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hier--soir · 4 months

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a lover's pinch | seven

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: things get a little messy after returning home. a confrontation sparks the beginning of a new stage in your relationship with joel. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, angst, miscommunication trope, self-doubt, alcohol consumption/hangover, joel is 50 and he texts like it, les mis spoilers???, phantom of the opera spoilers???, jealous!joel, food/eating, hurt/comfort, professor DAD, professor COWBOY, soft emotional smut, unprotected piv sex, cream pie, oral [f!receiving], joel says dadgum cause i think it's so classic him and so cute. word count: 11.1k jesus series masterlist | main masterlist chapter moodboard a/n: merry christmas to all that celebrate. as always, thank you for your patience and kindness. the love for this series is nothing short of mind blowing, and i appreciate you all endlessly. i hope you enjoy this angst and potentially the most flowery + emotional ALP smut yet [if that's even possible]. also rachel i love you i'm sorry. without further ado, the beginning of our descent into The End Times x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part seven of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five, six.

Tuesday.

It's nine thirty in the morning and you buy a Coke anyways.

It’s raining heavy outside; fat droplets of water that splatter against the windscreen of your car and dribble down, slipping through the crevice at the top of the bonnet, searching for the engine, for the oil gasket, for somewhere undercover to dry out.

You tuck your legs beneath yourself, sit criss-cross in the driver’s seat, and take small sips of fizzing black sugar. Allow it to moisten your lips, coat your tongue and your teeth in that sickening, viscous way soda always does, before it slips down your throat.

There’s something unearthly about the day, unnerving—it’s Tuesday morning and you’re hungover. A dull ache behind your left eye, a kink in your neck. You check your phone.

Thick, rolling clouds loom across the sky. Occasionally, a flash of lightning, a thrum of thunder. You tear open a packet of peanuts and pluck one out, and then another. Eat until your lips are dry and puckered, and then take another drink. More peanuts then. Salty, sweet, salty, sweet.

It’s all you can stomach as your liver pumps and spasms, still working to cleanse your blood of the night before, spent sprawled on the couch with Trin and Nora.

Wearing sweaters and thick socks, gripping full glasses of wine, and watching Les Misérables. Nora, tears on her cheeks, had sung along with Hugh Jackman—'This innocent who bears my face, who goes to judgement in my place, who am I?’—and you, bleary-eyed and tipsy, had discreetly checked your phone.

You didn’t cry during I Dreamed A Dream but you’re crying for this? Trin rolled her eyes.

He sacrifices his freedom to save that man, Nora whimpered.

You woke up starving and the traffic was slow. At every red light and stop sign your fingers itched against the wheel, desperate to press inside your bag and pull out this little packet. And now, safe in the campus parking lot, you feast. Salty, sweet, salty, sweet. You feel a fleeting moment of pity for people with peanut allergies, and then you check your phone.

Still nothing.

Since you left New York on Monday morning there’s been no sign of life from Joel. No get home safe, no see you on Tuesday; no acknowledgement at all.

You stare dejectedly at the messages you’ve sent him.

First from yesterday afternoon:

Home now. Enjoy your last day in the big apple x

And then from late last night, two bottles of wine deep:

It’s raining and miserable here

Wish I was still in new york

With you

Sitting in your car now, glowering at the blank space where his response should be, you reconcile with the thought that perhaps he wants what happened in New York to stay in New York. Stolen glances and all-too-brief touches in a conference hall, his hand on your wrist at the museum, skin against skin in his hotel room, and in yours—perhaps it was supposed to happen there, not here. The lowering of walls came with a change in location, and maybe that was his intention. But those thoughts don’t ease the sharp twist in your chest when you think of him. Doesn’t take away how much you wish he would give you something – a morsel of communication, even a single word of acknowledgement. For as hard as you try to understand, you can’t forget the look in his eyes when he touched you at the cloisters, the way he breathed your name into your mouth. Sewing the seed of JoelJoelJoel into in the soft folds of your brain, impossible to forget.

You don’t think about his dinner with Rachel. Don’t consider that something may have happened that night, something that changed his mind about you. Something that made him rethink the entire weekend as you slipped into the shower and out the door, leaving him alone in your hotel bed while you headed to the airport.

No. You don’t think about that at all.

When you make it inside, clothes wet and cool from the rain, you shake your hair out like a dog. Let droplets fly across the hall as you make your way into the lecture theatre; a drizzled trail left in your wake.

The room is full when you step inside, but there’s no sign of him yet. You collapse into an empty chair in the front row and wait. The final few students filter in through the door, shaking out umbrellas and wiping their feet. And for another ten minutes you, foolishly, still expect Joel to show up.

It’s only when the door creaks open and an old man walks through, that you let the hopeful feeling rest.

He lays a worn old satchel against the desk and turns to smile at the room.

“Hello,” the stranger smiles, and his jowls quiver as he speaks. “I’m Jerry Dorfman, a Professor from the literature department, and…”

You zone out for a second, eyes darting down to your phone screen. Nothing.

“Oh, and Professor Miller,” Dorfman says, as if he’s just remembered that he shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be standing up there, in his spot. “Is tied up with a family matter. I trust he’ll be back with us later in the week.”

A family matter?

Slick with rain, staring at this stranger stood in Joel’s place, you feel like a kind of newborn. Some fresh lamb, soaked in the blood and amniotic fluids of her mother’s womb, staring through unseeing eyes, hoping to glean some understanding of this moment. This sudden burst of light, this shocking cold after so many weeks of warmth, of sweat and strong hands on your skin, holding you close. But this is Eros; the blacksmith, the limb-loosener, the crusher. A deviation from stoking the flame to the suddenly desperate, grasping loneliness of feeling as though you are standing by a lover’s window, staring helplessly through the glass, and watching them from the outside. Alone.

Dorfman tries and fails to connect his laptop to the projector.

Numb fingers type;

Are you okay? Where are you?

But no response comes.

No, not until later that night, not until you’re tucked beneath the covers of your bed, showered and sleepy, does he finally reach out.

The clock has just ticked past midnight when your phone vibrates.

Hey, I had to stay in the city another day. Just landed at PWM. See you on Thursday.

A hot, jagged feeling swims in your gut as you read the message, and then reread it. Twice, three more times, searching for some hint of familiarity. Some indication that he has been thinking about you as much as you’ve been thinking about him. That the past weekend meant something to him, like it meant to you.

Minutes pass, and when you don’t find what you’re looking for, you fall asleep without responding.

Thursday.

Nora wakes up with a stuffy nose.

This always happens to me, she sniffs. I hate being sick.

The tiles in the kitchen are cold beneath your bare toes and rain smears heavily against the windowpane. You can hear fat blooms of thunder bellowing outside. Nora’s sullen, husky voice paired with the steam rising from your mug are all it takes to convince you to stay home with her.

The two of you spend the day curled on the sofa beneath blankets. You stare at your laptop, a document open on your screen with the title of an essay sitting pretty at the top. The cursor blinks and blinks at you, taunting you, daring you to write something, anything. But Sex and The City is playing on the tv, and Nora is snoring at the other end of the sofa, and you can’t help but watch the minutes tick by on the clock. Listen to Carrie and Miranda argue about Big, and wonder if Joel has even noticed your absence.

Trin gets home from class, and you follow her into the kitchen. Peel and slice oranges and apples and lemons while she tells you about her day. Boil them in sugar with cinnamon and star anise while she complains about an argument she had with her boyfriend. Add red wine and brandy while she tells you that her Dad sent her some money, and she’ll order take out for the three of you.

So together you huddle in the lounge and eat hot Indian food with your hands. Soak pieces of naan in tarka dal and saag paneer and top if off with mulled wine, unphased by the clashing of flavours in your mouths.

And you don’t check your phone, or look at the time, and you don’t complain when Nora asks, with glassy-eyes and spinach in her teeth, if she can put on another musical.

He’s a freak, Trin frowns at the TV.

He loves her, Nora implores, staring doe-eyed at a masked Gerard Butler.

Nor, Trin scoffs, he put a wedding dress on a mannequin that looks just like her. In his fucking lair, no less. That’s freak behaviour.

He has amazing sideburns though, Nora grins. So he gets a pass.

Your phone vibrates as Erik strokes a passed-out Christine’s face, singing help me make the music of the night.

Careful that Nora won’t notice, you pull it from beneath your thigh.

Where were you today?

You stare at the words for a moment and feel your lips curl into an disbelieving sneer.

“Oh, fuck off,” you mutter, and shove your phone into the crevice between the sofa cushions.

Wednesday.

A week goes by with no word from Joel.

No word from you either.

You stay home every day. Write and read and catch up on work and take Benadryl and sip soup and then you wake one morning, relieved to find that Nora’s cold has finally left your system.

So you tug on jeans, a sweater, and share a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Share quiet conversation with Pete in his shitty old Beamer as he gives you a ride to campus, and walk into Rachel’s lecture with zero expectation that today will be the day you finally see Joel again.

“We understand that Antigone is a victim of her father’s sins,” Rachel explains. “In the wake of patricide, of incest, every one of her actions is seen as a direct consequence.”

“Even her fate to be buried alive was sewn by her father’s unwitting actions,” she pauses, eyes searching the faces across the room, gauging reactions. “And, of course, this concept isn’t unique to Greek mythology. We see it plainly in the Bible, in Exodus; the sins of your father are to be laid upon the children… these themes of ancestral curses, of the inevitability of fate – they are integral to understand when looking at our tragic heroines. We saw it with Medea, we see it with Antigone, with Iphigenia, with Electra. Electra herself said, we are bound to acquiesce—”

An interrupting knock sounds against the door. Rachel’s head swivels around, eyebrows knitted in frustration as she calls for whoever it is to come in.

The door creaks open and her expression lifts. A saccharine smile spreads across her face, shoulders loosening.

“Joel,” she says warmly. “What can I do for you?”

A shiver wracks down your spine, toes curling in your sneakers.

The broad mass of him rests in the doorway. His head peeks past the wood, just a glimpse of his curls, his glasses, visible from where you sit. Your heart thunders in your chest, palms going damp at the prospect of this being the moment you finally see him again.

He speaks a few words in her direction, too quiet to catch, and then he’s taking a step into the room. His hand grips the edge of the door, keeping it open, and he casts a glance out towards the audience. Dark brown and searching, those eyes filter through countless faces until they finally land on yours.

And for a second, he doesn’t say a word. Just gazes out at you, eyebrows pulled together in the middle of his forehead, and then—and then he fucking looks back at Rachel. Your stomach goes hollow when you see the smile on her face. She lazes against the corner of her desk, and it feels like minutes go by as the two of you stare at him. And there’s something about waiting, you think, that feels like torture. That slow, painful build-up of pressure as you sit and stare and prepare yourself to discover who he’s here for. You or her.

You’re reminded painfully of a Graham Greene quote. A passage from The End of the Affair – one you’d, perhaps foolishly, found romantic when you read it that first time. Chosen words that had warmed your chest and made you feel light, lighter than air; the way only words could do sometimes.

‘Yes, Henry?’ and then ‘You?’ She had always called me ‘you’. ‘Is that you?’ on the telephone, ‘Can you? Will you? Do you?’ so that I imagined, like a fool, for a few minutes at a time, there was only one ‘you’ in the world and that was me.

Now, as you stare at Joel in the mouth of the doorway and memory of that passage sinks its hooks in, you feel only contempt for Greene.

For you had always read that passage imagining yourself as Sarah. And someone else, some misfortunate Maurice Bendrix, had fallen into your lap, and he was the ‘you’. But not you, never you. And it’s that pride which deceives. That pride which lulls us into false senses of security.

Joel says your name then.

Says, “Can I speak with you?” You, you, you.

And it should feel like relief, to hear your name on his lips again. But you catch the way he spares another glance, soft and sympathetic, in Rachel’s direction, and that sickly hurt isn’t abated.

Her face falls, but she smiles at you. Nods her permission for you to leave the room, and only when you’re halfway across the lecture theatre, bag swung over your shoulder, does she continue speaking to the class.

Palm flat against the door, he holds it open for you, making you press against him as you slip out of the room. It clicks shut behind you and he begins to move down the hall, leaving you to follow behind with no explanation. You assume that he’s going to lead you to his office, or anywhere more private than this, but a metre from the door Joel pauses abruptly, turns, and you slam into his chest with a huff.

“Jesus,” you mutter, stumbling a few steps back.

“Where have you been?” he glowers, brows drawn tight and angry over his eyes.

“What?”

“I’ve been busy,” you grit, glaring back. “Where have you been?”

“Busy?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ve been busy too. Busy teachin’ the classes that you don’t even show up for.”

“I’ve been sick,” you roll your eyes, unable—or perhaps just unwilling—to stray from nastiness, from spite. “My apologies, Professor.”

“Don’t—” Joel snaps, and flinches as quickly as the word comes out of his mouth, surprised by how harsh it sounds in the air between the two of you. He takes a step closer, voice low now—“Don’t call me that.”

“Fuck, what is your problem?” you huff, eyes widening, exasperated. “I missed two classes, it’s not a big deal.”

“And the silence?” Joel takes a step forward as he says it. Close enough now to see the smudges on the lens of his glasses. Close enough to see the muscle in his jaw twitch. Too close for public; too close for here. “Can’t even text me back, huh? What the hell is goin’ on with you?”

Your body pulls taut at that, hands balling into fists at your sides.

“Oh, you don’t like silence?” you hiss, matching his volume. “You can’t be serious. Joel, I didn’t hear from you for days after New York. Why would I waste my breath when it’s obvious you don’t want to fucking hear from me?”

“It was barely two days,” he shakes his head, shakes off the insinuation, shakes off whatever blame you’re trying to put on him.

“Two days,” you nod, smirking angrily. “Two days after we spent an entire weekend together. Two days after we kissed and fucked and practically went on a date.”

And the word date must elicit something in him. Some minute, man-brain trigger that snaps him to attention and helps him understand the hurt on your face, the tremble in your hands. Because he says your name, voice softening, posture loosening, every bit of his body language screaming out that he wants to step forward and touch you.

And he’s speaking again, voice low, but there’s people coming down the hall, heading your way. Two figures that you can’t make out through the haze of Joel in your immediate vision. So when he reaches out and touches your hand you flinch, jutting your chin over his shoulder. A warning. Don’t do this here.

One of them calls your name and you pause, mouth open. Drag your eyes away from Joel’s features to watch the figures get closer.

“Pete,” you force a smile. “Hey.”

You realise quickly how it must look; your sullen expression, Joel staring down at you with his shoulders hunched. He must understand at the same moment, because he takes a quick step away, folds his hands behind his back.

“Hey,” Pete takes a step closer. He glances warily between you and Joel, confusion colouring his face. “Everything cool?”

Stony faced, Joel looks between the two of you, posture stiffening the longer he stares at Pete. So much larger than him, taller and broader and far more intimidating. But a man with a secret to keep isn’t one to jump quickly at confrontation, so he keeps his mouth shut. Let’s you do the talking.

Ian catches your eye over Pete’s shoulder and offers a sleazy sort of smile. You swallow down a glare and hold Pete’s gaze.

“Everything’s fine,” you lie, taking a step towards them. A step away from Joel. “What’s up, what are you guys doing in this building?”

Pete’s eyebrows pull together, and he cocks his head at you. “Said you needed a ride home today. This morning, remember?”

“This morning,” you repeat, nodding slowly. You raise your hand and pinch the bridge of your nose, thinking quickly, mind a mess. “I, uh… right, look, Pete, I actually forgot I have a meeting with Professor Miller about my final essay this afternoon.”

“Your final…” Pete trails off, frowning. “Isn’t that due in like a month?”

“Yeah,” you say vaguely, and do not look at Joel. “I’ll find a way home later, okay?”

“I mean, sure. I guess,” Pete agrees reluctantly, reaching up to grip the strap of his satchel. “Call me if you need me okay?”

And Joel’s face turns to stone at the insinuation in those words. The idea that Pete could give you anything he couldn’t. That anyone would need to swoop in and save you from him.

The pair of you stand in silence for a moment, eyes trained on Pete and Ian’s retreating backs as they head down the hall. You watch and watch until they turn the corner, disappearing from sight, and only then do you exhale a breath of relief.

You contemplate leaving him there. Turning your back on him and returning to Rachel’s lecture, ignoring his texts and letting this all fade into some painful memory. But when you look at him again—at those big brown eyes that gaze back at you—you know you couldn’t if you tried.

“You look tired,” he frowns, and it’s not angry anymore. A little sad, maybe.

“I am,” you admit, and wonder if your face betrays how much of a role he plays in that exhaustion.

“Are you hungry?”

You stare for a moment, blinking slow, and then say, “Yeah.”

Joel nods, attempts a crooked smile, and says, “Let me take you to get something to eat.”

It’s silent in Joel’s car, aside from the soft patter of rain against his windows and the dull squeak of his windscreen wipers sliding it away. The truck glides through the winding streets of Biddeford, cruising down the main road and into the left lane of a fast-food drive thru. Orders you a burger, fries, nothing for himself, passing the bag into your lap and then continuing to drive.

The bun is soft beneath your fingers. Grease soaks your skin, and you taste beef, taste onions so soft, so sweet. A crimson dot of ketchup spattered onto your pants; a bright shock of mustard on your tongue. A fry here and there. Joel’s hand, outstretched fingers, sneaking across the centre console to steal one. You shift the paper bag on your lap, tilt the opening so it faces him, easier to access, but he doesn’t take another.

He grips the wheel and asks, “Do you want me to take you home?”

You think about Pete waiting for you at the house. Think about if Ian and that filthy smirk on his face and whether or not he’ll be there too. Think about having to flesh out your excuse, your lie, and finally say, “No.”

Joel keeps driving. You eat until your pants feel tight and the greasy brown bag is crumpled in your fist and he’s pulling his truck off the road and into a short driveway.

“Full?”

“Very.”

“Good.”

“Is this your house?”

“This is it.” He drags the keys out of the ignition and knocks the door open. It’s not long, barely a second, before he’s pulling yours open with a rough yank and a soft, “Door always sticks on this side.”

A vague sound spills from the back of your throat, and he guides you up a path towards the small home. Single storey, with a large brown door and windows decorating the outward façade. Your immediate thought is that it’s very Joel, but you stop the idea in its tracks. Remind yourself that maybe it isn’t your place to think things like that.

Inside it’s even more silent, even more tense. The two of you stand in the entry way, toeing off damp shoes. Your eyes flit around his front room, but it’s difficult to focus on anything. Too much to look at, too much you want to know, and you find it easier to just look at him.

“Realised you’d never been here,” Joel murmurs after a while. He shifts awkwardly on his feet, decidedly unsure of what to say as he rests beneath the weight of your stare. “This is the, uh, the livin’ room. Kitchen’s over there.”

When you don’t respond, he clears his throat, ticks his head towards the hallway. “Bathroom is down the hall. Bedroom too.”

You feel your face shift. Deadpan stare turns to surprise, to incredulity, to blatant anger.

“Oh, the bedroom, huh?” you smile, sardonic, cutting. Your throat feels tight. “S’that seriously why you brought me here? Ice me out and then come crawling back when you want something to fuck again?”

“Woah, hey,” his eyebrows shoot up, hands drifting forward like he’s trying to calm a startled animal.

“Don’t,” you hold up a shaking hand, eyes wide and wet suddenly. “Just… don’t touch me right now, okay? What are we doing here, Joel? Seriously.”

He says your name hard and fast, surprised by how quickly it’s all unravelling, spilling from you in a tidal wave.

And spill it does. The words are wet and watery, a tsunami of pent up emotions pouring from your mouth without permission, without forethought.

“I mean, we haven’t seen each other since New York. And I… I thought being there changed things between us. But maybe I was wrong… and then you pull me out of a lecture, bring me here and say my bedroom is down the hall? Am I just… do you just like having someone to fuck whenever you want? Is that it? Someone at your beck and call?”

Joel repeats your name, sharper this name. “Don’t put fuckin’ words in my mouth.” His face pinches in anger, hands dropping.

“When it’s not convenient you try to shake me off, but when it is—at a bar, or out of town—” you list them off on your fingers, eyes growing wider and wider. “Oh, you want me then?”

“That ain’t fuckin’ true and you know it—”

“Do I?” you scoff.

“I came that night when you texted,” he implores, voice raising, all wild-eyed and pleading. “You were drunk, and textin’ and you needed a ride.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that—”

“You didn’t ask me not too either,” he crosses his arms across his chest. “You wanted me to come. Don’t fuckin’ deny that now.”

You open your mouth but he’s too quick, matching your spill with his own now.

“And as if you’re any better?” he bares his teeth now, voice low. “As if you didn’t find out I was your teacher and keep fuckin’ me just for the thrill of it. As if you actually wanted me, and you weren’t just gettin’ off on chasin’ some forbidden fantasy.”

“I…” you gape at him, unafraid to let the hurt show on your face. “Is that really what you think of me?”

“What the fuck am I supposed to think?” he hisses, exhaustion evident in the way he runs a hand through his curls and sags against the door. “You tellin’ me I should believe that you just want me for what I am? A fifty-year-old teacher who spends his time giving fuckin’ speeches to people that are hardly listenin’? Who goes home to an empty bed? That’s what you want?”

And it deflates you, a little. The wounded expression on his face – the devastating truth in those words, splashed across his expression so plainly for you to see. Disbelief.

“Is that such a crime?” you ask quietly. “To want you… and have it be that simple?”

“You shouldn’t,” he shakes his head. Grimaces. “You shouldn’t want me, I’m—I’m no good for you.”

You swallow. Feel tears hot and sharp behind your eyes.

“Then why do you keep letting me?”

“Jesus,” he exhales, and his hand is on the hem of your shirt, pulling you closer, closer, until you’re pressed against his chest, hands coming up to grip his shoulders and steady yourself. “Because I can’t fuckin’ quit you, alright?”

“Because I don’t just want you when it’s convenient,” his lips curl around the word, disgusted by the insinuation. “Because I think about you all the god damn time and if I can only have you some of the time then I guess I’ll take it. Because if you want some fucked up fantasy, then I’ll play my part if it means I get you, I don’t care—”

You cut him off, lips firm and searing against his. He goes still for a moment, mouth parting with a surprised exhale, warm when you press inside with your tongue. And then warmer, salty; tears on his cheeks, on yours.

“That’s not what this is,” you whimper into his mouth, desperate for him to believe it. “It was never about that, it was about you, Joel. I want you.”

He kisses you again, slow. All of the anger and hurt and frustration pools out of the both of you, spilling from your mouths and into the air. His lips mould over yours and his hands are warm on your waist, your back, holding you tight against his chest. When you sniffle, he pulls back, forehead heavy against yours, and sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, eyes closed. “I missed you, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for—"

“Where were you?” you interrupt. “What happened in New York?”

He hesitates for a moment, nervous and calculating as he stares you down.

You wilt a little; dejected all over again. Recoil from him and quietly ask, “Why won’t you let me know you?”

Joel’s hand hovers in the air, as if contemplating reaching for you again, but then it drops and he says, “I was with my daughter.”

You blink.

Daughter.

Daughter?

“She lives there now,” Joel sounds a little breathless, cheeks pink as the words spill from him. “In New York, with her girlfriend. I’d planned to spend an extra day there with her, and then Nina—Nina cut her hand open at the studio and we had to go to the ER, and she had to get stitches and—” He pauses, waiting for you to jump in, to interrupt, to say anything. When you don’t, he takes a breath and continues. “And I wasn’t gonna stay any longer but Ellie was worried, and she needed me. She needed me there, and—and I’m never fuckin’ there, because she never needs me anymore. So I stayed, and I’m sorry I went silent but I was… I was takin’ care of my kid.”

You think it might be the longest—and the fastest—you’ve ever heard him speak outside of a lecture hall.

His eyes drift to something over your shoulder and his entire body seems to sag a little. But it isn’t sad. It’s a resigned, sort of relaxed thing that happens – the corners of his mouth tilt up and he smiles weakly.

You turn, follow his eyeline until you see them.

Pictures, so many pictures, lining the walls of his home. Ones you’d paid no attention to when you first stepped inside, but can now see clearly. Bright eyes and wide toothy grins.

Some of Joel younger, leaner, smiling beside a little girl with curly hair. Some of him as you know him now; scruffy and greying, beside a different girl. This one lanky and pale and grimacing toward the camera as if she were forced into being placed in front of it.

There’s one picture of the girls beside each other, teenagers maybe, sat on either end of a seesaw. The curly-haired girl is on the upper end, grinning madly at the lens, while the other sits with her feet planted firmly on the ground, laughing up at her. Two of them. Two daughters?

“Please say somethin’.”

There’s a picture of Joel and he’s holding a tiny little bundle in his arms, and he looks so young and so fucking afraid. Dark eyes wide and teary as he gazes down at chubby cheeks, his index fingers crooked around the edge of her swaddle. A warm feeling swells in your chest and your body softens the longer you look at it. He’s a father.

Joel says your name and when you turn his face is all twisted up, and he looks the smallest you’ve ever seen him. Almost curled in on himself.

“I should’ve told you,” he nods, brown eyes darting across your face in an attempt to decipher your silence. “I know that, and I—”

“I’m an asshole,” you interrupt softly, and the tears never left but now they feel heavier on your waterline. Begging to spill over again.

“Hey,” he frowns, hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb swipes at the soft skin beneath your eye, begging the wetness there to disappear. “Hey, hey, no—”

“I didn’t think…” you trail off, sniffling. A sickly cocktail of embarrassment and guilt and shame swirl in the pit of your stomach and you try to swallow it down, try to send it away, but it’s persistent. “I never stopped to think that something had actually happened, that you had… I feel selfish, Joel, I’m sorr—”

“You’re not,” he hushes, fingers curling into the hair behind your ear. “You didn’t know. I should’ve told you before, and I’m sorry.”

“I thought you were staying away because of me,” you offer a watery smile. “I thought maybe you and…” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. Can’t make your lips form the name Rachel.

“No,” he shakes his head, jaw tight, as if reading your mind.

“Is she okay?”

“Ellie?”

“Ellie,” you roll the name around in your mouth. His daughter. “Yeah.”

“She’s okay,” he smiles, nodding. “They’re both fine.”

“And…” You look back at the pictures. Two. “And the other girl?”

“Sarah,” Joel says softly, pointing at wild curls and brown eyes that look just like his. And he must see the questions swirling in your brain because he speaks again. “I was twenty. My, uh, my girlfriend at the time didn’t know what to do. Didn’t wanna be a Mom, but didn’t agree with abortion, and we were so young and… well, I asked her to marry me cause it felt like the right thing to do, but she didn’t…” he shakes his head a little, a faraway look in his eye as he remembers it. “She said no. She never wanted that… so, after Sarah was born, I told her that she didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t have to?” you repeat the words, eyebrows furrowing.

“Didn’t have to stay,” he clarifies. Your lips part, surprised. “So, she didn’t, and we ain’t seen her since Sarah was a few months old.”

“Shit,” you whisper, eyes widening as the information finally starts to sink in.

“And Ellie,” he laughs then, gazing at a picture of auburn locks and shock grey eyes. “Well, that one showed up on my door some time fifteen years later. Been in ‘n’ outta foster care for years, and just started followin’ Sarah home from school one day. We did this little dance for a while; dinners and sleepovers and me slipping money into her backpack so she could buy lunch at school. And then one day she just… begged me not to make her go back to her own house. So I didn’t.”

“Wow, I…” you blink. “You adopted her? Alone?”

“I…” Joel pauses. Wets his lips, frowning as he collects his thoughts. “Alone is… I don’t think that’s the right word for it. You see Ellie was… Sarah and me, we just knew. She was family so fast. It was the only thing that made sense, you know?”

And it does, you suppose. The image isn’t hard to conjure. Joel at the dinner table with two teenagers on either side of him. Arguing over homework, over curfews, over what movie to watch. You can see the fondness in his eyes as he talks about them – the emotion laced through his words; we just knew.

“Tell me what you’re thinkin’,” Joel says, and that line between his eyebrows is back and it’s so deep that you can’t help yourself from reaching up and smoothing it over with your thumb. He catches your hand and holds it against the centre of his chest. Lets you feel the way his heart thuds heavily beneath the skin, a sturdy rhythm against your palm.

“It’s… it’s a lot to take in,” you confess, and his hand tightens over yours. “But I’m glad you told me.”

Brown eyes search yours, gaze heavy. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay then.”

You flex your palm against his chest. Dig your fingers into the flesh there a little.

“Can I…” he hesitates, eyes flickering down. “Do you… Can I kiss you?” You, you, you.

Your heart beats fast, and you feel his do the same, and Joel is a father, and two daughters, and I can’t fuckin’ quit you, and you’re breathing into his mouth yes, yes you can kiss me, please kiss me.

It’s warm and it’s gentle and it feels like such a kindness to kiss him now and feel less space between the two of you. Feels like a thousand apologies and explanations slipping off his tongue and you opening your arms to him, saying I understand, saying thank you for telling me.

And when you pull him closer, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck, he meets you in kind, pressing your back against the wall. He shifts his hips between yours and shows you how much he’s missed you, and only when his hand drifts beneath the hem of your shirt do you pause.

He stills, warm breaths drifting across your mouth as he looks into your eyes.

“Talk to me.”

“I’m exhausted,” you admit shyly, twisting a finger through a frizzy lock of hair at the nape of his neck. You tug at it, not meeting his eye, and watch it bounce back into a curl when you let go. He nods and kisses you again, closed lips soft and not asking for anything, never asking for more than you want to give, before he takes your hand and leads you through his house for the first time.

He runs you a bath. Makes you sit on the edge while he lays out a towel and checks the temperature every few minutes. Only when he’s satisfied that the water is perfectly warm does he help peel the clothing from your body. He grips your hand and helps you step into the tub, lowering you down into sudsy water. And when you’re settled, he pulls a stool nearby and sits, keeping you company as you soak.

“S’nice,” you tell him quietly, dragging a foamy sponge across your arms. “Thank you, Joel.”

The weight of before hangs over you a little, pressing down against your shoulders as you watch him. Gauge him. But he doesn’t seem angry or upset anymore. He leans over the lip of the tub. Runs his hands through the water, over the skin of your calf, your knee. Feels the coarse hairs that have grown there over the past fortnight and smiles when they scratch against his palm.

“Said you were sick?”

“Mhm.”

“What kind?”

“Just a cold,” you whisper. He squeezes your knee, palm against your patella, fingers soft in the flesh around it. “M’fine. Past it now.”

In the soapy water, his skin feels like silk against yours.

“Changin’ of the season,” he muses with a nod. “Normally gets me too.”

And you laugh a little at that, because it’s such a fatherly thing to say and you can’t believe how naïve you’d been to not see it before. Can suddenly picture him doing this a thousand times over; resting by the bath while one of his little girls floats in the water, nose all stuffy from the flu.

At the sound of your laughter he smiles, gaze dropping to your mouth, and the skin beside his eyes pinches. Little wrinkles, so soft and so beautiful that you want to reach out and brush your fingers across them.

“You’re so beautiful,” Joel murmurs, and his voice is hushed, so low in the small bathroom.

His fingers skirt against the inside of your thigh and you splay your legs open for him, knees knocking against the sides of the tub. He glances down through the water to where you’re spread open for him to see, shameless, and smiles.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he repeats.

“So are you, Joel.”

“Psh,” he rolls his eyes, offering a delicate little smile. So shy, so feeble, and so desperate to believe you. A little glimpse of that wary weight, still pressing down on him as well.

“Mean it,” you insist in a whisper. You lift a hand from the water, wet thumb grazing the corner of his mouth. Feel the bristles of his moustache, the hairs on his cheek, prickling against your skin.

“Swoony type,” you say, smiling when recognition flashes in his eyes. Stroke the fresh blush on his cheeks. “Long hair, bedroom eyes, cheeks like wine.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, turning to press a kiss against your palm. “Can’t get away with plagiarisin’ Carson in this house, baby.”

“She just said it so well.”

“She did,” he agrees. “So did Tartt.”

“Tartt?” your mind wanes, the warm water lulling you into a sleepy sort of daze. You rest heavy against the side of the bath, gazing up at him

“Beauty is terror,” he quotes tenderly, eyes bold and earnest as he holds your stare. “Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.”

You wrap an arm around his shoulders, water droplets staining his shirt where your fingers grip the material, and pull him forward to kiss you. Joel grips the inside of your leg and kisses you until your skin prunes and wrinkles. And when he notices he laughs with you, gripping your hand to press his lips against fingertips that look like raisins. Worships the soaked skin of your fingers until you pull his face back to yours; jealous of your own hands, fearful that they might come to know his kiss better than your lips.

And when the water goes lukewarm and you don’t know what time it is anymore, he dries you off with a soft towel and offers once more to take you home. But you say no, so he smiles and kisses you again—your lips, your cheeks, your eyelids—and leads you to his bedroom.

He drags a too-big shirt over your head, helps you loop your arms into the sleeves. Dark blue and warm, so warm, against your skin.

The two of you slip beneath the covers on his bed and he drags you against his side; lets you press your cold toes against his shins without so much as a flinch.

Facing each other on your sides, those hands slink beneath the shirt, rough palms cradling your ribs, your back, holding you tight against his chest until your breathing falls in sync. And those hands don’t stray, don’t move down, they just embrace you. A carefully held apology that promises I want this, to hold you, to be with you, too.

It stays like that, nothing more, until your eyelids are heavy, and his breathing has evened out. Stays like that until your hand drops from his back to the band of his boxers, sleepy little fingers plucking at the material, trying to slip underneath.

“You should rest.”

But you whine softly; needy and insistent as your fingers press harder.

“What do you need?” Joel rasps into your neck, helping you shift them down his legs.

“Need you,” you whisper back into the darkness of his bedroom. “Wanna feel you, I—”

His mouth is soft against yours, plucking those words from your mouth and swallowing them down. He sucks your bottom lip between his, prying your mouth open so he can slip his tongue inside.

His hand in on your knee, pulling your leg up until your thigh rests heavy around his hip and you can feel the hot weight of him against your core, still slick and warm and needy from when his hand rested on the inside of your leg in the bath.

And if you’d ever subscribed to the meaning behind words like sin you suppose that once this might have counted as one. An act worthy of being sent to reside in that second circle of hell, reserved solely for those overcome by lust; left to blow back and forth in the storm of their own desire. Two people who cannot touch, should not touch, who hold their hands out to feel anyways. A touch once spiteful, once desolate and removed, now so forthcoming. A touch that says this is the only way it could have ever been. And there can be nothing sinful about it anymore. No more shame or derision behind heavy eyelids, no more you shouldn’t or I’m no good for you. Here you rest comfortably in the hurricane of that second circle, and you welcome the breeze as a comfort.

Lips against yours, Joel feeds his cock to you in slow, careful passes.

Ensures you feel every ridge, every hard line of his body. And with each gentle press inside he murmurs against your mouth. Incessant, low nonsenses of so fuckin’ beautiful and god I missed you and that’s it, baby, I know, I know. His kiss smooth as an almond, tender as a fig. Ripe and wet and tremulous as his tongue finds a home against yours, over and over.

The comforter on his bed stays pulled high, up to your shoulders, and it traps the warmth of your bodies between you.

He coaxes rough, gasping sounds from you with every shift of his hips.

Long fingers grip the back of your thigh, using his hold there to rock your body into his over and over again, slowly, making sure you feel every second of it. Slick seeps out of you around his length, smearing against the inside of your thighs and his, and he groans at the wet sounds that slip from where the two of you are connected.

Joel says your name, low and gravelly, praising every syllable. He tells you how good it feels, how perfect you are, and every word is like an undressing of the flesh. Like you’re some tender butcher, peeling back layers of his skin to let the air hit hot, red, pulsating matter, flashes of thick, porcelain bone swimming amongst it all. He keeps you close, hardly an inch of your body not touching his, and yet you can see all of him. The whole surface and everything underneath it now too. And when you say his name in return and he moans, begs you to say it again, say my name again, it’s hearts on wings, thin fire racing beneath the skin, eyes unseeing, drumming filling your ears. It’s the cold sweat on his hands that hold you shaking, that feel the way you tremble and grip tighter. It’s wanting to take those bones of his and suck them clean; lick past the gristle and taste the marrow beyond it.

It's everything and it’s nothing and it’s that silly little four-letter word that you can’t bring yourself to say, let alone think, and it doesn’t even matter because he’s here and that’s enough.

His nose rests in the hollow above your collarbone and he inhales, smothering soft kisses to skin and bone there.

He says, “You smell like me,” and when he looks up and presses his forehead against yours, he almost looks wounded by it. He stills, holds himself deep inside and just stares, and his eyes are screaming I can’t fuckin’ quit you, so you lay your thumb over the dimple on his cheek and smile. “S’my clothes, my soap…”

Your body flutters and tightens around him, and your mouths fall open in soft moans, lips slotting together again.

“You like that?” you breathe into the kiss, and he tightens his fist around the back of the shirt, pressing inward until your back is arched, and your stomach is flush against his and he’s groaning yes.

“Want you in my clothes all the fuckin’ time,” he pants, and the tip of his cock presses so deep inside that you’re gasping, mouth hanging wide open. “And when you give ‘em back I’ll wear ‘em and smell like you, and then we’ll be even.”

“Even?” you laugh a little, nipping at his bottom lip. He smiles, eyes glinting in the darkness.

“Yeah, even,” he repeats it and presses forward in a sharp thrust to emphasise his point. You don’t need to hear it again to know exactly what he means.

“Tell me you’re mine,” you whisper, and he grunts, hips shifting a little faster against yours. You feel him pulse inside of you, his stomach tightening against yours.

“M’yours,” Joel murmurs, voice like velvet and honey, so soft as he leans forward to kiss you, licking the words into your mouth. You say it back, spell it out against his teeth, his lips, his jaw. Yours, yours, yours.

He says something else then, lips soft against your chin, and you’re so close; can feel it hot and burning in your gut, almost at tipping point.

“Hmm?”

“Baby,” Joel nips at your jaw, sharpening your senses. “Tell me you’re on the pill or somethin’.”

“I am,” you whimper honestly, and his body seems to sag against yours, hips shifting in sluggish, tired movements.

Something snaps at the base of your spine, and you tremble against him, gripping the back of his neck. Soon enough he’s shuddering into you, arms going tight around your back, trapping you against his chest as his cock pumps inside your core. And it’s warm and wet and sticky and his seed drools out of you, down to your asshole, smearing against the inside of your thighs, his sheets. Your legs wrap around his waist, holding him to you, keeping him there as long as you possibly can. Riding out your highs, and then the trembling, stuttering aftershocks in each other’s arms. He pants into your mouth and all either of you can say is mine or yours, until the words mix together and become a meaningless blur of sound murmured between locked lips.

It could be minutes or an entire hour before you manage to separate from each other. All eager little kisses and whines as his soft cock slips from your hold, thick spend seeping out of you in his absence. And you just want to sleep, want to curl up in his arms and never leave, but you slink off to the bathroom first. Wet your face and drop down on his toilet. Urinate and feel his come drip out of you. And where once, with someone else, you might have cringed at the feeling, you only feel warmth; calm.

In the bright lighting of his bathroom, you can see yourself reflected in the mirror above his sink. Hair a wild mess, cheeks and lips swollen with warmth. This woman in the mirror stares back at you and she has bright eyes. She smiles at you, and you feel your lips peel back, teeth on show just like hers. You stare at her and think god, she looks happy. When you wipe between your thighs and stand, she does too. And with your finger on the light switch, a wet handtowel clutched in your other palm, you give her one last look before turning out the light, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

Thursday.

Joel sleeps on his stomach. At least, that’s how he ends up overnight.

Face buried deep in a pillow, one leg slung outside of the covers, with a heavy arm out to the side. When you wake, at first, you’re careful not to move. Not to breathe too heavily, not to cough or jostle him awake. He looks so peaceful like this. Heavy breaths puffing from chapped pouty lips, forehead smooth and devoid of the stress and exhaustion that often lines his face. A large hand rests close to you. Despite you drifting a part in the night, the body heat getting too much for you both, his fingers remain outstretched in your direction. The tips just grazing the skin of your stomach as you lie on your side and watch him.

A low murmur escapes from his mouth, face twitching a little, and then he’s relaxing again, humming in his sleep. You smile, and let your eyes wander.

There’s a pile of books on his bedside table, reading glasses dropped haphazardly atop them.

An Idiot’s Guide to Space, one of the weathered spines reads. Interesting.

A framed painting rests above a set of drawers on the side of his room. A vast landscape with a herd of horses galloping across it. Gorgeous hides of orange and brown and black splashed across green grass and blue sky. And on the back of his door… hangs a cowboy hat.

You move slowly, careful not to wake him as you rise and tip toe across the room. Coming to rest directly in front of the closed door, you slip it off the hook and admire it. You don’t even hear his breathing change as he wakes up.

Dark brown with a curved brim; the felt is soft beneath your fingers. The image of Joel wearing it, perhaps often, while living in Texas flits through your mind and you can’t help but smile. And then warm hands are on your hips, arms snaking around your waist to pull you back into a warm chest.

You gasp in quiet surprise, but your smile only broadens when Joel rests his chin on your shoulder, peering down at the hat in your hands.

“Mornin’,” he murmurs, voice gruff and deeper than usual. A pang of arousal swims in your core at the sound of it, but you ignore that, turning in his grasp.

“Good morning, cowboy.”

Joel groans, sleepy eyes drifting closed as he hugs you to his chest, swaying the two of you from side to side.

“Wanted to lie in,” he grumbles. “S’too early for this.”

“For what?” you blink in mock confusion, holding the hat against your chest.

“For you to see that.” He moves quick, tugging it from your grasp.

“Hey—” You gasp, wide eyed and ready to steal it back. But before you can Joel just lifts it onto his head with a heavy sigh. “Oh.”

“Oh?” he repeats, eyes narrowing.

Warmth simmers in your stomach and you smirk, stepping back to give him a quick once over.

“I could get used to this.”

“Jesus,” he rolls his eyes, moving to take it off but you grip his hand, shaking your head fiercely.

“Not so fast,” you coo. “I want the whole experience.”

“And what exactly is the whole experience?”

“You know—” You shimmy your hips a little. Imitate twirling a lasso in the air, wiggling your eyebrows. “Show me some tricks.”

Joel laughs at you, and you can see the desire in him to say no, to refute it, but the longer you stare him down, the more it cracks and fizzles away.

“Go on, cowboy,” you try out your best Texan drawl, falling down to sit on the edge of his bed.

He adjusts his legs, elbows bending as he waves two finger guns in your direction. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down a laugh as he makes a small pchew pchew noise out the side of his mouth.

“Oh,” you smirk. “Is that all you got?”

“I’ll have you know,” Joel huffs, pretending to holster one of his guns. Hip cocked now, still dressed in nothing but his sleep shirt and boxers; he stares you down. “I’m startin’ to think this town ain’t big enough for the both of us.”

And that gets you. A sharp, barking laughs slips from your mouth, and Joel grins in return, the skin beside his eyes creasing as he adjusts the Stetson over his curls.

As your giggles calm, he just shakes his head, still smiling, and murmurs fondly, “Dadgum, you got a good laugh.”

Your face warms beneath his stare, and you just shake your head, bottom lip snagged between your teeth. Moving quick, Joel pinches the brim of the hat and places it onto your head. It’s a little big, and the brim falls down, obscuring your eyesight before he adjusts it for you. Then he takes a step back, hands on hips.

“How do I look?” You bat your eyelashes up at him, smiling shyly.

“I don’t know,” he fakes an air of contemplation, giving you a long look up and down. “Think you might be all hat ‘n’ no cattle.”

“Hey,” you pout. “I’d make a great cowboy; just need a pair of chaps.”

“Well, you can wear the hat and the chaps all you like,” Joel murmurs, gaze heavy. “But you ain’t a cowboy ‘til you prove you can ride like one.”

Your thighs tense and you arch an eyebrow, trying to remain nonchalant.

“Is that right?”

“S’right.”

“Mm,” you hum. You lick your bottom lip and watch the way his gaze darkens, eyes trained on the movement. “Gonna let me show you what I got?”

And so you end up back in bed, straddling Joel while he smirks up at you, long fingers twisting around the hem of your t-shirt. But when you slip a finger inside the hem of his boxers, the movement so reminiscent of last night, he laughs a little and gives you a look that says, really?

You pout, confused. “I thought you wante—”

“Uh uh,” Joel shakes his head. “Not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

“Get up here.” He lifts his chin upward.

Your eyes widen, stomach tensing a little.

Desire warms the inside of your thighs, and you murmur, “You want that?”

“Do I wa—?” he cuts himself off, eyes darkening a shade. “I said, get up here.”

Heart racing, you shimmy up his chest until your knees are planted on the mattress on either side of his shoulders. He smiles, encouraging, and you grip the hem of his shirt, prepared to pull it over your head, but he stops you.

“No,” he exhales, hand quickly gripping yours. “Leave it on for me.” And then he leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, and you can only nod, holding your breath as you wait for him to reach where you want his mouth the most.

Face tucked in the cradle of your hips, Joel sighs your name. A rough exhalation, nose pressed into your skin. And it feels a little silly at first – your face is warm as you stare down at him, the wide brim of the cowboy hat tilting forward.

But then, breath hot and heavy against you, he mouths at the crease where your hip meets your thigh. Slow, drawn-out kisses that have your legs tensing over him, his hands slip beneath the shirt, tracing light patterns into the skin over your spine, all the way up to your shoulders. He keeps going until you’re shivering, a wet trembling mess in his hands, hips twitching forward with every touch of his mouth to your skin until he finally glides his tongue through your folds.

Your breathing hitches as he pants against you, chest vibrating with low sounds as he licks thick stripes up the entire length of your pussy. Eyes closed, he tastes all of you; tongue slipping over every piece of exposed skin that the position grants him. And with every broad stroke of his tongue, he dips inside your weeping hole and finishes with a gentle flick against your clit. So soft and so slow, building you up over and over until finally you break and begin rocking your hips into his face.

Joel grunts at first, a little surprised maybe, but in a second his hands are dropping to grip your thighs, locking you in place against his face.

At first, he guides you. Helps you find a rhythm that works, that feels good. Flattens his tongue and uses his grip to rock you back and forth over his face, groaning as you roll your clit against him, huffing and panting quiet little pleas. But soon enough your fingers are carding through his hair, holding him tight against you as you grind down into his mouth. Sharpening his tongue, he dips it inside of you and then drags upward, pulling your clit into his mouth and sucking gently.

You gasp, vision going hazy as you try to keep your eyes on him, try to watch, but it’s too good. He knows exactly what you like, and it all moves far too quickly for your liking. You can already feel your hips winding faster and harder against him, breaths falling shorter, everything in your stomach pulling tight and hot.

Joel can tell – he can always fucking tell – and one of his hands drifts over your ass, fingers slipping between your thighs from behind until his middle finger is circling your entrance.

“Fuck,” you inhale sharply, jaw going slack as he prods at your cunt, tongue lapping lazily over your clit all the while. “Please, your fingers, yeah, ohhh—”

A long finger sinks inside and you moan, head falling back.

“You like that?” he murmurs, pulling back to graze his teeth along the inside of your thigh. A second finger presses inside, and he curls them against that soft spot, fucking you slow and steady until you acquiesce, whimpering yesyesyesfucksogood towards the ceiling.

“Good girl,” he hums, slick tongue finding its way back to your clit.

He eats at you so lovingly. So generous as he lathes firm circles around your nerves, only ever pausing to suck you into his mouth again or press wet, open-mouthed kisses against the entirety of your cunt. Nose buried in the short curls over your mound, he doesn’t let up until your moans turn high pitched; strained little whimpers of his name falling from your lips as you press down harder and harder.

“Oh fuck,” you cry, hips rocking back and forth, faster now. He breathes you in, jaw shifting from side to side, matching the intensity of your movements with sharp flicks of his tongue. And when you fall apart, shoulders sagging forward, he moans, taking and taking and taking every last drop of what you have to offer.

And what an image it must be – you, wearing a Stetson, riding Joel Miller’s face. You almost wish you’d filmed it, for posterity’s sake.

He presses a small kiss to one swollen lip of your pussy, and then the other, before his head is falling back into the pillows and he’s smiling up at you.

The lower half of his face shines, lips and facial hair slick with your come, and you can’t help but grin back, a tired snort of laughter slipping from your mouth.

“How’d I do?” You grip the brim of the hat, tipping it down at him.

Joel smirks, hands squeezing your thighs, helping to shift you up and onto the side of the bed so he can sit up.

“I’d say you more than proved yourself,” he hums, leaning in to steal a kiss. You sigh, whining against his warm wet mouth, and reach a hand down to press it against his abdomen. Shifting lower, you trail your fingers over where his cock strains against his boxers, but Joel just tuts, pulling away and slipping off the bed.

“Hey,” you huff, gripping his shirt and trying to pull him back down, but he just shakes his head, laughing, and drags you to your feet.

“Gonna be late,” he tells you, squeezing your hips and pressing a kiss to your temple. “And you needa eat.”

Late. You’d almost forgotten that you had a lecture this morning. Joel’s lecture.

He turns, rifling in the chest of drawers, pulling out clothes, a pair of socks, while you stand behind him and watch, knees still shaking, with a fucking cowboy hat on your head. After a moment he turns, stares, and a rough laugh hits the air. Shaking his head, Joel grips the brim and tosses the hat back up on its hook before pointing towards the ensuite, telling you to shower.

“You coming?” you ask, and he just shakes his head, tugging on socks before padding towards the hallway.

“Cowboys don’t shower, baby,” he flashes a smile over his shoulder at you and winks. “They just dust off.”

When you make your way out of the shower, Joel is in the kitchen. Ironed black trousers and a neat white shirt cover his frame, and from across the room you admire him. That strong back, the pert rounded muscles of his ass. Fuck.

He manages to over scramble the eggs and burn the bacon because he can’t stop looking over his shoulder at where you rest at his dining table. Head resting heavy in your palm, you smile back at him. And when he puts a plate of food in front of you, you don’t have a single complaint.

The two of you eat fast, plucking little pieces of eggshell out as you go, smiling and laughing shyly as your feet tangle beneath the table. He watches you; makes sure you clear your plate before he takes it to the sink, murmuring something about how he won’t make you sit through me talkin’ for hours on an empty stomach. Says he’s pretty sure that counts as torture somewhere, baby.

And when he turns, dirty dishes forgotten in the sink, you’re staring at him, heart on your sleeve, and he must see it in your eyes. You know that it has to be clear as day; that forbidden four-letter word blazing across your forehead in bold letters.

Joel clocks your gaze and moves to hover over where you sit, wordlessly cupping your face in two broad palms and slotting his mouth over yours. And as he licks into your mouth, tasting the remnants of eggs and bacon and every unsaid word, you start to believe that maybe confessing wouldn’t be so bad. That maybe forbidden is a word you’ve prescribed to this feeling all on your own – that he might just be feeling the exact same way.

But he pulls back, presses two more quick pecks to your mouth and tells you to get ready, says he’ll drive the two of you to school, and the moment slips from your grasp.

Back in his car, you feel relieved to replace the memory of yesterday with this one. Windows down, the air is cool and calm against your skin as he drives you through town, sated, dopey smiles across both of your faces.

A Bob Dylan song drifts from the speakers and Joel sings along under his breath.

“We’ll meet again someday on the avenue. Tangled up in blue.” Voice low and breathy, left hand on the wheel, right hand on your thigh. You nod along to the lyrics, your fingers tracing the veins and tendons on the back of his hand all the way until he pulls over.

“Shouldn’t be seen walkin’ in together.”

“Yeah,” you agree, understanding. “Best not.”

The truck idles on the side of the road, somewhere inconspicuous down the street from campus, and you slip out his passenger door. Close it with a thud and peer in at him through the open window, eyes devouring every part of his face as if you won’t be seeing him within the hour, stood up in front of the room giving a lecture.

The truck peels away from the curb, Tangled Up In Blue still whining from those speakers, and Joel sends a quick wink out the window at you, his face a blur as he drives off. And you just smile, chest warm despite the cool Spring air on your face, walking along in the same direction – because you know exactly what that wink means. And you love it.

Our little secret.

a/n refs:

in Dante’s Inferno he said that those overcome with lust were doomed to the second circle of hell, wherein they would be buffeted back and forth by the terrible winds of a violent storm, without rest. slay.

the bacchae tr. by anne carson [read if you have mummy issues, a massive ego, or just like the idea of frolicking in the woods for a while...]

the secret history by donna tartt [read if you like unreliable narrators, strange professors and stranger students, and the nursery rhyme 'the farmer in the dell']

the end of the affair by graham greene [read if you like weird intense guys and angst and infidelity]

eros the bittersweet by anne carson [read if you're cool as fuck]

thank you for reading! x

#finally am i right?#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut

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soullumii · 1 year

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stranded | joel miller x f!reader

pairing: joel miller x afab!fem!reader

summary: you get stranded in the middle of a blizzard. joel comes to your rescue. you share a bed for warmth. things escalate from there...

warnings/tags: 18+ content, MDNI!, smutttttt yurrrr (vaginal fingering, unprotected piv sex, dubious consent, lil bit of somnophilia, joel is packinggg), no outbreak!joel, modern au, implied age gap, soft!joel, pet names (peach, baby, darlin', sweet girl, sweetheart), lil bit of joel being jelly, cuddling to keep the cold at bay, fluff, NO USE OF Y/N

word count: 7.6k (idk what the fuck happened)

“Damn it!”

You press down hard on the gas pedal, grimacing when your engine revs but the car doesn’t move an inch.

Your tires skid uselessly over the snow and your headlights reflect into a white wall of nothing—the snowfall so thick you can’t see anything in front of or around you, as if you’re trapped in a snow globe. The road is practically gone from existence.

The only thing you can hear is the wind whistling and the staticky sound of Carrie Underwood’s ‘Jesus Take the Wheel’ going in and out on the radio.

Yeah, you wish he would right about now.

“Fuuuck,” you whine, eyes stinging with unshed tears. You hit your wheel in frustration, dropping your forehead onto the horn. It honks pityingly.

Of course, the one time you were actually going out, you had forgotten to check the weather.

You’re probably going to die out here on this back road through the woods. There’s no one around, not that you can tell, and you’re low on gas. You were going to fill up once you got out of the woods and back into civilization, but the blizzard had other plans.

Your stomach rumbles, crying out for the dinner you had skipped in hopes of having a hearty, post-sex meal with the hook-up you are—or were—on the way to see. Though, that’s certainly not happening, and the snacks you usually had stuffed into the glovebox are gone, your sister having stolen them last week after you dropped her off at school.

(Darn that growing goober!)

You don’t have anything that might prove useful in this situation besides the long, slim heels on your pumps (which could be used in defense), and the thin peacoat wrapped around your shoulders. You check your phone to see if you can call a towing company, but of course, it has zero bars.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whimper, pressing the heel of your palm to your watering eyes.

“It’s gonna be fine,” you say to yourself, picking your head up and rubbing away the tears in your eyes. You take deep breaths and put the car into park. “You’ll be fine.”

The sudden sound of a knock on your window startles you so bad you yelp, jumping in place as ice cold terror rises up your spine.

You can hardly see who had knocked, only their gray silhouette in the white blizzard.

The stranger knocks again.

“You alright in there?” The shadow asks, a hint of a Texan accent curling their vowels. Shit. It’s a man.

You slowly grab your shoe from your foot, holding it so the heel faces the window, and snow blows into your face as you carefully roll it down an inch or two for precaution, because who knows if it’s a fucking cannibal-axe-murderer who preys on unsuspecting women stranded in the snow. Maybe he does this every year—maybe this is his prime harvesting place and time.

Your eyes are wide as you peer through the opening warily, heel at the ready.

He’s close enough now that you can make out a prominent scowl, hard brown eyes, salt and pepper hair…

…wait a minute. You’d recognize that glower anywhere.

“Joel?”

Your lungs suddenly remember how to work again, and you inhale on a shaky breath. The hand holding your shoe drops to your thigh in relief.

His brown eyes narrow. “Peach…? The hell are you doin’ out here?” He asks, and Jesus you forgot about that stupid nickname he gave you. It sends butterflies loose in your stomach. “It’s a goddamn blizzard.”

You scowl in exasperation, though, at his obvious observation. “Yeah, I think I know that, Joel. What are you doing here?”

“I heard a honk, figured someone needed help.” He looks you up and down, his gaze lingering on the circles of mascara around your eyes. “Guess I’m right.”

You straighten in your seat, the gratitude you feel at his presence is overshadowed by the need to look self sufficient and capable, because you are. You’re a grown ass woman! So…

“I don’t need your help,” you huff.

He arches a brow. “Really.” It’s not a question.

You glower. “Maybe.”

Joel leans an arm on the frame of your car, and taps your window once more. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

God, this is so embarrassing!

“Fine.” You roll up the window and turn off the car. Joel tugs the car door open as far as it can go and offers a gloved hand to help you out. You wobble a bit when you step out in your heels, grateful that Joel is there to steady you. Though, the feeling sours a bit when he huffs in disbelief at your shoes.

You send him a glare, “I had plans for tonight, okay?”

“In the middle of a blizzard?” He deadpans.

“It wasn’t that bad when I first started driving.”

“Riiiight,” he drawls, “Well, I’m sorry to say, peach, but you ain’t driving in this mess anymore. You can stay with me tonight.” He says, closing the car door behind you.

Stay? With him?

“Joel, I couldn’t bother you with—“

“I wouldn’t offer if it was a bother.”

Joel’s as stubborn as a bull, more so than Ellie. And she is stubborn. You don’t argue, because it’s fruitless to argue with a brick wall like him. And, faced with freezing to death out here or staying in a well-insulated building, choosing the latter is obviously the right thing to do.

“Okay,” you relent and point to your trunk. “I have a bag back there.”

He raises a brow. “Heels and a bag…What kind of plans were we talkin’ about here?”

A hook up, Joel, you mentally drawl. Because…that’s exactly why you were out.

Like hell you’ll tell Joel that, though, he’d disapprove. He’s always been the protective type. You’ve known him since your junior year in college, after your families practically merged. But you’ve never seen Joel as another dad. He’s always been…something else to you.

“A trip to Nunya.” You supply instead of the truth, crossing your arms over your chest to try and conserve some heat.

“Nunya?” Joel’s brows furrow.

“Yeah. Nunya business, Joel.” You give him a sardonic smile.

He shakes his head and sends you a look you’re quite familiar with, the one that makes you feel inches smaller. And ten degrees hotter.

Joel sighs in exasperation and wordlessly wrenches the trunk open. He slings your bag over his shoulder as if it weighs nothing.

(It weighs a lot. You’d know, you shoved five different erotica books in there, just in case your date failed to make you orgasm.)

(Though thinking about Joel probably would’ve been enough.)

You lock your vehicle with a bemused glance. “What are we gonna do about my car?”

“I’ll tow it out tomorrow,” Joel says. “Roads are a fuckin’ mess right now.”

You trudge behind Joel to his quaint cottage sleeping cozily between tall pine trees and chubby evergreens. The porch light is on, and the windows glow a comforting orange. Puffs of smoke drift up from the chimney. It looks warm and inviting, like straight out of a Christmas movie.

You’re impressed at how close you managed to strand yourself to his house. Maybe Jesus really did take the wheel.

Joel kicks the snow off his boots on his front porch, then opens the door, gesturing for you to enter first.

When you breach the doorway with Joel at your heels, warmth settles over your cold-bitten cheeks along with an alluring aroma of meat and tomato and spices that hits you in a wave. You’ve never seen Joel cook anything other than Chef Boyardee Beefaroni, or burgers on Tommy’s rusting grill before, so this is certainly a surprise. It could be Sarah or Ellie’s cooking, but last time you checked, Sarah could cook eggs and Ellie could cook, well, nothing.

“So did you hire a personal chef to make whatever smells so good?”

He sets your bag down in the foyer with a grunt and shrugs out of his coat. “I made it.”

You can’t help the disbelieving laugh that bursts out of you, and the slightly offended look on Joel’s face only makes it harder to stop. You cover your mouth with your hand, but you’re absolutely positive he can see the mirth lighting in your eyes.

Though he’s offended, there’s a twitch to his lip, as if he’s trying not to laugh. “I’m perfectly capable of cooking.”

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry,” you try to stamp down your giggles. “Yes, you’re capable but… is it edible?”

Your stomach decides in that moment to start rumbling, and he smirks.

“Guess you’ll have to find out.”

You take your coat off and follow Joel towards the kitchen. As you follow, you take in his aggressively Texan decor and furniture. Paintings of cowboys and horses and mountains are hung artfully on cozy, beige walls. The Eagles’ discography drifts merrily in the air from an old record player. There’s a guitar stationed in practically every corner. It’s all so very Joel, though the random space ornamentals and butterfly drawings sprinkled about are so very Ellie and Sarah. It makes you smile.

“Where are the girls?” You ask, because usually those little stinkers would be stationed at the dining room table, bickering over the answer to a ridiculously difficult math problem.

“At Dina’s,” he answers, taking off his gloves and dropping them on the table. “They wanted to play in the snow.”

Oh. So you’re here alone with him. Anxiety prickles at the edges of your mind, sinking in your stomach.

“I guess I was the only one that didn’t know about the blizzard, then.”

“You must be livin’ under a rock to not know about it.”

You grumble in protest, but your grievances disintegrate on your tongue as you enter the kitchen and near the simmering pot. You breathe in the aroma, the smell so powerful it's almost like you’re actually tasting it.

You look over your shoulder at him. “Is this chili?”

He nods. “Want some?”

“Absolutely.”

He comes up beside you to open a cabinet. “Go ‘head make yourself comfortable on the couch. I’ll bring it out to you.” Your mouth dries at the sliver of skin that peeks out beneath his flannel as he reaches up.

You force yourself to turn around. “Wow. Such a gentleman, didn’t realize you were capable,” you say, your saccharine sweet tone doing well to mask how flustered you feel. You can breathe easier the second you exit the kitchen and enter the living room.

His voice follows you. “A simple ‘thank you’ ‘stead'a this attitude would do you some good, y'know?"

"I know," you sing-song, grinning as you settle yourself down onto his couch, grabbing a blanket from a basket on the way. A fire crackles in the hearth and you study the flames with fascination as warmth spreads across your skin. You tug the blanket around you, pulling it up to your chin.

Joel emerges a minute later and your gaze darts from the fire to the bowl he holds out to you. “Here.”

“Thank you, Joel,” you say emphatically, accepting the bowl and cradling it in your hands.

He smiles, “There we go. Guess you do have some manners.”

You give him a half-bow. Joel just smiles in that familiar way, like you’re just so ridiculous he can’t believe it. It makes your stomach curl giddily.

Having rolled up the sleeves of his flannel to his elbows, Joel’s forearms are on display, muscles flexing as he tosses another log into the hearth, and you drop your gaze to your chili, as to not get caught staring. He sits down in the armchair adjacent to you with his own bowl.

You blow on the steaming chili before taking a bite, an involuntary moan releasing from you the moment it hits your tongue—paprika, peppers, tomato, cumin. It warms your stomach pleasantly. Who knew Joel could cook so well?

“This is so good,” you mumble around your bite.

He swallows his own chili down, pupils large as he watches you. “Edible enough for ya?”

You nod enthusiastically, “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

“Mmhmm,” he hums, unconvinced, but he’s smiling at you again, and you can’t help but return it.

Comfortable silence lapses between the both of you as you eat your meals. Joel finishes first, of course, setting his bowl on the coffee table and leaning into his chair with a satisfied groan. He throws an arm over the back, spreading his legs. You watch him while he watches the fire, heat licking through you.

Eventually, after you slow down, you speak again.

“Thank you, Joel, seriously, for letting me stay.”

His eyes find yours and he nods. “‘Course, peach. Wouldn’t’ve let you freeze out there.”

You nod and glance around, taking in his cabin. A large, stone fireplace is set in the wall, a tree trunk coffee table stationed in the center of the living room, some handmade wood carvings of horses and other animals scattered about. There’s a drawing of himself sitting on the mantel, “To: Joel, From: Ellie” signed at the bottom. Your heart swells.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been here,” you remark.

“I know,” Joel says. “You should come around more often. The girls miss you.”

Your smile turns shy and you feel a spike of bravery. “What about you? Do you miss me?”

He takes a moment to answer, a veiny hand coming up to rub at his beard as he leans on the arm of the chair. Onyx eyes drag down your figure. “‘Course I do, darlin’”

Heat pools hot and thick between your thighs at that look, and you’re about to press him about how much he really misses you when a buzzing in your pocket captures your attention. Your phone. Guess you have some bars now.

marcus: where r u?

Oh right, the hookup!

you: blizzard blocked the roads. won’t make it tonight.

marcus: ok.

You scoff at the lack of depth in his response. Not even a “stay safe out there”? Jesus. You settle into the couch with a frustrated sigh, head thumping against the cushions, eyes falling shut as exhaustion creeps into you.

Boys always thinking with their dicks. Why do you even bother?

“What’s that about?” Joel asks. You peek an eye open at him. Firelight dances across his tan skin. He gestures to your phone. “That gotta do with the real reason for your trip tonight?”

You rub your temple, “Yeah.”

He hums. "...Listen, I know it's none of my business but—“

"It was a hookup, Joel," you interrupt, already knowing where he was going with that. He tends to do that, beat around the bush so much until you’re desperate to just say it. More desperate than he was to know it. You’d rather just skip that whole process.

"Oh,” his brows furrow.

"Yeah," you repeat dumbly, fiddling with the blanket.

"There, uh, ain't no shame in that, darlin'."

You quirk a skeptical brow, "I know."

"Alright," he mumbles, avoiding eye contact with you. Awkwardness settles between you.

"Things are just a bit dry," you supply, though you have no idea why you're still talking, or why you described yourself and the state of your love-life like that because Joel doesn't need to know that. Nobody needs to know that

But it captures his attention, because he's looking at you again, though this time annoyance is written on his features, along with something else you can’t name, his eyes practically black. Damnit, you knew he’d disapprove, even if he claims there’s no shame in it.

“And you went to some random boy for that?"

You straighten on the couch. "Who else am I supposed to go to, Joel? You?” Sarcasm drips from your words.

What the hell is he implying?

His gaze jumps to the fire, the muscles in his jaw clenching, his fingers flexing on the arm of his chair. "Never mind I said anythin'."

Your arms cross defensively over your chest. "I don't need your judgment, Joel.”

"I ain't judgin'."

"Sure sounds like it."

He stands abruptly, running a hand through his peppered locks. "I'm not, I just—listen, it's gettin' late. You should sleep. I didn’t have time to get the girls’ room ready, do you want my bed?”

You shake your head, "Couch is perfectly fine, Joel. Thanks."

“You sure?”

“Yes, Joel. I’m a grown woman who can handle her decisions.”

"I know that.” Frustration laces his words. He sighs, hand coming up to rest on his belt. “Just... let me know if you need anythin'."

“You got it.”

He turns the living room light off on the way to his bedroom down the hall. You don’t watch him leave.

Once he's gone, you change into your pajamas and settle yourself on the couch beneath a blanket or two. The crackling of the fire and the howling wind outside lulls you to sleep faster than you expect.

-----

“Fuck.”

The aggressive shivers that wrack your body are what wake you up in the middle of the night.

Your blanket is wrapped tightly around you, but it’s a thin, furry thing. Nothing like the down comforter you have at home. The fire has also gone out in the hearth, low flames flickering in the ash.

You pull the blanket up to your chin, curling in on yourself as the cold permeates your skin.

Aside from the chattering of your teeth and the squall outside, it’s eerily silent in the house. You realize, now, that the whooshes from the heating system you had grown accustomed to before are gone

Shit.

You reach for the lamp on the side table, pulling down on the chain. It doesn’t turn on.

“Shit.”

You sit up, blanket wrapped around your waist. The power is out. The snow storm must’ve knocked out a power line. It’s too cold to stay out here with only your thin blanket and the clothes on your back. And Joel had said…

Let me know if you need anythin’.

You really don’t want to bother him, but the goose flesh rippling across your skin and the pathetic way your lips are quivering, along with the shudders that wrack your body as it attempts to maintain homeostasis are not something you can just sleep through.

You tightly wrap your blanket around your shoulders and tiptoe down the hall. You can see a warm light from Joel’s bedroom, the flicker of a flame on the cream walls.

You slowly push the door open but hesitate at the sight of Joel buried comfortably beneath his comforter. You don’t want to wake him… but his room is awfully toasty from the fire crackling away in his own hearth. And his bed looks absolutely heavenly.

You steel yourself and pad to the side he sleeps on.

“Joel?” You whisper. He doesn’t respond.

You lean over to gently push his shoulder. “Joel.”

“Mm—“ His brows furrow, and he scrunches further into the blankets, reminiscent of a cat curling its paws over its head when woken up.

You push his shoulder again, a bit harder this time. “Joel. Wake up.”

He swats at the air, as if your hand is a fly buzzing around his ear. “‘M awake,” he mumbles against the pillow.

“Joel—the power went out. I’m freezing.”

He’s silent for a moment, eyes still shut. He’s no doubt rolling the words around in his head, trying to make sense of them through a sleepy haze.

Then, when he does, he wordlessly scoots back and reaches for the comforter. He lifts it, offering the space next to him to you.

“C’mere.”

You splutter, taken off guard by the invitation. “What? Joel—“

“‘M not askin’, peach. C’mere.” The last word leaves his lips like a command, and you straighten reflexively, apprehension holding your limbs hostage as want curls dangerously low in your abdomen at his tone of voice. That should be enough warning to not climb into bed with him.

You debate telling him to get his ass up and give you another blanket along with a couple more logs in the hearth so you can avoid any kind of proximity between you (lest you feel those capital-f Feelings), but you can practically feel the heat radiating from the bed and his body beckoning you in.

Oh fuck it.

You let loose a shaky breath and hesitantly slip beneath the covers, facing away from him. You stay glued to the edge of the bed, careful not to let any part of you touch him. Your legs curl into your chest for extra measure. Immediately, it’s so much better. So warm. So comfortable.

And it smells like Joel.

You inhale the earthy and spicy scent of him that lingers on the linen as your head sinks into the soft pillow, but your inhale chokes off as Joel’s strong arm snakes around your waist beneath the comforter, his large hand burning like a brand when it settles hot over your stomach.

He pulls you into him, the sheets swishing as he tucks you into his body. Your back slots against his warm, broad naked chest. His bare legs intertwine with yours, his pelvis almost flush against your ass, only covered by a thin pair of briefs.

Holy shit.

You can feel everything.

“Joel?” You question, voice quivering at the sudden closeness. “What are you doing?”

“Keepin’ you warm,” he mumbles against the nape of your neck.

You do feel warmer, though it might not be entirely because he’s holding you, but rather because of how he’s holding you. He’s curled around you, like a koala around a tree, thighs bracketing yours.

You can feel his beard scraping at the nape of your neck, breaths puffing against your feverish skin.

His thumb is rubbing softly along the pudge of your tummy, palm branding your skin, his fingers dipping innocently beneath the hem of your shorts.

You can barely breathe, or even think, heartbeat stuttering as arousal pools liquid hot and heavy between your legs. Every unknowing twitch from Joel’s fingers makes it worse. Every touch of his calloused fingertips against your skin is pure agony. Every brush of your ass against his pelvis has you throbbing. You stare wide-eyed into the darkness, gaze roaming the pitch black, as if something out there could make you forget about the ever-growing desire you feel for Joel.

You can’t sleep like this.

It seems like Joel can though, appearing to already be deep in slumber. He hasn’t moved in a few minutes, his exhales even and slow against you.

You try to ignore the wetness between your legs, ignore the instinctual urge to roll your hips back against him. You should just go to sleep. But this ache you feel, pounding and deep and relentless…You have to do something about it, even with Joel holding you close.

He won’t mind…right?

But how are you supposed to touch yourself with Joel’s hand in the way?

You could just move it. That’s the right thing to do, but it feels too good, so hot and heavy on you that you just don’t want to, and as a result, an idea so absolutely fucked worms its way into your mind, lust and desperation destroying any last semblance of rational thought. You could…

No. No. You can’t do that. He’s a human fucking being, not a hand shaped vibrator.

But… you really want to, and he’s asleep so…he won’t even know…right?

You make up your mind and slowly curl your fingers around Joel’s deadweight palm, biting your lip in concentration and shame as you carefully urge his hand further into your shorts. After each nudge of his palm, you wait to see if Joel gives you any sign of him being awake. But he’s dead asleep. After a moment, you keep going.

This is so fucked, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you finally feel his thick fingers brush over your clothed folds.

“Shit,” you whisper, breathlessly, holding back a whimper. You manipulate his hand so that his palm is resting large and warm over your aching clit, while his index and middle finger are placed heavily above your heat.

And then, you really say fuck you to your morals.

You give an experimental thrust of your hips into his palm, shuddering at the contact against your clit. Then you wait to see if Joel reacts, your head tilting a bit to look over your shoulder. But Joel hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a word. Good.

Confident he won’t wake, you rock your hips again and again, holding onto his hand with your own, pressing it down with each thrust of your hips to get that sweet contact. The heel of his palm bumps your aching clit with each thrust, and you bite back moans and whimpers well enough, but you can’t hide the deepening of your breaths as you climb closer and closer to your climax.

Everything else fades away as you just focus on that one goal. On crawling over the edge. You hardly feel the growing smirk pressed to the back of your neck, or the way Joel’s cock is now hard against your ass as you grind against his palm.

“F-fuck,” you huff, eyes tightly shut as you ground yourself in his presence behind you, the beat of his heart thudding against your spine, the rise and fall of his chest, the light, unconscious brush of his lips on your neck. Closure is on the horizon as you imagine him lifting up on his arm and leaning over to actually get you off, his teeth biting down on your shoulder as he thrusts his fingers into your aching cunt.

“Joel—“ you quietly moan.

The moment his name slips from your lips, his hand suddenly pulls back, and you let out a frustrated groan (he can’t do that!), which quickly turns into a squeak of mortification (oh yes, he absolutely can!).

Because Joel is awake.

He. Is. Awake.

And he knows what you were doing, his chest rumbling against your spine as he—is he fucking laughing at you?

“Needy girl, aren’t you, peach?”

Mortification ignites in your cheeks, nausea pooling in your stomach. “Joel, oh my god, I’m so sorry—“

His hand gravitates to your thigh, curling around it. He pulls it up, inserting his knee in between your legs and he griiiinds it into your clothed cunt. Your desperate apology is cut off by a reflexive wanton moan, your back arching as pleasure reverberates inside you.

“‘S okay, baby, I understand. So fuckin’ desperate you had to use me while I was sleepin’, huh? Didn’t get what you wanted earlier so now you’re searchin’ for somethin’ else, hm?”

His large hand finds your waist again, sliding down your stomach to inch beneath both your shorts and your panties now. You gasp as his fingertips find your clit easily.

“I’m just a ‘lil offended I wasn’t your first choice,” he chides, fingers slipping through your soaking folds. “But I like this much better than you findin’ some boy to get you off. You need’a be fucked by a man, darlin’. Ain’t that right?”

His words send heat straight to your core, thighs clenching around his knee as he ruts it against you while simultaneously stimulating your clit with his fingers.

“Yes, Joel,” you moan. “Need you.”

His teeth scrape against your throat when he growls, “Goddamn right you do.”

You can’t believe this is happening.

Joel slides his hand further into your panties, his middle finger curling in to sink into your soaked cunt. You choke on a gasp.

“Who’s the guy?” He asks, randomly, while his finger rocks into you.

You can’t think as Joel inserts his ring finger alongside the other, stretching you so deliciously. “W-what?”

“The boy you were gonna see tonight. Who is he?”

Who was it? Mark? Matt? And why does he care? You don’t know, you don’t care, only thoughts of Joel Joel Joel consume your waking being.

“I—I don’t know, Joel. Please, oh my god.”

He hums pityingly. “Poor thing can't even remember his name.” His other hand comes up to slide through your hair, gripping the locks at the nape of your neck. He tugs, and you melt. “I’ll make sure you don’t forget mine.”

He doesn’t need to worry about that.

Joel moves his thumb to circle your clit as he thrusts his thick, long fingers up and into you, curling them to hit that spot that has your heartbeat dropping between your thighs, desperate and loud and begging for release.

“Hhhoh— Joel!”

“Tha’s right, baby. So goddamn wet. You’ve been dealin’ with this for awhile now, huh?”

You nod into the pillow on a broken moan as his fingers withdraw and sink into you at a steady pace, his thumb circling and circling and circling.

“Words, baby.”

You cry out, hands gripping the pillow. “Yes, yes. Joel. Been wanting this f’so long.”

“Should’a come to me first. Would’a helped you out a long time ago,” he drawls.

Yes you absolutely should have, based on how quickly you’re approaching your orgasm.

Your cries are so loud, but you don’t care, focusing only on your pleasure and the feel of Joel’s mouth on your throat.

You’re finally getting what you want. And fuck, is it amazing.

Your eyes roll back as it all builds up inside you, Joel’s hand unrelenting as he fucks you closer and closer to the edge.

You’re scorching, everything hot and intense, your stomach tightening, your legs stretching out as the pleasure builds and builds.

Fuck, you’re gonna cum—

It rips through you violently, eyes prickling with tears, your thighs clenching as your walls bare down repeatedly around Joel’s fingers, making him groan.

“Good girl,” Joel murmurs, hand eventually inching out of you and your shorts to squeeze your thigh appreciatively as aftershocks run through you, thighs quaking and clit throbbing. “That’s what you needed, huh? S’it feel good, cummin’ all over my fingers?”

His fucking voice!

“Mhmm,” you hum in agreement, sinking into the sheets, eyes drooping shut as pleasure lulls you to sleep.

He tsks, “Wake up, darlin’ I ain’t done with you yet.”

His beard scrapes against your neck as he moves to your ear.

“It’s my turn to use you.”

Your eyes shoot open. Fuck.

Joel pulls your panties down your legs as far as he can, and you squirm to wriggle them off of you.

He pulls away for a moment, but when he’s back, the bare, hot, thick length of him is pressed between your ass cheeks, and a full body shudder runs through you.

Holy shit, he’s big.

He grips your thigh again, but this time he throws it over his own. And then you feel it, the slick head of his cock as he guides it through your folds.

Oh fuck.

“You okay, peach?” He asks, laying a gentle kiss on your shoulder. Now you have tears in your eyes for an entirely different reason. His hand slides across your waist and up beneath the hem of your shirt, palming your breast. Your nipples tighten.

Your mouth feels dry and you swallow down a lump of lava. “Y-yes, Joel.”

“Good. Wanna give you all of me, how’s that sound, darlin’?”

You will take whatever, anything you can get from Joel.

“Good, Joel. Yes, please, oh my god.”

“There are those manners.”

A desperate whine slips from your lips as he directs the head of his cock into you, slowly and carefully, his hand running up and down your thigh in comforting strokes. God, he’s stretching you so much, hot and thick and pulsing inside you. It’s almost painful, but it’s a welcome pain.

“Jesus, Joel,” you moan when he stops to let you breathe, “You’re so big.”

“I ain’t even halfway in yet, darlin’.”

“W-what?” How is that even possible?

“You can take it.” He says, sliding in some more and fuck you don’t have much of a choice. but you can, and you will because he feels too fucking good, and you’re ready for him to make you feel it into next week.

“Is…is it all the way in yet?” You ask, thoroughly stretched and filled.

“Almost, sweet girl,” he breathes. “Goddamn, you’re tight.”

That makes you clench down even more, and he releases a pained groan behind you. “Relax, darlin’, c’mon.”

You do your best and let yourself sink into the bed, taking deep breaths and concentrating on the crackling of the fire.

And then, he thrusts fully into you, filling you up completely, and your mind is right back to him, a soft cry slipping from your lips into the pillow.

“There we go, tha’s it. Good job. Taking me so well,” he croons, stroking your side.

“F-fuck me, Joel, please move.”

He squeezes your ass in his large palm in retaliation to your command. “You use me, I use you, remember?”

But he listens anyway, likely desperate to move himself, because then he’s gripping your hip with a large hand and pulling back just to sheath himself fully into you once more, his cock head bumping against your cervix, and holy fucking shit.

“Joel!” You cry, and he leans over to kiss you, teeth biting at your plump lower lip as he thrusts into you again.

And again.

He rolls into you at a steady, bruising pace, and you’re practically boneless as you just take it. Cries and whimpers and moans spilling out of you like a gas leak as he mouths down your throat, sucking and biting and oh my god this is way better than just getting yourself off on his hand.

Then Joel shifts, pushing at your side to press your stomach into the mattress. You whine as he pulls out of you to situate himself behind you. He grabs your hips with both hands and pulls them up and backwards, easing himself back into you until your ass meets his skin, then he rolls his hips, driving his cock deep from a brand new angle.

All you can do is sob into the pillow.

He’s so fucking big, so fucking deep you can’t think of anything else besides him and his wonderful cock, or the filthy things he’s whispering into your shoulder blades.

His large hand plants itself on your spine, and your hands scramble for purchase on a pillow.

“Sweet girl, taking me so fuckin’ well,” he purrs. “You were desperate for this cock, huh? God, I wish you could see yourself. Split open on me like this. Your little boy toy wouldn’t be able to fuck you like this, ain’t that right?"

You shake your head. God, why did you even make that dick appointment in the first place?

You hadn’t even realized what being fucked by a “real man” meant until now.

Joel knows how to fucking deliver, you guess that’s why he’s so successful in his contracting business. He’s delivering you straight to that blessed release.

You clench around the girth of him, the filthy sounds of your arousal echoing in his room along with the cracks and snaps from the fire burning steadily in the hearth.

If you couldn’t sleep before, you definitely will be able to after this because you’re mindless as he fucks you into oblivion.

“Joel, fuck—mmph—!”

“Yeah, that’s right. Can’t say anythin’ but my name.”

His breathing has become more labored, desperate grunts escaping his lips as his cock twitches inside of you. He’s getting close, deep and gravely moans falling out of him as his thrusts become harder and more sporadic.

His hand sneaks around your front, spanning your entire stomach as he slides down to your soaking folds, his middle and ring finger finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and giving them a gentle tap before circling, using that same method from before that had you squirming.

You writhe on his length, legs falling out beneath you as your orgasm swells within you.

“Please Joel,” you whimper into the pillow.

“I’ve got you,” he promises.

It’s there, filling your body, building and cresting and searing white-hot through your limbs.

And then he thrusts a certain way, hitting that spot within you, and his fingers are circling and—

Yeah.

You fall boneless to the mattress as you come apart, your arousal coating Joel’s cock as he continues to fuck you through your release, stroking your spine. Pleasure floods through your body as the tension releases, and tears freely fall as you cry into the pillow.

Because goddamn it!

How can something feel so good?

And then Joel’s pulling out of you and letting loose a long, satisfied moan as he comes all over your back, hot stripes painting you.

He collapses next to you, groaning something about his back.

And you can’t help but laugh, delirious and soft, and Joel’s laughing too, brown eyes sparkling. His calloused hand comes up, runs his thumb along your jaw, and he’s smiling at you, soft and unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.

“You alright, peach?”

“Ohhh yeah,” you giggle, sighing with contentment.

You’re gonna be feeling this for days, just like you wanted.

Joel’s lips brush against your forehead gently, and you’re too tired to acknowledge it, slumber pulling you under far too quickly. You think you can feel the gentle swipe of a wet washcloth on your back before you pass out.

-----

“Fuck…”

The bed is empty when you wake, and a spike of anxiety shoots through you as you sit up. A fire still crackles in the hearth, a fresh log dropped in the ash. On the night stand is a note, beneath it, one of Joel’s t-shirts, your jeans, and a pair of your underwear.

Mortification climbs through you as you read:

Peach,

My bathroom’s on the left if you’d like to shower. I hope you don’t mind, I went through your bag to get you some panties underwear. Lot of books in there. You sure like to read.

Oh god, he found your erotica stack. The covers are not misleading, either, he definitely knows what kind of books they are. You force yourself to keep reading through the humiliation.

I’m out picking up Sarah and Ellie, I’ll be home soon. There’s pancakes on the counter. We’ll tow your car when I get back.

Also–about last night…we don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to. But, I want you to know that if you ever need something like that again, I’m here. And for anything else. I’m here. Always.

See you soon.

Warmth fills your body and you reread those last sentences over and over.

Always. Does he really mean that?

You check the alarm clock on his nightstand–it’s eleven fucking a.m. Holy shit, you haven’t slept that late in a long time.

When you stand, an ache radiates through you, and memories of last night flit in your mind and along with them, a fresh new wave of arousal. You scramble for the shower.

You emerge fresh and clean twenty minutes later, smelling like Joel, having only his body wash and shampoo to use. Each inhale is practically torture, and the ache between your legs is just another reminder. Seeing yourself in his shirt makes it worse. You try and push it away.

You descend the steps, halting when you hear the sound of Ellie’s voice from the kitchen.

“And I was like, pew pew! And I got both of them out!”

Sarah’s scoff of disbelief follows. “Nuh-uh! You didn’t even hit me!”

You creep down the steps, smiling a bit at Ellie’s outcry of “Yes I fucking did!”, and then you hear it–Joel’s low laugh, the Texan drawl.

“You kiddos are gonna drive me crazy. Just eat your damn pancakes.”

“Why’d you make these in the first place? You don’t even like pancakes,” Sarah teases.

“Uh…”

You decide you should probably help him out. “Hey girls.”

Three heads snap in your direction. The eyes of one skirting down your body, a blush creeping across his cheeks. The other two brighten in shock.

“What are you doing here!” Ellie gasps.

“We haven’t seen you in forever!” Sarah adds.

You enter the kitchen and come up behind them to pull them in for a hug, your arms hooking around their necks. You smush their cheeks against yours. Ellie grumbles, Sarah laughs.

“I know! I’ve missed you guys so much. I’m just super busy with being an adult and all that shit,” you say, letting them go so they can breathe. You round the island, grabbing a plate and stacking two pancakes on it.

“Well, stop being busy. We miss you,” Ellie says.

“If I could, I would.”

“Why are you wearing Dad’s shirt?” Sarah asks, eyes narrowing, a mischievous smile pulling at her lips.

“I–um–” the question catches you off guard, and you scramble for an excuse, eyes flicking to Joel desperately. He clears his throat and crosses his arms over his broad chest, now covered in yet another, dark flannel. How many does he own?

“Snowstorm stranded her here last night, and she didn’t have any clean clothes,” Joel says, definitively.

It’s not a lie at all, and yet, it feels like one.

Sarah and Ellie exchange a look that says, yeah fucking right. You shovel pancake into your mouth to try and cool down the blush in your cheeks.

“Speakin’ of,” he continues, “I’ve got the tow dolly all hooked up so when you’re done, we can tow your car out.”

“Great. Thank you, Joel.”

His brown eyes flick between yours, his hand coming up to rest large and warm on your shoulder. “‘Course, sweetheart.”

You finish your pancakes without any more embarrassing questions from the girls, thank God, and then you’re out in the snow wearing a pair of Joel’s boots stuffed with socks (they’re too big, but they’re better than heels) and bundled up in one of his coats, watching Joel tow your tiny car out of the snowbank.

It’s just as cold as yesterday, though the dreary sky has cleared into a baby blue, the sun bright and high above the clouds. The roads are clearer, the snow plows having come by not too long ago.

You grimace as you hear your car groan and creak as Joel pulls it out of the snow, big puffs of it falling off the roof in clumps. Eventually, it’s on solid ground once more, and he tows it back toward his cabin.

Back in the driveway, Joel hops out of his truck and double checks your car. He pats the roof of it when he deems it accetable. “All good to go, sweetheart.”

You sigh in relief, “Thank you so much Joel, seriously.”

He nods, though he looks…nervous for some reason. “‘Course, darlin’. Glad I could help.”

You don’t really want to leave, but you’ve bothered him long enough, so you stroll to the driver's side and go to open it, but suddenly Joel’s hand comes down to keep it closed. You look up at him confused.

His expression is hard, serious as he looks down at you. “Do you regret last night?”

Well. You were not expecting that. You thought that, maybe, it would just remain undiscussed. A blip. Something you both shared, but never spoke of again. You know your answer, though.

“No. I don’t.”

“Good,” he says, eyes dark, “me either.”

He opens the door for you, pauses for a second then shuts it, voice desperate. “I just need to say this, before you go.”

You nod, encouraging him to go on.

He takes a deep breath, rakes a hand through his graying locks. Pinches the bridge of his nose, and shuts his eyes tight. When he opens them again, there's a hard determination in them. Your pulse quickens, your legs turn to jelly.

“I like you, peach,” he says. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me because of the whole single father thing. And, also because I’m me. But I just thought I’d tell you how I felt, because,” he huffs out a laugh, shakes his head, “I’m thinkin’ you might like me, too.”

Your hands are shaking, and not because of the cold. Maybe you should buy a lottery ticket with how lucky you've been these past fifteen hours.

“I’ve liked you since the moment I met you, Joel," you confess.

“Oh,” he says, breathless, and a smile pulls at his lips.

“Yeah,” you breathe, your own grin forming to match his.

The breeze shakes the evergreens, drifting flakes of snow onto Joel’s graying hair. His nose is reddened by the biting cold, but his eyes are warm as he smiles down at you.

“Not gonna lie to you sweetheart, I’m kind of glad you got stranded here.”

"Yeah, me too," you laugh, and then you pull him down to you, pressing your lips against his, smiling into the kiss.

This kiss is the exact opposite of the one he gave you last night. It’s careful, sweet, tentative. He reveres your mouth, rather than ravishes it. You’re both bundled in multiple layers, standing in the freezing cold rather than lying naked in a warm bed.

And yet, it’s just as perfect, if not more.

Eventually Joel pulls back, hands heavy on your waist. He’s still grinning. His hands frame your face, his thumb running softly along your cheekbone.

“Peach,” he says. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #tlou #tlou fic #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller

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ribbonprincess · 15 days

Text

🍯࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

note: road head (don't do that folks!) reader and Rafe refers to him as daddy,rafe is a head pusher.

You and Rafe are driving back home after a long afternoon of golfing,more like him as you were just admiring your boyfriend from the golf cart and sometimes giving him his club. He looked so hot with his white shirt and the few drops of sweat that you would occasionally see roll down the side of his face. So you do the only thing that seems right in your mind.

"Jesus,stop that- I'm driving,you're gonna make us crash!" Rafe's pushing your hand away from his crotch,making you whine as you put it back "please..wanna make you feel good rayray,I'll be quick! You just need to focus on the road,I'll be quick!"

Your boyfriend seems hesitant,looking at you before looking back at the road "okay...yeah,fine. Always need something in your mouth hm? Even while I'm driving." You're quick to undo his pants and pull the zipper down,pulling his dick out of his boxer and smiling widely before bending down to kitten lick at his tip. "thank you!" you mumble with your mouth full of him.

Rafe's eyes are stuck on the road as he tries to keep the steering wheel straight "jeez,what even got into you" one of his hands move to sit on top of your head,sighing shakily. "you just look so hot today,daddy- needed to have you." He nods to himself,pushing you down on his length "there you go...good girl" a small smirk creeps up on his face once he steals a quick glance down. Your eyes are glazed over,tears treating to spill over and ruin your mascara and he can see himself bulging into your cheek as you continue to work on him.

One of your hands cup his balls,massaging them softly making the man above you release a low growl "fuck, you're gonna get yourself in trouble princess. Behave" he says before pushing you completely down,your nose touching the small patch of nearly trimmed blonde hair "hm! Can't breathe rafey!" you whine immediately,coming back up for a quick breath.

"Hey,where are you going? back to work sweetie,cmon I'm close" you have no time to complain as he pushes you on him again,thrusting you into your mouth as best of his abilities "yeah...that's what I mean,nice and warm for me. Always taking me so well baby" your mascara Is now completely smudged all over your cheeks and under eye,making your lashes stick together uncomfortably. "help daddy out a bit baby" Rafe reminds you.

You're clenching your thighs together,moaning at the small friction you get "needy girl,sucking daddy's dick makes you horny?" he chuckles before giving you another small push "c'mon,I'll make you feel good later. Need you to focus on me"

Breathing through your nose you focus back on your work,pressing your tongue against one prominent vein that runs on the side of his dick before sucking on his tip,making him groan out loud. "fuck,yeah...'m so close sweetheart,so close" you look up at him,squeezing at his base with one hand while the other resume the work on his balls. Rafe grunts one more time before he's filling your mouth with sweet and sticky cum,making you close your eyes to enjoy the moment before pulling off him and smiling. "god...are you happy now?can't believe you just did that" He mumbles,tucking himself back in his pants with a low hiss from oversensitivity "yeah!I am,thank you rayray!" pressing your lips to his cheek you leave a sticky stain behind before settling into your seat like nothing ever happened "jeez,'m dating a freak."

#🎀princess #outer banks x reader #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks smut #outer banks imagine #outer banks blurb #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron thoughts #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron brainrot #rafe cameron blurb

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nvrsaidiwasinurcloset · 2 months

Note

ok im an absolute sucker for the “only one bed” trope, so….

could i please request a reader x ethan fic where there has already been a lot of mutual pining (maybe they were childhood best friends that have had feelings for the longest time ✋😩) and the final straw to all that sexual tension is possibly there being an argument or some angst and then having to share that room, being in such close proximity. Ends in smut please (been loving the switch!ethan btw)!

please and thank you 😩🙏

Jesus, this is a long one and I'm SO SORRY if that isn't what you wanted. I've literally tried to rewrite this 3 times but I had to build up the little angsty moments and all that stuff.

The Best Thing - Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

This contains SMUT - Minors DNI

Summary: You and your friends go to a cabin for a week-long summer vacation. When plans change and you overhear that Ethan's upset about sharing a bed with you, it causes some issues in your friendship.

Contains: fluff, mutual-pining, angst, oral - both m and f receiving, p in v, unprotected-ish sex(reader's on birth control and pull out game is strong), kinda-rough sex, dom-ish Ethan. idk where the fuck I was going with this🥴

A/N: I'd like to apologize to those of you that like to read my stuff but don't like them to be super long. This is 7.6k words, so my bad🙃

For summer break, you and your friends decided to take a trip to the mountains, wanting fresh air and a calm environment in comparison to the current busy city you were in. After weeks of looking into cabins, you went with a cute 3-bedroom with a hot tub on the balcony that had a perfect view of the mountain line.

You were surprised that Sam was okay with Tara going without her, but the anxiety was apparent on the older sister’s face as she walked out of her bedroom in her pajamas carrying a taser in one hand and pepper spray in the other.

“I don’t like that you’re going without me, but I’ll feel a little better if you take these,” Sam said, dropping them into Tara’s purse.

“We’re just six teenagers going to the mountains to relax. What’s the worst thing that could happen?” Tara asked, as Mindy and Anika walked in.

“Have you ever watched a horror movie?” Mindy questioned, making Sam roll her eyes at the comment before looking back to Tara.

“You aren’t helping, Mindy,” Tara said, before directing her attention to Sam. “We’ll be safe, I promise.”

“You won’t have cell service up there…Fuck, please just find a way to call me every now and then so I know you’re okay,” Sam said, the stress obvious in her voice. “Please remind her,” she said to you, as she started to head back to her room.

“I will,” you promised, as Sam looked back to you and nodded.

After Sam closed her bedroom door, Tara started to whisper-yell at Mindy.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” Mindy sighed, “The guys are outside by the way.” You soon heard the front door open, and listened to Ethan’s groggy voice as he complained about having to get up at six in the morning. “Well, they were outside.”

“Are you guys coming? We need to stop for coffee, or energy drinks. I don’t care, I just need caffeine,” Chad said, before glancing at you and Tara’s bags on the ground. “You know we’re only going for a week, right?”

“Hey, it’s not that much stuff,” she smiled, walking over to kiss him. “We were hoping you two wouldn’t mind helping us carry our bags down.”

“Anything for you, babe,” Chad said, as Mindy made a fake-gag noise.

“Don’t act like you and Anika aren’t going to be acting all sweet and shit with each other,” you laughed, looking towards Ethan, “We are the fifth and sixth wheels on this trip.”

“As long as have you so I won’t be bored, that’s all that matters,” Ethan said, a sleepy smile playing on his lips. “I’ll grab your stuff.”

“Thanks,” you said, as he lifted your bag and walked towards the door.

You grabbed your pillow and blanket off the couch before you followed him, desperate to squeeze in a few more hours of sleep on the drive. Fortunately, Chad’s SUV had third-row seating, so you didn’t have to take two separate cars. You decided the back row was the perfect place for you as Ethan loaded your stuff. He crawled in the back with you, waiting for the rest of your friends to come down.

“Are you sleepy?” he asked, as you laid your pillow against the back window and snuggled up.

“Mhm,” you responded, as he started to laugh.

“Chad made this obnoxious road trip playlist. You’re not going to be getting any sleep.”

“Fuck,” you sighed, “I guess I can nap when we get there.”

“Yeah, like you won’t be wired after the coffee,” Ethan said, his knowing smile making you roll your eyes.

You’d been friends with Ethan since you were toddlers. He knew you better than anyone else, and it could get a little annoying at times. He always seemed to know what your exact reaction would be to everything. He knew all your secrets, and you knew all of his. Well, almost all of them. He’d had feelings for you for years, but the possibility of rejection and damage to the friendship has helped him keep that secret tucked away.

“Hey,” Anika smiled as she crawled in the second row as you and Ethan gave a small wave. Mindy slid in beside her, as Chad struggled to load Tara’s stuff in the back with everyone else’s.

“Seriously, babe. Why do you need all of this?” he huffed, adjusting the bags that were already put away like some complicated game of Tetris.

“You never know when you might need extra clothes,” Tara laughed, leaving him to figure it out.

“Ethan, can I put one of these bags back there with you guys?” Chad asked, after a few minutes of him trying to make everything fit.

“Yeah,” he responded, before looking over to you. “It looks like we’ll be really close on this five-hour drive.”

“I could just sit on your lap,” you suggested, as his eyes went wide. “I’m kidding, Ethan.”

He almost wished you weren’t kidding, wanting to be as close to you as he possibly could. Your random little sweet touches here and there had him constantly craving more, constantly craving you.

Chad passed Mindy the extra suitcase, then she struggled to pass it back to Ethan. He took it from her, the space it was taking up making him scoot even closer to you.

“Sorry,” he said, “I can always move up to Mindy and Anika’s row if you need the space.”

“Then who’s going to show me memes on the way there?” you asked, as he slid his phone out of his pocket.

“I saved so many good ones to show you.”

Once you hit the road, Chad wanted to stop by Starbucks. He planned to go through the drive thru, but after Tara mentioned how complicated and potentially messy it would be to pass coffee back to everyone in his spotless car, he decided to park so everyone could go in.

After you ordered and were about to pay for your stuff, Ethan pulled his card out.

“I got it,” he said, putting his card into the reader.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you smiled, “You don’t want anything?”

“I don’t need to. I’ll just steal sips of whatever the iced or frozen thing you ordered,” he said, as the barista handed you a cake pop. “You’re eating that for breakfast?”

“Uh, yeah,” you said, like it was the most obvious answer.

“I think I’m hungry, too. Maybe I should order something,” he said, glancing at the menu.

You held your cake pop closer to him as he smiled and took a bite. You giggled at the crumbs on his bottom lip as he chewed, reaching up to wipe them off with your thumb. The sweet action made his eyes flutter, but he tried to play it off.

“This is so good,” he said, “I’m sorry for judging your breakfast choice.”

“Just make out already,” Mindy said, smirking at the two of you.

“What, I can’t share with my best friend?” you asked, grabbing your drink off the counter as your name was called.

“Best friend my ass,” she said, as she noticed Ethan’s cheeks start to turn pink. “You just wiped his mouth for him. That isn’t really a friend thing.”

“It is for us,” you smiled, taking a sip of your drink.

Ethan was getting uncomfortable under Mindy’s knowing gaze. It was almost like she had the ability in that moment to read his mind and know how he actually felt. He quickly tried to change the subject.

“So, what are we going to do while we’re up there?” he asked, you and Mindy both responding “Relax” at the same time.

“Is that it? You guys don’t want to explore or anything?”

You started to shake your head, “Between the bears, snakes, and whatever the fuck else is out there…I don’t think so.”

“I’d protect you,” he smiled, playfully wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “You know I’ve been going to the gym with Chad, I think I could take on a bear.”

“For someone that’s so smart, your common sense isn’t really there, is it?” Mindy asked, making you laugh.

“You guys are mean. I’m going to the car,” Ethan said, snatching your drink out of your hand before walking away.

“Hey!” you said, chasing after him.

The rest of the friend group walked up to Mindy, watching you try to take your coffee back from Ethan as you walked out.

“I think this vacation is about to be interesting,” Anika said, as Tara started to smile.

“I hope so. You remember the Halloween party where she drank a little too much? She told me she’s had the biggest crush on him for years,” she said, as Chad started to freak out.

“What?! Why didn’t you ever tell me she said that? He thinks he’s in the friend zone.”

“He’s definitely not. They’re practically already together,” Tara shook her head as she laughed, grabbing her drink off the counter. “Don’t say anything, though. Let them figure it out.”

Chad nodded, as the rest of the drinks were called out, “Let’s hit the road.”

After a couple hours of driving, you started to tune out the music, and felt like you could take a short nap. The coffee wasn’t helping as much as you expected it to, probably because Ethan drank half of it. You struggled to get comfortable against the window, until Ethan finally spoke up.

“You could always lay on me, if you want to,” he suggested, as you sleepily turned your body and snuggled up against him. Your head rested against his chest as he slouched in the seat, trying to make you more comfortable. He had a sweet smile on his lips as he looked down at you, studying your peaceful face as you slept.

His smile dropped when he noticed Mindy and Anika had turned around, looking at him questioningly. He held his finger up to his mouth, not wanting them to say anything to wake you up.

It didn’t matter though, because when Chad started to play ‘Life Is a Highway’ for the third time in the drive, you stirred awake and pulled away from Ethan.

“Chad, I swear if you don’t change that song, I’ll throw your phone out the window,” you said, as he started to laugh.

“Someone’s grumpy,” he said, changing the song. “Hey guys, were stopping at the next exit.”

He soon pulled into the gas station, and everyone started to pile out of the car. Before you could walk into the store, a number Tara didn’t recognize popped up on the screen.

“Hello?” she asked, before she started to smile. “Oh, hey. Yeah, we’ll be there soon…wait, what happened?”

You exchanged glances with everyone, unsure of what was going on.

“Does that one still have a good view? And all the things the other cabin had?”

Chad started to shake his head, realizing that the vacation wasn’t going to go as expected. When Tara hung up, all eyes were on her as they waited for her to say what was going on.

“Okay, uh, the cabin we were supposed to stay in got trashed by last night’s guests. The only cabin they had left has three rooms, but they all have one bed.”

Ethan’s heart started to thump in his chest as he listened to her speak. As much as he wanted to share a bed with you, and wanted to be close to you, it was hard for him to hold back, especially when you liked to sleep in the shortest pajama shorts that the bottom of your ass would hang out of. Sometimes he felt like you knew you had the effect on him, the teasing seeming almost intentional at times.

“You okay?” you asked, as he still stood there, deep in thought as the rest of your friends had started to walk away.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he smiled, “Let’s get some snacks.”

Ethan walked towards Chad once you made it inside, and you noticed that he was stressed. You tried to listen but couldn’t really hear anything at first. Then Ethan started to speak a little louder, “I can’t sleep with her. We have to figure something else out. It’d be torture to share a bed with her.” Chad suggested that one of you sleep on the couch, and at that point, you were starting to feel a little hurt. The thoughts of ‘Do I make him uncomfortable?’ and ‘Why can’t he just talk to me about it instead of Chad?’ floating around your head.

You went to Tara, Mindy, and Anika as they grabbed their snacks for the rest of the drive.

“Do you guys mind if I sit with you the rest of the way there?” you asked Mindy, as a confused expression appeared on all of their faces. “I think I’m annoying Ethan.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Anika said, “But I highly doubt you are.”

“Then why was he just talking to Chad about not wanting to sleep in the same bed with me?”

Tara glanced over to the two boys as Mindy shrugged, “That’s a little weird…but once we get there, you should ask him about it.”

You nodded, before heading to the counter to pay for your stuff. You weren’t sure what Ethan’s problem was. He was okay with you snuggling up to him in the car, but the idea of him sharing a king-sized bed with you was something he didn’t want to do.

When you made it back to the car, Ethan got in first. He was confused when you sat in the second row with Mindy and Anika.

“You’re just going to leave me back here by myself?” he joked, but he was a little sad about it.

“Yeah, girl talk.”

He nodded at your short response, relaxing back into the seat and putting his seatbelt on. Chad gave him a look in the rearview mirror once he noticed the new seating arrangement. Ethan just shrugged, not knowing what was going on.

Chad leaned over to Tara and started to whisper, “What’s their deal?”

“She heard Ethan say he didn’t want to share a bed with her,” she whispered back, as Chad pulled away and sighed.

“You sure we can’t just…I don’t know, interfere a little?” he asked, as Tara shook her head.

“They need to figure it out on their own,” she said, glancing back to you.

“Okay, no more stops. We’ll be there in a little over two hours,” Chad announced, as he pulled back out onto the road.

You could feel Ethan’s eyes on the back of your head as you talked with Mindy and Anika. You felt bad for being a little cold to him, but your feelings were hurt. It’s not something he expected you to hear, but you couldn’t help but wonder if this was how he felt all the time whenever you’d be too close. But if that was the case, why would he suggest that you could sleep on him earlier?

Once you made it to the cabin and everyone started to get out, you looked around as you stretched. You saw another cabin off in the distance but couldn’t see a whole lot from where you were standing other than the trees. When you walked inside, your jaw dropped at the panoramic view out of the huge windows that lined the side of the cabin.

“This is gorgeous!” you said, walking over to the door that led to the deck. It was huge, stretching along the side of the house. There was a table, some rocking chairs, and a hot tub on the end of it.

“Too bad we have to hunt for our own food,” Chad said, as you looked over at him, “Just kidding. There’s a small grocery store not far from here. After we get all the stuff unloaded, we’re going to get what we need.”

Tara soon walked in, standing beside Chad as he put his arm around her.

“Are you mad at Ethan?” she asked, as you shook your head, not wanting to go into detail in front of Chad. “He seemed a little upset.”

“I guess I better go talk to him,” you groaned. You searched the house, seeing Mindy and Anika, but no Ethan. You finally looked outside to see him leaning against the car. He was deep in thought as you walked up to him.

“You should see the view. It’s beautiful,” you said, pulling him out of his thoughts as he looked at you.

“It’s kind of hard to even care about that when my best friend is mad at me,” he said, looking back down to the ground.

“I’m not mad,” you said, the cheeriness of your voice sounding fake.

“So, you’re mad and you’re lying to me. Cool,” he mumbled, pushing himself off the car and heading towards the back of it.

You followed after him, “I just thought we were getting a little too cozy.”

He scoffed at your words, “You’ve never cared about that before.”

“Okay, I’m going back inside. You can’t be mad at me for giving you the space you seem to want.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he questioned, but you ignored him as you walked back into the cabin.

Chad soon joined him outside to help him carry in the stuff. He noticed Ethan’s mood, and started to feel bad that he knew you had your feelings, and if he’d just say something, the whole issue would be fixed.

“You okay, dude?” Chad asked, as Ethan started to walk towards the door with some of the luggage.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

As the day progressed, you brought up sleeping on the couch before Ethan could say anything. He argued that he should, but you eventually won the argument. The tension seemed to resolve a little. Your feelings were still hurt, but he was your best friend, and you didn’t want to spend the vacation mad at him.

When Chad talked about going to the store to get food again, you decided to stay at the cabin. The sun was starting to set, and the slight chill from the higher altitude made you really want to get in the hot tub. Ethan stayed with you, not feeling comfortable leaving you there by yourself. He sat in one of the rocking chairs as you walked out in your swimsuit with a towel in hand.

“You going to make me get in by myself?” you asked, smiling at him. He was trying so hard to not stare at your body, so he maintained eye contact.

“Fine, give me a minute,” he sighed, walking inside to change.

You eased into the hot water, sitting where you had the perfect view of the sunset over the mountain line. Ethan soon walked out and hung his towel over the side of the deck before climbing in to sit beside you.

“This is so beautiful,” you said, taking in the pink and orange hue in the sky. It was making your skin glow when Ethan looked at you.

“Yeah, beautiful,” he said, as you looked over to him and smiled. You sat in silence for a few minutes, before he spoke up, “What was with you earlier?”

You sighed, not wanting to say that you heard him talking to Chad, “I just, I don’t know. Maybe we’re getting a little too close.”

“Why do you feel that way?”

“I don’t feel like talking about it right now,” you said, before Ethan started to scoot away. “What?” you asked, looking over to him.

“If you think we’re getting too close, I’m giving you your space,” he said, before getting out.

“You’re going to get mad at me if I don’t feel like telling you what’s wrong?” you questioned, as he started to get mad.

“You tell me everything. Why can’t you tell me what’s wrong right now so we can move past it?”

“Because you don’t like to be open about what’s bothering you,” you snapped, climbing out as well. You slipped a little, almost falling on the deck before Ethan caught you. “Thanks, I got it.” You pulled away from him and walked inside to change into dry clothes.

Ethan didn’t know what you meant, because other than his feelings towards you, he was completely open. He knew you hadn’t figured that out, so he decided to pull Tara outside to the deck after your friends got back from the store.

“What’s up with her?” he nervously asked, “What did I do?”

“I’m not getting in the middle of this, so all I’m going to say is that you both just need to open your eyes,” she said, as he looked at her, still just as confused as he was before the conversation even started. “She’s your best friend. You know her better than anyone. You can figure this out.”

“It’d be so much easier if you just told me, though,” He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “She thinks we’re too close. What’s that about?”

“Fuck, I’m not telling you anything else other than this, but she overheard you and Chad talking earlier about you not wanting to sleep in the same bed with her. She didn’t say what else was said, but her feelings were hurt. Now, go fix it,” she said, walking away from him.

He started to think back to the things he said, but there was no way he could just come out and apologize for making you feel bad without explaining why he said what he said. He was worried about ruining the friendship, but with the current state of it, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea to finally just tell you. You’ve never been in an argument, and you’ve never even gotten mad at each other, so it was all just so confusing for him as he tried to decide on the right thing to do.

When he walked back inside, he started to look for you. He asked Chad where you were before he pointed to you, asleep on the couch.

“I need advice, because I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing right now,” Ethan whispered to Chad, “She overheard our conversation earlier.”

Chad started to nod, as Ethan’s eyes went wide.

“You knew she heard it? Fuck, dude,” he sighed, “How do I tell her that the problem with us sharing a bed isn’t because I don’t want to be around her, but it’s because I won’t be able to keep my hands off her?”

“Wow, uh, I didn’t know things were that hard for you,” Chad laughed, as Ethan rolled his eyes.

“I just…I’m so fucking attracted to her, and I don’t want to make her uncomfortable,” he said, looking over to you to make sure you were still asleep. “I want to be affectionate with her, it’s hard enough when we aren’t trying to sleep in the same bed.”

“Maybe she wants the same thing,” Chad suggested, as Ethan shook his head.

“There’s no way. She would’ve shown me hints by now.”

“Just open your eyes,” Chad said, making Ethan a little irritated.

“That’s what Tara said. What does that even mean?” Ethan asked, as Chad shrugged.

“You’ll figure it out, I’m going to bed.”

Ethan decided to head to bed, hoping a good night’s sleep would help him come up with the answers he needed, but he couldn’t get comfortable. He just kept tossing and turning and couldn’t stop thinking about you.

You started to stir awake, noticing a sound coming from outside the front door. Once you heard the doorknob move the slightest bit, you jumped up and ran to Ethan’s room.

“Hey, something’s outside,” you said, as he slowly sat up and laughed a little.

“We are out in the middle of nowhere right now. I’m sure there is something outside.”

“The doorknob wiggled, Ethan. I can’t sleep out there by myself like that…unless you want to check it out for me,” you sighed, as he stood up.

From the moonlight that was flowing through the window, you noticed that he was shirtless, and that his workouts with Chad seemed to really be paying off. Not that it mattered, because you’d think he was attractive regardless. Then you noticed how low his sweatpants were hanging on his hips, and felt your mouth start to water.

Ethan took in your appearance, the shorts he fully expected you to wear snugly hugging your hips and your hard nipples from the cold air in the cabin showing through the thin material of your shirt. He wanted to just tell you to sleep in the bed with him, but he couldn’t. He’d gotten so used to all the little affectionate things you’d regularly do, things he chalked up to the friendship being so close, but it was still so hard for him to push his thoughts about you to the side.

“You don’t have to go out with me,” he said, walking towards the cabin door with you closely behind him.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” you said, making him laugh.

“Then why did you ask me to see what was out here?”

He slowly opened the door, the both of you jumping when a large raccoon scurried away.

“You’re worried about that cute little guy breaking in and snuggling with you on the couch?” he asked, as you rolled your eyes. “I’m kidding. Let’s make sure there’s nothing else out here.”

He pulled out his phone, turning the flashlight on and looking around to make sure there wasn’t anything else you needed to be concerned about. You noticed something along the tree line, it’s glowing eyes lit up by the light.

“What is that?” you asked, as it started to step a little closer.

“I think we should go inside,” he said, grabbing your hand and leading you towards the door.

That’s when the animal started to run, the fear coursing through your veins making you cling to Ethan.

“It’s a fucking deer,” he laughed, trying to catch his breath. You were still attached to him when he tried to pull away from you. “You’re safe, let’s go back inside.”

Once you made it back to your spot on the couch, he stood in the middle of the living room, starting to feel a little bad that he had that huge bed to himself. He noticed that you still seemed a little nervous from what’d just happened, and he let out a big sigh before he started to speak.

“Do you want to sleep in the room with me?”

“Not if it’s going to be ‘torture’ for you,” you said, as he started to get irritated.

“You don’t get it,” he said, walking back towards the room. You were really starting to get sick of all the conversations you’d had within the last day ending in one of you walking away, so you followed him.

“What don’t I get?” you asked, as he sat down on the side of the bed and looked at the floor. You walked around to stand in front of him, waiting for him to answer you. “I don’t want this entire week to be this way. Just fucking talk to me!”

He sighed, before looking up to you, “What you heard earlier isn’t as bad as you think it is…the torture thing you were talking about, just look at what you’re fucking wearing.”

You looked down at your choice of sleepwear and started to feel a little self-conscious. You tried to pull your shorts down a little, noticing how much they’d ridden up in your sleep. He watched you as you tried to cover your body.

“Hey,” he said softly, as your eyes connected with his, “I didn’t mean that in a bad way…Just…get in the bed, okay?”

“Tell me how you mean it then, Ethan. I can’t read your mind,” you said, walking back around to the other side of the bed.

“I will in the morning. I just need you to stay on your side of the bed,” he sighed, looking over to you.

“Fine,” you said, pulling the blanket over you as you settled into the bed. He lay on his side, his back towards you.

After a few minutes, he rolled over to face you. He couldn’t take it anymore, and he needed to know if you felt the same about him. “You know you mean a lot to me, right?”

“You mean a lot to me, too,” you smiled, as he moved closer towards you. “So I have to stay on my side, but you don’t?”

Your breathing started to get heavy when you noticed how close he was getting, his eyes looking into yours. He didn’t say anything as he leaned in, his lips gently kissing yours. You were so surprised by it that you didn’t kiss him back. You wanted to, but he pulled away before you had the chance for your brain to process everything.

He scooted back to his side, laying on his back as he started to think about how he’d just ruined the friendship.

“Ethan?” you asked, looking over to him.

“I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry,” he sighed, as you started to smirk. You knew that this was your opportunity to finally tell him how you felt now that he’d opened the door for it to happen.

“Ethan, are you interested in me?” you asked, as he nodded.

“It doesn’t have to be weird now, does it? You didn’t kiss me back, and that’s fine. It sucks, but I’ll get over it,” he said, as you sat up and inched closer to him.

“What if I don’t want you to get over it?” you asked, leaning down to kiss him.

The kiss was so needy, both of you craving each other as you moved to straddle him. His hands held your hips as yours went to his hair. After a few minutes, you pulled away, the both of you panting as his hands rubbed your hips. The way he was looking at you made you wet, as your hips started to grind against him.

“Shit,” he quietly groaned, not wanting your friends to hear him.

“You okay?” you asked, looking down at him. He nodded, desperate for you to make another move. You reached down to grab the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, his eyes going wide as he stared at your chest. His hands reached up to massage your breasts, the feeling making your eyes flutter, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

You kept grinding against him as whimpers started to slip past your lips from the friction against your clit and the feeling of his fingers pinching at your nipples.

“You have to be quiet,” he whispered, moving his hands back to your hips to make you move faster.

“Wait,” you mumbled, your hips coming to a stop. You started to move off him, noticing the wet spot on his sweatpants from where your wetness had soaked through your panties and the thin shorts. “Can I suck your cock?”

He felt like he could cum from those words alone as he nodded his head. “I need you to tell me, baby. Use your words,” you teased, rubbing your hand over his hard cock.

“Please,” he whimpered, the sound making you cock your eyebrow as you smiled at him. He adjusted his hips so it was easier your you to slide his sweatpants and boxers down, his heart pounding in his chest. He’d tried to imagine what your mouth would feel like before, but as soon as he actually felt it, it was better than he could’ve ever imagined. Your tongue licked up the underside of his cock and swirled around the tip. “Oh fuck,” he groaned, before you took him in your mouth. “Fuck, that feels so good.”

You’d barely done anything to him yet, and he was already being so vocal. Your core was throbbing as you took him as far as you could, the gagging feeling making him gasp. His hand went to the back of your head, gently encouraging you to keep going.

You knew he was getting close when the light grip he had on your hair got tighter, his actions making you moan around him as you started to move faster. His bottom lip was in between his teeth as he watched you, trying so hard not to be loud. It only took your throat tightening around him a few more times before he finally let his whimpers out again.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he said, his eyes fluttering and his jaw falling open as he started to release in your mouth. You got him through it, before sitting up and smiling at him. “There’s no way that just happened,” he sighed in disbelief as he caught his breath. “That was amazing.”

“Well, it definitely did happen. I can still taste your cum.”

He groaned at your words before he flipped you over and sucked one of your nipples into his mouth.

“Fuck, Ethan,” you gasped out, his tongue swirling against you as he sucked. He moved to the other side, looking up at you as his teeth grazed against your nipple. Your hand reached down to rub yourself over your shorts, the throbbing in your core starting to hurt.

“Let me take care of you, baby,” he said, kissing down your tummy. He stopped at the top of your pajama shorts and looked up at you before sliding them down. “This is okay?”

“Mhm,” you got out, as your fingers started to run through his hair. He leaned his head into it, loving the feeling of your nails against his scalp.

His fingers went under the waistband of your shorts as he started to pull them down. With how tight they were, he was struggling to get them over your ass. You started to giggle, lifting your hips a little so he could get them off of you easier. He leaned back a little to pull them down your legs before he leaned back down to where you needed him.

“Can you put your hands back in my hair?”

You nodded, your fingers tangling in his curls as he licked a stripe up your clit.

“Shit,” you gasped, as he really started to get into it. He kept alternating between swirling his tongue against your clit and dipping it inside of you. You started to whimper a little louder than he wanted you to, so he pulled away. The lack of contact made you whine as a hushed laugh slipped past his lips and he shook his head.

“I want to make you feel good, but you need to be quiet, baby,” he said, his eyes looking into yours. You nodded, knowing how hard it was going to be for you.

His head went back to his place in between your thighs, placing gentle licks to your clit as he started to push one of his fingers into you. You tried to muffle your moans with your bottom lip, but once he added a second finger and started to move it against that spongy spot inside of you, you had to cover your mouth with your hand.

His eyes looked up into yours as you started to tug harder on his hair. He was proud of himself, so happy that he was the one that was making you feel so good that you were struggling to keep your sounds in.

“Keep moving your fingers just like that,” you whined, before covering your mouth again.

He inched you closer and closer to your orgasm, your toes curling against the sheets as the grip on his hair made him groan against you. The feeling of your pussy starting to flutter around his fingers made him groan even louder as he thought about how amazing it would feel around his cock. Your body started to shake as he used his free arm to pin your hips down so he could work you through it. Once your pussy stopped clenching, your grip on his hair relaxed, a goofy smile on your lips as he looked back up at you.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, as you started to make grabby hands at him.

He hovered over you and looked into your eyes as your arms wrapped around him. You felt his hard cock press against you as you started to wiggle your hips a little underneath him.

“I don’t have a condom,” he said, as you rolled your eyes.

“Just pull out,” you said with a smirk, his eyes going wide at the suggestion. “I’m on birth control, it’s fine.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he groaned, as he reached in between the two of you to line up with your entrance.

He slowly slid inside of you and stilled to give you time to adjust to his size. He started to kiss you as you grew impatient.

“Please,” you mumbled against his lips as he smiled.

“Please what?” he questioned, not moving until he heard what you wanted.

“Please fuck me,” you said, your words dripping with lust as you pleaded.

He started to move as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. He watched the faces you were making with each thrust, not wanting to miss a single one.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned, his hips moving a little faster.

He started to drill into your g-spot as your fingernails drug across his back. You were trying to be quiet, but it was getting harder with each deep thrust.

“Quiet, baby,” he warned, his hips slowing a little. “You’re going to wake everybody up.”

“Make me be quiet,” you said sweetly, an almost animalistic look appearing in Ethan’s eyes at your words.

He leaned in to kiss you as he sped back up, his mouth catching all your moans. You reached in between his body and yours to rub quick circles on your clit. When your moans turned into high-pitch whimpers, he pulled his mouth away from yours and replaced it with his hand as he mercilessly pounded into you, the sound of his skin slapping against yours and the faint tapping of the headboard against the wall filling the room.

“That’s it, baby. You can take it,” he whispered, as your eyebrows started to furrow, and your pussy started to clench. “You’re doing such a good job for me.”

He was sure he was going to have scratches all over his back as your nails just kept digging, but he didn’t let up.

“You gonna cum?” he asked, as you quickly nodded your head. “Cum for me, baby.”

That’s all it took for you to start shaking underneath him. The way your pussy spasmed around him felt so good that his own orgasm was quickly approaching.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, pulling out and shooting his hot cum all over your stomach.

He sat on his knees as he caught his breath. Your sleepy smile made him smirk as he started to get up.

“Do you want to take a shower with me? At least to get this off you?”

You nodded, as he slid off the side of the bed. He tried to help you up, your legs wobbling as soon as your feet touched the floor.

“You okay?” he asked with a small laugh as you walked in front of him.

“Yeah, that was…wow,” you said, your brain still clouded with the post-orgasm haze.

“Shh, we need to be quick. I don’t want anyone to see us naked,” he whispered, leading you down the dark hall to the bathroom.

You grabbed some of the complimentary body wash off the counter as Ethan cut the shower on. He stepped inside as you followed, the water flow washing his cum off you. You stayed silent for the most part, other than the occasional small laughs slipping out as you’d thought about what you’d just done with your best friend.

Once you stepped out and grabbed a towel to dry off, Ethan’s hands wrapped around your waist as he kissed your wet shoulder.

“If I would’ve known that was going to happen, I would’ve kissed you sooner,” he said, pulling away to dry himself off. When he turned around, you noticed the bright red marks that ran front his shoulder blades to the middle of his back.

“Uhm, it looks like you’re going to be wearing a shirt for the rest of this trip,” you said, as he turned around to look at it in the mirror.

“Damn, I look like I was mauled,” he laughed, as you stood on your tippy toes to kiss him.

“Let’s go to bed,” you mumbled, as the two of you walked out on your towels.

When you made it back to the room, you started to grab clothes to put on when Ethan stopped you.

“Can we just sleep naked?” he asked, smiling as you nodded.

You crawled back into the bed scooting to the middle as he laid down beside you. Your head went to his chest as his fingers traced patterns on your back, the soothing motion soon putting you to sleep.

When you woke up the next morning, Ethan was starting to stir awake, too, hearing the voices of your friends as they talked in the kitchen.

“I guess we should get up,” you said, as you started to pull away. He grabbed your arm and pulled you back to him.

“How do you feel about lazy morning sex?” he asked, as you smirked at him.

“Last night wasn’t enough for you?” you questioned. He shook his head in response.

You glanced down and noticed that the blanket was halfway down his thighs, his hard cock on display.

“Can you be quiet though?” he asked, as you shrugged.

“Probably not, but let’s try it,” you said, “How do you want to do this?”

“Roll over onto your side.”

You did as he said, his hands immediately starting to roam from your thigh, up your side and to your breast.

“Do you need me to eat you out first?” he asked, sitting up a little to look at you. “Because I really don’t mind doing that again.”

You giggled at his eagerness before shaking your head. “I’m already wet, and we don’t have a lot of time.”

“Fine,” he sighed, adjusting your hips to slide into you.

His thrusts were slow as his hand held onto your hip. Sweet kisses were placed along your shoulder as you started to move your hips back to meet his.

“You feel so fucking good,” he whispered, “and your skin is just so soft, and your just so beautiful.”

You smiled as he kept saying sweet things to you, his thrusts starting to speed up.

“Fuck, baby,” you whimpered out, as the tip of his cock kept hitting that special spot inside you. “That feels so good.”

“Shhh,” he whispered, as his hips moved faster. You were struggling to meet his thrusts, the tiredness from only a few hours of sleep catching up to you. “It’s okay, babe. I’ll do all the work.”

He kept hitting that spot as you felt your orgasm approaching.

“I don’t think I can be quiet,” you said, the nervousness evident in your voice. You were tensing up, not wanting to cum because you didn’t know what would come out of your mouth.

“You’re almost there, baby. Just relax,” he cooed, as his hand went from your thigh to cover your mouth again.

You were whimpering into his hand as the euphoric feeling started to wash over you, your pussy tightening around him as he tried to fuck you through it. It got harder for him the tighter you squeezed.

“I’m gonna cum, baby,” he said, pulling out and painting your lower back with his release.

In that moment, you heard a light knock on the door.

“Fuck,” Ethan whispered, pulling the blanket back up to cover the both of you.

You both closed your eyes as the door eased open, trying to make it seem like you were still asleep. Chad peaked in, before quickly backing away and closing the door.

You started to giggle as Ethan pulled away, “I need to get this off of you before it gets all over me and the bed.”

He grabbed a few tissues out of the box on the nightstand and cleaned your back for you. You rolled over as he leaned down to kiss you.

“Let’s get dressed. I’m starving,” you said, as he pulled away.

He nodded as you slid off the bed, watching you as you walked to the other side of the room to grab your clothes. He hated to watch you put them back on, wishing the two of you could just stay naked in bed together all day.

“I guess this friendship isn’t so innocent anymore,” he said, sliding his shirt on over his head.

“Friendship? After last night and this morning this is still just a friendship?” you questioned, as he walked over to wrap his arms around your waist.

“You’re right, it’s way more than that,” he smiled, leaning in to kiss you.

“You better not say we’re just fuck buddies, either. I’ll drown you in the hot tub,” you said with a smirk, as you got ready to walk out to join your friends.

“You’re way more than that, babe.”

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #scream smut #ethan landry smut #scream

449 notes · View notes

stvharrngton · 6 months

Text

kinktober: day thirty one

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

kink: squirting

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, fingering and oral (f receiving)

word count: 0.7k

taglist: @inkluvs @dukesmebby @sweetbabygirlsworld @kennedy-brooke @gvf23 @wheel-of-hyperfixation @mooonyweasley @steveshairspray @jjmaybankswifes-blog @steves-babysitter @vxoguesworld

a/n: quick note but this is a wrap!! kinktober is finally finished and only 2 days late lol but thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed these blurbs <3

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

It all felt too good.

Steve was between your legs, his fingers teasing your pussy as he licked at your clit. He was soft with it, gentle and sweet. The tips of two of his fingers were barely inside you, spreading your arousal all around, his tongue and lips swirling and kissing at your pussy.

Your hair was spread out against the pillows, your thighs spread as wide as they would go. One hand was clutching at the sheets, the other found its way into Steve’s hair, threading your fingers through his soft tresses. You moaned wildly at the intense feeling he was causing you, warmth was spreading throughout your body as the pleasure overcame you.

When Steve finally plunged his fingers inside you properly, his lips wrapped around your clit it sent you reeling. Back arching from the bed as Steve curled his fingers inside you, you cried out his name, using every last breath you could muster to let him know how good he was making you feel.

“Oh my God,” you moaned, as Steve switched between slow strokes of his fingers and fast paced thrusts. Suddenly everything felt hotter, wetter, your juices leaking from your hole and coating Steve’s fingers, leaking down onto the sheets below.

“Does that feel good, honey?” Steve asked, taking his lips from you momentarily but his fingers never stopped, curling his digits to find that little sweet spot of yours, “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, you taste so sweet.”

Everything felt so intense, your whole body was on fire. You could barely keep your eyes open, your gaze only flitting down to Steve every now and then. He soon went back to licking and sucking at your pussy, his eyes fluttering closed as he was fully engrossed in you.

It didn’t take long for Steve to find your sweet spot and it was like a switch had flipped inside of you. The pads of his fingers brushed against it over and over, again and again, it had your clit throbbing and your pussy aching. Your hips bucked up off the mattress, essentially grinding your cunt against Steve’s mouth.

“Oh, fuck!” you cried, “Fuck, Steve–” you struggled to string together a sentence, goosebumps erupted on your skin as everything went white hot. This feeling was different, something you had never experienced before, not this hot, not this intense.

“Y’gonna cum, baby?” Steve cooed, “Can feel you squeezing my fingers, fuck, you’re so wet.” He replaced his mouth with his thumb on your clit, rubbing soft, lazy circles as he continued to fuck you with his fingers, doing his best to keep touching that spot that was making you go crazy.

You could only respond with a nod and a jumble of moans and whines of the boy’s name, a shrill yes tumbling from your lips. Everything went fuzzy, you saw stars as you felt the wave of pleasure crash over you, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. You felt yourself gush over Steve’s fingers, your pussy and inner thighs were soaked.

“Oh, Steve,” you wailed as your body tensed up, your thighs shaking as Steve began to slow his movements. Your ears rang, you felt like you were on cloud nine, like your soul had been removed from your body momentarily.

“Jesus Christ,” you heard Steve groan quietly. His eyes were trained on your pussy, on where you’d just absolutely drenched his fingers, soaked the sheets with your juices. He was sure if he looked in the mirror right now, his pupils would be in the shape of love hearts.

It took you a minute to come around, a little time to come back down to earth. You were met with Steve’s hands on your thighs, his fingers stroking over your skin softly. You felt your cheeks heat up as you glanced down at the sheets, a large damp patch between your legs.

Steve crawled up to you, lips kissing at your cheeks, soft pecks planted all over your face. “That,” kiss, “was so hot.” kiss, “I can’t believe you just did that.”

Steve found it hard to not let it go to his head, to give his ego a little boost, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t about to attempt it the next time you got between the sheets.

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #kinktober2023 #k.fic

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miniwheat77 · 6 months

Text

Desperate. (Soap x Reader.)

!nsfw, smut, unprotected p in v sex, car sex, Johnny being desperate ;), this was an ask, you can find that here. Sorry if I missed any! This was kinda short and sweet.

Not edited.

Soap could see the way you kept tugging your dress down uncomfortably. He couldn’t help but smile.

The both of you had met in the military and had been dating for quite some time, and somehow in all of that time, he’d never taken you out on a proper date. Which led him to now. You were dressed up, as well as him. But you weren’t used to wearing what you had on and seemed uncomfortable. “Are you going to survive, lass?”

“Probably not.” You whine. “Why’d we have to get all dressed up again?” You ask. He smiles. That typical Johnny smile that was sure to give you butterflies. “Because. I’ve never taken you on a proper date.” He smiles. One of his hands rests on the steering wheel and the other is on top of your thigh. “It’s just so cruel of me to not show off such a pretty girl.” He winks. Earning an eye roll from you. “You’re so sappy.” You smile.

He pulls into the parking lot of the restaurant he’s bringing you. The both of you noticing how full it is. Which means he has to park way off where there’s no street lamps. Only darkness. He pulls into a parking spot, complaining.

When he gets out, he rushes around to your side, opening your door for you. You can’t help but smile. “Such a gentleman.” You giggle. “Cmon, take my hand darling. Don’t need you tripping over anything.” He nods. Leading you through the darkness into the restaurant. About an hour later, you’ve already finished your dinner. You’re working on a glass of wine, talking about your day.

It’s when he knows his love for you is bone deep.

Seeing you talking about everything. When you smile and talk about everything you love. When you’re telling a funny story and the tiny wrinkles by your eyes form when you’re smiling so wide. He’s always interested in what you have to say. He could sit and listen to you talk until the end of time. Johnny’s love for you has extended further than he ever thought possible. You’ve changed everything about him for the better and it seems to only get better.

“I think I’ve talked enough. How was your day Johnny?” You smile. “No, keep talking.” He nods. You laugh, looking down. “Cmon, I could listen to you talk for hours lass. Don’t let me stop you.” He rests his chin on his fist. His stubble is a tad bit grown out. His mohawk is overgrown. It’s because he’s been off work for a while. He’ll have you help him shave it before he goes back. You roll your eyes at him.

“Do you remember when we first started talking?” He asks.

You tilt your head. “What do you mean?“

“I mean.. when Price put us on watch together and we became friends.”

“Of course, how could I forget.” You look down. Blushing. “God. You always look so beautiful. Covered in blood and dirt. Still a complete goddess.”

You smile, looking down. Johnny can’t help but adjust the way he’s sitting. He’s getting hard. He just can’t help himself around you. You’re so pretty and so sweet. He stands up from the opposite side of the booth your in, scooting in next to you. “Cold?” You laugh. Feeling his hand on your thigh. “No. Just wanted to be closer to you.” He smiles. Sending you a wink as his hand slides up further. Feeling you jump under his touch, knee slamming into the table. Drawing eyes in your direction. He laughs at you. “Jesus-“ you gasp. “A warning.” You blush. Settles your wine glass. Your body stiffens as his hand moves higher. “Sorry, just keep thinking about it. Up in that watch tower. The first time we..” he trails off.

Your brows are brought together, eyes shut as he circles your clit with his fingers. “J-Johnny- people will see.” You whine. Your voice is so low he barely hears it. “Let them.” He mumbles. Without another warning, he’s circling two fingers into your opening.

Your panties are pushed to the side, if the restaurant wasn’t so loud you’re sure everyone could hear how wet he’s made you. You grip the table hard. Knuckles white with how hard you’re holding on. You’re trying to hold still. “Can I get you two anything else? Dessert maybe?” The waiter asks. “Oh no. Just the check lad. Thank you.” Johnny smiles. Not missing a single beat as he fingers you. You smile at the waiter, trying to lead on that everything is completely normal and that your boyfriend isn’t scissoring his fingers into your pussy under the table. You push your hips to the edge of the seat. Johnny tortures you, keeping the same painfully slow pace as the waiter brings back the check, takes his card, and brings back a ticket for him to sign. “You both have a great night.”

“You too.” Johnny smiles. Once he’s gone, Johnny turns to you. Lips brushing over your ear. “Can feel you tightening around my fingers. Cum for me.” He licks his lips. You grit your teeth hard, body shaking hard as you reach your peak lowering your head to rest on your arm, muffling your cries with your arm. He can’t help but smile at what he’s done to you. How easily you’ve turned to a mess just from the slightest touch from him. He lowers himself to you again. “Come on.” He breathes. He slides his fingers out of you, earning a gasp from your lips. You can’t muffle it.

You hurry out, cheeks burning. You follow behind him. “Cheap move you pulled back there MacTavish. When we get home you’re so-“

Johnny ripping open the back door of his car and pushing you inside cuts you off, gasping out. He pushes you in further, sliding in behind you. Slamming the door shut and locking it with the key fob. “Can’t wait until we get home. I need you now.” He breathes. He kisses you hard, pushing your dress up over your hips. He pulls away to attack your neck and you can’t help but give into him. “F-fuck. What’s gotten into you?” You smile.

“You. All fucking you.” He growls. “So fucking stunning, you drive me mad.” He glides his tongue over your jugular vein, feeling it throb with every pump of your heart. He doesn’t even take any of his own clothes off. Sliding his cock right through his slacks and lining himself up with your entrance. You’re letting out a chocked gasp when he glides through your folds. Bottoming out, filling you up to the hilt. “Fuck- John.” You cry. He wastes no time pulling his hips back, thrusting into you.

“Johnny- what if someone sees?” He laughs menacingly.

“What? You think that’ll stop me?” He shakes his head. Taking thrust after thrust into your sweet pussy. You clutch the front seats desperately. You’ve never seen him so riled up before.

“You just.. you’re so fucking beautiful. Everything you do is amazing a-and perfect.” He whines. “You’re so fucking amazing and what the hell you see in someone like me I’ll never understand.” He grits his teeth. “I hope you’re kidding- ah!” You cry out. Tilting your head back. “You’re so amazing Johnny. You’re so loving and caring.” You hiss as you feel the knot building in your stomach. “You’d do anything for those you love.” You pause. Forcing him to look at you. “And god you make me feel so good.” You laugh, seeing that cocky smile at his lips.

“You make me feel good too, so good.” He shakes his head. He lowers himself down into you further. It’s cramped in the back seat but you could care less. More focused on the way his veiny cock glides perfectly against your walls. “Lift your legs more.” He breathes. You listen to him immediately, unsure of what he wants. “Arch your back just a little bit for me darling.” He mumbles.

When you do it, you understand. He thrusts right up against that spongy spot inside of you, and you can’t help the cry that leaves your lips. “Got it.” He chuckles. He keeps a steady pace. Being sure to thrust right there, right into that spot. He knows your body like the back of his hand, he knows what makes you feel good. You’re everything to him, no matter what. Knowing your body in such intimate ways is just a bonus. He slows his thrusts, staring you down as he does. Seeing the way you start to squirm. He lowers his hand, running his fingertip along the expanse of your clit. Feeling you shiver beneath him. “Got to slow down, I’ll cum to soon.” He blushes. “Don’t care Johnny, so close.” You whine. Wiggling your hips slightly. “Please.” You mewl. “I’ll cum too soon.” He breathes. “Don’t care- please. Please Johnny.” You whine.

He grits his teeth. “Fuck it.” He shakes his head. His final thrusts are brutal. Slamming into you with such intensity that you slide up the seat further. Stopping yourself with your hands. You’re rubbing desperate circles over your clit, crying out with each thrust he takes into you. You’re close, right there.

“I-I’m gonna cum.” He hisses. He’s panting, each getting more and more desperate as he reaches his peak. “Fuck- fuck. Ugh!” He cries out. Burying himself into you to the hilt, your eyes widening as he fills you full. The coil built in your belly snaps from the warmth of him, feeling him throb so hard against your walls. You’re gone, sobbing as you reach your high. Johnny rubs your clit through your high, until you’re shoving his hand away. You tighten around him, each throb of your pussy making him jump. You both take a second to relax. Breathing hard.

“Fuck… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cut our date so short.” He laughs. Sitting up. “Think it went perfect to me.” You blush. He laughs. “Cmon, let’s go home. We’ll find something else to do to make the night better.”

You laugh.

“I don’t think this might can get any better, MacTavish.”

#call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 #soap mw2 #ghost mw2 #captain john price #price mw2 #alejandro mw2 #captain price #johnny soap mactavish #mw2 smut #soap smut #cod mw soap #soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap call of duty #soap cod #john soap mactavish

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ingravinoveritas · 1 year

Photo

David is so fucking sexy because he knows exactly how good he looks here...

#david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #sweet jesus take the wheel #god he is gorgeous here #and the neck cleavage #is it even legal to look this handsome?#far too much attractiveness in one person #there's something slutty in the state of Denmark #and making me perve over waistcoats and cravats for fuck's sake #and it's David Tennant #he knows his body and knows he is WORKING it #you love to see it #the androgynous beauty of David Tennant #i need to lie down now

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callsign-venus · 1 month

Text

For the Love of Love | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader | Part II

Part I | Series Masterlist

Summary: You immediately have doubts. As the morning goes on, they only get stronger. Good thing Bradley can be normal about this. Right?

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: fake dating, fake dating Bradley Bradshaw in particular, completely implied age gap

a/n: Thank all y'all for the response to the first part :) I was so nervous to post it, but everyone has been so kind and encouraging! Also, I've created a taglist for this series -- please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future updates! Ok, ok, let's get this show on the road (literally, we're on the way to Tahoe lol), enjoy x

It was 6:15 am. Streetlights washed your walls a bright, sterile white. You paced in front of your door. Next to it, your pink luggage set waited for you dutifully. Bradley was supposed to pick you up 15 minutes ago. He hadn’t responded to any of your texts. Or your calls.

Were you dumb for thinking he really wanted to join you – and your entire family – in Tahoe? Was he drunker than he let on last night, or maybe he forgot entirely? You hoped not, you’d already bought him the seat next to you on the plane. You really didn’t want to explain to your parents why they were paying for two plane seats when only you arrived at the cabin.

You checked your phone. 6:17. Soon, you’d have to drive by yourself. Maybe he’d catch you at the airport.

Just as you made for your keys, there was a sharp knock at your door. You undid the deadbolt and flung it open. Bradley stood in the sickly yellow light of the hallway, looking better than you wanted him to in just gray sweats and a black hoodie.

“Good morning!” He was surprisingly chirpy for how early it was.

“You’re late. Why didn’t you answer my texts?”

“What texts?”

“The texts I sent you?” You grabbed all three pieces of your luggage and struggled through the door frame.

“My phone died.” He was tapping his phone screen like he was just realizing that it wasn’t turning on. He gave up, pocketed the phone, and lifted the two biggest suitcases out of your hands. “Jesus, how long are we going to be gone? It’s like you packed your whole closet.”

“Three days. But I have to be prepared.” You locked up your apartment and started down the stairs, your suitcase clanking down each step. Your neighbors were probably thrilled.

Bradley followed behind you, lifting your other suitcases as if they weighed nothing.

“So you’re just going to travel with a dead phone?” You asked when you finally made it to the lobby.

He shrugged. “Is your phone charged?”

“Of course.”

“Works good enough for me.”

He reached over your head to hold open the front door as you dragged your suitcase into the brisk early morning. His Bronco shone like adventure. You and Bradley loaded your luggage, and he opened the door for you to get into the passenger seat.

“Coffees?” You asked as he slid into the driver’s seat and started the car.

He glanced down at the twin iced coffees lined up in the cupholders between you. “I thought it'd help us get through the early morning. I didn’t know what you liked though, so I just got you my drink.”

You stabbed a straw through the plastic lid of the coffee and took a sip. It was shockingly sweet. You coughed a little.

“You like it?” Bradley smiled, keeping his eyes on the road. “I’ve perfected my order. Caramel and white mocha and cinnamon sprinkle on top.”

You take another sip. Without the sweetness taking you by surprise, it was much better. “It’s good. I would have pegged you for a hot black coffee guy, though.”

“I’m full of surprises.” He merged on the freeway.

The sound of the road passing under the Bronco filled the silence of the car.

“So…” Bradley tapped his thumb against the Bronco’s wheel, the echoes of some song you didn’t know. “What’s your family like?”

You watched lights flick on in the windows of the buildings you passed. People getting ready for their typical days. You pressed down a shock of panic. This was absurd. But Bradley seemed committed, and if it was going to work, you had to set him up for success. That meant warning him about your family.

“Well, my Grandma Sybil and Grandpa Thomas have been married for sixty years. Obviously.” Nervous laughter bubbled from your lips before you could stop it. “They’re Grandma and Grandpa. I grew up going to their house and stuffing myself on her cookies and falling asleep on his lap. But Grandma Sybil can be… stern.”

He stopped tapping his thumb to snag his coffee and take a sip. “Like, how so?”

“She’s just a little rough around the edges. She had a tough life before meeting my grandfather, and though she softened to him, I don’t think she softened much to the rest of the world. Just, don’t take it personally if she doesn’t warm up to you right away. Or at all.”

“Noted.” You heard him swallow.

You picked at a seam in your pants. “And their oldest daughter is my Aunt Marnie. She’s married to Uncle Jim. They run a crystal shop just outside of Vegas. They might try to push moonstone or onyx on you. Just smile and accept it.”

“Ok. Marnie and Jim. Crystals.” He committed the names to memory.

“Their daughter Sabrine just got married.”

“You went to the wedding, I remember.”

You flushed, grateful that the sun hadn’t quite risen yet and the hotness of your cheeks dissipated in the darkened car. He had remembered. You didn’t think any detail of your life was important enough for him to care to remember – and it really was just one week that you were gone – but maybe your life had bled into the Daggers’ more than you thought.

As the airport came into view, you told him about Sabrine and how she would bring her new husband Matt. She was already seven months pregnant. Grandma Sybil was less than pleased, but Grandpa Thomas either didn’t care or hadn't worked out the math.

“And what do your aunt and uncle think?” Bradley asked.

“I think they’re just happy that she’s happy. They sound excited to be grandparents. But Auntie Marnie did complain that the wedding was tacky.”

Bradley snorted. “Was it?”

“It was sweet,” you said. “It was in his mom’s backyard. The colors were red and black, but it was sweet.”

An airplane roared overhead, glinting in the sun that was just sharpening over the horizon.

Bradley pulled into the airport’s parking garage. He had only packed himself a duffle bag, so he was able to carry all of your luggage plus his own. In exchange, you carried both coffees and locked the Bronco. You slipped Bradley’s keys into his pocket as he instructed, your fingers warming where they grazed the fabric of his sweats.

The airport was fizzing with the whispers of early morning travelers. You rubbed your eyes as you stepped under the fluorescent lights, taking stock of just how many others were yawning and lining up at the baggage counter under those same lights. Why was the airport so busy before 7am?

As if he could read your mind (or maybe he just saw you tense up at the sight of so many people), Bradley said, “It’s ok. We still have time.”

His reassurance drove you to action. You traded his coffee for your bags and shuffled into line for the check in counter. From the standstill line, you watched Bradley as he wandered around the walkway, taking sips of his coffee, staring up at the ceiling, and generally being a 6’1” hazard to the travelers rushing to get to the TSA line. You rolled your suitcases across the green gray carpets the check in counter line eked forward, nearly running into the old man in front of you as you kept your gaze on Bradley. Why was even his boredom endearing?

Just before you got to the front of the line, he stopped and stared up at the ceiling, causing a woman who was looking at her phone to crash into him. You giggled as you watched him apologize, and saw, in real time, as the woman went from indignant to flustered as she realized how hot he was. She tried to strike up a conversation, but he caught your gaze from across the room. Her eyes followed his, and when it hit you, she was quick to disappear into the airport crowd.

Your face grew hot. You mouthed sorry to him as the woman at the counter was calling you forward. You were a little sorry; she was very pretty. But some part of you delighted in being perceived as his girlfriend, even if it was easier to convince a stranger than your family.

“Ma’am, next guest.” The stern voice of the woman at the counter shook you from your thoughts.

Once your bags were checked, you caught up with Bradley. The two of you rounded the corner only to stop short when you saw the enormous security line.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you groaned.

“We’ll be fine. It’s only 7:15.” Bradley nudged your shoulder with his. “Plus, it gives us time to get our story straight.”

“Our story?” You asked as you both stepped into line.

“Yeah. Like, how did we meet?”

You didn’t skip a beat. “Nat introduced us.”

“That was quick.” He raised his eyebrows.

“Well, let’s try to stick with reality as much as possible. And my family loves Nat, her stamp of approval will go down great.” You really hoped no one could hear you two. But the steady murmur of overlapping early-morning conversation seemed to drown out your weird topic of conversation.

“Well, how long have we been dating?”

That you had to think about. “Well, it can’t be too short, otherwise it would be weird that I’m bringing you.”

“It’s already weird.” He laughed.

“They don’t need to know that,” you said. “How long do you think we could pass for? 2 months? 6?”

“Aren’t they going to ask why you’ve never talked about me or brought me around?”

“Good point. We’ll say 4, and I’ll just tell them I wanted to be sure before I told them about you.”

“You think we could convince them we’ve been dating for four months?”

You shrugged, but your stomach somersaulted. “We can try.”

“Like this?” He grabbed your hand and laced his fingers between yours.

Your hand tensed. Your stomach did a whole gymnastics routine. You were holding hands with Bradley Bradshaw in the airport. You looked around, sure that any TSA agent in your vicinity could sense your anxiety and pull you for secondary screening.

“Relax.” He patted your hand with his free one. “We’re not going to get far like this.”

You forced your fingers to meld with his. The iced coffee and your nerves were a terrible mix for your empty stomach.

“Better.” He kept hold of your hand as you shuffled up the line. Then he grinned.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“You know those couples in lines at amusement parks?” A lopsided smile brightened his face. “When they’re waiting in line?”

“The ones that are really into PDA?”

“Exactly.” He dropped your hand, slid up behind you, and wrapped his arms across your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder. “All we need to do is follow their lead.”

You did everything in your power to stay upright and keep your breathing steady with his chin pressing into your skin. He kept hold of you as the line moved up. You clenched your hands, your nails digging crescents into your palms. There was no way he couldn’t hear your racing heart and your ragged breathing.

“And there’s this move.”

As the line slouched to a stop, he spun you around, still keeping hold of your waist, but now you were face to face. You looked up at him, tried to form a sentence, but found yourself completely dumb. He leaned his forehead against yours. Surely he could feel the warmth of your face, see the confused longing in your eyes. He smiled at you for just a second before he broke away from you and threw his head back laughing, drawing glares from your fellow sleep-deprived travelers.

You were practically mute through the rest of security. Bradley seemed to have fun grabbing your hand, draping an arm around your shoulders, and messing with your hair. You wondered if he knew the effect he was having on you or if he was earnestly trying to practice for your family. Maybe he was just trying to rile you up.

“You were great.” He patted the top of your head, causing your heart to shrivel a bit. “We’ll have them all wrapped around our fingers.”

You cleared your throat and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Once you were through security, you broke up to scrounge some breakfast. Well, that’s what you let Bradley think anyway. You tried to beat down the butterflies in your stomach as you wove between slow-walking travelers toting huge suitcases and knots of families with waddling toddlers, straight to the bathroom.

The stall offered you just enough privacy to freak out. You felt your face, your waist, flexed your hands right in front of your eyes. It took you months to not freak out about the platonic arm draped around your shoulders, his quick hugs goodbye at the Hard Deck. How on Earth were you going to be normal about this?

He complimented you on a job well done, but in truth, he did all the work. You didn’t reach out for him once in the security line. Would your family even believe you liked him? After that performance, the idea that they could possibly think that you were in love seemed laughable.

The weekend stretched long ahead of you. You were beginning to realize how stupid it was for you to begin such a ruse that you’d have to keep up for three days. You wondered if Bradley would react poorly to being sent home after already getting through security.

You hurriedly texted Nat – who knew very well how you felt about her coworker, almost to the point where she might have purposefully orchestrated your trip. It was a bit of a text wall, detailing the TSA line and your dread about the weekend. If she wasn’t already working, she would probably be asleep for three more hours, so you pocketed your phone after hitting send.

The sound of a flushing toilet reminded you that, yes, you were having a small crisis in a public bathroom. That thought was so sad that you took a deep breath, set your shoulders, and walked out of the stall to face the world.

From a little store, you picked up a berry parfait for breakfast and a bottled orange juice, since the TSA confiscated your half-empty iced coffee.

You found Gate 4. People were falling asleep upright in the airport seats, blankets and pillows abound. It smelled like the Jack in the Box across the way. You found two empty seats by the window and kicked up your feet to reserve one for Bradley.

He found you ten minutes later, carrying a bag stuffed with two bagels – one sausage and egg breakfast sandwich and one cinnamon raisin with strawberry cream cheese, he explained. You nodded as you dropped your feet and scraped the rest of your yogurt out of your cup.

“So your cousin Sabrine is pregnant and your grandma isn’t happy,” he said around a big bite of bagel, egg, and sausage. “What else?”

“Well, my grandparents’ youngest child is Auntie Elaine. She lives in Alaska with her husband. They breed sled dogs.”

Bradley paused right before another bite. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Some of their dogs run the Iditarod, and I think one was part of the winning team a few years back. They have twins a little older than me. Nora and her wife Madison, they’re… really cool. Last I heard, they were climbing K2. And there’s Nora’s twin brother Owen. He has a girlfriend named Addison, which I think is funny. Madison and Addison. The twins don’t think it’s as funny as I do.”

Bradley laughed. The bagel sandwich was gone, and he traded the leftover wad of greasy wrapping paper for the cinnamon raisin bagel. “And what’s the deal with Owen and Addison?”

“They’re pretty chill.” You thought about it for a minute. “Owen used to punch drywall, but he’s calmed down.”

Bradley stared at you, waiting for you to laugh.

The gate agent called you to board before you could explain. Though you didn’t think any explanation would be helpful.

The plane ride was nice and short. You slept through most of the hour and a half. You were mortified to wake up on Bradley’s shoulder as the plane jolted in the harsh turbulence that shrouded the Reno airport.

You sat bolt upright, fully awake. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He patted your thigh assuredly. “It’s good practice.”

You didn’t have time to freak out at his touch because the plane rocked again. You’d experienced this turbulence countless times, something about the mountains and the desert air made the plane bounce around like a toy in the hands of an overexcited toddler. Still, as the plane jerked down, it planted a pit in your stomach that made your hands clammy.

When the plane dipped again, you clutched the armrest. You didn’t want to look at Bradley, who probably thought your overreaction was silly. He’d experienced g-forces upwards of 8Gs countless times. It was bad enough flying next to Nat, who you knew would never judge you, but next to Bradley, you felt like a little kid scared of the dark.

“Hey,” he gingerly pried your hand off the armrest and held it with a softness you didn’t expect from him, “look at me.”

You tore your eyes away from the flight tracker on the display in front of you, worried you’d see judgment in his dark eyes. But his expression was everything soft.

He smiled when you met his gaze. “We’re going to be fine. Trust me, I’ve flown a plane or two.”

You laughed despite the plane suddenly banking upward.

He squeezed your hand as the plane leveled. “So here’s the deal: you keep looking at me. You can only panic if I start panicking. Deal?”

You nodded. “Deal.”

He held your hand and your eyes until the plane kissed the blessed tarmac. By then, the pit in your stomach had been flooded with a mushy feeling you simply did not have time to drain because the seatbelt sign dinged off, and you had a rental car to secure.

Getting out of the airport went as smoothly as possible. Within 20 minutes of deboarding, you and all your luggage was crammed into a rental Prius. Bradley’s nose crinkled when he first saw it, but he folded himself into the passenger seat without complaint.

You fiddled with the radio until you got it to play a throwback ‘70s station, then peeled out of the airport. Soon, the dusty city of Reno and its casinos were in the rearview, and the Sierra Nevadas loomed large on the horizon. When the road lifted off the desert floor and began winding through the foothills, childhood excitement drummed through your veins. As the car screamed along the highway, desert scrub blurred into pine trees that jutted straight up toward the endless blue sky. Patches of snow bloomed in their shade.

“Wow,” Bradley said as the trees grew thicker like a tightly stitched blanket over the mountains. Snow carpeted the ground. Little cabins shone through the forest and snow like jewels.

“Wait until we get around this mountain.” You couldn’t keep the smile off your face. You carefully made a sharp turn, the mountainside steep and unwelcoming. But as the car straightened out, the trees yawned apart, and you caught Bradley gawking at the lake out of the corner of your eye.

Nestled between snow-draped mountains, it shone like a sapphire in the late morning sun.

You’d spent several summers splashing in its frigid waters with your cousins until your skin was so covered in goosebumps that Grandma Sybil threatened to pluck you for Christmas dinner. The same lake was the backdrop to hundreds upon hundreds of ski runs and one trip down the mountain with ski patrol. Your arm still ached to think about that late February day, even all these years later.

“It’s beautiful,” Bradley said, and you agreed wholeheartedly.

Your phone’s navigation system stated that there was only 20 minutes until you reached your grandparent’s cabin. You sucked in a breath between your teeth and cracked a window, hoping the cold, piny air would help settle your stomach. It didn’t. But you still had to finish giving Bradley the family rundown.

“My parents are Sean and Catherine,” you said. “My dad might try to intimidate you, but don’t worry, he’s a softie.”

“Ok.”

You couldn’t be sure he was paying attention, as his face was all but pressed against the window, soaking in the spectacular views. Even if you wanted to be mad, you really couldn’t blame him.

You stepped on the breaks as the road started dipping down a little. “My mom will be the most problematic. I swear sometimes she can read my mind. Whatever we do, it’ll be hard to convince her.”

“We’re going to be there in 18 minutes. Next time, a little more heads up please?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Your grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Just tell her that you take me to Vino in La Jolla and buy me flowers.”

“Is that what your ideal man would do?”

Would it be so bad if you just drove off the road? The steep mountainside looked more inviting by the second.

“Shut up.” You froze your gaze to the winding road. “I have a brother, his name is Tommy.”

“I know,” he said. “I think I’ve met him once – when he was in San Diego for spring break?”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” you said. “Well, he and his girlfriend Georgia are high school sweethearts. They’re the perfect couple, and it makes me sick.”

Bradley chuckled. “Noted.”

“So first goal: be believable.”

He laid his hand on your thigh. “Done.”

“Good.” His hand was burning hot. The car swerved ever so slightly as you lost focus on the road for a moment. “Second goal: be a better couple than Tommy and Georgia.”

“Let’s not try to overshoot this. We’ve only been dating for 4 months.”

You laughed in spite of yourself. When you eventually found your real partner, and everyone gathered in Tahoe again for Tommy and Georgia’s wedding, or a wintery ski trip, or whatever comes next for your family, you’ll come clean. You’ll cling to your partner and tell everyone all about your good friend Bradley Bradshaw and how the two of you never really dated. Your grandparents’ anniversary will be a hazy memory, but everyone will remember the tall, good-looking naval aviator and his (totally out of season) Hawaiian shirts and giant mustache. There would be shock, but eventually it would be an inside joke for years to come. You just had to get through this weekend.

Too soon, you were pulling into the cabin’s long, steep driveway. The cabin itself jutted off of the mountainside, its tapered roof giving it a harsh look, though you swore when you were little it just made it look cozy and inviting. Its windows were like glassy eyes following the Prius.

You put the car in park and turned to Bradley.

“Ready?” You asked.

“Ready, babe.”

Before you could fully register the fact that he called you babe, the cabin’s front door slammed open, and your family bursted out to greet you and the mysterious man you’d arrived with.

The knot in your stomach tightened like a noose.

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happy74827 · 3 months

Text

Cool Rider

[Steve Rogers x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When another date ends in disaster, and Steve shows up in an attempt to “cheer” you up, you’re instantly against everything. But it’s Steve, and you should know by now that he never takes no for an answer.

WC: 3859

Category: Fluff

A lot of people liked my other Steve fic, so I felt inclined to make another. This time with a lot more fluff (you’re welcome @summerrivera777777).

『••✎••』

Needless to say, you were shocked when you heard the roar of a motorcycle.

You didn’t do well with dates. In your 24 years of life, you had a total of one boyfriend, and he was the absolute worst. So, in the last six months, you have been avoiding all social activities like the plague and focusing solely on yourself and your future.

That meant that you had become very comfortable being a hermit and avoiding any and all contact with other human beings. You were happy that way.

So why was a man who looked like an absolute God sitting on a motorcycle at the front door of your house?

Well, because you broke that rule a week ago.

In all fairness, the man was cute. A nerdy, awkward kind of cute. And he was a gentleman. And you were lonely.

So, when he asked you for your number, you were too lonely to turn him down. You hadn’t expected him to call, and you certainly didn’t expect him to ask you out on a date. But you also didn't think you would have the willpower to say no.

So you accepted, and it turned out to be the biggest regret of your life. The “nerd” was actually a complete dick, and after 30 minutes, you just wanted to go home. But you couldn’t because he refused to pay for the meal, so you were stuck there with him.

The worst part of the night was when he got into his car and tried to follow you home. He kept insisting that he just wanted to be a good guy and make sure that you got home safely, but you were sure that he just wanted to see where you lived and probably get in a few gropes along the way.

Luckily, you were able to lose him about three blocks from your house. It was a good thing, too, because your phone had died a couple of blocks ago, and you were afraid that if you got caught by him, you wouldn't have a way to call for help.

The next day, you made an executive decision to stay the hell away from men, with the exception of a few nice, safe friends. That was how you ended up here, seven days later, hiding in your room and ignoring your doorbell.

The bell kept ringing, and you knew that whoever was out there wasn't going to go away anytime soon. Groaning, you threw your covers off of your body and stomped towards the front door.

You threw open the door, ready to rip someone a new one, when your angry speech caught in your throat.

Steve Rogers was standing on your front porch.

He was a friend from work, to simplify a very long story. You met him two years ago when you started at SHIELD. You were a tech genius, and you worked closely with the Avengers to keep their equipment running.

Steve was always sweet and funny. You had a lot in common and were very close. After a while, you started hanging out with him and his friends, Natasha, Sam, and Bucky. It was great.

As exceptions to men go, he was definitely a big one. He was a walking god, with the physique and the looks to prove it. And here he was, on your front porch, holding keys that belonged to the motorcycle parked out front.

You looked at the motorcycle, then back to Steve, before your face went blank.

"No."

"What?"

"No."

Steve cocked an eyebrow. A smile tugged at his lips as if he were amused. "No?"

"Nope. Whatever you're trying to sell, I'm not buying."

"Why would I be trying to sell you something? I’m not even selling anything."

"It’s an expression, Steve, Jesus." You said, throwing your hands up in exasperation. Steve might’ve been your best friend, but the guy was such a 90-year-old sometimes. "If you think that I'm going to get on that thing with you, you're wrong. It's death on two wheels."

His eyes widened in surprise, a laugh bubbling in his throat. He looked over his shoulder at the bike, then back to you.

"That's... a little dramatic, don't you think?"

"I'm serious, Steve. It's not happening. I don't trust that thing, and I'm not going to die in some freak accident."

He crossed his arms over his chest, the sleeves of his leather jacket tightening over his biceps. His smile didn't fade as he spoke, which only annoyed you more.

"It's not going to kill you. I’m quite insulted that you would think that I would put you in danger."

"You're an Avenger. You put me in danger just by existing."

His lips twitched, and you had the feeling that he was holding back a comment.

"Look," he said, leaning against the door frame. "You haven't come out with us in weeks, and I'm worried. It's not healthy to lock yourself in your house all the time. With the job we have, there's never a guarantee of tomorrow, and if I were you, I'd want to spend every day living it to the fullest."

His words caught you off guard. He was right. It had been almost two months since you had gone out with the group. You just couldn't find the motivation. You were content being at home, alone. You had gotten a little lax in your friendships, only going to work and coming straight home. And now, with the… issues… with your date, you just didn't have the heart to try again.

You could feel your resolve starting to crumble, but you tried to stay strong.

"That's a low blow, Rogers." You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest. "But my answer is still no."

"You think that was a low blow?” He scoffed as he pushed himself away from the door and took a step forward.

He was so much taller than you, and his presence was overwhelming. With the added tightness of his clothing and the confidence in his eyes, it tricked your eyes into seeing him as bigger than he really was. He was big, of course, but right now, it felt like he was towering over you.

Your heart began to race, a flush spreading over your cheeks.

"You clearly never played football because if you did, you'd know that this was a real low blow."

Without warning, he grabbed you by the waist and threw you over his shoulder.

"Hey!" You squealed, slapping your hand against his lower back. He was wearing a black shirt and jeans, and you could see the muscles ripple in his back with every step that he took. "Put me down!"

"You're going to have fun today."

"Steve! Put me down right now! I swear to God if you don't-"

"You'll what?" He laughed, the deep rumble making your stomach flutter. "Punish me?"

You huffed as you pounded on his back with your fist. You weren't mad at him, really; you just didn't know how to respond.

Steve practically dragged you outside. You were sure that you looked ridiculous, but you were thankful that you lived far enough away from your neighbors for no one to witness this. When he finally set you down next to the motorcycle, you gave him a glare.

"You're an ass, Steve Rogers."

He gave you a smirk as he swung his leg over the bike, his leather jacket tightening around his arm as his muscles flexed. Personally, you hated leather, but the way it fit him...

"Steve, I’m not wearing the right clothes."

He was quiet as his eyes swept over you. You were wearing shorts and a tank top since it was the middle of summer and you were hot, but he was looking at you like you were covered head to toe in leather.

"We can go buy something and change in the bathroom or something."

He seemed to think for a moment before he gave a single nod.

"Sure."

He started the bike and motioned for you to get on behind him. Goddamn it, Steve.

Sighing, you swung your leg over the bike and wrapped your arms around his torso. It was an incredibly intimate position, with your body pressed up against his and your faces mere inches apart. For a moment, you didn’t even realize when he swung a helmet down in front of your face.

"Put this on, Scaredy-Cat."

"Shut up, I'm not scared. Just... concerned."

He raised an eyebrow at you, his smirk still ever-present. You rolled your eyes before slipping the helmet onto your head.

The engine rumbled beneath you, and Steve revved the engine a couple of times, laughing when you squeaked in surprise and gripped him tighter. You could feel the laughter in his chest, his muscles moving under your fingers.

"Hold on tight, princess. Wouldn't want you falling off."

"You're a dick."

"Language."

"I will push you off this bike."

Steve didn't say anything; he just pulled the kickstand up and eased the bike into drive.

You squealed when the bike began to move, tightening your hold on Steve and burying your face in his back. He didn’t seem to mind; he just chuckled and sped up a bit.

You tried not to scream as he maneuvered the bike through traffic, weaving in and out of cars. It was a terrifying experience, especially since you had the distinct impression that Steve was taking advantage of the situation and driving recklessly.

You felt the wind on your legs and the constant hair strands whipping into your face, but you refused to look up. The speed, the closeness of the cars, and the fact that there was nothing keeping you on the bike except for Steve made it impossible to even think about moving.

When Steve finally stopped the bike, you had your eyes closed tight, and your body pressed completely up against him. Your arms were wrapped around him so tightly he was surprised you could breathe.

He took a moment to enjoy the feeling before gently prying your hands off of him and stepping off the bike. He turned and reached out a hand for you, waiting patiently for you to move. When you didn’t, he moved back towards the bike and took the helmet off your head.

You were breathing hard, trying desperately not to show how scared you were.

"It wasn’t that bad."

You shot him a glare, which made him grin.

"Just... shut up."

He laughed and helped you off the bike, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. He was a gentleman, of course, and you couldn’t complain about the feeling of his hard body pressed up against yours, but the sudden closeness was a bit overwhelming.

"Ugh, I think I have whiplash."

"Liar," said Steve with another laugh, be dramatic. You liked it, admit it."

"Whatever, why are you even kidnapping me, anyways?"

"I told you. It's not healthy to sit in a dark room, alone, all day, every day."

"First, rude.” You said, giving him a nudge in the side. He let out a small sound, which made your eyes widen in surprise.

"Did that hurt you, oh Captain, my Captain?"

"It didn't hurt," he grumbled, rolling his eyes. "And second?"

"What?"

"First, rude," he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "Second?"

"Oh! Yeah, why are we actually doing this?"

That’s when Steve paused. Your heart instantly dropped at his hesitation. Steve only hesitated for two reasons. The first reason would be if he were completely at a loss for words, and clearly, by his recent attitude, that wasn’t the case. So that left the second reason: because he knew something that he either didn’t want to tell you or something he wasn’t supposed to know.

With recent events, it wasn’t difficult to guess what was happening.

"Natasha told you, didn't she."

You were already pulling away from him, ready to go back home and hide in your bed for the rest of eternity, when he caught your wrist.

“Hey,” His voice was softer, and there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “It doesn't matter. What matters is that you have a good time today, alright? So, forget about what happened, forget about what Natasha said, and just focus on having a good day. Okay?"

“I don’t want a pity date, Steve. It’s nice that you care and everything, but-”

"I'm not pity dating you." His voice was firm, and his face was hard, the complete opposite of the way it was just moments before.

"Then what do you call this? My actual date sucked, and I've been cooped up in my house, so you thought, 'Hey, why not take her out and show her a good time?'"

Steve let out a sigh and shook his head, his fingers loosening around your wrist. "No, no. That's not... I'm sorry."

The change in him was drastic. He seemed to shrink in on himself, and his head drooped like a kicked puppy.

"Steve,"

He lifted his head and looked at you, his baby-blue eyes filled with guilt.

"You have no idea how badly I want to punch that guy for treating you like that.” He spoke softly as if the words were only meant for him to hear. But, as the saying goes, the walls have ears, and the parking lot was pretty damn quiet. “But that's not what this is. You're my friend, and I hate to see you sad. I'm not here just because of a stupid date. I'm here because I care about you."

There was a pause, a heavy silence hanging between the two of you. He was looking at you expectantly, a pleading look in his eyes.

"I'm not going to make you talk about it if you don't want to."

"Okay,"

"And I'm not going to bring it up again unless you do.”

"Okay."

"And, I'm not going to ask you for anything in return, maybe a little more conversation, a smile, maybe a laugh, but other than that..."

A smile slowly crept onto your face. He had the uncanny ability to make everyone else smile, regardless of their mood, and he was the only one who could do it. It’s not that his jokes were particularly funny because they weren't, but it was the way he said them.

He was an awkward, nervous mess most of the time, but when he was confident when he was in his element, there was no stopping him.

"You sure you want to waste all your energy on me, old man?"

His lips twitched at the nickname, his eyes brightening. "For you, doll? Anything."

And there it was. That goddamn smile that made your heart skip a beat and butterflies erupt in your stomach. He was just too sweet, and it was completely unfair.

"Come on," he said, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and tugging you close. "Let's get you something nice."

You smiled as you walked next to him. As much as you hated the motorcycle ride, it was nice to spend some time with Steve. He parked outside a Target, and the two of you walked in, immediately making your way to the women's section.

You took charge almost immediately, going to the racks and picking out different things. Steve followed behind you, carrying your armfuls of clothes as you added more. You went through rack after rack, throwing the things that caught your eye into his arms.

After about the tenth outfit, you turned around and saw him standing there, his arms filled with clothing and a smile on his face. You ignored it or tried to, as you turned back around and went to another rack.

When you finally finished, you had an armful of outfits, and Steve was practically weighed down. He didn't seem to mind, though, and you had the feeling that he had enjoyed his role as a pack mule. When the shopping was done, you ran to the bathrooms and changed into the outfit while Steve waited outside.

A pullover hoodie and a pair of jeans, the closest thing that Target had to leather. Not exactly what you wanted, but it would work. When you stepped out of the stall, you found Steve sitting in one of the chairs, flipping through a magazine. Such a 90-year-old, again.

He looked up when he heard the door open, his eyes sweeping over your form.

"Where to now? The ditch?"

Steve rolled his eyes, a smile spreading across his lips. "You’re an avid book reader, right? What's the biggest bookstore in the area?"

"Are we going to Barnes and Noble or something?"

"If that's what's closest."

You paused, watching his expression. There was no sign of teasing, no hint that this was a joke.

"…Really? Barnes and Noble?"

"Is that an issue?"

The disbelief must have been written on your face because Steve gave a loud laugh, throwing his head back.

"Oh, come on. I can be spontaneous!"

"Sure," you mumbled, trying not to show how happy his statement had made you. He remembered a stupid fact about you that you had told him months ago. And he had stored it, not forgotten it.

You felt like you were in the twilight zone, but you weren't complaining.

Steve bought the outfit and threw the tags away, and the two of you got back on the motorcycle. It was easier, this time, with the knowledge that he had cared enough to listen to your ramblings. Maybe he cared enough to calm it.

You had your face buried in his back, not out of fear this time, but out of comfort. You couldn’t see him smile as he sped up, but you could feel it.

At Barnes and Noble, he sat and watched as you wandered the store, a smile on his face. He didn’t say anything, didn't pressure you into talking, didn’t even try to join in; he just sat and listened as you read him the summaries of the books. You didn’t even mean to; it just kind of happened.

One moment, you were looking through the books; the next, you were reading the synopsis out loud to Steve. He didn’t say anything, didn't make any indication that he was listening, but you could tell by the way his head would turn towards you when you spoke. And once again, Steve was your personal pack mule, carrying the books that you were interested in.

By the end of the night, he had an armful of books, a satisfied smile on his face, and you were laughing. You couldn’t remember the last time you had laughed this much, the last time you had felt so happy.

When you got home, the sky was dark, and the moon was high. Steve followed you inside and set the books down on the coffee table. He had refused to let you carry them, insisting that they would get ruined in your hands. You didn't bother fighting him on it and allowed him to carry them.

"Do you want a drink or anything? Something to eat?" It was obvious you were slightly nervous now, but Steve didn’t seem the notice… or even care at this point.

"No, thank you. I should probably be getting back."

"Oh." You paused, not really wanting him to leave, but you couldn’t ask him to stay. You were friends, that was it, and nothing more. "Okay, yeah."

"Well," he started, his fingers flexing by his side. "I'll see you soon, then?"

"Yeah," you said, giving him a smile. "See you soon, Steve."

He looked like he was going to say something else before he gave you a soft smile and walked out.

Once he was gone, you shut the door and let out a sigh. Today was perfect, and you hated yourself for it. You hated yourself for enjoying yourself, hated that you were able to push away all thoughts of him. It was like the universe was taunting you, dangling the perfect guy in front of your face, and you couldn’t have him.

"Why him, huh?"

"I can still hear you." Steve's voice echoed through the house despite his absence in it, and you internally groaned as you got up to stare out the window. Damn, his super hearing.

You pulled the blinds aside and watched as Steve got on his bike, his helmet still in his hands.

"Steve."

He paused, turning his head towards the house. He couldn’t hear what you were saying now that he was by his bike, not with the closed windows, but he could see the silhouette of your body against the curtains. You lifted it up in an instant, an invitation.

"Steve.” You repeated, and this time he heard it. Loud and clear.

"Yeah?"

"Did you really mean it? That this wasn’t a pity date?"

Steve paused for a moment, his lips slightly parted. After a moment, he rested his helmet on the handlebars and made his way back to you. He stopped inches from you, slightly bending down through the window.

A smile and a simple glimpse at your lips was his only answer. He looked back in your eyes, his expression soft, waiting. He was leaving it up to you, not wanting to push, not wanting to scare. He wanted it, but he wasn’t going to force it.

It was all the incentive that you needed.

You reached through the window and grabbed his jacket, pulling him forward and crashing your lips together. It was desperate and slightly awkward since you were halfway through the window, but neither of you seemed to care.

Steve reached forward and grabbed the side of the window, pushing it open even further and lifting you through. You let out a surprised squeak, which quickly turned into a moan as he pressed you up against the house.

His lips were warm and softer than you expected. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

After a few moments, Steve pulled away, his forehead resting on yours and a smile on his face.

"Okay, this wasn't a pity date."

Steve let out a laugh, the breath puffing against your face.

"Good. Glad we established that."

"What was this, then? I've been told that Captain America wasn’t one to put out on the first date."

"Oh, yeah. Definitely not. I'm a gentleman."

"Then what's this, Steve? What was today?"

His arm tightened around you, and he pressed his lips against your forehead, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

"Like I said, I can be spontaneous."

"Spontaneous," you mumbled, letting out a laugh.

"And," he continued, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. "It seems good girls like a little bad every now and then. You especially, given your choice of dates."

"So, is that what this is? Captain America showing me a good time?"

"No. This is Steve Rogers showing his girl a good time."

"Your girl, huh?"

"Yeah," he murmured, his lips inches from yours. "My girl."

And when his lips met yours again, all you could think about was the leather jacket, the motorcycle, and the promise of more.

And a whole lot more bad.

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