Fuck, I wanna feel you so deep inside me.” You whispered, your teeth tugging at Javi’s earlobe as he peppered your jaw and neck with kisses, feeling the audible groan in his chest at your request, followed by a deep sigh as he tried to compose himself from the mess he was already becoming.
“Yeah? That’s what you want, sweet girl? Whatever my wife wants, my wife gets.” He rasped, a devilish grin spread between his cheeks as he sat back to pull his shirt over his head, followed by his shorts and boxers, leaving him in nothing but the gold chain still dangling around his neck as he reached down to stroke his cock, red and dripping with precum before leaning back down to line up with your entrance.
You could feel your breath hitch as his tip brushed through your folds, rubbing gently against your clit as he collected your arousal to coat his length, looking down to watch as his length sunk deep into your cunt, the both of you letting out ragged moans at the sensation.
Javi paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the sweet sting of his stretch as he filled you, his tip kissing your cervix while his hips met yours. The fullness made your brain go blank, completely at a loss for words as he began to slowly thrust in and out of you, pulling himself out enough to sink his whole length back into your cunt, each thrust making you whimper and moan, desperate for more.
“F-fuck, give me more, baby, you feel so good.” You whined, your hand wrapping around his bicep, fingertips digging into his flexing muscles.
“Yeah? You want more, Hermosa?” Javi mewled, smirking to himself at the blissed out mess you were already becoming as the pace of his hips rutting into you began to quicken.
As each thrust became faster, the gold chain draped around his neck began to bounce against his chest, his body close enough to yours to feel the cool metal brush against your face with each snap of his hips into yours, the sight of his necklace dangling over you as you stared up at the furrowed and focused look painting his face. The image alone of him wearing that chain was enough to make you feel like you were going to cum on the spot, but as you lay caged beneath the weight of his broad body, feeling nothing but his warm skin and chain rub against you, you were nearly convinced it was going to be over for you right then and there.
Without even thinking, you lifted your head up off the bed just enough to grab the chain between your teeth, tugging him closer to you, the sudden yank making his eyes go wide in surprise as the two of you came nose to nose, foreheads brushing against each other before his lips were on yours again, entangling you in an all consuming kiss without faltering in his pace.
“Fuck, you look so good.” You moaned, your lips parting just enough from his to whisper your praises into his ear. “You look so hot with this fucking chain, Jesus Christ.”
Your comment had a low, breathy laugh escaping from his chest, shaking his head to himself almost in disbelief at how enthralled you were with him.
“Me? Baby girl, you have no idea.” He cooed, slowing his thrusts to sit back on his haunches, readjusting you to bring your knees pressed to your chest, leaning back down, running his hands along your body, up your arms until he had them above your head, pinned down to the bed in his grasp. “You know how many guys I’ve seen staring at you since we’ve been here? How many dirty fucking looks I’ve had to give them? Maybe this ring on your finger isn’t enough, mi amor.”
“W-what do you, fuck- what do mean?” You whimpered, the new position opening you up in a way that had you feeling every inch of Javi as he sank his cock even deeper into your cunt, splitting you open in the most delicious way possible, your brain barely working enough to let your words escape from your mouth.
“I mean,” Javi groaned, tightening his grip to hold you in place, his eyes growing darker with desire with another deep, long thrust into your heat, “That maybe, I need to fuck a baby into, Osita. Fuck a baby into my beautiful fucking wife, and let everyone see that you’re mine with our kid growing inside you.”
Javi’s words sent a shiver down your spine, the thought alone making you whimper- You and Javi both had undeniable cases of baby fever, and now that you were finally married and had agreed that your birth control wasn’t going to be a part of your packing list, the prospect that in 9 months from now, you could have a third member to your family? That was enough to have you close to finishing right then and there.
A gulp traveling down your throat before a long exhale, trying to find the words to respond to his proposition, your voice trembling in an anxious excitement.
“F-fuck- Oh my god, yes. Fuck a baby into me, Javi. Let me, oh shit- let me make you a daddy.”
“Jesus Fucking Christ…” Javi groaned, gritting his teeth, trying his best to maintain his own composure, taking a long exhale before his gaze met yours again, a fierce kind of determination and promise pooling in the deep chocolate brown of his eyes, leaning his body on top of yours, pushing your knees closer to your chest, opening you up to an even deeper angle as his mouth crashed into yours, beginning to pick up his pace once again as his hips snapped into yours. “That’s what you want, Hermosa? Fuck, I’ll give it to you, baby. Oh shit- Whatever my wife wants, my wife gets, remember? You want a baby? Fuck- I’ll fuck myself so deep inside you I’ll fuck a baby into you right now.”
You could feel the all too familiar tingle beginning to build at the base of your spine once again, Javi’s cock pounding perfectly into your g-spot over and over again, the hairs at the base of his length grinding against your throbbing clit, sending you to the brink of collapse with each thrust in and out of your cunt.
“Yes, oh my god- yes, I w-want it so bad. P-please, baby, fuck.” You whined, starting to stumble over your words as you could feel your pussy beginning to flutter around his cock, the coil in your core tightening to the point of nearly snapping.
“Fuck- say it again. Tell me- mierda- tell me how badly you want it.” Javi moaned, his thrusts becoming slopier and more desperate as he could feel himself on the verge of chasing his own high, knowing all too well you were almost hitting yours.
“I want you to fill me up, Javi. Fuck, fuck, fuck- I want it so bad. I want you to knock me up and give me a baby, please, baby, oh my god- please.” You were all but panting at this point, your legs starting to tremble as your cunt clenched tighter and tighter around Javi’s cock, the overwhelming sensation of his fullness, promise of pregnancy, and that damn chain dangling in your face was enough to finally send you over the edge. “Fuck, Javi, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, I’m so close baby, I’m gonna, oh shit- I’m gonna cu-ahhhhhhh.”
Those were the last words you were able to muster before you were screaming out Javi’s name as you came, euphoria and ecstasy radiating through every inch of your body, your orgasm crashing through you with so much intensity you could have sworn you were seeing stars.
Watching you fall apart beneath him, soaking his cock in your arousal as you came had Javi only moments behind you, the rhythm of his hips beginning to stutter, the lewd sounds of your skin slapping against each others combined with your wanton moans and whimpers and curses under your breath making him begin to babble incoherently.
“That’s it, Osita. That’s my good girl. Fucking soak my cock, baby. Cum all over me before I, fuck me- fuck myself so deep in you it’ll fucking take. Holy fuck- Fuck, I’m gonna cum too. Gonna fucking fill you up. Give you all of me. Fuck, I’ll give you everyting, baby, mierda- everything you’ll ever wa-ahhhhhh”
With one last final thrust, Javi was spilling deep inside you, warm ropes of his spend coating your walls, milking himself of every single last drop before collapsing on top of you, the warmth and weight and of his body sinking on top of your chest as the two you sighed in sync, trying to catch your breath with long, labored huffs.
As Javi felt himself begin to soften, a groan rumbled low in his chest while he pulled out, feeling the mix of your spend dripping out your hole, coating the inside of your thighs in glistening juices. You let out an involuntary whimper at the loss of fullness inside you, your head falling back on the mattress in blissed out satisfaction, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to bring yourself back to reality after floating away in post-colotial bliss.
“Holy fuck…” You whispered to yourself, lifting your head back up to see Javi sitting back on his heels, admiring the mess of the two of you pooling between your legs.
“So fucking pretty, Hermosa.” He mewled, peppering kisses down the soft skin of your thighs, making his way back towards your core. Before you could even realize what was happening, Javi’s head was back between your legs, one broad stroke of his tongue collecting the tangy, salty mixture leaking out of your cunt and lapping it back into your entrance quickly replacing his mouth with his fingers to push the mixture of your spend even further into you.
Looking up at you, slick covering his mustache and smug grin spread between his cheeks, Javi curled his fingers just enough to make you yelp as he pressed against your g-spot, considering how worked up and overstimulated you already were.
“Gotta make sure I keep you full of me, baby. Can’t let anything go to waste.” Javi smirked, gently pulling out his fingers, resting his hands on your thighs, drawing soft circles on your skin with his thumbs.
You tried to sit back up, propping yourself on your elbows before Javi’s body was caging over you once again, slowly lowering himself down until your back was flat against the bed, cradling your jaw as guided you down with soft, slow kisses, feeling his chain brush against your chin he pulled away from your lips.
“You’re not going anywhere, Momma. My wife wants a baby? Then I’m doing everything I can to give her one. Whatever she wants.” Javi smirked, pressing a tender kiss onto your forehead as his hand caressed your face, brushing your skin just gently enough to tickle you, a little giggle escaping from your lips as your eyes met his sweet puppy dog ones.
“You’re ridiculous, you menace.” You laughed, playfully nudging Javi as he rolled over next to you on the side of the bed, wrapping his arm around you, tugging you to lay against his bare chest, your hand draping over his stomach before crawling up his chest, wrapping his gold chain around your fingers. “Hmmmm whatever your wife wants, huh?” You smirked, looking up at him with a mischievous grin.
“Whatever she wants, Hermosa.”
“Your wife wants you to never take this damn thing off again.”
Taglist:
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Honey-Do [joel miller]
It’s Sunday, chore day, and Joel has a honey-do list item of his own: get his girl pregnant.
my masterlist!
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
rating: 18+ (mdni)
tags and warnings: pre-outbreak joel, married!joel, pure fluff and smut, slight au, body worship, some cock worship, handyman!joel, malewife!joel, joel “my wife doesn’t lift a finger in this home” miller, vague daddy undertones, overstimulation, joel miller is a munch, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected PIV (wrap it up unless you’re joel), creampie, breeding kink, actual breeding, talks of pregnancy, pregnancy kink, domestic bliss, joel’s love language being acts of service and by that i mean putting a baby in his wife, competence kink
word count: ~ 10k (someone stop me)
read on ao3!
a/n: hello, lovelies!! i received this ask ages ago and the idea inevitably snowballed because who is self-control?? does she go to a different school? anyway, this fic is pure plotless domestic fluff and domestic smut (is that a thing? yes!), so i really hope you all enjoy! pre-outbreak joel is very special to me xoxo
HONEY-DO
Your shared bedroom looks out over the eastern sunrise. A mutually-assured vigil, keeping one another safe—and timely.
In the mornings, the golden light spills through the break in the curtains. It will peek slowly inside and gently warm your body awake, testing the limits of its power. When you roll over and make a soft groan of protest in your sleep, seeking more warmth, the little strip of sunlight will widen, directing you. You will find the body next to yours, nuzzling close, your nose bumping his bare chest, and settle happily against it. In return, his body will seek yours, symbiotic exchange, a greedy arm pulling you closer.
In frustration, the sun grumbles it way higher in the sky, shining brighter and spreading wider.
It takes a couple tries to get it right: to shine in just the right way to make you blink rapidly awake, squinting in the glow. You gradually come to life, your lungs sucking in the first deep breath of morning air, your naked body stretching like a cat in the sunspot. Dust hovers lazily in the air, heralding a Sunday occupied by chores. The room is still, silent, and kissed by morning rays. Peaceful.
You examine him in the light: tanned skin sparkling gold, plush lips slightly parted, broad chest rising and falling. His hair is pleasantly tousled from sleep. There are patches of silver beginning to thread through his dark brown beard, and in your self-sustaining state of affection, you gently put your lips to one of the patches of skin where hair does not grow.
Your persistence grows with every second he refuses to wake. It may be a bit petulant, your lips smattering soft kisses across his jaw, beneath his ear, down to his neck and all its veins, but it begins to work. He stirs, groaning softly, turning onto his side and wrapping both arms around your waist. He does all of this without opening his eyes, resting his head on your belly and nuzzling against you as if he could get any closer—sated, for now, his body knowing nothing but the pull toward you.
You comb your fingers through his messy hair and listen to him breathe while he listens to your heartbeat.
“It’s ten,” you whisper.
“Hmph,” he says against your belly. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet; if you didn’t know his breathing patterns like they were mapped out in the lines of your palms, you would think he’s still sleeping.
“We slept in,” you point out.
Joel gently bumps his forehead into your stomach as if he were banging his head against a wall. “Shit,” he grumbles.
You laugh as his moustache tickles your skin. “Do you want to get up now?”
Another grunt, accompanied by a shake of his head. Big, strong arms pull you closer.
“I’ll make you breakfast,” you coo, stroking his hair away from his face. “Eggs… bacon… coffee…”
Joel presses his lips to your belly. “Don’t go takin’ my job, now,” he says, his voice groggy with disuse. “No girl of mine’s gonna run around gettin’ her own damn coffee.”
“Hmm. Means you have to move, Romeo.”
This earns a playful smack to the side of your thigh, his big, callused hand kneading your flesh while he wakes himself up with mouthfuls of your scent—linen and vanilla—and gulps down the sunlight glowing on your skin.
“Never mind,” you sigh, dreamy and complacent under his attention.
His eyes finally crack open, peering up at you, honey-brown pools touched by the golden light. He rests his chin on your belly and keeps his arms wrapped around your hips. His fingers trace shapes up and down your lower back. “You got a honey-do list?” he asks with a crooked grin.
Your tongue wets your bottom lip. “That depends. Can I get you to mow the lawn without a shirt on?”
“What do I get if I do?” he teases, his hand moving to your hip, contouring his hand to the shape of you.
You lift a brow, easing your legs apart underneath his body, letting him feel the warmth between your thighs. Like a moth to the goddamn flame, his eyes wide and eager, Joel crawls down your body with his mouth on your belly. Pausing just above your naked cunt, he blows cool air onto your clit and watches you squirm.
“After,” you gasp. “After chores, honey. We’ll never get up if we start now.”
“Don’t think I can make my woman come in good time?” he challenges, his palms keeping your thighs spread. Your pretty pussy glistens before his eyes, better than any fuckin’ breakfast. He begins to salivate.
Your head falls back into the pillows. “I never said that.”
Joel isn’t listening anymore. He kneads your thighs as he peers at you above your belly, your tits, to the curve of your jaw as you lie comfortably. Good. His baby ain’t about to get herself worked up on a Sunday morning.
He lowers his face just enough to let you feel his lashes tickling your lower belly, and you giggle his name, the sound pure adrenaline to his blood. You're so soft and supple under his fingers, moulding to his touch, letting him take care of you. You may be in charge of him, but this is where he takes control.
He presses a soft kiss to your clit and you sigh, your head turning toward the direction of the sun. It warms your face while your husband slides his tongue through your wet slit, lazily and sleepily, as though he's operating on instinct alone. Gathering up your wetness on his tongue, he groans, his fingers dimpling your thighs.
“Taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmurs. “Fuckin’ made for me.”
“Oh, God,” you whisper, your eyes fluttering. “Baby…”
That sweet little whine is poison. He cannot do anything but continue to drink you down, flicking his tongue against your clit. He's a sucker and he's always been. Your pretty fuckin’ smile from across the bar that first night; your tight black dress and the too-sweet cocktail you smooth-talked him into ordering that had his adenoids prickling; your instinct for sensing others’ troubles and your uncanny ability to make them feel like they have none at all. He never stood a chance.
He knows for a goddamn fact every man in the bar that night wanted to do to you what Joel is doing now: lapping up your juices with his tongue, spit mingling with arousal, warming his body between your thighs under the watch of the mid-morning sun. But he got you. Joel. He bought you a drink and he took you on a date. He got to taste your pretty pussy and he got to sit you on his dick—after the second date, that is.
He's the one who gets to wake up with you, share matching gold bands around your fingers, kiss you freely. As far as he's concerned, he's the luckiest guy on the fuckin’ planet.
He feels particularly green when your back arches, your lips parting around his name, relishing in the feeling of his mouth on your clit. You're unashamed to take pleasure, never shy about telling him Oh, fuck, yes! Right there, honey! Joel, yes, that feels so good, baby.
Joel preens with pride. His hot tongue glides over your clit, smooth and wet, easily coaxing you to a languid high. The golden spotlight through the curtains shines on you. You're the starlet and he's the adoring fan. From the first day, he knew he'd do anything to make you notice him.
“This wasn’t your first bar fight, was it?”
Plucking pieces of glass out of his bloodied knuckles, you looked up through your lashes at Joel, who had been staring at you since you sat him down in the bathroom. Okay—a little longer than that.
He shook his head.
You just smiled at him and gently shook your head. About as much reproach as he would get. “This might sting. Just hold on tight if you need to.”
“Like the sound of that,” he said quietly, and if you heard, you didn't comment. You guided his hand under the warm water and washed the rest of the blood from his knuckles, gently smoothing the pads of your fingers over his rough worker’s hands. Capable, you thought, idly watching the blood swirl into the drain. He barely winced when you put his hand under.
“Wanna tell me why you did it?” you asked him, your tone soothing and sweet.
Joel shrugged. Big, broad shoulders. Humbly strong, until someone made him show it. “Ain't manly to touch a woman like that.”
You lifted your brows. “But it's manly to beat the shit out of the guy who touched her?”
Joel studied your face. Cherry-red lip gloss. Gently flushed cheeks from a healthy couple drinks. The instinctual rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, the lighting shifting gently over your collarbones. It was fascinating just to watch you breathe. Even cleaning his bloody knuckles, you slowly circled the pad of your thumb over the back of his hand, like an innate urge to comfort. Your eyes had an old wisdom to them; a particular gleam a person gained when they were familiar with the hardships life had to offer.
He wanted to ask you. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to do more than beat up some asshole who thought he could get away with pinching your ass.
But he would earn it. A real man earned what he got.
“Didn’t beat the shit out of him. Just roughed him up,” he says.
He watched you bite down on a smile. “You're a little twisted, Joel.”
“Yeah?” He smirked, eyes flicking to your dewy lips, coated with that gloss. “Think so?”
“Yeah.” You licked your bottom lip and he wondered if you tasted like cherries. “But I'm going to ask you on a date anyway.”
Your fingers curl in Joel’s messy hair, making him groan into your pussy. “Oh, baby,” you gasp, cracking your heavy eyes open to watch him lap at you, practically petting his hair away from his face as his big brown eyes remain fixed to yours.
He purrs, suckling your clit between his lips, his eyes eagerly drinking in the sight of your flushed, tightening body. Making you come is one thing. Watching it is another. Your back arches and your fingers pull on his hair. Scalp prickling, Joel grips your thighs tighter. He’d let you peel away pounds of his flesh if it made you happy. He’d go eagerly to the grave knowing he had put some good into the world, put some light in your eyes.
“Joel, I’m… I’m coming—ah!” you cry, your thighs squeezing his head, your sensitive clit pulsing under his tongue as your pussy contracts around itself, seeking something nice and big to grasp onto. His cock is aching, his hips grinding idly against the mattress for relief, his head fuzzy from the pleasure of making you feel good. Your body slowly melts into the bed, your limbs twitching as the tension in your muscles loosens, your lips parted permanently around his name.
Eyes drooping and teary, you try to find him between your thighs, gently stroking his hair away from his face as it begins to fall into his big brown eyes. “Need a haircut,” you croak.
Joel hums, his head listing to the side, using your soft thigh as a pillow. He nips you playfully, your skin a golden path he intends to follow to the end. His hands caress your hips, helping you come down to Earth. You admire the delectable convex slope of his nose, the way it curves deliciously against your skin when he kisses, bites, inhales. He’s freckled and indented with the signifiers of a lived-in life; a good life. His is a likeness you could trace with your eyes closed.
It’s eleven o’clock, and your stomach begins to grumble.
Joel chuckles, pressing a long kiss to your belly. “Gettin’ up now,” he says. “Promise.”
He pulls on a pair of sweatpants, tucking his hard cock away to be dealt with later. Padding down the stairs, Joel is quick to tend to your needs, putting on a fresh pot of coffee. After so long together, his mind operates on autopilot, steering him from the cupboard to the refrigerator and back to the steaming pot, occupied with the menial task of making a good cup. The gentle clinking scrape of the spoon as he stirs your milk into the cup wakes him up until he feels practically revitalised. He keeps his coffee black.
He hears the soft tread of your feet behind him, feels the warmth of your body as you crowd his space, smiles at the way you smooth your palms over the planes of his muscled back in unadulterated admiration. His shoulders are wide, tapering down to the soft belly you’ve nurtured through years of cooking. He’s sturdy and strong and all yours. The sight of him always makes you a bit giddy.
“So handsome,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his middle and pressing your face between his shoulder blades. The buffed claws of his woodsy pine scent hook into the spaces between your ribs.
Joel lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses the wedding band on your finger, the engagement ring above it. “Sit down, baby. Coffee’s ready.”
You grin against his back, nudging your nose into his tanned skin. “Mmm. That sounds good. But I wanna stay here. ‘s nice and warm.”
“Girl of my dreams,” Joel murmurs, reaching around his back and patting your ass. “C’mon, I’ll keep you warm.”
You grumble your way to the little circular table in the kitchen, tucked into the alcove at the front window. It’s a souvenir from your parents' garage sale when they decided to sell their home and move to Austin. As a girl, you’d draw, scratch, and paint on that table, endlessly entertaining yourself by marking things up. Even now, there are remnants of your childhood in the worn grooves and chipped varnish. It fits nicely into your home, perfectly suited to two. It could even fit one more.
You ruminate as you watch Joel carry two mugs to the table. He knows which cup is your favourite: green ceramic decorated with tiny flowers, perfectly contoured to the shape and size of your hands, warming your palms just nicely between sips. Joel’s mug shows its age: white but slightly yellowed from years of use, bigger than yours. The steam of the coffee gently curls into the air, a dance of silvery ribbons in lock-step. They twist together as you purse your lips and blow. The rich, smooth caramel hue of your coffee contrasts the tar-black of Joel’s.
Since you dragged yourself out of bed on shaky legs, you shrugged on the navy T-shirt he tossed aside last night to give his greedy wife access to his chest. You'd carved some decent marks into his skin, now that you're properly looking: tiny bruises sharpening to purple, faint pinkish scratch marks that you don't remember making.
“Baby, I don’t mind,” he says, watching you scan his chest with a frown creasing your brow.
“But it looks painful, honey. You should let me—”
“You don’t gotta do anything,” says Joel, “‘cept come over here.”
Your brows lift coyly, your body sliding out of the chair and into his lap, legs bracketing his strong thighs. His hand finds a home on your lower back, bunching the hem of his shirt up to find your ass bare, your wet cunt sitting nice and pretty on his hard cock. You gasp when the generous length meets your puffy clit with heavy pressure. “Joel…”
Your voice is a mere whimper, a soft little plea for more, or for mercy. Joel’s always had better restraint than you.
“Warmer now?” he asks, like a real arrogant asshole, slipping his hand under the shirt on your body and splaying his fingers over your ribcage, thumb grazing the underside of your breast.
You do feel warmer, crushed up against him like this. You reach behind you and grab your coffee mug, taking a small sip. Your other hand winds around his neck and scratches the tousled hair at the nape of his neck. Joel hums, leaning close, nuzzling his face between your tits.
“Gimme the list,” he says, voice muffled.
You keep on stroking his hair and drinking your coffee between list items. “Mow the lawn. Clean out the eavestrough. Fix the sink.”
“Hmm, easy work,” he says, his other hand sliding up and down your back. It makes you melt into him even more, giving him the chance to tease a nipple between his teeth through the fabric of your shirt. You huff, wiggling your hips, but he's a brick wall. He does not budge. “Gimme yours, baby.”
You recall the items on your own list. “Vacuum the house. Go for groceries. Touch up the paint on the front door. Do the laundry. Cook dinner. Cut your hair,” you add with a playful smile.
Joel frowns against your chest, pulling back to look up into your eyes like a grumpy, needy dog. “You put all that down for yourself?”
You try to placate him with a kiss on his nose. “You work so hard, sweetie. I could use some hard labour once in a while.”
Joel shakes his head. “You aren’t doin’ all that by yourself.”
“No?” You lift your brows. “Wanna buy it off me, Mr. Miller?”
“I’ll win ‘em from you,” he says, tilting his head back to kiss your jaw. “Name the price.”
You bite your lip and chase his mouth, plush and soft under that dark moustache. “I’ll think on that. Meantime, you can get to work on that lawn while I watch from the comfort of the front porch. That sound fair?”
Joel’s old Southern values rear up every now and then, imparted by his mother and his father’s mother before. Putting in an honest day’s work will make his wife comfortable and happy. He doesn't want you lifting a finger around this home if he's perfectly capable of doing the job himself. He works with his hands all day, gets dirty and sweaty. You shouldn't have to—not when you work so damn hard every other day of the week.
Joel nips your chin. “Fine. But I ain’t gonna forget that I owe you.”
“Wouldn't dream of it, baby.”
Joel finishes his coffee, but you take your time with yours, changing into a short blue sundress while Joel, regrettably, puts a pair of jeans and a shirt on. Curling your legs up on the porch swing, you watch your man start the lawnmower, enthralled by the rippling of his back muscles with every pull. You know that some of it’s for show—knowing you're watching makes him want to impress you. Sometimes, he's still the man with the teenaged crush on the girl, doing everything he can and going out of his way to make you smile. It works.
He’s methodical: making lines up and down the lawn, shearing away the too-long blades of grass under the motor. As sweat begins to bloom under his collar and his brow, he wipes his forehead with his forearm and you lick your lips, saliva pooling in your mouth at the thought of running your tongue all over his strong, naked body. Jesus. You finish off your coffee and force your eyes away from your husband for a moment. It isn't too hot from where you sit on the wraparound porch, but your chest feels sticky.
You rush inside to fill up a glass of water for him, hastily scrubbing your mug clean and putting it back in the cupboard. Maybe you should be occupying yourself with your chores today; you worry nothing will get done if you continue to watch him work in the Texas sun.
He’s just finishing when you shoulder your way back outside, his neck glistening with sweat and golden noon-hour light, warm and tempting. You set the glass on the railing and wait for him to come your way, squeezing your thighs together as your eyes trail up and down his body.
He's always been a capable man, broad and tall—so good at his job that he was offered a promotion after a few months. But it isn't just his strength or his doggedness when it comes to getting his work done. It's the way he’s so eager to finish things, to check off the items on your list, to please you. He frowns at the idea of you doing too much work. He parades you around town with a puffed-up chest, as if to announce, This is my wife. I’m her husband and I’m fucking proud. He takes your pleasure so seriously that it feels like a competitive sport—always outdoing himself, always striving for more. He loves selflessly, and yet he loves just selfishly enough to make sure the world knows you're his.
He’ll be a good daddy.
You glance down at your belly and let yourself picture it: swollen and round, ballooning big enough to fit a new life inside. You imagine smoothing your hand over a growing bump, Joel’s warm palms feeling the undulating kicks of a little baby inside, half of him and half of you. You picture back aches and swelling feet and insatiable cravings and expended energy. And not a part of it deters you. Not a speck of your willpower wavers, the way it would have mere months ago.
Something has changed. It may have been gradual and it may have been sudden. But it's new, all the same. It’s been this way since a week ago, when you looked in your nightstand at your little pink pill organiser labelled by weekday, and decided: No more.
Watching Joel make his way back to you, shielding his eyes from the light, you idly place your hand on your belly. Something new. A welcome change, you think, to have someone new sitting at our little table.
Joel climbs up the steps to the porch and gulps down the glass of water. “Thank you, baby,” he says, wiping his mouth. Your lips part as if to taste the air around him, to chew, to savour, relishing the richness.
Your pupils expand, taking in more of him, and Joel notices, placing a rough hand over yours where it rests on your belly. “You’re lost in thought, honey. Wanna tell me what's in that pretty head?”
“Just…” Your tongue wets your bottom lip. “Thank you for doing that. I know it's a big job.”
“Ain’t nothin’,” says Joel, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Got any idea how I can win those chores off you?”
Hands grasping your hips, sliding over your sweat-slick spine, saccharine noises slipping from your throat onto your tongue and out into the open air. Fingers imprinting permanent fixtures into your ribs. The heady weight of his big, fat cock wrenching you open, as it always does, slow until it isn't anymore. Desperation kicking in, a switch flipped, pummeling and brutal and unforgiving. Uncompromising. Hips pressed flush to your ass, nothing spilling out. Not a drop.
Everything sealed in tight as promises are exchanged as whispers in the dark.
“I want you to put a baby in me.”
All right. You could have been more delicate about it. Not precisely how you wanted to approach the topic, but it seems to get the job done.
Looking down at you, Joel slowly lowers the empty glass, mouth opening as he searches for words. “What?”
There’s no point in shyness or hesitation. You know your body, your mind, your heart. You thread your fingers through Joel’s and let them stay connected over your stomach. “I want you to give me a baby, Joel Miller,” you say softly, your gaze locked to his. “That's my price.”
Joel swallows thickly, his mouth still gaping. “I heard you,” he rasps. “Just… you… you mean it?”
You try not to melt over the tone of his voice: low, bordering on desperate, wanting. There’s hunger in the sound of it. “We’ve talked about it,” you offer, conciliatory. “Lots of times.”
“Yeah, we have.” Joel steps closer, his eyes dipping from your eyes to your mouth, your throat and collarbones, to your belly. His hand flexes. “You gotta be sure. You gotta know it's what you want.”
You cup his face and give him your best smile. It's the sort of smile he remembers from the very first night you met. The sort of person who is unashamed to show their joy on their face. “Honey, I want it all with you.” Your fingers squeeze his. “We’ve waited so long and I don’t want to wait anymore.”
His ears are ringing. All Joel can do is sweep you into his arms and grin into your throat, his hand firm on the back of your head, curling around a fistful of hair. “Girl of my fuckin’ dreams,” he mumbles against your skin. “I’ll make you a momma. Give you just what you want. Everything you want.”
As you close your eyes and open your ears to his ramblings, your erratic heartbeat settles. Serenity finds the pair of you, locked together on your front porch, and the next part of your life begins.
“Don’t think this gets us out of doing chores,” you tease.
“You aren’t gonna lift a goddamn finger,” says Joel fiercely, his lips still littering kisses all over your neck. “You’re havin’ a baby.”
“Honey, I’m not pregnant yet,” you laugh. “I don't need to get all lazy right away.”
“Yeah, you do, and you will. I’m gonna make you the laziest momma in Texas,” says Joel, smiling into your throat, the scratch of his moustache making you dizzy with laughter. “Gonna look so fuckin’ beautiful with a baby in you. Gonna glow like a goddamn firefly. Shit, we need to paint the spare room. I need to build a crib, get time off work—”
“Joel,” you coo, scratching your nails up and down the back of his neck. “We’ll have time to do all of that.”
He pulls back to look down at you, eyes so buttery-soft in the shade of the porch that you impulsively reach for his cheek and run your fingers through his patchy beard. “What’s next on my list?” he asks, holding you around the waist.
You tap your fingers gently against his cheek as you recite each item over again. Joel’s arms tighten, pulling you closer, pupils widening.
“And then what?” he says gruffly.
You beam, and he's so fucking in love that he may keel over, doubled by the intensity of his affection. “And then, you're going to take me to bed and put a baby in me.”
This phenomenon should be studied: how quickly Joel Miller speeds through his chores when he has enough incentive. The anticipation of bending you over on the mattress and wringing every drop of cum from his balls until your stomach swells drives each flick of his hand as he touches up the forest-green paint on the front door, weathered slightly by morning sunlight over the years. The image of his hips pressed flushed to you as he grinds deep, spilling his cum into your womb and forcing it to take, motivates every turn of the steering wheel as he drives you to the grocery store in his clunky Chevy.
He’ll need to drive to Benny’s, get the suspension fixed up; no way in hell he's going to let his pregnant wife sit on the old bench of a bumpy pickup truck, not with the speed bumps dotting the neighbourhood. At least there's a good preschool nearby. He pictures taking his baby to school and he preemptively feels the inevitable first swoop of dread into his gut knowing he'll have to watch his little girl disappear behind those doors. He knows, somehow, that it’ll be a girl. There's not a doubt in his mind.
“What are you thinkin’ about?” you ask him, playing with his fingers as he holds your thigh. Joel is a great driver; he steers so easily, one palm sliding smoothly over the wheel, his eyes alert and his speed under control. It’s a little sexy, and it makes you antsy from where you sit on the bench. Sure, there are chores to do and there’s dinner to make, but it’s getting harder to push your innate needs to the back of your mind. You don't know if you can wait all day to get him inside you.
“Names,” he says. “Got lots of ideas.”
“Yeah? Fire away.”
“Well, I like Eleanor. Good, strong, classic name, y’know? Little wordy, maybe. Then there's Mary, Marie, Hannah, and I can tell you don't like any of ‘em,” he finishes with a laugh, squeezing your thigh. Your silence has always been a tell.
“They're very sweet names,” you concede, “but they don't feel like my baby.”
Joel’s hand slides up to your belly and warms you beneath your dress. “Maybe we’ll feel it,” he says, “when we make her.”
“Think it’ll happen on the first try?” you wonder aloud, watching the scenery whiz by outside. It's a sunny, temperate day for Austin. You think about taking your baby for a walk, lounging lazily in a stroller while you say words that fall on deaf ears, but will resonate in due time nonetheless. You think about a little girl that will cling hard to her daddy’s leg when she gets scared of the storms outside, the way you did when you were little. You think about long nights shushing your sweet baby girl to sleep, about those same nights spent nestled into Joel’s body, the three of you dozing idly on the sofa. A unit.
“If it doesn’t, I’ll just have to try again.” You watch his fingers creep back down between your legs and snap the waistband of your panties.
You smack his hand. “If you keep playin’, Mr. Miller, you're gonna have to take me right here, in this truck. You want to give your wife a bad back?”
Joel grunts, patting your thigh. “Dirty play.”
“That's what I thought.”
Back at home, Joel vacuums the house while you manage, some-fuckin’-how, to convince him to let you do the laundry. He fishes debris and runoff out of the eavestrough, then gets down on his bad knees to tighten the plumbing underneath the sink.
“Let me help, sweetie. At least hand you a wrench or something. You'll hurt your back again.”
“I got it,” he grunts from under the sink. “Just a loose pipe. I’m peachy.”
You just sigh and let him carry on, the stubborn bastard. When he stands, the job done, he lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead, and you get a generous glimpse of his belly, the trail of dark hair directing your gaze down, down—
“Joel?” you squeak, wringing your hands together.
He drops the shirt back over his abdomen and steps closer. “Yeah, baby?”
“Are you, um… Are you hungry?”
He understands the particular glint in your eye, the telltale widening of your pupils, the hollow of your throat dipping as you swallow, your lashes fluttering gently. Blood surges down to his cock and it begins to fill out his jeans at the thought of taking what he's waited for all day. “No,” he says, licking his bottom lip. You eye every minute movement with meticulous precision. “Think dinner can wait.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” you say, crowding him and tugging at the hem of his shirt. He watches you prowl slowly toward him, gaze locked to the heady pull of your eyes. His cock twitches with a vested interest in the body now pressed up against him. Joel cannot look away from the siren now calling him to sea.
“That so?” he rasps, bunching the fabric of your dress so it rides up your hip and gives him a good look at your panties. “You dressed up all pretty today. For me?”
You're as coy as a flirtatious schoolgirl, trailing your fingers up and down his muscled bicep. “Always for you.”
“That’s right, baby. You like me lots, don't you?”
“Mmm, I do,” you purr, your hand sliding up his abdomen to his chest, admiring the hard planes of his strong body. “So handsome, strong, generous…” You get lost in your exploration, eyes dipping to his throat, your lips instinctively seeking the delectable vein that pulses with every beat of his heart. “Such a good man. Gonna be such a good daddy.”
Joel’s breath shudders out of him when he feels your soft, warm mouth on his neck, indulging in the taste of him. “Jesus,” he croaks, gripping your hips hard. “Jesus, honey, you gotta go easy on me. Lemme take it slow—”
—or I swear to God, I’ll blow a load in my jeans.
“You wanna undress me?” you say, like a real fucking tease, pulling away and tugging playfully at the straps of your dress. Joel’s nostrils flare, and he’s walking you back into the wall, cupping the back of your head to protect it, and slanting his mouth over yours.
He’s salty with the sweat that drips from his temples and he still smells of fresh-cut grass. He’s all Joel, all yours, the first gulp of air you breathe in when you wake and the last sigh you exhale before you sleep.
You moan into his mouth as he parts your lips and dips his tongue between them to taste yours. You taste like mint and coffee and he clutches you tighter, wrinkling the fabric of your pretty little dress in his fist. The sunlight filters through the windows, intrusive, bleeding into the moment as if taking a snapshot. Joel kisses you so deeply that your throat feels stained with the gasps of breath you exchange.
You're sweet enough that it makes him ache, bending your back to fit you to him, craving more. Closeness is not enough—he needs possession.
Joel’s kisses are bruising, unforgiving, merciless, but they are also slow, careful. He isn't sloppy; he does precisely what must be done to get you riled. And when he breaks away, his forehead resting against yours, you tug his hair with a pitiful whine.
“I wasn't done,” you tell him.
Joel pouts, mocking. Fingers pull at the straps of your dress until you're watching it pool at your feet. His big hands find your tits immediately, squeezing out all his frustrations, tweaking your nipples and lowering his mouth to your throat.
Your fingers curl into his hair, glueing him to you while he marks your throat, sucking blood to the surface, retribution for the hickeys all over his chest. His warm palms explore your tits the way he likes, and you curve into him, giving him all the access he wants. “Joel, honey—”
Your voice is nectar, warmth from a fire on the Fourth of July, the stomach-cramping laughter around the flame. Joel groans, blindly searching for your hand with his face still nuzzled in your throat, sucking a particularly aggressive bruise that you’ll scold him for later. But he threads his fingers through yours and feels the cool kiss of your twin wedding bands, and your sweet, wispy sighs have him grinding absently against your thigh. You don't have half the mind to get mad at him for a goddamn thing.
He pulls away with a great yank of his self-restraint, still holding your hand. “C’mon, baby.”
You follow dutifully, staring up at your husband with the same moony eyes you gave him on your wedding day. The third stair creaks a bit, the way it always does. The bedroom door is first on the left, and it's a good fucking thing, because Joel can't wait any longer.
He walks you to the edge of the bed, stalking, a predator on prey, focused solely on his task. “Goddamn beautiful,” he says to himself, scanning your mostly-naked body and feeling his eyes droop in arousal.
“Think so?” Your hand drops between your bodies and palms his erection over his jeans. “Yeah, you really think so.”
His nostrils flare. “Sit.”
You lower yourself onto the mattress, primly placing your hands on your thighs and straightening your spine. Joel hums appreciatively, approaching you and slotting himself between your legs. There's a dark wet spot pooling in your panties. “Sweet thing. So needy all fuckin’ day.”
“So were you” is your retort, packing little punch due to the way you push your tits toward him like a fucking whore.
Joel presses his big, warm hand to your sternum. “Remember what you said to me the first time I got you in bed?”
“‘Let’s go again’?”
“The other thing.”
“'Let me suck your dick’?”
“Try again, baby.”
“‘Wrong hole’?”
Joel snorts, shaking his head. “Goddamn smartass,” he mutters. “Told me you wanted me from that first night. Told me you woulda let me fuck you against that bathroom mirror.”
His hand begins to move, rolling your nipple between his fingers like a cigarette, playing with you the way he likes. “Said you’d let me do whatever I wanted,” Joel says quietly, not meeting your eyes, transfixed by the way your body seeks the touch he gives you. “That still true?”
“I meant it then, and I mean it now,” you tell him, pulling your lip between your teeth. “I’m yours, Joel Miller.”
He tilts his head slightly, satisfied. “You got somethin’ you wanna ask me?”
You hook a finger in his belt loop. “Can you get naked now?”
He laughs, guiding your hand to the buckle on his belt. “Go on. Do what you wanna do, baby.”
He belongs to you. He’s yours to mould the way you want.
Your fingers do away with his belt, whipping it out of the loops and hanging it around your neck. Joel’s hands flex at his sides as you toy with the hem of his shirt, bringing it slowly up his torso with your palms flat to his tanned skin.
You imagine you're sculpting him like clay, bringing your hands over the contours and admiring the work when all is done. It’s the artist’s pride of finishing the work and none of the self-reproach when something comes out wrong, because it’s Joel, and wrong becomes negligible.
You bring the shirt over his head with his assistance, lifting his arms for you, tossing the thing aside with little care. His eyes haven't once wavered from you. Next are his jeans, the scrape of his zipper and the delectable anticipation of hooking your fingers in the waistband and guiding them slowly down his hips.
His cock springs forward, thick and heavy and so hard it must ache, as you shuck his jeans down with his boxers. He grunts above you, his cock bobbing at the sight of your pretty lips parting. But you don’t take him into your mouth. You grasp the base of his cock and gently nuzzle your cheek against his length. Something like a strangled whimper leaves his throat.
“Baby,” he chokes.
“Yes, honey?” you say sweetly, looking up at him through your lashes.
“Jesus,” he says through his teeth. “You’re so fuckin' sexy. Fuck.”
You hum, slowly stroking your hand up and down as your tongue darts out to lick his balls. Joel’s hips stutter, his hand flying out to catch himself on the bedpost. “Goddamn. Jesus—”
Your coy smile knocks him askew, your lips pursing as you spit on the head of his cock, spreading your own saliva around the tip with your thumb. “I just wanna thank you”—a soft kiss to the tip has a rumbling groan crawling out of his throat—“for everything you do for me. I just want you to know how much I love you.”
Joel exhales hard, struggling to remember how breathing works when he's got his wife playing with his cock like it's your favourite toy. “How much do you love me?” he demands.
You wrap your fingers around the head of his cock and twist your hand up and down his shaft in a couple slow strokes. You're driving him fucking crazy. His vision is whiting out.
“I love you,” you purr, licking a broad stripe up the underside of his length. Joel’s chest is heaving with the effort of holding back. “Love you so much. Love you enough to make you a daddy.”
Joel caves, threading his fingers through your hair at the nape of your neck and stroking his thumb along your jaw. “Fuck, baby. Please…”
“Do you love me?” Batting your lashes, you scatter measured kisses from his tip to the base, teasingly licking his balls.
“Christ, I—” His hips jut forward instinctively. “I love you. Fuckin’ love you, baby.”
You flick your tongue against his slit and relish his groan, revelling in the sight of his flushed chest, his pink cheeks, the sweat on his brow. His jaw is tense, his nostrils flaring. He’s trying not to take control.
You slap his cock twice on your tongue and finally take it past your lips, sealing your mouth over the head. Joel moans, white-knuckling the bedpost, his other hand now stroking your hair. You fondle his balls in your free hand while the other grips him at the base, and he’s going to come embarrassingly soon if you keep looking up at him this way.
Your tongue swirls around the head of his cock while your lips seal tight, greedily suckling at his tip. Oversensitive, skin prickling with salty sweat, Joel practically breathes through his teeth. “Gonna kill me,” he manages. “You’re gonna kill me, honey.”
“Mmmm,” you reply, happily taking him deeper, his length sliding along the warm wetness of your tongue. Joel’s fingers tighten in your hair.
“Fuuuuck. You love this cock.”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Love takin' me into your mouth like a little slut.”
“Mmmmph,” you agree, pushing your tits out.
His hand drifts down to the belt hanging around your neck and he wraps his fist around both ends, tugging so you’re forced to take him deeper. You splutter, breathing hard through your nose, your arousal dripping onto the mattress.
The sloppy sounds of your mouth working his cock send his head spinning. Drool dribbles from the corners of your lips, your eyes squeezing black tears from dewy lashes. And when you take him down your throat, the sound of your choked moan leaves Joel with little choice but to pull out before he comes.
You whine, squeezing your thighs together. He swipes his thumb underneath your eye and shows you the black smudge from your mascara. “Doesn't take much to get you cryin’. You like me that much?”
You bite your bottom lip and beam up at him. “Did I do okay?”
Your faux-innocence makes his dick twitch in your face, and you flick your tongue out to lick at the tip once more. Joel grunts, grasping his belt and tossing it away.
“‘Did I do okay,’” he murmurs, tweaking your nipple between his fingers. “Got no idea after all these years. No idea what you do to me.”
“I just wanna take care of my man. He works so hard, you know, keeping me safe and happy.” You run your hand over his soft belly, the trail of hair that leads down to his cock. “He’s always liked to give me things.”
Joel backs you farther up the bed and crawls over your body, lowering his head to bury his face in your throat. You smell fresh and sweet as vanilla, and when he playfully bites into your skin, your saplike laugh has him grinding helplessly against your thigh.
He loves to give—always has. It’s all he knows. It took a long while for you to get him to unlearn some of his blind selflessness, to let you take control sometimes and care for him instead. Your Joel provides; he does not take. And the prospect of getting to give his wife a baby is turning him to putty in your hands. By the time he gets to work, he’ll be dead-set on his task, hard-pressed to pull out of you. He’ll want to get the job done on his first try, refusing to see you upset if the test comes back negative, but the id will still scratch and claw for another chance to fill you up.
Joel sucks a hickey into your neck and soothes the mark with his tongue, the slow, soft pleasure compounded by the way his warm body covers you, your fingers carding through his locks.
Your voice oozes, honeyed, down his spine. “I love you, Joel.”
He squeezes his eyes shut and crushes his nose in your throat, his hand smoothing down your hair. “I love you.”
“You want to make a baby?”
He rears back slightly, his nose bumping against yours. “Yeah. I really fuckin’ do.”
You grin, lacing your fingers together at the back of his neck. “Will you fuck me? Please?”
Joel brushes his thumb across your chin. “Use your words.”
“I want to be a mom, Joel.” You give him a long, gooey stare, eyes warm and soft as running water. A look like that will make a man give you the goddamn galaxy.
He nods, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. “I know, baby. I’ll help you. Hands and knees, now.”
The gentle direction moulds your body to the shape of the words. You go easily, your back arching as you rest your weight on your forearms and spread your thighs. The bed dips behind you as Joel settles in, his hands grasping your ass and making you jump.
Your body trembles with excitement. You’re going to be a mom. He's going to get you pregnant. You feel dizzy, bending deeper at the hips and shaking your ass at him, deluded with your own arousal.
But Joel doesn't fuck you right away. No, he bumps up against the backs of your thighs, warm hands branding your skin, and rubs two fingers over the wet spot darkening your panties.
“I do this to you?” he says smugly.
“You know damn well—”
“Wanna hear you say it.” The no-nonsense command triggers a submissive response. “Who did this to you?”
Your body melts against him, presenting your pussy to him like a needy whore. “You, Joel. It’s you, baby. Only you.”
Your babbling makes him squeeze handfuls of your ass, spreading your asscheeks apart to get a good glimpse of the way your pussy drools into your panties. Shuffling backward and lowering himself to his knees on the floor, Joel’s tongue darts out and licks you through your underwear.
“Ohh, fuck!” you gasp. “Joel…”
He hums, tasting your tang through the fabric and finding your puffy clit, sucking gently. You cry out, your fingers grasping the sheets, and Joel moves your panties aside to slather his spit all over your dripping pussy. The languorous movements of his tongue are indulgent, achingly slow; he loves the taste of you as much as you enjoy having his mouth on your cunt.
“Oh my God, Joel… fuck, honey, please—!”
Your thighs are trembling as you struggle to hold yourself up, the strokes of his tongue turning your muscles to soup. He stops to take your panties off, guiding them off your legs, and by now, you're so wet that your juices glisten halfway down your thighs. Joel dives back in and licks up the rivulets of arousal from your skin, all the way back up to your weeping hole.
“So goddamn sweet,” he grumbles, kneading your ass in his hands as he flicks his tongue over your clit a few more times.
“Joel, I’m…” You’re drooling, grinding pathetically into his face, already close to an orgasm, and he isn't fucking letting up.
He wants you as wet and needy as possible, his own cock leaking onto the bedsheets at the prospect of sliding into your creamy pussy.
Your cheeks burn and your muscles lock as Joel makes out with your pussy, his tongue laving over your pearl in slow, aching circles. He drowns in the pleasure of making you feel good. He soaks himself in kerosene and lights the match.
“Oh, fuck!” Your thighs shake around his head and your toes curl, ears ringing with the force of your high. Grasping feebly at the bedsheets, you try not to list, but Joel isn’t fucking stopping, cleaning you up with his tongue like you're a piece of goddamn pie.
His fingers dig into your ass, rapacious as his mouth, and you climb high to a space that transcends the sky, feeling nothing but the linen underneath and the man above, softly kissing your poor, used clit.
He doesn’t let up until you reach back and gently shove his head away, grasping his damp curls. “Baby, let me rest,” you gasp, “just for a second.”
Regretfully, he pulls away, pressing a kiss to each knob of your spine, dragging his nose up your back. “‘m so fuckin’ lucky,” he murmurs against your skin.
“Lucky you didn’t kill me.” You laugh breathlessly, your hips already sore from keeping your ass in the air.
“Makin’ sure you’re ready,” he says innocently, sliding his thick fingers through your slit. You gasp, trying to escape his grasp despite yourself. He just clicks his tongue in reproach. “Nuh-uh, baby. You're gonna stay right here, let me make it good for you. Hmm? Wanna feel good?”
You nod your head frantically. “Yeah, yeah, I do. Wanna be good.”
“Mmm, now, you know that ain't your job tonight,” he says in a mock scold. In the meantime, his fingers soak themselves in your wetness. “Don't think you're ready for me yet.”
“No! No, I’m ready,” you pant, grinding against his erection. Joel grunts, holding your hip in place. “Baby, please, I’m ready for you. Need you so badly.”
“Shhh, sweetheart. I'll give you what you need. Just be patient.” Hands smooth over your ass, between your thighs, and then two fingers are teasing your hole. Joel tilts his head to watch the way he spreads your folds wide. “Gonna fill this up.”
A strangled noise spills from your mouth, your cheeks burning hot at the way he exposes you so tenderly. “Please,” you croak, hiding your face in the crook of your elbow.
He grasps himself and teases the already-wet head of his cock over your pussy, spurting precum onto your hole. “You want a baby?” he asks, low and dark. You luxuriate in the velvet-soft tone. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want a baby,” you whisper, “please. Please give me a baby.”
He readies himself at your tight cunt and the excitement briefly overcomes him, forcing his hips forward and pushing past the wet, gummy seal of your pussy. You gasp, held in place by his hand on your hip.
“What. Do. You. Want?”
“I want to make you a daddy!” you sob. “I want to have your baby and make you a daddy.”
“You want to be a momma?” he says through his teeth, tunnel vision narrowing his focus to the way he slowly guides himself into you, wrenching you open. At this angle, with how wet you are, the glide is delicious, white-hot, his balls heavy with the need to empty inside you. “That it? Want everyone to know who put a fuckin’ baby in you?”
Your husband is so fucking big, so strong, and the way he pins your body down feels close to primal. “Yes! Yes, Daddy, yes! I want to be a momma. Please give me a baby.”
The words put a chisel to his self-restraint and crack down. He’s gone, baring his teeth, pulling your hips toward him and impaling you on his cock, relishing the give of your tight walls and the way he sits snug against your cervix. You mewl, reaching back to find a purchase on his hip. “Joel, fuck…”
He establishes a punishing pace, driving your body farther up the bed with every thrust. “That’s it,” he groans, sliding his palm up your spine. “Gonna look so goddamn beautiful with a baby in you. You were fuckin’ made to take this cock.”
Your moan is syrupy and pitched low, your cheek buried in the mattress, letting him fill you up again, again, again—
“I’ll get you fuckin’ pregnant,” continues Joel, panting through his words, sweat beading on his brow as he runs his hands over your skin. “Stuff you so goddamn full you'll always feel me.”
“Uhhh!” you moan, fisting the sheets, your body practically folded in half to accommodate your husband’s huge body, his thick cock.
Joel wants this, too—has for a long time. It’s hard not to notice the little details. He places his hand on your belly when he isn't even paying attention, his lips finding the soft skin there when he first wakes in the morning. You knew he would have dropped everything to give you a baby the second you demanded it, but you realise you may have underestimated his need.
Joel is growling like a dog, sweat dripping from his temples and back pinching with effort as he holds your body close, glueing you to him, his cock reaching deep, deliberate, mind going numb, intent the only tangible feeling he can grasp onto. Intent and the white-hot drag of his cock against your walls.
You’re going to grow swollen and round with his baby. He will watch your tits grow heavy, your belly bulge, your cheeks take on a ruddy, dewy glow, the telltale mark of his success, his devotion. He’ll wake up every morning wrapped in the scent of your body, your hormones, his palm finding sanctuary on your soft, warm belly. He’ll bury his face in your throat and you’ll smile and the sun will warm the golden spot where a new life grows.
Fuck, he’ll never let you do laundry again. You could hurt your back.
Your head spins at the wet slap of his balls against your clit, the obscene squelch of your pussy around his impressive length, the way he grabs at you. He’s greedy, hands mapping each rib, each vertebrae, every curve and contour that makes you.
Your pussy sucks him in, just as needy, breathless moans and squeals punching out of your throat as you croak out pleas: Joel, baby, please. I want a baby so badly. Wanna have your baby. Please, please, fill me up! And Joel listens, his palm sliding around your waist and down your belly, rubbing your sensitive clit with two fingers.
A real man gives his wife everything she wants.
He moans at the feeling of your cunt squeezing him, his fingers wet and insistent against your little clit, coaxing you toward your climax. “C’mon,” he grunts, “come for me, baby. Fuckin’ choke me. Wanna feel it. Come and I’ll give you the baby you want so goddamn bad. C’mon, baby.”
His words seep into your bloodstream, an uncontrollable tremor racking your body, your arms giving out as he bends over you and sinks his teeth into your shoulder. “Ohhhh, God! Oh my—!”
Joel’s hands squeeze your tits, his entire body covering yours, a warm, protective blanket, slick with sweat and heart thundering against your back. His lips are on your skin, feverishly kissing and nipping. You can’t breathe, can’t move, and it feels so fucking good. You soak his cock, muscles seizing, pinned down by his strong body.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans. “That’s it, baby. Goddamn, keep on squeezin’ me like that. Not gonna leave this tight pussy until you're fuckin’ pregnant.”
“Joelllll,” you whine, your orgasm prolonged by his words, his unrelenting thrusts, the jolt of his balls slapping your clit. “Want it so bad. Wanna give you a baby. Come inside me, please. Please give me your cum, oh, God—”
The broken sound of your voice, weak and raspy, goes straight to his dick, and his balls are pulling up, his head bombarded with the smell of sex, perfume, linen, you. He rests his forehead between your shoulder blades as you milk his cock, turning his thrusts sloppy and desperate. He needs to come. He needs to make it real.
Your orgasm leaves you pliant and loose in his arms, and he fondles your tits, squeezing them hard in his hands as he pictures them growing, swelling heavy with milk he’ll feed your baby. His baby. Idly, you moan, letting him use your body to get off, his teeth grazing your neck.
“Gonna come. Gonna fuckin’ fill you up, give you a baby. Gonna—Jesus, goddamn—”
Maybe it's the pent-up frustration of not having come all day. Maybe it's a renewed sense of purpose, knowing he's got a job to do, keeping every drop safe inside you. Maybe it's the sheer fucking excitement of getting to give his wife what he's wanted to put in you for so long. But when he comes, hips flush to your ass, he comes so much, for so long, that the rapid rush of blood from his cock back up to his head has him nearly keeling.
Kissing your cervix, the head of his cock spurts rope after rope of hot cum inside you, and you mewl, your back arching to deepen the angle, luxuriate in the liquid warmth. Joel isn’t so loud now, not so cocky. He’s reduced to strained groans and whimpers as your body depletes him, greedily taking every drop of cum he has to offer.
It feels like minutes before it finally stops, but with your ass up in the air, none of his cum spills out. Your hips are sore, your ass bruises from his hands, your tits still sitting warmly in his hands. The cool kiss of his wedding band soothes the too-hot press of his body on top of yours, your doubly-slick skin meeting indecently. His lips are on the back of your neck and he thrusts shallowly, wringing the last of his cum from the tip until he's wholly empty and bordering on oversensitive.
You're the first to speak, your throat clogged with drool and some of your own tears.
“Thank fuck I was at the bar that night.”
Joel’s laugh scrapes down your spine along with his beard as he drags himself upright, knowing he’s crushing you. “Never would've had to patch me up”
“Mmm, you're sexy when you're mad,” you point out, your thighs twitching as he carefully guides you onto your side, back to his chest, his cock still acting as a plug for his cum. You’re deliciously full, and you hum happily at the feeling of his warm belly against you, his big arms cradling you close.
“Shouldn't enable violence,” he grumbles. His lashes flutter against your shoulder.
You roll your eyes. “Oh, please.”
He chuckles. “You feel okay?”
“I feel good,” you muse, running your fingers along his forearm, the prominent veins under his skin. “I feel excited.”
His grin curves against your skin, the scratch of his moustache sending a shiver up your spine. Outside, the sun begins to dip, and your twin golden rings glimmer in the fiery light.
“Me, too,” he whispers, and you lace your fingers through his, squeezing, both of you practically giddy.
There’s a lull, and for a moment, you think he’s fallen asleep. The sun creeps behind a home across the street, and its watch ends for another day.
“Hey, Joel?”
His mouth meets your throat in a sleepy kiss. “Yeah, baby?”
“I like the name Sarah.”
THE END.
tags: @cavillscurls @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @cupofjoel @northernbluess @tieronecrush @joelmillers-whore @bastardmandennis - thank you all so so much for showing excitement for this fic!! kisses for you all 🫶
#kiwisbell's fics#pedro pascal#joel miller#joel miller x reader#the last of us#joel miller smut#joel miller fic#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller fluff#joel miller fanfiction#pre outbreak!joel#joel miller x you#joel miller x female reader
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Starin' Problem.
pairing: dbf!no outbreak!joel miller x afab!reader
summary: a red dress and a glass of whiskey is all it took for Joel to lose every ounce of self control he once had.
warnings: porn no plot, female pronouns, age gap (both consenting adults), unprotected p in v, fingering, creampie, slight creep joel, daddy kink, breeding kink...,mean joel, dirty talk, praise!!!, no use of y/n or descriptions of reader, not proofread
word count: 1.3k words
recommended listening: granite by sleep token
authors note: i'm pretty sure I had planned for this to take place at reader's parent's wedding but i never specified so it's just some fancy event they planned lmfao, enjoy <333
“Quit starin’.” Your father whispered into Joel’s ear, following his eyes to you, his daughter, across the room. “Let's not have a problem tonight.”
“I ain’t.” Joel grunted, taking a sip of the whiskey in his hand as he continued to watch you. “We won’t have any problems.”
He’d spent most of the night trying to decide if you’d worn any underwear under the dress, with a slit that ended right under your hip he was convinced you weren’t but then you’d turn a specific way and he swore he could make out a line. The low neckline left nothing to the imagination and only added to the torture you were putting Joel through at the hands of fashion, he never knew he could be so turned on by someone your age but here he was with a rock hard cock, staring like a creep.
“Whoever that guy with your dad is has been staring at you all night.” One of the girls you’d been standing with spoke, a hint of jealousy in her voice.
You turned your head around, making eye contact with Joel, and looking him up and down. You couldn’t deny the attraction you had for him, and the dark red suit your father had picked out to match the same red of the dresses your mom had picked out wasn’t helping at all. He looked you up and down before making eye contact with you again, taking another sip of his whiskey, and twirling a finger around.
“Joel? He’s probably on a secret mission to keep an eye on me.” You joked, acting like you had stepped on your dress as an excuse to spin around without anyone suspecting anything.
“He can keep an eye on me.” A different girl responded, giggling as they continued to joke about him.
He could’ve orgasmed right then and there as you spun around, the two of you hadn’t spoken all night and yet here you were entertaining him. His glass of whiskey was almost empty, if he played his cards right maybe he’d be able to get you alone, away from the annoying girls you’d been around all night.
You watched him glance at his glass before heading off to what you assumed was the kitchen, he hadn’t made any signal for you to follow but this was your moment.
“What would my dear father think if he knew his best friend was eyeing up his daughter?” You whispered, coming up behind Joel and dragging your nails down his back.
“Does his dear daughter care?” Joel whispered back, setting his glass down and turning around to face you. “Seemed like you quite enjoyed it.”
He trailed a finger over the neckline of your dress, hooking it under the fabric and exposing one of your breasts. A low groan escaped his throat, accompanied by him fixing his suit pants. His fingers found your nipple, rolling and tugging it slightly.
“Seems to me you’re enjoying it a whole bunch.” He chuckled, using his other hand to tilt your chin up, leaning down so your lips were inches apart.
“Fuck, Joel-”
He smashed his lips against yours, swallowing every whimper escaping your lips, pulling the other side of your dress down to expose both breasts. Your hands made quick work of unbuttoning his suit jacket, pulling it off of him and throwing it on the floor, before moving to his dress shirt.
“Naughty girl, lettin’ some old man touch you in a kitchen at your parent’s party.” He spoke against your lips, shoving your dress down to your hips and taking a step back to admire you. “God you’re fuckin’ pretty.”
“Joel, please.” You whined, grabbing at the last few buttons left on his shirt desperately as if it was going to get them unbuttoned faster.
“I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already beggin’. Fuckin’ whore.” He chuckled, helping you unbutton his shirt and tossing it to the side with his jacket. “Need some dick, huh?”
You shook your head, shoving the rest of the dress over your hips and onto the floor, grabbing his head and smashing your lips back together. His fingers danced their way down your skin, memorizing every bump and curve in the chance that he wouldn’t get to do this again, making their way under your thighs and lifting you onto the counter behind him.
He trailed a finger up and down your folds, gathering your wetness and bringing it to his mouth, groaning at the taste. The sensation of his finger slowly pushing in and out was so overwhelming, you were practically floating on cloud nine and there was nothing you’d change about it.
“Tell me how bad you want it.” Joel rasped, lips pressed up against your ear, removing the rest of his clothing. “Tell daddy how bad you need it.”
“Daddy, please…fuck- need it so bad.” Your words were barely audible, desperate and whiny.
The feeling of his cock pushing inside of you had you throwing your head back, hand slapped over your mouth to muffle any and all noise he’d pull out of you. He pulled back out slowly, watching your pussy grip his cock as he pushed back in. Forbidden sex had never felt so good, he’d find any and every reason to visit you after tonight if he could experience this again. His beard scratched against your neck as he bent over, pulling your body closer to him, sucking and biting at the skin he could reach.
“God, I could make you a fuckin’ mom.” Joel groaned, leaning his head further into the crook of your neck. “Look so fuckin’ pretty, full of my babies.”
“Daddy-”
“That’s right, say my name, baby.” He switched the arm that was bearing your weight and brought the newly freed hand to your hair, tugging it back enough so he could see your face.
His hips pistoned in and out, cock reaching places you didn’t even know it could, but if you told him that he’d make a joke about you not sleeping with a real man like him. He placed wet kisses down your neck and all the way down to your nipples, sucking on them in turns.
“Joel, please, I’m so close..” You cried, eyes filled to the brim with tears that threatened to spill at any moment.
“That’s too damn bad, because that’s not my name.” He chuckled, evilly, wiping away the tears that had slid down your cheeks. “Try again, I know you can do it, baby.”
“Daddy, daddy please.”
“Good girl.”
He brought his thumb down to your clit, drawing figure eights in time with his thrusts, coaxing your orgasm right out of you. You slumped into him as it hit you, body shaking as it made its way through you. He continued to thrust into you, chasing his own white, hot high. Your small whimpers as you came back to the world was enough to send Joel over the edge, painting your insides a nice milky white. His own body slumping into yours as he recovered from the pleasure.
“Did such a good job, darlin’.” He praised, smoothing your hair down as you continued your way out of cloud nine. “Did so good for me.”
You gave him a weak smile, smoothing the hairs that were stuck to his sweaty forehead back to their spot. He sat you back down on the counter and filled his glass up with water before handing it to you, the aftertaste of whiskey was enough to perk you right up.
Joel helped you back into your dress, fixing your hair to cover the hickeys that were soon to appear, sliding your underwear back up but making sure to push his cum back inside of you before sliding them all the way up.
“C’mon, we got speeches to make.”
#maddies fics#joel miller fluff#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller#joel tlou#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x you#joel miller fic#tlou hbo#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic#pedro x reader#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal fandom
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Title: Crawling Back to You
Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader
Summary: After some particularly awful shit goes down, Javi distances himself from you. But he always comes crawling back.
Tags: Angst, smut, more angst, reference to s2e3 events w Carillo, Javi sleeps with Gabriela (that’s the one from S2E3 y’all), sad!Javi, self hating!Javi, references to blood, wounds, rot, etc, all metaphorical, drinking/alcohol, as always: excessive cursing, me trying to speak spanish (translations provided), arguing, manhandling, dry humping, fingering, oral f receiving, face riding but while lying down, hair pulling, actual riding, Javi very briefly picks you up, that one position from s1e2, unprotected PiV, creampie, Javi crying, Javi yelling, reader yelling, did I mention angst? WC: 2130
A/N: I'm sorry? And thanks to the HBH for beta reading <3
Series Masterlist | Javier Peña Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi
Crawling back to you
Ever thought of calling when you've had a few?
'Cause I always do
Javi has avoided you for two weeks now. He got himself involved in some truly fucked up shit with Carillo and couldn’t bear to face you after that. He couldn’t let you see him like that – completely ashamed of himself, broken. He went to Gabriela instead. He knew she wouldn’t ask too many questions, that she would let him take out his anger and helplessness and shame on her.
When he got home that night he still almost called you, just to hear your voice. You calm something inside him, something dark and violent. But it feels like a sin to expose you to it in the first place. He’s terrified of letting you in. Sure, he’s afraid of getting hurt. Afraid of giving his heart to you and possibly watching you crush it in your hands. But what he’s really scared of is letting you get close enough to see the blood in his teeth, to smell the rot in his chest. Afraid his darkness will infect you, ruin the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on. He is a bad man and you are so so good. You deserve better than him.
And yet he can’t truly let you go. Just another reason he doesn’t deserve you. He’s selfish enough to keep going back to you, to keep knocking on your apartment door and burying his pain in your body, only to tuck tail and run the second you push him for more. Most selfish of all is how much he wants more with you. Wants to come home to you every day. To cook dinner with you, to share a bed with you, to share his life with you. He wants everything you want and more and he’s terrified and horrified at the prospect.
You haven’t called him. Maybe you finally listened to him. Finally accepted he’s not what you want or need. Do you think about calling him? Maybe after a bottle of wine, listening to your maudlin records and relaxing on your couch. Do you drink yourself into a stupor before you can make that mistake like he does?
He dreams about you, about your body wrapped tightly around his, your nails dragging down his back so sharply it snaps him awake. He finds his whiskey glass turned over and spilled on his couch. His back aches from falling asleep sitting up. He eyes the phone.
Fuck calling.
Javi stares at the brass numbers on your apartment door. What the fuck is he doing here? He just can’t leave well enough alone. He pounds on the door until you answer.
“No.” You slam the door closed.
He bangs on the door again, fist pausing mid-air as the door swings open.
“You can’t just come crawling back to me when you get tired of your whores, Javi.” You look beautiful. Standing in your doorway in one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. Righteous anger puts a fire in your eyes, gives a hard set to your jaw.
“No es así y tú lo sabes.” (It’s not like that and you know it).” Javi steps closer to you, you don’t step back. “Me haces falta. (I miss you). Let me in.”
“Oh you fucking miss me? It’s been two weeks. Y no llamaste. (and you didn’t call).” You didn’t call him either, but that’s not the point. You didn’t show up at his apartment.
“Sé, lo siento. (I know, I’m sorry).”
“No. No lo eres. Déjame en paz.” (No. You’re not. Leave me alone.).
“No puedo. You know I can’t.” Javi looks defeated, run down. You know he needs you. Despite the advice of everyone you know and your own better judgment, you step aside and let him in. “Gracias, cariño.” And he sounds so relieved, you almost feel bad for keeping him out, for not calling him. Almost.
He closes the door behind him and you stalk off to the kitchen, still not quite ready to face him. You pour yourself a glass of whiskey and shoot it, wincing a little at the burn, before grabbing another glass and pouring one for each of you. You set both on the coffee table and sit on the couch, folding your legs beneath you.
“Why are you here, Javi?” He’d asked himself as much.
He picks his glass up off the table and sits on the couch next to you. You watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “I need you. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”
“Start with why you disappeared.”
“Classified.”
“Bullshit.”
Javi sets his glass down and manhandles you into his lap. He crashes his mouth into yours and at first you don’t even respond to his touch, but it doesn’t take long to fall into him. You can’t deny that you’ve been miserable without him. Craving his touch, missing him so much it hurts. He’s like an itch you can never scratch enough to satisfy. A festering wound that won’t ever heal. So you may as well pick at the scab.
Javi pulls your crotch flush with his. He’s already hard against you. You bury your hands in his too-long hair where it curls at the nape and lose yourself in him. You grind down on him and he thrusts up against you, the denim of his jeans and hard line of his cock creating delicious friction even through your panties.
He breaks the kiss, dragging his lips up your jaw, and whispers in your ear, “Can you come for me like this?” You don’t answer him, simply grind down on him harder, faster, nearly rubbing your thighs raw on his jeans. He peels his t-shirt off your body, throws it behind the couch, and immediately sucks a nipple between his plush lips. He bites down and it sends a jolt straight through your core.
“Fuck, Javi. More, baby. More,” you whine. He grabs your hips and drags you along his clothed length hard and fast. You feel your core tighten around nothing, and a keening moan falls from your lips as you come.
You don’t even have time to catch your breath before he’s thrown you onto the couch. He drags your ruined underwear down your legs, tossing them over his shoulder, and buries his face between your thighs. He sucks your clit into his mouth and pushes two fingers inside you, pumping slowly and rolling your clit gently between his teeth.
You arch up into him, and instead of pinning you down like he often does, he lets you grind your pussy on his face. The hard ridge of his nose, the rough drag of his mustache, the plush softness of his lips, so many different sensations hitting you as his fingers plunge into your cunt, curling into your g-spot over and over. It’s completely and utterly overwhelming. You fist his hair and hold him tight to you as you ride his face, and he moans into your cunt. He fucking loves it when you let go like this, unabashed moans filling the room, probably filling the whole apartment complex.
You fall apart again, like this, hips stuttering to a stop as you squeeze his fingers so hard it almost hurts. Javi peers up at your blissed out face, the rapid rise and fall of your chest, takes in just how beautiful you are. He drags his tongue through your slick one more time before hovering over you and licking into your mouth.
You suck your own slick off his tongue, licking into his mouth as you feel him shove his jeans down enough to free his cock. He pulls back, sits on the couch and drags you into his lap. You straddle him and he helps you line up before grabbing your hips and pulling you down on him.
You collapse forward, the feeling of him inside you is like being split apart and it would probably hurt if you weren’t so wet. He grabs your hair and pulls backward until your back is arched. “Montarme, cariño.” (Ride me, baby). You start moving your hips, slowly picking up in speed until you’re bouncing on his cock so hard and fast you can barely catch your breath.
He hitches your thighs around his waist and wraps his arm around your back, dropping you on the couch. He shoves his jeans down, stepping out of them, and drops one knee to the couch. He pulls you into his lap, wrapping your legs around his hips. You cling to his shoulders with your left arm and drop your other one behind you for leverage, rolling your hips into his. He meets you with his own thrusts, holding your body to his and burying his face in the crook of your neck.
He’s so close, you’re so tangled up in each other, he’s so fucking deep inside you, barely even pulling out before rolling back up into you. You fall back onto the couch and he follows, still holding you in his arms as he fucks you. Your orgasm hits you like a wave, rolling over your body and giving you chills as your cunt flutters around his cock.
He comes with you, fully collapsing down onto you. You should feel crushed under his weight, but it’s comforting. He holds you so tightly it’s like he’s afraid to let go of you. Afraid that when this moment is over you’ll kick him out and he’ll be alone again. Afraid this is the last time he’ll ever get to touch you.
You pet his hair gently, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. It’s late. You’re so fucked out you feel high and maybe the whiskey is loosening your tongue a little.
“I don’t understand, Javi. If it feels like this, why won’t you love me? What more could you want from me? What am I missing that you need?” This is going to ruin everything.
Javi pushes up on his elbows to look you in the eye. “Cariño. It’s not you–”
“I swear to God, Javi, if you use that line on me I will burn your apartment down with you in it.”
“You don’t understand. You won’t understand. I’m not good. I’m only going to get you hurt or killed.”
“You already are hurting me, Javi,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him back down to you.
He’s silent for a long time before he half whispers into your shoulder, “I’m just so afraid.” His voice breaks and you feel a tear land on your skin. You stroke his hair, drag your fingers along his heated skin.
“I know you, Javi. I know who you are and I don’t care. I think about you all the time. All the fucking time. I can’t stop thinking about you no matter how hard I fucking try. It’s torture.”
Javi shoves himself away from you, standing and grabbing his jeans off the floor.“That’s my fucking point!” You flinch at his volume. He pulls his jeans on, grabs his boots and crams his feet into them, already heading to the door. He turns around. “I am only ever going to hurt you. I am a bad fucking person. I hurt people on purpose and you are not immune from that just because I care about you or because I love you.”
You stand and try to take his face in your hands but he grabs your arms and holds you away from him. “I’d let you crack open my chest, rib by rib, while I watched if it meant I could have you. If it meant you’d be mine. Stop running away from me! I’m begging you!” You’re sobbing, yelling, pleading with him to just listen.
Javi looks at you, brow furrowed, big brown eyes shiny and bloodshot with tears. He lets go of you and steps away slowly, putting distance between the two of you. His mouth opens as if he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. He drops his head and closes his eyes, takes a shaky breath, and walks out the door.
He knows he will come crawling back to you, tomorrow or a week from now, he can’t ever stay away. But maybe this time the wound will be too raw. He will have hurt you too much, and you will shut him out. He fucking hates it, hates the thought of being without you, hates the way it feels like he’s clawing out his own organs hurting you like this. But this hurt is so much less than what he would do to you given enough time. This wound will scab over, form an angry scar, he will have left his mark on you. But you will heal.
dividers by @saradika
#Javier Peña#Javier Peña fics#Javier Peña fanfiction#Javier Peña x reader#Javier Peña x you#Javi Peña#Javi Peña fics#Javi Peña fanfiction#Javi Peña x reader#Javi Peña x you#Javi P#Javi P fics#Javi P fanfiction#Javi P x reader#Javi P x you#Narcos#Narcos fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro fics#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedrostories
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FRANKIE SAYS RELAX (Frankie Morales x fem!massage therapist!reader) ***teaser***
18+ explicit content - with peace and luv, MDNI*
A/N(s): Title is a mashup of the song title Relax by Frankie Goes to Hollywood (a fitting 80’s song about getting your nut!) this won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, if you don’t like it respectfully move along ok? Ok.
Warnings: BUTT STUFF GALORE (Frankie receiving!!!!!), sub!Frankie, inappropriate / unprofessional massage therapist behavior but they already know each other and are friends prior so it’s kinda less bad? IT’S CONSENSUAL and this is a work of fiction!!!!, dirty talk, praise KINK, pet names used in excess, mutual sexual tension, dirty thots (reader & Frankie!), gratuitous descriptions of frankie’s body ody ody, this is just super horned up, author regrets nothing
Frankie sheds his clothes, boxers and all, and slips under the thin sheet. He doesn’t dwell too long about his nude state, knowing himself well enough that he’d chicken out and never show his face around you ever again.
You knock softly on the door and wait a beat until you hear a response from the other side. You call out to him too, “you good, Frankie?”
“I’m uh—ready,” he responds.
You practically melt into a puddle when you are presented with an unobstructed view of his broad back and shoulders. He’s fucking gorgeous.
You wonder if anyone’s ever told him how beautiful he is. Your eyes follow each line of definition, particularly intrigued by the prominent lines that trail up and out from his lower back.
Your self-indulgent gaze lands on his ass. It’s cute, adorable even. The thin material covering his lower half leaves little to the imagination, the perky and plush flesh of his butt calls out your name.
You’ve had plenty of attractive clients before, but never any you actually wanted to touch outside of the massage, and none of them were Frankie fucking Morales. Your moral compass and professionalism are fighting tooth and nail to keep you grounded.
“Okay, I’ll start with a gentle touch and once you get used to it, I can do it harder,” you say, and immediately cringe at your word usage. You half-ass salvage it by adding “you know, increase the pressure as I go.” You hope he can’t hear the shaky exhale you release.
#frankie morales smut#frankie morales x reader#frankie fic#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie morales#frankie catfish morales#catfish morales x reader#pedro fics#pedrohub#pedrostories#pedro pascal fandom#signal boost#ao3 fanfic#fanfiction smut#smut#small creator#small writer#support creatives#support writers#Frankie morales is babygirl#sub!frankie#smut smut smut#clawing at my cage#fanfic writer
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You Were Marked: Days Sixteen to Nineteen, Part III
pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C
word count: 11K
chapter summary: Din continues to have a difficult day, Fennec gives Din a piece of her mind, and Marathel makes a declaration
warnings: fluff, angst, mention of blood and injury, violence, death and dismemberment, mention of sexual devices, mention of nudity, violence to women, rape, rape aftermath, war aftermath, non-con sexual situations, sexual situations, suicide ideation, description of medical procedures, English and Mando’a cursing, excessive glitter
***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***
You Were Marked: Masterlist
<- You Were Marked: Previous Chapter
Din looked dubiously at the hatch in the ceiling. To get to it, he’d have to handle a number of what appeared to be well-used rental sex droids, and he really did not want to touch them, gloves or not. And these were new gloves too. He’d enclosed Grogu inside the bag with some sweet seaweed balls again, just to make sure the kid didn’t grab anything either untoward or crawling with … ugh. He didn’t consider himself a prude, but unexpected bodily fluids — especially out of context — made his skin crawl. Some of the sex droids were of non-human species, which made Din do a couple of double-takes. I could have lived my whole life without knowing that Trandoshans had hemipenes. He also took a quick surprised second look at the female Rodian; his experience with them didn’t involve vaginal tentacles. Perhaps these were fantasy models. Perhaps the Rodian females he’d been with didn’t have tentacles. Don’t know, don’t care, just need to get in the hatch.
With a shudder, he moved several droids aside to access the hatch. Damn thing is right out in the open for anyone who gets curious. Din reached up and pulled the handle, and a cool breeze blew down on him from above as the hatch opened. Din could see a ladder leading up, and then darkness. Putting Grogu’s bag across his body and under the cape, Din hoisted himself up. The clerk must have ambled over at some point, for Din heard a disinterested voice saying, “Have a good climb, Grandpa.” The hatch was then closed, leaving him in darkness.
Din flipped on his light and peered upwards. He couldn’t see any landings, any cross-bridges, just darkness and the single vertical ladder. He started the climb.
The ache in his hips and thighs began quicker than he had hoped. He had climbed past a cross-tunnel a couple hundred rungs ago, and he was approaching another one. If these cross tunnels are regularly spaced, I’ve gone about … 70 stories. Resting his helmet against a rung, he cursed himself for getting soft. And old.
He looked up again, still seeing no end, only infinite darkness. Up to the top, said Blewogg. Up to the kriffing top. The arches of his feet were sore from pressing down on the round rungs. His fingers were sore from pulling himself, 40-odd pounds of armor and weapons, and 12-odd pounds of kid up each rung. This is for Marathel. This is for the woman you say you love, so get climbing, you flabby sack of shit. He imagined Marathel above him, standing in the next cross tunnel, stamping her foot and yelling at him. That image got him up to the next crossways level, where he stepped off the ladder into the tunnel, shaking out his hands and legs.
Din looked around, seeing no one — Grogu was still in the bag and quiet for once — and he pulled off the helmet and brushed back his sweaty hair. He suddenly heard the clatter of something falling down the ladder. He hurriedly put the helmet back on, pulled out a blaster, and carefully peered up. He saw nothing, heard nothing. He waited. Still nothing. He looked down the tube and listened some more. Okay, now you’re just stalling. Get climbing.
With a sigh, Din stepped back onto the ladder. His feet, buttocks, and quads protested immediately. He would rather be flying naked with his jetpack on Hoth before having to climb more of this damn ladder.
Wait.
Jetpack.
Dank ferrik, you’re an idiot, Djarin. He smacked his forehead on the rung in front of him with a resounding clang. His buir would have said, thinking with your dick again, kid?
It would seem so, buir. Din looked up again, and then around him to gauge the size of the vertical tunnel. It was hardly larger than he was, and he did not have a lot of clearance on any side. It would mean that he didn’t have room for error. It was still worth a try. He moved Grogu’s bag to his front and wrapped an arm around it, flipped his cape over his shoulder, and fired up the jetpack as he stepped off the ladder.
The jetpack didn’t ignite right away, and Din dropped a couple of stories before he got any downward thrust. Unfortunately, in panic, Din had tilted his body to look down, so his trajectory pushed him forward against the ladder as he went up. After bouncing his helmet over each rung as he passed them for a few meters, he over-corrected backwards and slid up the wall, the jet pack making a screeching sound as it was dragged along the concrete. He clutched at Grogu in the bag, and he pedaled his feet at the ladder, trying to get himself more upright, only succeeding at hitting his upper arches on every single rung for about 30 stories or so.
Din switched off the jetpack, and he had just enough residual velocity that he was able to grab the ladder before gravity took back over. He was just above another cross tunnel, so he hopped down into it, his feet screaming at him. He had durasteel arch and toe protectors, but the unexpected constant beating against the ladder rungs made the protection more harmful than helpful.
Din sank down to floor and tried to wriggle his toes, causing intense pain. He sucked in his breath and muttered, “Fuck fucking fucking fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking FUCK …”
“FUH!” came from the bag. “Fuh fuh FUH FUH-EE FUH!”
Din groaned. Of all times for Grogu to start picking up on words. Fuck my life. He began unbuckling the straps on his boots. Hissing in pain, he pulled one boot off a shaking foot. He grimaced and carefully rolled down Marathel’s sock to reveal a severely bruised arch and toes. He did the same to his other boot, mouthing fuck fuck fuck as he bumped a broken toe. He laid back, closing his eyes tightly as his feet throbbed.
Grogu squeaked from within the bag, and then chanted “FUH FUH FUH” until Din reached over and opened the bag, digging in it for the bacta spray he’d began carrying — except for the fact he’d had to look for the oilskin bag, and neglected, in his haste, to transfer the bacta canister to this bag. Haar’chak. Grogu cooed and crawled out, standing over Din’s helmet.
“Hey, kid. I need your help.”
“Fuh?”
“No, kid … ugh …first, I really need you to stop saying that.” Din remembered his buir telling him when you’re my age, you’ll understand why Mynocks eat their young. “Time is of the essence, here, buddy, and I really need your help. My feet …” Before he could continue, there was a clatter, and Din raised his head to see a small incendiary device rolling towards the two of them. Din lurched up to his feet, ignoring the pain, and kicked the IED into the vertical tunnel.
Din turned, scooped up Grogu and his boots, and ran away. The compression of the explosion had been reduced enough by distance that it wasn’t going to kill them, but Din did his best to fold down Grogu’s ears and buffet him with his own body, curled up against the tunnel wall. Once the blast was over, Din’s ears were ringing, his bare feet were throbbing, but Grogu appeared to be okay. Din turned back to the cross-tunnel entrance and noticed that his socks were on fire. “MOTHERFU— …”
“FUH!”
Din groaned. The feet would have to wait. He pulled his boots back on with a pained grunt for each foot. He put Grogu back in the bag, pulled out his blaster, and crept — well, limped carefully — back towards the tunnel entrance. By the time he reached his socks, the fire had extinguished, and all there was left was a small pile of ash. He stared down at the cremains, chest aching. As Din mourned the loss of the socks, another IED clattered in front of him from above. Din kicked it down the shaft and hunkered down again for the blast. He shouted out, “How many of those you got? Because I’d just like to skip to the end.”
“Gimmee the coins, then.”
The voice was above him. Din moved closer to the tunnel entrance. “That doesn’t work for me.”
“Tough titty.”
Another IED. Din kicked it again and protected Grogu from the resulting explosion, wondering if the sex shop was destroyed yet. He’d have to apologize to Auntie Woggy. Din figured the mad bomber was on the ladder not far above him; the next tunnel up would be too far to accurately toss an incendiary. He decided to do something incredibly stupid and ran straight for the tunnel entrance. Diving forward, Din held Grogu tightly as he swung the blaster upwards, firing the blaster in quick succession as he vaulted across the ladder shaft and into the other tunnel. He twisted in mid-air so that he would land on his shoulder, protecting a squealing Grogu in the crook of his arm. He must have hit the mad bomber, for he heard a distinct yelp. “See, I got a problem with handing over the coins,” Din said as he got to his feet, all pain forgotten for the moment. “They’re not mine to hand over. They belong to the woman who made the socks you just burned up. I’m not happy about losing those socks.”
A pause. “Why the fuck should I care about your socks?”
“You don’t need to care about my socks,” said Din as he moved carefully towards the entrance of the tunnel. “You need to care about how much I care about those socks and the woman who gave them to me.” He could hear the mad bomber struggling up the ladder. Din peeked upwards and saw that the mad bomber was the skinny miscreant PeeWee had bounced from Blewogg’s shop. “You see, I love that woman.” Din knew he was babbling, but he was too pissed off to care. “And when it comes to love, there are two kinds of men.” Din leapt on the ladder, and climbed up with alarming speed, catching up to the injured miscreant in a trice. “A good man will die for love.” He grabbed the miscreant by his leg, burned by a laser blast, and the miscreant cried out. “But you see, a bad man, a bad man kills for love.” Din climbed up so that he was standing on the same rung as the miscreant, who was frozen in fear. Din pressed himself against the terrified miscreant, trapping him against the ladder. “What you need to care about is whether I’m a good man, or a bad man.” Din quickly wrapped his grappling cable around the miscreant and shoved his head between two rungs. “Unfortunately for you, I’m a bad man,” whispered Din, and he stepped off the ladder, going into a free fall before firing his jetpack. The miscreant’s head popped off like a cork from a bottle, and Din dropped his body down the vertical tunnel.
Holding himself straight and rigid as possible, Din flew up the shaft. After several hundred meters, he cut off the jet pack and grabbed the ladder again. He took a deep calming breath, and then checked on Grogu in the bag. “Hey, kid. Doing okay in there?” Grogu squeaked in assent. Din sighed. “I might have gone a bit overboard there. I mean, they were just … socks.” Grogu shrugged and spoke his usual babble for a moment. “True, he was trying to kill us.” Din and Grogu looked at each other for a few moments. Din rubbed Grogu’s head. “Let’s just not tell Mama, okay?”
“FUH!”
“Uh, NO. No more of that word. Got it?” Grogu pouted, and Din added, “Mama wouldn’t like to hear you saying that word.” Grogu looked sufficiently apologetic, and Din chuckled. He turned on his light and looked up the shaft. The top was just a few more stories up. Thank you, Frith, and all your not-a-rabbit starspawn. Din worked up enough energy to hurriedly climb up the remaining ladder and pushed open the hatch at the top. Something heavy must be on top of the damn door, thought Din as he struggled to open it. Bright light and loud music filtered through the cracks, and Din finally got enough leverage to push the hatch fully open. Drawing his blaster, Din burst through the opening to find himself … surrounded by topless burlesque dancers.
“Oooooh, who had a Mandalorian in the Hatch Pool??” squealed a Zabrak with brightly painted horns.
Din immediately tried to shove Grogu back into the bag, but a Chiss woman with flaming red hair plucked Grogu out, cuddling him in her arms — and her glittered bosom. “Oh, he’s so cute!”
Din reached out to take him back but drew back his hands, stammering, “Miss, please … I’m sorry for the intrusion, but we …”
“ME! ME! I picked Mandalorian in the Hatch Pool!” In a flash of sequins and feathers, a young leggy woman threw her arms around Din and kissed him on his visor, leaving a bright red lipstick mark. “Quick, Gowiar, get a holo of us!” Another young woman in a matching costume took the holo, and the other dancers shrieked with delight.
Din sighed. Oh well. No one will believe it otherwise. Besides, he was in love, not dead. He raised the holo function on his vambrace, and called out, “C’mon girls, squeeze in,” as he took a few holos himself, including a good one of Grogu getting kissed on the cheeks by two women at once.
Shortly after, Din was able to — escape — the dressing room with Grogu. A security guard just outside the dressing room door asked him, “Have fun in there?”
“We had a lovely time, thank you.”
“Hopefully not too lovely, Mandalorian, my daughter is in there.” The guard flashed a keycard to Din, who took it. “This will give you access to elevator three on the casino level.”
“Thank you.” As Din pocketed the keycard, he asked idly, “So which one was your daughter?” The guard glared at him, and Din moved towards the casino as fast as his painful feet would let him. Looking down at Grogu, he said, “Not a word to Mama, now, hear? She does not need to hear about … the … pretty ladies. Right?”
“Pree lay-ees?”
“Right. Nothing about the pree …” Din tilted his helmet. “Pree, huh? You’ve been calling Marathel pretty this whole time. And here I thought you only liked her for her cooking.” So Pree Mahr is Pretty Mahr. I’ll accept it. I like it better than Sad Mahr, that’s for sure. They made it to the bank of elevators, and Din presented the keycard to a porter who looked him up and down dubiously but let him pass to elevator 3. Din stood with several casino patrons, all finely dressed. Several high rollers sneered at him, but he held his head high. He was a Mandalorian, after all, despite being covered in glitter and lipstick kisses.
“They just let anyone in here these days,” muttered a pink-skinned woman wearing a gown that probably cost more than the Razor Crest.
“They certainly do,” remarked Din as his lift arrived. The elaborate scrolled doors opened to reveal a gold protocol droid. Dank ferrik. With an inward sigh, he stepped on the lift and turned around to face the doors.
“Good evening, sir,” chirped the droid. Din grunted. If he could be positive the elevator wouldn’t plummet to ground level, he’d consider doing a hasty re-wire of the damn thing, or at least pull a Marathel and hurl something at it. “The Senator is looking forward to meeting you, sir.” Senator? Din grunted again.
Grogu popped his head out of the bag and stared at the gold droid. He pointed at the gleaming droid and turned back to Din. “FUH-eh.”
Din looked down at Grogu, prouder than he’d ever been. “You got it, buddy,” said Din, ruffling the boy’s hair.
After an incredibly long ride in the lift —making Din thankful he didn’t have to climb that far — the car stopped, and the doors opened to a most elegant foyer, and an even more elegant-looking woman stood within. Her hair was white and exquisitely coiffed; her gown was brocaded and shot through with threads made of precious metals. If the gown of the snooty woman below could have bought the Razor Crest, this gown was worth a whole Star Destroyer. Din felt like a ragged, drunken hobo, standing in front of her. “May I present … the Mandalorian, Senator,” said the droid, and Din wondered if he should bow. Fortunately, the Senator came forward with a smile and her hand out.
Din took a few unsteady limping steps towards the woman, took her hand and tilted his head towards her. “Senator.”
“Former Senator, as this is a new era, so I’m told. I am Senel Traig. Are you injured, Sir Mandalorian? You appear to have had … an interesting time reaching me.”
“On both counts, yes, I have.”
“Do you require a medic?”
“I believe I only require some bacta, Madam Wraig.”
Just then, Grogu peeked out from the bag, and Senel stepped back quickly. “Maker,” she said, her hand at her throat. “Is that little one yours?”
“He is a foundling … and my traveling companion.”
“You travel with a child and no bacta? Shame on you,” she said archly, but with a small smile. “We have some time before we are to meet the Jeweler. My droid will fetch you bacta … and some washcloths.”
Din thanked her and bowed slightly anyway, noticing that he was leaving a trail of glitter everywhere he went. Haar’chak. The golden protocol droid ushered Din to a side room, and provided him with bacta spray and injections, as well as some cleaning supplies. After tending to his feet, Din managed to remove the lipstick, but the glitter was a losing battle. Both Din and Grogu were completely dusted with the stuff. The droid attempted to assist, but Din threatened it with a blaster, and it scuttled from the room, waving its arms.
His feet now feeling better, and at least some of the glitter off, Din made his way to the sitting room where Senel waited for him. She was on a settee, looking like a woman who was unassailable in her role as a leader in high society. She motioned for him to sit, but Din hesitated, saying, “I have polluted your home enough.”
Senel laughed. “I had six children; I am more than familiar with glitter. Your injuries have been ameliorated?” Din nodded. “May I see one of the coins?” Din sat with Grogu on his lap and handed a coin to the woman. “Oh, it is exquisite. Better than any I’ve seen.”
“May I ask why you want to acquire these coins?”
“They are a symbol for those of us who were Senators during the Empire. A reminder that we can’t, won’t go back to what we were before the Rebellion.” Senel pulled a slender chain from the inside of her neckline. An ornate pendant hung from the chain, and at the center of the pendant was an Aurodium coin, more than likely of the same vintage as his coin, but of much lower quality. “I backed the Empire early in the Rebellion. I regret that I did so. Unfortunately, there is still much support on Coruscant for the Empire. Those of us who are loyal to the Republic don’t know whom to trust. So, we use the coins as a … password for safety.” She tucked the pendant back inside her clothing and handed the coin back to Din. “How did you come to possess these?”
“I received them as a bounty.”
Senel raised her eyebrows in surprise but did not ask any more questions regarding the coins. Instead, she held out her hands and said to Grogu, “Would you like to visit me, little one?”
Grogu cooed, but Din held him fast, saying, “He would get glitter on you.”
“Nonsense; I’ve eaten more glitter than he has on him. What is his name?”
“Grogu.” Din loosened his grip, and Grogu leapt on the woman’s lap.
“Charming child. They are so much fun at this age. Mine are all … gone now.” Senel softly ran her fingers through the boy’s hair, and he purred. “My wife had to do much of the work herself because of my duties in the Senate. You must find it a challenge.”
Din was about to answer when his comm.link chirped. Saying, “Please excuse me,” to Senel, Din got up and moved to the doorway. “What?”
“Din. Where are you?”
“Fennec?” Din looked back at Grogu. “What’s happened? Is Marathel all right?”
“She’s with the Reconstructionists. They wouldn’t take the coins as payment. I’m on Coruscant; it was the only place I could think of.”
“You left her alone?”
“She was fine when I left her, Din, please try to focus here!”
By this point, Grogu had jumped down and was toddling over to Din, crying, “Mama? Mama?” Senel rose and stood in the center of the room, a worried frown on her face.
Din bent down and picked up Grogu. “I’m also on Coruscant. If my contact is willing, you could meet us here. What are the Reconstructionists asking for?” Fennec told him, and Din grimaced. He turned to Senel and said, “I require this amount in cash. New Republic credits, not Imperial. Can your contact provide this at our meeting?”
Senel blanched, and said, “I’ll see what we can do. And tell your friend to come here. I will contact the concierge.” She passed by him and went down the corridor.
After giving Fennec the information, he said, “Fennec … is Marathel all right?”
“She managed the trip fairly well, all things considered. She was in good spirits when I left, but quite nervous, of course.”
“Did she … seem upset about anything?”
“She had another meltdown about you still having the damned coins. She went straight to worst-case scenario and convinced herself you deceived her about your intentions.”
“Not at all. The covert wouldn’t accept the bounty. I just … never explained it to her like I should have. Was she upset about anything else? Did she say anything … about me?”
He could hear Fennec sigh deeply. “Din Djarin, while you have the social and emotional capacity of blue milk, we are all grown-ups, and I refuse to carry on with your childish requests to be a liaison for you two. No, I did not ask if she ‘likes you, likes you.’ Do it your damn self when you see her next.”
With that, Fennec clicked off, leaving Din feeling properly admonished. Din held Grogu close, saying, “Mama is okay. She’s with the secret doctors.”
“See-kit.”
“That’s right, buddy.” Din felt Grogu’s little arms squeezing him tightly, giving Din the comfort he needed.
“Is everything all right?”
Din turned to see Senel standing in the corridor. “Yes.”
Senel tilted her head. “Are you sure about that? You seemed to be quite concerned about this Marathel. I take it she is also Grogu’s Mama?”
Din felt discomfited. “She is not Grogu’s natural mother, but he loves her as his mother.”
“Is this Marathel in need of major medical care?” Din did not answer. “She is why you need the payment in cash.”
“… Yes.”
“Well, then. Your friend is on their way?” Din nodded. “As we now must wait for the Jeweler to prepare the cash you require, may I at least offer you dinner? You and Grogu may eat in the room you used earlier.”
“Thank you for your hospitality,” said Din.
“Thank you for making my afternoon interesting,” replied Senel with a warm smile. “A Mandalorian and his son, covered in glitter and smelling like a brothel may not be as exciting as my late wife wrangling our six children, but it will serve.”
Marathel felt very fog brained. She wasn’t sure if she was awake or not … but she couldn’t seem to form the words to ask anyone. She was immobilized in a giant chair, strapped down and locked in, only able to move her fingers, toes, and eyelids. Her head was held at a severe angle by an uncomfortable neck brace, and her hair had been twisted into two braids, not from her temples this time, but hanging loosely from behind her ears. She felt like she was blinking a lot, but then there was a bright light shining right between her eyes. There was also a rhythmic clicking sound that corresponded with the blinking of the bright light. The chair itself would move and rotate from time to time, and she had just spent a long time facing downward while the light blinked at the back of her head, her braids swinging.
Marathel could not see much beyond the light, and looking down at herself, she could only see her forearms from her position. Her inner forearms bore many multi-needled injection marks, which would bruise, and then fade, and then bruise again. Many of the injections felt like the spiky pebbles were under her skin again. Others burned ferociously, while others merely felt like heavy weights were being placed in her arms.
The Reconstructionists kept asking her to think about things, and half the time, she didn’t understand what they wanted her to think about. Earlier, they had asked her to imagine a black bird standing on a gravestone. The black bird was easy enough, but Marathel was not knowledgeable about gravestones. This happened several times, until the doctors simply asked her to count certain number patterns, or to name things that began with a certain letter sound.
This time they had asked her to say words that started with the sound of the letter B. It took her a long while to come up with any words at all, B-words or not. Marathel was getting frustrated with herself, but the doctors didn’t seem perturbed; they just kept turning their dials and pressing buttons and encouraged her to keep trying. Finally, Marathel burst out, “Bounty Hunter!”
Cieroprac smiled. “That was a good complex word, Marathel. Keep trying.”
Marathel squeezed her eyes tight. She could see the images of things in her mind, but the words were hard to come up with. She thought of Grogu to calm herself, and then she was able to say, “Boy. Baby boy.” Then she remembered, “Black bird.” The words started to come easier now. “Bread. Beach. Bed. Berries. Blue.” Then, “Beatings. Blood,” said Marathel, her voice hitching on the last word.
“I think we got it now, Marathel. Can you try the D sound?”
“Din Djarin,” said Marathel immediately.
“Any more?”
“Dahls. Door. Dreams. Dewback,” she said, remembering that Cobb had pointed out the toy lizard in the market. “Dilimgau.” Marathel felt tears in her eyes. “Death.”
“I think that’s enough,” said Cieroprac.
“Yes, Marathel, enough D-words and enough treatment for the moment,” said Eliadu. “You need some time to recuperate. How do you feel?”
Marathel blinked a few times, her eyes dry and itchy from the blinking light. The chair slowly set her back upright, and the restraints loosened. She immediately winced: her neck hurt terribly from fighting against the collar that held her from moving her head. “I feel … tired and sore. Itchy.” She rubbed her eyes.
“Hungry?” asked Eliadu. Marathel nodded. Eliadu held out her hands to Marathel, helping her to stand. Marathel felt wobbly, like a newly hatched Dahl kit. She seemed to have forgotten how to walk, and she muttered apologies to the elegant, blue-skinned woman. “It’s normal to have some loss of motor control, we have found,” said Eliadu. At Marathel’s puzzled expression, she clarified, “Feet and hands not quite working.”
Marathel held up one of her hands, saying, “My hands don’t work so well right now, anyway.”
Eliadu helped Marathel into the next room and helped her to sit in a comfortable chair next to a table. “Those splints are clever, by the way. How did you come by them?”
“The Modifier. My hands were … my hands and fingers were smashed.”
Eliadu sat across from her. “Where did that happen?”
Marathel swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“It was … it was a … a Red Room. I don’t know where it was.”
“No, Marathel. There was no Red Room.” Marathel remained silent. “No one gets out of a Red Room, Marathel.” Marathel looked at Eliadu, wary. She wanted to hide her hands in her sleeves, but she had no sleeves, as she wore only the short sleeveless gown the doctors had provided her. She remained silent while Cieroprac placed a cup in front of her.
“Try to drink this, Marathel. It doesn’t taste the best, but it has a lot of protein and is easy to digest. You may not be able to handle much more,” said Cieroprac.
Marathel carefully held the cup in both hands and sniffed the contents. She smelled nothing, and the liquid inside was an unappealing milky-tan color. Marathel took a careful sip and found the cool liquid completely unappetizing. “Ugh.”
Cieroprac smiled. “Welcome to Imperial rations.”
Marathel curled her lip as she drank some more. “It’s hard for me to eat much with my broken teeth.”
Eliadu tilted her head. “Would you like to have your teeth repaired?” Marathel nodded. “We don’t do that, but we have a colleague who can. But first we need to solve your blood clotting problem. Does anyone else in your family have the same condition?” Marathel shrugged and worked to swallow more of the protein drink. “Does that mean you don’t know, or that you don’t want to tell me?”
Marathel drank the rest of the cup contents with a grimace. “I don’t have to tell you anything,” she said, hugging her shoulders tightly.
“No, you don’t … but anything you tell us may be helpful.” Marathel began to rock, almost imperceptibly. Eliadu recognized the attempt at self-soothing. The drink, which had contained a mild sedative — as well as a tiny amount of an Imperial-grade truth serum — seemed to be working.
Eliadu disliked the use of the serum and would rather draw out the truth by using calm reinforcement. Unfortunately, everyone lied about their illnesses and injuries. It made the work so much harder, so Cieroprac suggested the truth serum. She had been an Imperial geneticist and was usually impatient, as she had been required to get quick results. They weren’t therapists; it wasn’t their job to heal the soul, just the body, she would insist. Using the most minimal amount of the serum had been their compromise. They had to compromise often on many things. Eliadu was thankful that Cieroprac was willing to start treatment on Marathel with only Fennec’s promise to return. She was most anxious to work on Marathel. Her genome was bizarre, unlike anything she had personally seen before. The failure of her initial treatment had not disturbed her — in fact, Eliadu had been delighted, for it meant she got to work on Marathel directly, and the data she had received from the Modifier had been highly useful. He had been a good student of hers, but he preferred to be flashier in his treatments.
Marathel, meanwhile, felt a bit like she had when she drank the spotchka, or when she had eaten the dreamberry sauce. She didn’t feel warm and fuzzy — in fact, she felt quite alert — but … she found she wanted to tell everything that had happened to her, every thought that popped into her head. Her arms began that spiky-pebble-feeling again. She wanted … she wanted Cobb here; he understood the spiky-pebble feeling and his strong hands had been quite soothing to hold. His strong arms were pleasant to be held in. She liked his good looks and easy smile. She liked him. She liked the attention he gave her. She liked his hands on her. He could kiss me, he could be my lover, he doesn’t hide behind armor and a helmet, locking away all feelings and desires until he wants to finger me under the guise of teaching me how to touch myself.
What in the name of Frith?
Marathel blinked and rubbed her eyes, startled by her thoughts. Cieroprac was sitting at the table now, tapping away at a holopad. Eliadu kept gazing at Marathel with a pleasant look on her face. “How are you feeling, Marathel?”
Marathel lifted her hand, confused to see the splint removed, and her fingertips now ensconced in clips with wires leading from them, connecting to the holopad Cieroprac was holding. Disoriented, Marathel asked, “Did I fall asleep?”
Eliadu smiled indulgently. “No, you’ve been awake the whole time. You were telling us about where you came from.”
“Was I?” She could not remember speaking about anything. She thought she had been thinking about … about …
“Do you know who your mother is, Marathel?”
“My mam? Why is that important?”
Eliadu pushed a cup in front of Marathel. “Are you hungry? This doesn’t taste very appetizing, but it will fill you up.”
Marathel found she was hungry, so she picked up the cup, which was difficult, as her hands both had clips at the ends of her fingers, with leads going to the blonde woman’s holopad. Who is that? wondered Marathel while she drank half of the liquid in the cup. As she put the cup down, her hand got tangled in the wires coming from soft pads attached to her temples, which she didn’t remember being adhered to her skin. The sensors felt very warm, almost too hot, so she tried to pull them off.
“Leave those alone, Marathel, continue talking about your father.”
Marathel’s head snapped up. She may be stupid, she may have scrambled brains, but there was no way in Frith she would be speaking of her da of her own free will. Who are these women and what are they doing to me? Where am I? The blue-skinned woman was now looking at her with a strange look on her face, and then she exchanged glances with the blonde woman.
The blue-skinned woman — she seems familiar, thought Marathel — leaned forward and gently took Marathel’s hand. Marathel looked at her hand, now completely bare of clips and wires, the splint apparatus back on. The blonde woman was gone. The blue-skinned woman — Eliadu, that’s her name, thought Marathel — softly said to her, “I am so sorry that was done to you.”
Marathel blinked, and she felt tears on her cheeks. What just happened? “I don’t … I don’t remember saying anything, Eliadu. And where did Cieroprac go?”
“She went back to the treatment room long ago, Marathel. And you did say a lot; in fact, you were quite thorough in all your answers.”
“I was?” Marathel felt panicked; what secrets did she give away? Fennec had told her why Din couldn’t come with them, that it would put both him and Grogu in danger. She could not bear the idea of endangering their lives and had agreed to keep their identities a secret.
Eliadu smiled. “We are not interested in your interpersonal relationships, or your secrets regarding them … only of the people who are related to you by blood — your kin and the place you came from. Although …” — Eliadu raised her eyebrow — “I do believe your bounty hunter and his son hold very strongly to a place deep in your heart, while this roguish marshal merely tickles your fancy. But take that as you will from another woman who knows you not.”
Marathel was stunned. Eliadu had managed to get her questions answered without her remembering a word she spoke. “Did you get … what you required?”
Eliadu looked distressed. “I did. More than I realized I needed.” She took a breath. “Marathel … I’m going to repeat back to you what you told me. Please, tell me whether I’m correct in my understanding.” Marathel, pensive, agreed, and Eliadu began to speak. It took a little while, and she then asked, “Did I repeat what you told me accurately?” Marathel, saddened to hear her life spoken out in so few sentences, nodded. “Did I leave anything out?” Marathel frowned but shook her head. Eliadu sighed. “Well, then … it turns out I was correct, even though … I hoped, for your sake, that I was not.”
“I don’t understand.”
Eliadu began to speak again for a long time. Marathel listened. When she had finished, Marathel, confused, quietly thought for a while, and asked many questions, which Eliadu answered. And as Eliadu continued to speak, Marathel learned that everything, everything she had ever known, how she had lived her life from the moment she had first drawn breath, was wrong.
Fennec arrived quicker than Din thought she would; she must have have the same idea as he did — that the casino strip was the best place to fence the coins. Din and Grogu had finished eating and had another attempt at removing the glitter by the time she’d made it up the elevator. Senel greeted her warmly, and Fennec responded in kind before she stalked over to Din and punched him hard right above his elbow. “Ow!”
“Do you know what you have put me through?” hissed Fennec.
“Do I get to hit you after you tell me?”
“That emotionally crippled woman is fragile enough without you making … grandiose declarations! You say you love her, right before she has to suffer who knows what kind of medical treatment? You — need — to — learn — a — sense — of — timing!” snapped Fennec, punctuating each word with another smack to Din’s arm.
Senel nodded in agreement. “For shame, Mandalorian, toying with a vulnerable woman’s heart.”
Din scoffed, saying, “I needed her to know! If some …” He went silent. Both women were glowering at him. He looked down at a frowning Grogu, who was balanced on his hip. “Don’t look at me in that tone of voice, kid.” Din sighed. “Can we go now?”
Senel took a coat from her droid’s hands. “Yes, we can go now.”
They all entered the lift. Fennec gave Din the once-over and asked, “What’s with all the glitter?”
“Don’t ask. It’s been a long day.”
Fennec made a rude noise. “Tell me about it.”
“How many people have tried to kill you today?” sneered Din.
“Children,” said Senel in the best Senatorial / Mother tone she could muster. “Behave.”
“Yes, ma’am,” grumbled Fennec and Din. Both remained quiet and still for a few floors, until Fennec stuck her tongue out at Din. Grogu shouted “FUH-er!” as he pointed at Fennec. Din quickly hushed Grogu, saying apologies to Senel, who had turned around to glare at Din.
Turning back around, Senel muttered, “I had forgotten about times like this with the children,” under her breath. Din, embarrassed, was glad he didn’t have six Grogus to contend with by himself. One was quite enough; six, he’d need someone to run zone defense with.
The elevator car came to a stop, and the doors opened to a landing platform. A livery droid met them and escorted them to a large custom luxury speeder. Fennec and Senel — who was cuddling Grogu on her lap — made small talk while Din silently seethed about being driven by a damn droid.
They must have been getting close; Senel handed Grogu back to Din, saying, “You must conceal him when we go inside. Will he be quiet?” Din gave him the remaining handful of sticky seaweed balls, and Grogu happily went back into the bag. Senel nodded. “Bribery. It always worked for me, too. When we go in, act like my hired bodyguards. Give me the coins?” Din handed the bag over. “How many are there?”
“165.”
“164,” interjected Fennec. “I had to leave one with Marathel.”
Senel grinned. “Good thing you’re asking for only a percentage in cash. Otherwise, you’d bankrupt the Jeweler’s business.”
“Who is the Jeweler anyway?” asked Fennec.
“You’ll see,” replied Senel. The cruiser came to a stop in front of a gleaming expanse of brass and glass, emblazoned with the shop name Kugerrand. A doorman leapt forward to open the cruiser door, but Din did it himself, using his imposing appearance to make the doorman retreat to his station at the shop door. Din handed out Senel, and Fennec let herself out on the other side, making a point of scanning the area as she came around the back of the cruiser. Din and Fennec flanked Senel as she walked with proud grace through the lead-crystal archway into the shop.
Someone cried, “Senel!” as they entered. Several lovely young women scuttled about in tight dresses and high heels, moving in tiny halting steps. Both Din and Fennec looked around surreptitiously; even though they were here under false pretenses, they did have valuable assets with them and the last thing they needed was for this to go sideways. Senel moved effortlessly through the jewelry shop, approaching the speaker who had greeted her … a short, thin … Hutt.
Din was so glad to have a helmet, and he stole a glance at Fennec, amazed at her ability to maintain so expressionless at this most bizarre sight. It … is a Hutt, isn’t it? The Hutt had the bulbous head, the slotted nose, the wide eyes … but beyond the folds of skin at its neck, that was where the similarity ended. The Hutt was wearing a caftan that hung from its bony shoulders, ending above the — knees? — of the usually vestigial legs that it was using to pull itself forward. “Senel, my darling, my absolute favorite, how have you been, my love?”
Senel grasped the Hutt’s hands and bussed it on both cheeks. “Wonderful, Kugerr, now that I’m here with you.”
“Liar,” said the Hutt with a snort. “Come with me, sweetheart, wait until you see what is coming for next season …” Kugerr led them all into a private salon, the door shutting tight behind them. Instantly, the Hutt’s demeanor changed. “Slumming with Mandalorians, are we?”
“He’s the one who brought us the coins, Kugerr,” snapped Senel, as she pulled out the bag of coins and laid it on the counter. Din decided to hang closer to Senel; skinny or not, this was still a Hutt, after all. Fennec remained closer to the door under the auspice of guarding it.
Kugerr narrowed his eyes at Fennec. “I believe I know you,” he sneered.
Fennec raised an eyebrow. “And I believe you’re mistaken.” She folded her hands, standing at the ready.
Kugerr harumphed and spread the coins out on the felted countertop. He looked at two or three coins, and his hands began to shake. “It can’t be … it can’t be!” The Hutt glared at Din. “Where did you find this?”
Din shrugged. “Why?”
“This is the Hoard of the Archbishop of Serenno, you metal fool!” spat Kugerr, nearly apoplectic. “It disappeared 2000 years ago! According to legend, it was stolen by the illegitimate sons of the Archbishop who wished to usurp their father’s place. Is it all here?”
Din shrugged again, but under his helmet, he was curious about this Archbishop. “How much is there supposed to be?”
Kugerr scoffed. “No one really knows. Ten coins, ten thousand.”
Din said, “Before you is all that I have.” That, at least, was the truth.
“And what did our mutual friend Blewogg have to say?”
“Blewogg, that charming woman, said a great many things, none of which I will repeat in front of Lady Senel.”
Kugerr grinned. “I suppose now we get to chat about what you want.”
“So long as you understand that I need that certain amount in cash, now, I am amenable.” The deal was made quickly and cleanly. Din wanted away from the freakishly skinny Hutt, and he wanted Fennec to head back to his Marathel. He wanted to get off Coruscant and make a quick trip to Nevarro to execute part of his new plan.
Finally, back in the luxurious cruiser, Senel asked Din and Fennec if they’d like a nightcap before they left. Fennec politely refused, saying that she needed to get back to Marathel, asking that they drop her at the nearest travel port. Din asked, “So did you know that Hutt?”
Fennec smirked. “When he was fat, yes. The story goes that he was poisoned, which turned into a nasty wasting disease.”
Din tilted his helmet. “And you wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“Nothing whatsoever,” Fennec said. “Any message you’d like me to pass on to your lady love?”
Senel, who was cuddling a sleeping Grogu, smiled. Din rolled his eyes. “Just that … we miss her, and we hope to see her soon.”
Fennec smirked. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. I thought you didn’t appreciate being a liaison for my … grandiose declarations.”
“Well, Mando, I will pass your message along.”
Din reached over and squeezed Fennec’s hand. “Thank you. For everything,” he said quietly.
“I’ll bring her back as quick as I can,” said Fennec. “And thank you, Lady Senel.” Fennec hopped out of the cruiser and disappeared into the night.
The cruiser went back into the night traffic, and Din watched Senel stroke Grogu’s head as he softly snored. “You ever wish he’d stay this size forever?”
“He’s been that size for a long time, Lady Senel. Like a Jedi you must have seen in the Senate during your service.”
Senel’s eyes narrowed. “I do not speak of that time, or of those people. Ever.” She closed her eyes for a few moments. Then, she handed back Grogu, and tapped on the dividing window, looking away from Din. “You got what you came for. Now get out.”
Confused, Din said, “Lady Senel, I …”
The cruiser stopped. “I said, get out.”
“I’m only looking for the boy’s family, if he has any.”
Senel looked at him, her eyes glistening. “The Jedi caused me to lose my entire family. The Empire only began because of them. I have no love for any Jedi, good or bad.”
“Your wife and children … all died in the Battle of Coruscant?” Senel nodded. “I am sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Senel dabbed at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. “We all might have survived if there had been no such … creatures like them, ensconced as they were, politically. A religious cult like that has no place in politics.” They sat in silence for a long time, traffic rushing by as Senel stared out the tinted window. “If my memory serves me, Mandalorians and Jedi have a … tenuous past as well.”
“They do,” said Din, looking down at the sleeping boy in his arms. “I just want to find any kin he might have, for his sake.”
“It seems like he’s with his kin already,” Senel said with a sad smile. “I hope you are able to add Marathel to the family as well.” Senel sighed. She tapped the window, and the cruiser began moving again. “Perhaps you could tell me about her while we return you to your ship.”
Din settled back in the seat, shifting Grigu to a more comfortable position. “Have you ever heard of a planet called Unmanarall?”
They talked all the way back to the hangar where the Razor Crest was docked. Din was surprised that he was so willing to chat to anyone about anything, really. Having Grogu allowed him to not only have a sounding board to speak to, but he also had a topic of conversation that was practically universal — the parent-child relationship. But Marathel was different. His only other romantic relationship — if it could be labeled as a relationship — was with Xi’an, and there was hardly anything romantic about that extended time filled with danger, chaos, and rough, angry sex. Disastrous would be a better descriptor. Perhaps even catastrophic; Din felt lucky he got out of that one mostly intact, vasectomy by explosive notwithstanding. He knew that with Marathel, he was completely out of his element, and would need guidance in maneuvering a relationship with her.
They had reached his hangar, and Din carefully packed the sleeping Grogu back in the oilskin bag. “Thank you, Lady Senel. I wish you luck in your future. Again, I am sorry for your loss. You have my sympathies.”
“Thank you, Mandalorian. I wish you luck as well. For your people as well as your lady friend. Her life will be hard for some time.”
Din swallowed. “Any advice?”
“Love her. As best you can. You may not always like her but do your best to love her. Have patience. Endless, endless patience. And this may be difficult, as you are a Mandalorian, but kiss her as often as possible.”
Marathel was dreaming again. This time, she was outside herself, for she could see her own back as she sat on the large flat boulder on Unmanarall. Marathel knew that boulder well. She had sat on it many times, staring in the one direction that led to the edge of the high cliff. This time, she was wearing dark blue pants and tunic. They looked relatively new but were badly torn and stained. Her arms and legs were scratched and splattered with blood. Next to her, on one side, was a wooden cup. On her other side was a spear with a broken pole. Her hair, which hung in a tangled mess, appeared to be much shorter on one side than the other. Marathel watched herself slowly stand and begin to walk to the edge. Walk, Marathel, walk, don’t run to the edge, sleeping Marathel told her dream self. I don’t know what you’ve suffered now, but you’re where I want to be. You’re almost finished. I’ll see you soon.
Marathel’s dream suddenly stopped. Someone was shaking her shoulder. Marathel awoke, completely alert with no lasting sleepiness. She was curled up in a tight ball on the cot she was given to sleep on, forehead and knees against the wall, in the most protective position she could make. Her arms were wrapped tightly over her chest. Her stomach and ribs ached. Her heart hurt. Her mind hurt.
“Marathel? Please get up.” Eliadu’s voice was calm, entreating, meant to soothe.
“Why?”
Eliadu took a moment to answer. “So we can talk.”
Marathel was tempted to ask why again, but she knew that would sound childish. They had told her what her age range was yesterday, which confirmed she hadn’t been a child for quite a long time. It had taken some time to give Marathel a frame of reference for what those numbers meant. Marathel decided that she preferred not knowing, but now it was too late. Now she was spending time trying to figure out how her age related to those people she knew. Was she older or younger than Fennec? Cobb? Din? Marathel worried that she was an ancient crone in comparison. A dried-up, worn-out crone.
Of course, her age was the least of her worries. She had far more horrific knowledge about herself now. Marathel supposed she should be sad, or angry, but all she felt was empty. She had nothing.
Marathel unfolded herself and got up from the cot, following Eliadu back into the room with the table and chairs. Cieroprac was already sitting at the table, tapping on her holopad. Eliadu invited Marathel to sit and provided her with a protein bar and a cup of tea. Marathel sniffed the cup and could smell only tea. She took a bite out of the protein bar, wondering why these Imps didn’t seem to eat real food.
“Marathel …” began Eliadu. “We’ve heard from Fennec, and she’s on her way back.”
“Good.”
“We need to discuss what you want to do.”
Marathel shrugged. “It hardly seems to matter now.”
Eliadu scowled, saying, “It certainly does matter. You have a long life ahead of you.” Marathel wondered if that were so. “Obviously, we want to to solve your blood-clotting problem. We think we’re very close to that. You also expressed interest in getting your teeth fixed …”
Marathel shook her head. “Not anymore.”
“No?”
“No. I don’t think it’s necessary. Yes, solve the blood clotting. Once that’s done, then the rest can heal properly.”
Eliadu and Cieroprac exchanged glances. Cieroprac interjected, “For your exterior wounds, such as the ones on your back, yes. But we haven’t even touched on the damage done to your vaginal canal.”
Marathel colored. “I still think …”
“Those wounds will not heal without some intervention. The scar tissue alone will make intercourse …”
“I don’t care about that,” snapped Marathel.
“Really?” asked Eliadu. “We were led to believe that you had a romantic relationship.”
Marathel’s eyes filled with tears. “Not anymore.”
“Oh, Marathel,” said Eliadu, her voice full of pity. “You can’t make that kind of decision based on what we told you yesterday. Your history has no bearing on …”
“My history has everything to do with my decision. Make me not bleed under my skin. Close my wounds. That’s all I will require for the rest of my life.”
“Marathel …” Eliadu reached across the table, palm up, silently requesting to hold Marathel’s hand. Marathel looked at Eliadu’s hand, and pointedly ignored it. “Marathel, at least, please discuss such a thing with your partner …”
“I have no partner; he was never my partner. I’m not his equal. I am no one in comparison. I don’t wish to discuss this any further.” Refusing to answer any more questions, Marathel finally ended up telling herself to be still, and remained in that fugue state until Eliadu asked her if she were ready to get back into the chair. Wordlessly, Marathel followed Eliadu back into the treatment room and climbed back into the large chair, allowing herself to be covered with sensors and monitors again. With the collar back in place, Marathel was once again immobilized. The chair rotated until Marathel was facing downward again. The light began flashing, the clicking sound began again. Marathel watched her braids swing back and forth, and tears fell from her eyes to the floor.
Din was back on Unmanarall. Or perhaps he was here for the first time. He was alone, and he was walking down the switchbacks, listening to the crunch of the gravel beneath his boots. When he got to the sandy path along the grassy meadow, he could see the delicate marks of bare feet in the path. Din knew he should follow them, that they would take him to where he needed to go, to the person he needed to find.
He passed the rock outcrop, and a flat-roofed hut came into view. He remembered it well, yet he had never seen it before. A woman wearing a yellow dress stood ankle-deep in a gentle stream, back-to, her silver hair pulled into two braids that fell from behind her ears down to her waist. Knowing she was the one he was looking for, he began to walk towards her, his heavy footfalls announcing his presence.
The woman turned quickly, her face full of fear, her hair and her dress swaying with her movement. “Who are you?” she asked, as she quickly dropped her gaze from his helmet visor to his boots.
Din eyes roamed over the woman in the yellow dress, which was finely woven and nearly sheer; he could see her nipples clearly against the soft-looking fabric, her navel a hollow in her rounded belly, and the shadow of the apex of her legs only barely concealed. “A bounty hunter,” replied Din.
“What is that?”
The breeze shifted to blow directly at her front, and the fabric of her dress hugged her full breasts and heavy thighs, outlining the soft thatch of hair at her crotch. Din, becoming aroused, said, “I find people.”
Her eyebrows knitted together. “Are you looking for me?”
Din stepped into the stream to stand directly before her. “Yes, I am, Marathel.”
Marathel raised her sad eyes to his throat, but no further. Saying “Fi ng’riad, d’lwch fi, chi yd’w fi,” she dropped to her knees in the stream. Her hands went under the bottom edge of his cuirass and stomacher to release the belt at his waist. She sighed, and undid his breeches, lowered his underthermals, and released his erection, hot and hard, already weeping with pre-cum. She began to turn her head away, but Din grabbed her braid and roughly pulled; she nearly lost her balance, but she recovered, opening her mouth and taking his erection within, dutifully, still refusing to look up at him. When Din had enough of her mouth, he released her braid, flinging it from his hand and hitting her in the face with it. Marathel lay on her back in the stream, the water flowing over her, rendering her dress transparent and adhering it to her skin. She pulled up her dress to her waist, raised her knees and spread them wide, exposing herself to Din, waiting.
Din immediately went to his knees between her legs, thrusting into her without preamble. Over and over, he pounded her, grunting, and she lay there, her only movement caused by him, the water of the stream flowing over her shoulders and breasts with each of his thrusts. Frustrated by her lack of participation, he gripped her collarbone and said, “Look at me.” She did not respond, nor did she turn her head. His hand slid to the base of her throat. “Look at me!” he growled.
“There’s no point,” she muttered.
“Look at me.”
“There’s no point!”
Din filled with rage. His large hand went around her throat, fingers gripping her jaw, forcing her to face him. She closed her eyes tightly, shaking her head no as he squeezed her throat. The purple-black color of fresh bruises extended out from under his fingers, deep within her delicate skin, feathering out like blood in water, and his arousal for her grew just as his anger at her did. “LOOK AT ME!” he shouted in fury as he slammed himself into her, harder and harder, the slapping of flesh against flesh louder than the gentle babble of the stream.
Marathel’s hand shot up and under the side edge of his cuirass, against his chest. She cried out, “LET ME GO!” as her fingers dug into the bite mark she had left in his flesh.
Din gasped in pain, and his eyes opened to darkness, a stabbing pain in the bite on his chest. He was face-down, with a raging hard-on, only a bedroll below him, his hand clutching not Marathel’s throat, but a stuffed frog toy.
What the …?
“Patu?” a timid voice softly called out.
“Uhnnn … what?” Din shook his head. “Grogu? Buddy? What is it?”
There was silence for a few moments, and then the little voice asked, “Fawg?”
Din blinked, and then slowly and uncomfortably got to his feet, his erection throbbing almost as painfully as his bite-mark. He was glad the damn room was dark. Wait. Can the kid see in the dark? “Got him right here, pal, he must have fallen.” Din gently placed the frog stuffie back into Grogu’s hands, then rhythmically stroked Grogu’s earlobe with his thumb. “You okay?” Grogu didn’t answer. “Did I wake you?” He felt Grogu nod. “I’m sorry, pal, I was dreaming.”
“Mama?”
Ashamed of what he had dreamt about Mama, Din said, “Something chasing me. I don’t remember. Go back to sleep, ad’ika, Mama loves you.” Leaning closer, Din whispered, “I do too.” Din gave the boy a last loving pat, then slipped out of quarters, closing the door behind him. He made a beeline straight to the ‘fresher, locking himself inside.
Now alone, he took off his helmet, and leaned against the door. I raped Marathel in my dream. I put my hand on her and choked her. Why am I dreaming about hurting the woman I love? And here he was, standing here, still swollen as a Nevarro cactus after a spring rain, practically cumming in his pants after such a horrible dream. Din thought about punching himself in his traitor crotch. What a reprehensible thing to dream about, hurting Marathel like that — anyone, really. He really hoped he wasn’t making — sounds as he was humping his damn bedroll. That was something Grogu did not need to hear.
The bite-wound continued to throb. Din opened his flight jacket — he had removed his armor to clean the glitter off it — and pulled down the neckline of his thermal shirt. The wound was red, angry, and seeping. Red lines extended outward from the wound, showing an infection as well as some flakes of glitter. Kriffing hell, that shit gets everywhere. He sighed and cleaned the wound properly, disinfecting it and covering it with a bandage. Bacta would heal the wound too well … he wanted it to scar, but he didn’t need infection.
Those words Marathel said … I’ve heard her say those before. That wasn’t dream nonsense, that was her old language.
He wracked his brain for a moment. It wasn’t what she yelled at him the day Grogu put her in a tree. That had something to do herbs and virtue, and the other thing she told him to do was to piss up a rope.
Rhaff Codieh. I’m not forgetting that one.
Then he remembered. His finger was inside her, and he’d said … he’d said … Cyar’e, ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, mesh’la. She responded in her own language, and she’d said Fi ng’riad, d’lwch fi, chi yd’w fi.
He didn’t know what she’d said, but he knew now it wasn’t I love you as well. She’d told Grogu she loved him when she’d put him to bed that night … but she didn’t say those same words to me. Din rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He needed to get his shit together. This trip back to Nevarro would get that ball rolling, but … seriously, I’m one kriffing hot mess. He finally met his own eyes in the mirror, not liking what he was seeing, so he punched himself in the crotch anyway.
As he was hunched over in pain, holding his knees and regretting that decision, he thought about how he could apologize to Marathel about something he hadn’t done. What he neglected to consider was why Marathel refused to look at him in his dream.
Marathel had not spoken a word for hours. Fennec had returned while Marathel was resting from another round in the chair, including a session of cauterizing some wounds caused by the Dilimgau. Both Eliadu and Cieroprac were trying to explain how Marathel was doing.
“So, she’s refusing most of the reconstructive treatment?” asked Fennec.
Eliadu nodded. “She only wants the barest minimum. But she is very distressed, and it’s obvious her decision-making skills are poor.”
Fennec sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Tell me about it.”
“Perhaps if you can convince her …”
“Perhaps if you can tell me what happened to change her mind!” snapped Fennec. “If you could tell me whatever this damned great secret is, I could maybe make a difference!”
Eliadu sadly shook her head. “I can’t, we can’t tell you. It’s not for us to say. Marathel is an adult …”
“A socially, emotionally constipated adult! From a cult who stunted her entire growth!”
Cieroprac, who was standing behind Eliadu, crossed her arms and said quietly, “Then it might be best to only do the barest minimum of treatment for her. She needs time and therapy, LOTS of therapy, to make better decisions for herself.”
Eliadu said, “We are not therapists. We cannot heal the soul; we only … work on the body.”
Fennec watched Cieroprac gently run her fingers through Eliadu’s snow-white feathers. She knew she was watching a moment of contention between the two women and decided to calm herself. High emotions were not useful at the moment. Fennec took a breath and asked, “May I see her now? Try to talk to her?”
“Of course,” said Cieroprac. Fennec followed her into a little dark side-room. The blonde woman turned on a light; dim, but enough to see by. Marathel was again curled up tight, making herself as small as possible. Her bare feet were folded on top of each other, her toes curled tightly. Fennec could see Marathel’s fingers tightly clutching her shoulders. Cieroprac left, closing the door behind her.
“Marathel? Are you awake?”
“I’m glad you’re back. That means we can leave soon.” Marathel’s voice was flat, expressionless.
“I ran into Din when I went to sell the coins. He asked about you. He says they miss you.” Marathel did not respond. “He also told me why he still had the coins. His covert wouldn’t take them. But he managed to find a buyer and got the biggest deal I’m sure he’ll ever get in his life.”
“That’s good for him.”
“There’s plenty to fix you up properly with a lot left over.” Marathel remained silent, and Fennec felt annoyed. She grabbed the chair next to the cot and sat. “What is with you, Marathel? I thought you were on board with these Reconstructionists. Why are you changing your mind now?” Fennec rubbed her forehead with her hand. “Marathel, look …”
“I’m sorry, Fennec. I just … can’t.”
“What changed?”
“I’m … I can’t say. Not now. I’m … what did you say? Emotionally constipated.”
“I’m sorry I said that …Marathel, please …” Fennec reached out and touched Marathel’s shoulder.
Marathel leapt up with a shriek, cowering on the far end of the bed. “Don’t touch me! DON’T TOUCH ME!” She held out her hands, trying to hold Fennec away from her. “Just … don’t.”
“Marathel … honey … what is wrong?”
“I want to go home.”
Fennec sighed. “We will go home, honey, as soon as you’re done here, we’ll head back to Tatooine.”
“Tatooine?” Marathel laughed harshly. “Shithole planet. That’s not home. I want to go back to Unmanarall.”
You Were Marked: Next Chapter->
#din djarin#the mandalorian#mando angst#din x fem oc#din djarin x oc#din djarin angst#mandalorian angst#pedrostories#pedro stories#starwarsficnetwork#din djarin x plus size!fem oc#din djarin romance#pedro pascal stories#pedro fics#pedrohub
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"Not all men..."
Yeah your right José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal would never treat me like this
#din djarin x reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x female reader#din djarin x mandalorian!reader#joel miller fanfiction#tlou x reader#tlou fanfiction#javier peña x you#javier peña x reader#max philips x reader#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal x reader#joel miller#tlou
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best kept secret
pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader
words: 6.7k
summary: In an attempt to keep your relationship secret, Joel agrees to a blind date set up by his best friend / your father. You don't take it well.
warnings: 18+ minors dni, pre-outbreak, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel is 36), secret relationship, angst, explicit smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, semi-public sex, car sex, creampie, some fluff; lmk if I missed anything!
a/n: so sorry it took me almost a month to post something new ffs - life got busy and my inspiration simultaneously disappeared. but we're back, baby! anyway, dbf!joel owns my ass, so here's my rendition of him. as always, ty to my baby @javisashtray for reading this over for me and helping me through the creative process <3
Joel’s bedroom window offers a perfect view of the sunrise; of shy, pink light creeping over treetops and the roof of your dad’s house across the street.
It’s gorgeous — breathtaking, even — maybe because you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve actually seen the crest of morning. You’re far more privy to late nights and sleeping in as long as you can push it, never been one to be up with the lark, so to speak.
You don’t mind the early wakeup call, though, not when it’s this: Joel’s head tucked between your thighs, his tongue rolling lazily over your clit, your eyes still adjusting to the light as he spreads you open for him.
He’s humming against you, his coarse beard tickling soft skin, thumbs dug into muscle to hold you in place as your back bows reflexively off the mattress. He looks so sweet like this, so eager to please, staring up at you with blown pupils.
“C’mon baby,” he purrs. “Just gimme one before you go.”
They’re the first words he’s said all morning, the first thought that’s necessitated utterance. His voice is hoarse and deep and drips honey-sweet at your core.
Even so, despite how badly you want to — because you always want Joel’s mouth on you — you’re not sure you can.
Because you need to get home before Denise next door leaves for her early shift. Before Susan a few houses down takes her dog out for a walk.
Before the neighborhood wakes and somebody sees you leaving Joel Miller’s house. Or worse, before your dad catches you slipping into the house in yesterday’s clothes, your car in the driveway still cold.
But with another experimental flick of Joel’s tongue, you forget all that, a content little sigh slipping past your parted lips, betraying you.
Just one, you tell yourself, and then you’ll head out.
“Fuck, okay — yeah,” you breathe, twisting your fingers into the roots of his curls.
With your permission, he buries his nose in your mound. Licks at you again — with more purpose, this time. One long, drawn out lap followed by another.
He’s so gentle with you, so careful, caressing your folds with his tongue like they’re made of paper. It’s a dizzying juxtaposition to the way he laid you down last night and fucked you, teeth scraping your neck and cock bruising your cervix.
You’re still sore, your walls tender where he stretched them, but your pussy is drooling nonetheless, surely making a mess of the bedsheets underneath you.
Because you’re insatiable when it comes to Joel.
For the past few weeks, since the first time you’d found yourself in his bed, you’ve craved him. Regardless of how sated he’s left you each and every time, you’ve needed more.
It’s dangerous and stupid and undeniably wrong, having a fling with your dad’s best-friend. But you’re finding it difficult to consider the morality of it all when just his tongue makes you come harder than any other man’s cock ever has.
That tongue, now dipping into your apex, drawing more slick out of you as his thumb finds your swollen clit — It’s overwhelming how good it feels, how good he is at this.
He’s bringing you to the edge languidly, savoring the taste of you, the feel of your silky flesh. It’s like he doesn’t want this to be over, needs to stretch the moment as far as it’ll go, milk every last second before you slip from his grasp.
But it’s going to end soon; it’s inevitable with the way he’s laving your pussy, the crushed velvet of his tongue gliding through your folds so wet and warm. Your orgasm is building, and you’re powerless to stave it off any longer.
“Joel,” you warn, his name a high-pitched whine.
“Shh, I know babygirl; it’s okay.”
Two of his fingers hook at your entrance and push in, pacifying you as his thumb continues working your clit. “I got you. Let go for me, sweetheart.”
The soothe of his voice floods your senses like nitrous; renders your body loose and your head foggy. You come apart with a string of shattered breaths, eyes rolled back and fingers twisted into the duvet.
Joel talks you through it: that’s it, pretty girl; so good for me; always so good for me, and though he sounds so far away, his words are the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.
The world comes back into view slowly. Air settles in your lungs. And you can’t help but laugh at how fucked-out you feel when you peer down at Joel, his gaze already locked on you, expectantly.
“Okay?” he asks, rubbing at your inner thigh.
“Yeah,” you exhale, corners of your lips pulling taut. “More than okay.”
He smiles back at you. Props himself up with hands planted either side of you on the mattress and hovers over your feeble form.
“Good,” he whispers, dipping his head down to kiss your forehead, your nose, your mouth. He licks into you, letting you taste yourself on him — a little sweet, a little bitter — and his lips are so soft that you nearly melt. “Did so good, angel.”
You want nothing more than to spend all day in this bed with him. Return the favor a few times over. Learn what he looks like in the afternoon sun against the backdrop of navy blue sheets. What he tastes like after his coffee rather than before.
“I don’t want to leave,” you admit against his mouth and he frowns, taking one of your hands in his. He presses a kiss to each of your knuckles, one by one, his eyes never straying from yours.
“I don’t want you to either, darlin’. But you can come back tonight, yeah?”
Tonight. Hours away. A whole day between now and then. But it’ll have to do.
“Tonight,” you repeat. Solidify it.
You slink home just as the street lights dim.
The house is quiet when you enter, apart from the incessant ticking of the grandmother clock in the living room. It sets off a throbbing in your head, a dull pang right at the front of your skull that you massage with two fingers as you ascend the stairs.
You move cautiously up each step, wincing at every creak of old wood. It must take minutes to reach the second-floor landing, and then you’re tiptoeing past your father’s room, listening for signs of sleep behind the seal of his door. Sure enough, you catch it, a single, drawn-out snore, loud enough that you let your feet fall, shuffling the rest of the way to the bathroom across the hall.
You immediately crank the shower on, climbing in as soon as you see steam. Lathering your skin with citrus-scented body wash, the smell of sex washes off your body and down the drain.
The warm water soothes your sore muscles; bittersweet relief. You stand there until the stream grows icy, stepping out and toweling yourself off just as you hear the familiar blare of your dad’s alarm on the other side of the wall.
By the time you’ve dressed and made your way downstairs, he’s already in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee with his back to you.
Sink empty, counters borderline sparkling, a coaster tucked under his warm mug — your father is a neat man. He does not take kindly to mess.
God forbid, anybody disrupt the sacred balance of his home; move something and forget to put it back, break something of his that should be kept intact.
“Hey.”
“Hey, kiddo,” he yawns. Turns to face you. “You were up early. Heard the shower going.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” you lie.
“Something on your mind?”
Heat blooms across your chest and up your neck. There’s no way he knows — you’ve been far too careful. Still, you’re on edge, and the question lodges itself between your ribs uncomfortably as you frantically search for an answer.
“Uh, n-no,” you stutter. “Just work stuff, I guess.”
He seems to buy it, reaching for the percolator and re-filling his mug with a sigh, “Just gotta give it time. You only just started. Plus, it’s your first job out of school. They don’t expect you to know it all right away.”
It’s good advice, if not misguided. You nod as if you’re absorbing it, taking it straight to heart. As if your mind isn’t preoccupied.
You grab a mug from the cabinet. Fill it with coffee and creamer. Perch yourself at the breakfast table and take a slow, steadying sip.
The caffeine has just about seeped into your bloodstream when-
-there’s a knock at the door.
Your dad shoots you a puzzled look, one which you immediately return. Who could that be, so early on a Wednesday morning?
And when he pushes open the door to reveal none other than Joel, you just about fall out of your chair. Your nails absentmindedly dig into the wood of the table in an attempt to brace yourself.
“Oh, buddy — hey! Come on in,” your dad says, patting him on the back as he steps over the threshold. “Wasn’t expecting you.”
You grasp the handle of your mug like a lifeline. For a fleeting moment, you worry the ceramic will shatter in your hands.
Joel is dressed — blue cotton t-shirt covering his broad back and the deep, red scratches you left there when you dug your nails into skin, your legs hiked over his hips and your face tucked into his chest.
The pair of boxers peeking over the waistband of his jeans are different from the ones you pulled off of him last night, the ones he shimmied back into before you slept cradled in his arms.
He’s a different Joel here, now — your father’s friend, your neighbor — not the man who breaks you down with his tongue or the one who calls you his good girl while you take his entire, throbbing length.
No, this Joel, standing in your kitchen in the presence of your father, has never betrayed him. Hasn’t tasted his friend’s daughter or felt the tight embrace of her wet, warm cunt around his cock. This Joel is reliable, honest, not one to do harm.
You do not desire this Joel, cannot. You must look at him with apathetic eyes. Must keep the boat of your longing at bay.
Easier said than done. It’s as if your desire for him is a feral beast, fed by his touch and left starving in its wake. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon, sweat beading at your collar as you not-so-subtly follow the subconscious flex of his hands, the bunching of fabric over his biceps.
His voice bounces off the backsplash, and your fingers tighten around the handle of your mug.
“Yeah, I uh — I went to make myself coffee and realized I was out. Was hopin’ you might have some to spare?”
He can’t be serious. He came over for coffee? He couldn’t get some on the road?
“I’m afraid she took the last of it,” your dad’s eyes point to you, and you ignore the burn of Joel’s gaze when his follow.
“Ahh,” he says. “‘ts okay. I’ll grab some on my way in.”
His fingers taptaptap on the edge of the countertop, bottom lip tucked between his teeth like there’s something else. Another reason he came here.
And then you spot it — your wallet, dark red leather, poking out the top of Joel’s back pocket.
You must’ve left it in his room before you hurried home. Somewhere amongst the mess of trinkets and trash on his dresser. You half-remember dropping it there last night as he’d kneeled in front of you and peppered kisses up the length of your leg.
Thankfully, your dad is oblivious as ever, giving Joel the perfect opportunity to inconspicuously slip you your wallet when he turns around and crosses the kitchen, placing his empty mug in the sink.
Joel sidesteps once, twice, extending his arm and snapping it back as soon as you have the wallet in your grasp.
Your father clears his throat. Spins to find Joel exactly where he was. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts, wrestling a slice of bread out of the bag and dropping it into the toaster, “I gotta set you up with this co-worker of mine, Deb.”
Joel freezes. You watch as the color drains from his face and his large hand anxiously cards through dark curls. You’re pretty sure you freeze too, breath caught somewhere in your throat until your dad turns to you and you remember to exhale.
“You know Deb, right, honey?” he asks. You mentally flick through the rolodex of your dad’s coworkers.
There’s Leanne, tall redhead, hosted a potluck a few months back at which you tasted the worst mac & cheese you’ve ever had. And Barbara from accounting, who he got into a heated argument with over who makes the best BBQ in the city. You only remember her name because he hadn’t shut up about how wrong her opinion was for a full week.
This woman actually thinks the Smoke Shop has got better ribs than Lou’s. I said to her, Barbara, your taste buds must be absolutely torched.
But Deb? You don’t recall a Deb. Still, you’re pretty sure you hate her, just in hearing her name in this context.
You shake your head, no.
“Well, I guess you haven’t seen her in a while. She was there that day I brought you into the office.”
“When I was ten?” you retort.
“Yeah, I guess it was that long ago, huh?”
You shrug. He returns his attention to Joel. “Anyway, Deb – she’s around your age, just got divorced about a year back, and she’s a real nice woman. I think you two would really hit it off.”
“Is that so?” Joel replies. You swear his voice wavers. If your dad notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“You’ll like her Joel, I promise. I mean, when’s the last time you went out with a nice lady? Not since – what was her name — Jean? And if things were going well with her, I’d hope you’d tell your old friend.” The toaster pops, and he retrieves his slice of toast. Grabs a butter knife from the utensil drawer.
“No, I ain’t seeing Jean,” Joel sighs. Flashes you an apologetic glance as your dad slathers his toast in artificial purple jam, blissfully unaware.
“Well, you gotta get back out there!”
Joel’s gaze rolls to the ceiling. “I don’t know – I’m just not real interested in datin’ right now.”
You exhale, then — a quiet declaration of relief that seems to go unnoticed — unperturbed even when your dad continues his pitch.
I’ve known this woman for years Joel, I’m telling you, the two of you’d be the perfect match; she’s a looker too, real pretty.
Ew. Tuning him out, you check the clock, find that you only have a few minutes before you need to get going. You stand from the table and make your way toward the sink with your now-empty coffee mug in hand.
Would I ever lead you astray? your dad is asking just as you brush past Joel. His hand, idle by his side, catches the fabric of your blouse and you have to fight to ignore the pinprick of electricity it ignites under your skin.
“No, I know,” Joel grumbles. “I trust your judgment ‘n all, ‘ts just-”
“Will you just give her a chance?”
“Jesus; fine.”
The mug slips from your grip, falls into the sink with a clang.
Your dad glares at you, expression softening only when you gesture to the still-intact ceramic lying on its side in the basin.
He’s quickly distracted, then, jotting a series of numbers down onto a scrap of notebook paper, the blue ink pressed in so hard that it’s beginning to bleed through.
“Atta boy,” he drawls, sliding it across the counter. Joel pinches it between two fingers, folds the paper without looking at it and stuffs it into his front pocket.
“Promise you’ll give her a call tonight? I may or may not have already talked you up, and I need to know you’re not gonna make me look bad here.”
Joel has to see you staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He must. If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under already. But he’s refusing to meet your gaze, eyes glued to the cabinet directly in front of him as he nods. “Yeah, I’ll call her tonight,” he says, a small, unconvincing smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
He’s actually agreeing to this?
You need to get out of here before you say something rash.
The anger bubbles in you slowly, then all at once, threatening to boil over as you slip on your shoes and sling your bag over your shoulder.
Marching toward the door, you offer a half-hearted bye, not bothering to look back before you leave.
The office is already milling with people by the time you stroll in, ten minutes late.
The conversation between Joel and your dad is still running laps in your head as you sneak past your boss’s door.
It sticks there through the morning and well into the afternoon, your dad’s words an incessant earworm: I think you two would really hit it off.
The thing is — you can’t blame Joel for saying yes to the setup. Not really. Your situation is complicated, messy, bound to end badly.
Maybe he’d be happier with Deb.
They could take walks together, stroll through the grocery store or down the street hand-in-hand. Throw dinner parties and shamelessly gush about their relationship to their friends. All without fear of being caught doing something wrong.
Because that’s what this is, you and Joel — it’s wrong. Not like you weren’t already well aware of that. Leave it to some woman you’ve never met to rub it in.
The day passes infuriatingly slow.
The pile of emails in your inbox only grows larger by the time you’re due to clock out, stack of reports on your desk barely touched. You wince when your boss stops by your cubicle on her way out, eager for an update.
“Sorry, Linda; a couple of these were more time-consuming than I’d hoped,” you lie. But you can tell she doesn’t buy it, not one bit, her expression souring as you shuffle through papers.
“I need these done by the end of the week, no matter what.”
“Of course,” you mutter, face heating with embarrassment. “I’ll get them done and on your desk by Friday.”
“Thanks.” Her heels are already clacking on tile when you open your mouth to apologize again, your sorry lost to the ether.
You gather your things and scramble to your feet as soon as she’s out of view, not sticking around to watch your computer power down. By the time you get to your car, Joel’s number is already dialed on your phone.
He picks up after two rings.
“Darlin’ — are you okay?”
It’s admittedly uncharacteristic for you to call him so early. You usually wait until after dark, when you’ve both retreated to your respective bedrooms, away from listening ears.
But this can’t wait. It’s been eating at you all day, digging into your work. If you don’t talk to him about it, you’re going to end up unemployed. You don’t bother to ask if he’s still on the job site, around other people. “You’re going on this date.” It’s not a question. More of an accusation.
“Baby,” he sighs. You try your best to ignore his molasses drawl and the way it seeps into your chest.
“Why didn’t you say no?”
“How could I?” he groans. “There’s your dad, askin’ me if I’m seein’ someone, sayin’ he’s already told this lady about me – what am I supposed to say?”
“I don’t know.” Your voice comes out a whine. “Make something up. Tell him you’ve taken a vow of celibacy.”
He laughs, low and breathy on the other end. “Yeah, baby. Think he’d believe that one, f’sure.”
“Fuck,” you huff. “I just— I don’t-“
You want to tell him not to go. To cancel. Fake his own death. Do whatever it takes to get out of this. But you have no right, not really. The two of you aren’t dating. You don’t have any control over what he does or who he sees. And you don’t want that, no. You just want him to choose you.
“I don’t wanna go, darlin’. I really don’t. But if I do this, I think it’ll get him off my back for a while. He won’t have a reason to suspect that I’m foolin’ around with his daughter.”
Fooling around. His phrasing is a metaphorical punch in the gut.
It’s not exactly a lie. You haven’t put a label on this thing, whatever it is. It’s been purely physical: lips slotted to lips, tongues pressed together, swapped sweat and saliva. But hearing it reduced to two words, words with such a casual connotation — as if you haven’t been driven by overwhelming desire — makes your stomach churn.
Joel doesn’t seem to clock it when you go quiet, a cocktail of rage and sorrow sloshing around your insides. “It’s for the best,” he adds, a shot of hard, burning liquor.
“Yeah,” you say defeatedly. Choke back the pathetic tears that creep up your throat. “For the best.”
He ends the call with the excuse of bad cell reception. Promises to talk to you later. You’re not sure that you believe him.
The phrase fooling around curls up in your head, a wet dog, its fur dripping into the crevices of your rattled brain the entire drive home.
You dodge Joel’s calls for the remainder of the week.
There’s no use in talking to him when you have nothing to say, when you know any words you attempt will be overtaken by tears.
Even so, it doesn’t stop him from trying. His number lights up the screen of your phone at least twice a day.
He leaves voicemails that you do not listen to. You can’t. The last thing you need is his syruppy drawl in your ear. You’ll break; you know you will.
So instead, you delete them. Rid yourself of temptation.
But you still ache for him — a devastating truth. You lumber through the days, bones heavy with hurt. Find yourself kept up at night by thoughts of Joel and the infuriatingly soothing timbre of his voice, the intoxicating callous of his fingertips against your soft skin.
It’s a lonely thing, yearning for Joel Miller.
On Friday, your father beams at the dinner table. He’s grinning like a child as he stuffs a forkful of rice into his mouth.
“Joel and Deb’s date is tomorrow,” he says. “Think they’ll really hit it off, don’t you?”
You’re dumbfounded for a long moment — can’t believe that this is your life now: being asked about your thoughts on Joel and the ever-elusive Deb as a couple. When it takes too long for you to answer, your father’s fork stills pointedly on his plate, and you sputter.
“Oh! I mean, I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t remember Deb.” You can’t help your condescending tone. Your dad doesn’t seem to catch it anyway.
“Well,” he says, “I think they’ll be a match. Hoping so, anyway. The man has been such a hermit lately — maybe if he has a lady, he’ll get out more!”
“You sound real excited,” you grumble. Stab four peas on the prongs of your fork.
“It is exciting. I’ve never set anyone up before. And the best part is, the place they’re going to — the Tavern — it’s got rooms you can rent out for wedding receptions. Just imagine if down the line, they got mar-“
“Dad,” you stop him. You think you’ll be physically sick if you let him finish that sentence. “Sorry, I just — I’m really tired, all of a sudden. I think I’m going to head to bed early.”
It’s not a complete lie. You’re emotionally exhausted as a result of the past couple days. Sleep sounds like a much-needed, blissful escape right now.
Your dad doesn’t question you. He just nods. Swipes your plate from in front of you and brings it to the sink along with his.
Of course, you find it impossible to actually drift off that night. Tossing and turning, you battle the glaring urge to get up, slink into the home-office and look up directions to the Tavern.
Not that you’re planning to go there anytime soon — you’re just curious. That’s all.
Around midnight, you give up, pad down the hallway and into the room parallel yours. The computer dials up slowly, and you chew your bottom lip as you wait.
You snatch a piece of paper from the printer and a pen from the #1 Dad mug that sits next to the monitor. Click on the internet icon and type the words into the search bar.
This is definitely a bad idea. Maybe the worst you’ve had in a while.
You jot the address down anyway.
Downtown Austin is buzzing with life.
Patrons spilling out of bars, tourists striding down the street in their brand new Stetsons – it almost distracts you from the task at hand.
At just past seven, you’d told your dad you were going out, meeting a friend for drinks. He’d been a bit taken aback, seeing as you’re not very social these days, but he’d seemed happy. Relieved.
That’s not what you’re doing, of course.
No – in reality, you’re turning into the parking lot attached to the Tavern. It’s packed to the brim with cars, but you still manage to find Joel’s truck, its license plate number burned into the back of your mind after countless mornings of absently reading it as you snuck past.
It’s idle and empty when you inch by, and even though you knew he’d be here, on this date, your heart still sinks. Because maybe a tiny part of you had hoped he’d stand Deb up.
You should leave. It was stupid to come here in the first place. What are you going to do — storm inside and demand that he leave with you?
You consider it for half a second, groaning when you realize how pitiful you are. Defeated, you swing your car into a spot at the back, facing the building, and shift it into park. You hug the steering wheel dejectedly.
From here, you have a straight-shot view of the restaurant’s entrance, a set of double doors at the side of the building. Groups spill out every so often, every pair that emerges causing your back to arch reflexively.
Joel and Deb are probably discussing their interests right now, bonding over a shared connection with your dad. You can vividly picture the smile likely plastered across his face — the same one you’ve elicited with sweet filth whispered in his ear.
And you’re here, sitting in your running car, watching the door. Your pulse thumps obnoxiously loud in your ears.
Minutes pass like molasses, slow and thick. You watch the clock on the car radio obsessively, betting with yourself on what time they’ll leave. After thirty minutes of nothing, you’re convinced that they’re going to close the place out.
But then the door opens again, and you straighten up, immediately met with the sight of Joel and Deb.
She’s talking animatedly, eyes widening every few words, blonde hair wafting around her narrow face. It’s undeniable that she’s stunning, even from far away; possesses the kind of beauty you see on magazine covers in line at the grocery store. The jealousy that pools in your gut burns like acetone in an open wound.
She takes his arm as they walk toward the parking lot, and he lets her, despite the rest of his body appearing strangely rigid.
You wonder if he’ll take her home. Lead her to his truck, help her up the step to the passenger seat and sneak a look at her ass under her dress before shutting the door. If they’ll leave her car in the lot for the night, come back to retrieve it in the morning once he’s helped her forget about her loser ex-husband; let the scent of her perfume seep into the bed sheets to cover up yours.
But he doesn’t lead her to his truck. You watch as they unexpectedly turn down a row of cars, disappearing from your view completely, his arm still locked with hers.
He could still kiss her. Press her against the car. Promise her that he’ll call — and he will, first thing tomorrow. He’s probably just being a real gentleman. Treating her like a woman he might want to marry someday.
Maybe he knows, after just one date, that she’s his soulmate. He’ll buy the ring in a couple weeks. They’ll be engaged in a month’s time, and he’ll say he just couldn’t wait any longer.
She’s the one thing I’ve been missing.
You stew in the agonizing unknown for what feels like hours before Joel materializes once again, backside illuminated by headlights as he strides toward his truck.
And then — he stops. You see the exact moment he notices your car in the parking lot, his eyebrows threading together and his hands splaying over his hips.
He’s staring directly through the windshield. At you.
Fuck.
He takes a few slow steps. Stops in front of the hood. Narrows his eyes and flexes his jaw.
With a deep breath, you unlock the doors. Gesture for him to get in the passenger side.
He immediately rounds the car, prying the door open and climbing inside just as a SUV pulls out the row he and Deb had walked down.
The door slams when he yanks it closed. The sound echoes through the cab of the car.
“You wanna fuckin’ explain what you’re doin’ here?” he snaps. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, embarrassment and now, anger, spooling hot behind your ears.
You know you’re in the wrong. You shouldn’t have followed him. But does he have to be so hostile?
When your gaze finally meets his, he looks — distraught — jaw clenched and lips set in a straight line. His fingers absently dig into denim-covered thighs.
“I don’t know,” you mumble, “I just wanted to see how you were with her.” And it’s the truth; not one you want to be admitting right now, to him, but it’s the truth nonetheless.
“Doesn’t give you the right to spy on me.”
“So what was I supposed to do? Sit at home and mope while the guy I was seeing is on a date with someone else? Oh no, I’m sorry,” you throw your hands up, form air quotes with your fingers, “the guy I was fooling around with.”
This seems to strike a nerve. His jaw twitches, and his fingers still on his lap.
“It wasn’t like that,” he grits
“No? Isn’t that all this was to you: fooling around?”
There’s a beat. Joel sighs.
“No — fuck, no. Of course not.”
His expression softens. A crack in solid stone. “I tried callin’ you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.
“I know,” you admit.
He nods. Another beat.
“Did you kiss her?” you ask.
“No.” He says it with intent, with promise, eyes firmly locked on yours now.
Your mouth goes dry.
“No?”
“No,” he repeats. “I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t want to.”
“You don’t want her?”
“No,” he says flatly, his pupils bulging in the lamplight, black bleeding into the brown of his irises. “I don’t want her.”
“Why not?”
He leans forward. His weight presses into the center console and his breath fans your face — warm, tinged with the scent of cheap beer.
“I don’t want her,” he says, voice an octave lower, “because I want you. I thought you knew that?”
The radio drones between the two of you, some classic rock song you think you recognize flitting through the speaker. Your pulse beats staccato in your throat, off tempo.
“You want me?” you ask, a little breathless, and the next words you say are beyond dumb, beyond reckless, but you say them anyway. “Prove it.”
Joel doesn’t hesitate. He closes the slight distance between you and kisses you, hard, his tongue frantically sliding against yours through parted lips.
It’s sloppy, and desperate, and you feel drunk on the taste of him, on longing laced with carnal need. He’s groaning into your mouth, grabbing your head with both hands, burying his fingers in your hair — as if he can’t get close enough, as if he’ll only be satisfied once he’s swallowed you whole. You’re pretty sure you want him to.
Your hands move frantically to his t-shirt, then, bunch into the fabric and pull. You need to feel the skin underneath, need to rove your hands along his bare chest. He accommodates, tugging the shirt by the back of the collar, lips separating from yours ever-so-briefly to bring it over his head and toss it onto the backseat.
And then he’s back on you, licking into your mouth again, eliciting a whimper from you when his hand wraps around the side of your throat, just under your jaw.
Your palms splay across his torso, wander over warm, golden skin. You’ve missed this, god, you’ve missed this — but it’s still not enough. You need to feel more of him. In your mouth, in your hand, in your cunt — you’re not picky. Just need him in whatever way he’ll provide.
“Joel,” you whimper into his mouth, fingers winding around his bicep.
He pulls back. Peers at you through hooded eyes. “What is it, baby?” he asks through labored breaths.
“Need you — please.”
He immediately unbuckles your seatbelt. Lowers his seat back and manhandles you onto his lap. You go easily; slot yourself to him with legs folded on either side of his thighs.
Wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, you grind down into his lap. His cock strains against denim underneath you. He groans when you swivel your hips and brush the heft of it again with your clothed heat.
“You gonna let me fuck you?” he asks into your mouth, his forehead pressed to yours.
Your breath catches.
You know what he’s really asking: are you going to let him fuck you here, in the parking lot of a public establishment, where anybody could see?
But you don’t care. In fact, you’re way past caring, the emptiness of your cunt too painful to ignore any longer. Let them watch him take what’s his.
You nod frantically. “Yes,” you pant. “Please.”
Joel nods too, as if he’s accepting his fate. He’s going to fuck his friend’s daughter in the passenger seat of her car. There’s no way around it — not when you’re begging for it. He’s going to give you what you need.
“Okay,” he soothes, “I got you baby.”
He helps you out of your pants, then; clumsily maneuvers them down and off your legs along with your panties and tosses them aimlessly into the back.
He doesn’t bother to take his jeans off. Lets you unzip them and pop the button open, your nimble fingers making quick work of it. And then you’re pulling his cock out of his boxers, stiff and leaking in your grasp.
You steady yourself with hands on his shoulders just as he begins to pepper placating kisses along your neck. “Go ahead baby,” he whispers into your ear. “Take it; it’s yours.”
His head falls back against the seat as you stroke him a few times and line his cock up with your dripping entrance, his hands clasped around your waist.
You sink down slowly, savoring every inch of him as he burrows in deeper. He’s so thick, stretching you like it’s the first time again, your walls fluttering as they relax around his cock.
“Fuck,” Joel slurs, fingers digging into your skin impatiently when you still, fully seated on him.
“Gotta move baby — please move.”
He’s so fucking deep, though, his cockhead bumping your cervix, and your entire body feels gelatinous atop him. A cloying sort of heat hangs around your head. You swivel your hips weakly, your forehead falling to rest on his with a heavy sigh.
Joel is happy to take control, bucking up into you so hard you see stars. You can’t suppress the string of moans that spill from your mouth, and Joel doesn’t seem to mind. He’s just as loud, anyway, his broken sounds bleeding into yours, bouncing off glass and leather.
Neither of you can muster an actual word, though, not with him rutting up into you, sheathing himself in your pussy over and over again. He’s relentlessly hitting that spot — the one that has you practically clinging to him for dear life.
It’s approaching too quickly; he’s going to make you come.
One of your hands flies to the roof of the car in an attempt to brace yourself, flat palm pressing into it so hard you worry it’ll pop.
Joel takes the opportunity to drag you down in his lap, spearing you on his cock, and the sudden change in angle makes you cry out.
“Oh f— ahh, oh my—“
“That’s it,” he coos, “you got it, babygirl.”
His words tip you over the edge, your entire body locking up as you gush around him. You’re wetting his lap, slick splattering his thighs, and he loves it, his fervid moan telling you so.
His movements begin to falter then, hips stuttering underneath you as he chases his own high.
“Cmon, baby,” you goad, “please fill me up.”
He grunts when he spills inside, his face nestling in your chest, heaving as he works through it and begins to come down. You don’t move, not that Joel would let you, still holding you on his lap like he’s afraid to let you go.
You nuzzle into his embrace as his cock softens inside you.
You stay like that for a while, probably too long given that anybody could easily look into the car and see you straddling him. You don’t have the energy to care.
Eventually, you lift your head from its spot on Joel’s chest. Look up at him with bleary eyes.
“Joel,” you say.
He meets your gaze, face shiny with sweat and his hair a mess. He looks gorgeous like this, you think. The way only you get to see him.
“Yeah?” He grazes along your arm with featherlight fingers. His touch raises goosebumps on your skin.
“Did you mean it?”
“Mean what?”
“About wanting me.” In truth, you’re not sure you want the answer. But you need to know, definitively, if Joel is yours. You’re done sharing him.
“Oh, baby,” he drawls. “Of course I do. You’re all I want. Do you want me?”
And it’s a stupid question. He has to know that. You’re nodding before he can even finish it. “Yes,” you breathe. “I want you, Joel”
“Then it’s settled. It’s me and you. No more…interlopers.”
You giggle. Reluctantly separate yourself from his body and re-dress. You settle back into the driver’s seat with achy legs.
You’ve never felt more content than you do in this moment.
Still, you’ll have to hide — won’t be able to share the news of your new relationship with friends or coworkers, your dad — and neither will Joel.
You don’t care much, not as long as he’s yours, but you need to be sure he feels the same.
“Joel,” you stop him as he opens the passenger-side door to get out. He stills with one leg swung out the door.
“Yeah, darlin’?”
“Are you sure you don’t mind…being a secret? Don’t mind keeping me a secret?”
He looks at you like you have two heads.
He pulls his leg back into the car. Shuts the door and leans over the console again.
Taking your chin between his fingers, he forces your gaze. Makes sure you’re listening.
“I want you — doesn’t matter who knows or doesn’t know. Long as you’re mine.”
Your chest tightens, and your heart squeezes inside your ribcage.
“I’m yours?”
He smiles. Presses a chaste kiss between your eyes, on the tip of your nose, on your lips. The same way he did the other morning.
It all feels somehow sweeter, now.
“Yeah, angel. You’re mine. My girl.”
end notes: tysm for reading! please consider commenting and/or reblogging if you enjoyed! I've been toying with the idea of turning this into a series so lmk if that's something you'd be interested in hehe.
Also, I hopped on the bandwagon and made a sideblog for notifs! I'll be doing away with a taglist from here on out, so follow @joelscurlsupdates & turn on notifications if you wanna be notified when I post a new fic :-)
tag list: @janaispunk @amanitacowboy @fhatbhabie @frannyzooey @lola8888673
#joel x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#dbf!joel#joel miller x reader#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal fanfiction#tlou fic#the last of us fanfiction
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