I Am Currently Sitting At An Eye Doctors Office For My Mom. Read This Entire Thing And Almost Started

I am currently sitting at an eye doctors office for my mom. Read this entire thing and almost started BAWLING in the waiting room 😭 @schnarfer you’re writing is AMAZING!!!!!!

Endurance - A Frankie Morales Story

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Rating: Explicit 18+ minors dni

Summary: In the darkest of times, there will still be music.

Series content: Frankie Morales AU, 1944 stately home in the UK, set in wartime but intentional no graphic violence or politics of the time mentioned, mention of death and PTSD, heavy on the British emotional repression, Frankie is an American pilot, Will, Benny & Santi makes appearances but no Tom (no thank you Tom) no specific ages mentioned but reader and Frankie would be early twenties, alcohol and cigarette references, cheating/infidelity, no physical descriptions of reader except she has hair and there are outfit descriptions, much swearing, angst, slow burn, will post smut content for each part, pet names (Lady, baby, cariño), some historical references but we're not going for heavy realism here, more, you know, vibes. Let me know if I missed anything.  

A/N: I have always wanted to write historical fiction and World War Two really is my era, so I hope you like this exploration of a pretty angsty love affair with Frankie. I promise there will be a (sort of) happy ending, but I might put you through it first.

Let me know if you would like to be tagged 🖤

✨Part 1:

✨Part 2

✨Epilogue

Tags: @pascalssbabyy @katareyoudrilling @morallyinept @5oh5 @secretelephanttattoo @survivingandenduring @papipascaaaal @luxurychristmaspudding @magpiepillsjunior (let me know if you'd like me to take you off/add you on!)

Oh my goooooood!!!! The sequel was just as good as the first story ❤️❤️❤️❤️

'look what we've become' masterlist

Sequel to the way we were

18+, minors please do not interact, warnings/tags included for each chapter

Pairings: Joel x F!Reader (established relationship) no use of Y/N

Fic Summary: You are tasked with taking a young girl back to her family while trying to salvage your relationship with Joel after certain events cause the biggest strain either of you have ever had to face.

Status: completed

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

credit to @cafekitsune for the dividers

FINALLY got around to reading this 😍😍 So good!

Difficult - One Shot

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit 18+ minors dni

Word Count: 12,030

Summary:  How can you be part of a love story when you don’t believe in love?

Content: Pre-Outbreak, late 90’s – early 2000’s, soft!Joel, Sarah is about 7, slight age gap but no specific ages mentioned (21ish/late 20’s), lots alcohol, drug references, cigarettes, cheating/infidelity, no physical descriptions of reader other than she has hair and delicate ankles (picture is just vibes), much swearing, mention of suicide reference in passing, pathological fear of using the phone, some fluff, some smut; semi unprotected PIV (reader is on the pill but condoms would have been sensible here people), no use of y/n, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, pet names, bit of a daddy kink, slapping, and just a note we’re very fleabag coded here. Let me know if I missed anything.  

A/N: I was writing something quite different when the idea of reader and Joel came into my head and I couldn’t let her go, so here we are. She’s a hot mess but I love her. This is the first Joel fic I’ve written and actually been brave enough to share – I’ve not written fiction for eons and I’ve probably broken one million unspoken fandom rules so I’m very open to constructive feedback (as long as you’re stroking my hair and calling me pretty at the same time, thanks). I don’t have anyone else reading this so apols for any typos as I never learnt to spell, soz. Get a cup of tea and I’d love to know what you think. Oh, also some British references may have slipped in by mistake!

I have been so inspired by the incredible writing of @chloeangelic @netherfeildren & @bageldaddy  in particular, they are insanely good at creating flawed characters who we still root for and I hope I’ve managed to capture even the tiniest bit of that with our girl.

Listen to: Gracie Abrams Difficult (obvs) and Rockland.  

DIFFICULT

You’re cruel to them, these boys who adore you. You simply don’t care for their feelings at all. Do they have feelings? Probably not. You flit from one to another without a second glance, promising one thing and delivering, more often than not, nothing at all. Well, your body, but nothing of emotional value. Outwardly you look like you’re searching for love, for some connection, but in reality, nobody penetrates deeper than your need for them to want you.

“Please, please, don’t kiss me and run off with someone else this evening?” And you swear you won’t, you swear to him, this sweet boy that’s supposed to be your friend who you shouldn’t be kissing in the first place. Soon enough you’re tangled with someone else on the dance floor and if you have a conscience, it doesn’t even graze it. Goes hurtling right past in a blaze of vodka and bummed cigarettes.

It’s your pattern and other than the occasional Suicide Tuesday, you’re not looking to change a single thing. Fuck it. Fuck them.

So, there’s nothing really out of the ordinary with the man you’re flirting with this evening; he’s a little bit older than your usual suspect but he’s looking at you the same old way. Hungry for your on display flesh and barely hiding it behind darkening brown eyes, strong hand reaching to touch you more with each sip of his drink. Your thighs are sticky on the booze soaked bench under you, your denim mini skirt is much too short to be decent, but fits in with the vibe of the dingy downtown Austin club perfectly. You lean in to hear his soft Southern lilt over the din of the music.

“Joel Miller.”

“Mr Miller, pleasure to meet you.” You notice a boy you were toying with earlier approach the table, but you purposefully ignore him, turning your body all the way towards Joel. This is much more fun. Joel’s confident in his handsomeness, a natural charisma oozing out of him that feels a little bit dangerous. He shoots a warning glance at the stranger.

“You know this guy?”

“What guy? I only see one guy here.” You take a sip of your drink, focusing your gaze on only Joel and let your hand trace up onto his knee.  You’ve never been one for subtly. Taking a moment to admire his aquiline profile and surprisingly delicate chin under the scruff of dark facial hair, you give him your best bedroom eyes; “You wanna get out of here?” Joel shoots you back a fine-looking smirk in response, one single dimple visible through his patchy beard and you want to lick it.

“I can’t, I’m here with my brother Tommy, can’t leave him. Liable to get into some trouble if I don’t keep an eye.” He gestures over at a rowdy group of boys by the bar who practically spell out ‘caution’. Your kind of fun normally, probably would have made some big eyes at the equally dark haired brother if you hadn’t spotted Joel first.

“Dance with me then?” You pull Joel up by the hand, thighs unsticking for the bench unpleasantly and link your fingers with him in an overly familiar way for a first meet. He’s warm, feels hot against your skin and it’s good. You brush past your bestie Gracie as you weave through the tightly packed crowd, keeping a hold of Joel’s hand as you lean into the beautiful shell of her ear and suggest she’ll have fun with the boys at the bar.

“Looks like you’re having fun already,” She purrs back to you, giving Joel an instant appraisal with the flick of her sharp eyes. “Enjoy.” You hear her behind you, calling out, “Which one of your handsome men is Tommy?”

“You are something else.” Joel is right up close behind you now, there’s a pleasing scratch of his scruff of him against your neck as he shakes his head; you’re going to have fun making him want you.

You’re a good dancer, natural to the music and Joel surprises you, for a tall, broad guy he’s got rhythm and just the right amount of presence; keeping you close to him but not crowded. Letting you show off your body without needing to paw at you, making each touch deliberate and leaving you wanting more, more, more, please. It’s hot, sweaty and intuitive; your body is pressed against his and you can feel him hard against his jeans. Just the way you like them. You turn then, intentionally slowly, so you can drag your body against his in a way that makes him dig even more into you, with eyes now locked into yours. You have to lean up to kiss him, arm around his neck when suddenly you feel like you’ve been stung. A jolt of something when you connect with him that makes you pull back quickly.

“I think you just static electric shocked me?”

“Think it was a lightning bolt, Babygirl.” You laugh loudly against his ear; this is how they should all feel. ‘Babygirl’ looks good on you. You pout up at him and lean back in for another kiss; it’s delicious, like he’s savouring every moment of you and being greedy at the same time; teeth and tongue and want. You effortless move to the music and a hand pulls your face closer, while another lifts your body higher by raising your heel off the ground; you’re enveloped in him; you nudge your body very gently up and down on the ball of your foot so you’re almost imperceptibly grinding against him. It feels fucking fantastic.

“Sweetheart you are doing something to me, I am not going to be able to contain myself for a minute longer.” He gives your ass a squeeze under your skirt and you wonder if he can feel the heat coming from you, becoming more and more desperate for him. He swoops in for another kiss, lighter this time, playing with your tongue in a way so intimate you feel uncharacteristically exposed, something akin to nerves fluttering within you. He pulls back and brushes your cheek, “Let’s go outside for a smoke shall we? I need to cool down, before I do something that gets us thrown outta here.” You’d like to see what that is, but you happily follow that wicked grin outside. You grab two shots on your way out, crossing hands and pouring into each other’s mouths. You kiss again, vodka burning. Sitting down on an empty bench outside, you watch as he lights two cigarettes, passing one to you and you hook your ankles over his broad thighs and cross your arms. You know you look good when you smoke, it’s one of the reasons you do it, draws attention to your mouth. His hands are so warm and tight around your ankles, you flex them a little, enjoying how delicate they look under his firm grip, little dainty stiletto heels poking out from under him.

“You ever buy a cigarette in your life, kid?”

“No need, always find a willing old man to sort me out.” He’s probably not even 10 year older than you, but it feels fun to tease. You take a slow drag, looking down your nose at him as you exhale the smoke in the opposite direction, admiring how the obvious natural litheness of his twenties is turning into something more solid. This feels sultry and charged, the heat between you fizzing with energy and he gives your ankles a squeeze again, pulls them up closer to his crotch so you’re heavy against him. You tilt your head and raise an eyebrow, enjoying every moment of his want.

“Tell me some stories Joel. What’s your naughty little brother up to?”

“Always up to somethin’. I’d rather hear about you Babygirl, seems like you’ve got a legion of admirers in here tonight. I gonna have to fight anyone for your hand?” You snort a laugh, the man is playing you like a dream, hitting all your high notes, drawing you in with that devilish smile and how it produces those beautiful crinkles around heavenly soft, brown eyes.

“A woman can’t live on bread alone Joel,” Your eyes roll coquettishly, and you give your bare shoulders a little shake, “you wouldn’t want me if no one else did anyways.”

“I’d want you if I was the last man on earth.” You move your ankle ever so slightly, so you’re rubbing against his jeans, searching out his hardness and locking him in with a flash of your lashes while you take another drag. “Something else…” he starts to say, leaning towards you in the hope of another kiss, but trouble bursts into the courtyard instead. The distinct shape of Tommy in a brawl with someone, might even be your ‘friend’ from before. You turn away quickly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. This is what happens when I take my eye off… TOMMY!” Joel roars into life and jogs off after the bouncer, his brother and whoever else that is.

You watch him go, realising he didn’t get your number and immediately fall in a sulk. Now a number of things happen; you’re bored, the wrong side of drunk and turned on. You keep drinking and your eyes are wondering the club; Gracie and you dance like maniacs for a while, slut dropping with the best of them and yes, you keep drinking. You’re outside the club waiting for a cab you end up kissing your friend JT, again, because he’s there and he says he’s in love with you and it is just too easy not to. When he starts pestering you about actually going on a date, you tell him in no uncertain terms to fuck off. Disdainful, mean. He surprises you, because he’s actually furious. Some of those boy emotions you don’t believe in coming and hitting you right in the face.

“Why do you always do this to me? You lead me on again and again, and then you just dump me without a second thought. You know I’m in love with you, right? You’re a cold hearted bitch, you know that too?” And you do an awful thing. You laugh. Because you do not care. Oh no, no, that’s not the most awful thing. You turn, and you know what you’re going to see before your drunken eyes settle on him. Joel has come back to find you and you are certain, in an instant, he’s seen it all. The ugly kiss, the hurt, the nasty cruel laugh.

“You are fucking chaos kid.” Joel’s shaking his head in the worst possible way - disappointment. It hits you in the stomach like a punch.

“Thanks.” You curtesy, why not, and hop in a waiting cab, pulling Gracie in behind you as she gives Joel a shrug of the shoulders. Same old, same old for her.

“Girrrrrl…” Gracie holds your hand as you stare out of the window. You simply will not cry.

“Shhsss don’t say anything. I fucked it ok?”

“That man did not look happy.”

“Some man though, right?”

“Fine as hell babe. Thought you…?” You nod but have to shake your head to stop the sudden, unexpected, tears that are spiking your eyes, looking up at the taxi roof and forcing them back in. You don’t cry about boys - they cry about you. That’s the whole fucking point. You steel yourself and find your composure. Yet you’re finding it hard to shake off that look he shot you, like you’d let him down. Like maybe he wasn’t just viewing you as a piece of ass for the night.

“You got any more to drink at yours?” Gracie gives your hand a squeeze

*****

You manage a little cafe in town and it’s fine. You make the sandwiches, get to drink all the coffee and the kids you work with are all just like you. They’re your little found family. Today is your normal Saturday; everyone is battling a hangover and desperately trying to get thorough the shift, so you dig deep to keep them motivated, get everything out on time and personally handle all the difficult regulars. You accidentally ‘drop’ a cake on the floor which means it can’t be served and you can all share it. The café has a tiny open plan kitchen behind the counter, so the four of you are surreptitiously wolfing the cake down behind the cake fridge and groaning about your heads when you see a floating child appear above the cash register. You brush the crumbs off your face and whip round.

“Hi miss, what can I get you?”

The child is not floating. She’s attached to Joel fucking Miller’s shoulders. Fuck. Your hangover lurches and you feel genuinely like you might be sick for a second, the blood has drained from your face and your scraped back hair feels achingly tight against your skull. You wish you’d at least washed off last night’s eyeliner.

“You’re fucking married?” It tumbles out of your mouth just loud enough for him to hear. Joel is quick to mask his surprise at seeing you and gives you a searching look, like he’s trying to work something out. Don’t go down that rabbit hole my friend, you want to warn him.

“I am not married. I’ve got a kid.” He leans in real close, “Do not swear in front of my kid. Please.”

Your try and shape your face into something neutral, but a quick glance at the mirror by the coffee machine and you know you look harsh, smudged eye make-up adding to the overall impression of moody teenager about to slam their bedroom door.

“How can I help you, sir?” You voice is clipped and your colleagues turn round, knowing you only use this voice on the most obnoxious of customers. It’s your kill with kindness routine. Doesn’t fit at all with the handsome dad standing in front of you with the adorable kid draped around his shoulders.

“Sarah, what would you like bug?” He squeezes her hands, raises a devastating eyebrow at you, “Tell the nice lady.”

“Do you have milkshakes?”

“Sure do missy, chocolate, vanilla or strawberry?” You soften your features for her, giving her a little sneaky smile and whisper conspiratorially, “I hear the strawberry one comes with sprinkles.”

“Daddy, can I?”

“Whatever you’d like sweetheart.”

“Please may I have a strawberry milkshake?” Impeccable manners, you’re impressed.

“Of course honey. Would daddy like a milkshake?” Your hand instantly flies up to your mouth, you couldn’t help yourself, your face light on fire and you struggle to hide your pulled in lips and wide eyes. Your eyebrows have almost hit the ceiling. Tasha behind you audibly gasps. Whoops. You start to stutter a sorry, but he cuts in quickly.

“Just a black coffee for me please. We’ll take the table by the window.” He sets Sarah on the floor and she clambers up the small set of steps away from the counter and up into the cafe. He hangs back a moment, licks his lips, turns his full gaze on you with a tilt of his head.

“Careful.”

The coffee machine jumps into life grinding fresh beans and you turn your back to him, walking the two small steps to your prep area. Trying real fucking hard to breathe normally.

“Who was that?” Tasha and Sam are instantly standing either side of you, pressing into the small space where you make the sandwiches, backs to the cafe.

“Oh, some guy I hooked up with at a club the other night. Didn’t know he had a kid.”

“That was In. Tense.” Sam is absolutely buzzing, she lives for this shit. “Daddy? Would Daddy like a milkshake? Daddy?” Sam croons to herself as she stacks some plates above your head.

Adam leans in and rests his head on your shoulder, “Did Daddy get some? He seems kinda pissed at you.”

“He got a little somethin’ somethin’. But no, not the full special.”

“Unlucky for him. You are one hot mess babe.” He gives you a playful kiss on the cheek with all the intimacy of friends who’ve fucked but love each other despite it. Sam slaps his head away from you quickly, because of course Joel is back at the counter. And yes, you want to shout at him, yes, everyone gets to kiss me, you mister, are not special.

“Could we please have a slice of the carrot cake as well? Two forks?” Sam leaps into action, flicking a strand of poker straight blonde hair over her shoulder as she taps it into to the till.

“No problem at all sir, we’ll bring it over with the drinks.” Joel nods, shoots you a glance you can see reflected in the mirror above your station and stomps off back to his table. Everyone grimaces at each other, before a giggle makes its way round, the four of you trying to silently laugh and do your jobs at the same time. It’s a miracle the milkshake makes it to the tray in one piece. Tasha, Adam and Sam all place one hand on the black tray, desperate to take it over.

“I just wanna look at Daddy’s face again, please, please?” Sam gives you her best wide eyes and perfect pout.

“I’m gonna tell him what a great fuck you are?” Adam sweeps his long floppy fringe out of his eyes, smirks as Sam whacks him again. Little Tasha just grins at you.

“Fuck’s sake. I’ll take it over.” You take a deep breath, redo your hair and pull out a few strands at the front so it’s not so severe, brush the bread flour from your apron. This is your domain, your stage, you’ve worked here on and off since you were 16 and you’ve served plenty of boys you’ve kissed. No biggie. You skip up the steps, very conscious of the others watching you, let your hips sway a little as you pop the drinks down and place the extra large slice of carrot cake in the middle. Two forks. Sarah squeals with delight and you smile easily at her, turning briefly to let Joel enjoy the last second of it. When he smiles back it reaches his eyes with such a playfulness it brings a heat to your chest, almost like a blush beginning to bloom. Not that you blush for boys. That would be pathetic. Your hand reaches up to your exposed neck and you feel a warmth prick at your skin. He’s still grinning at you.

“Enjoy!” You spin back around, trey pressed to your chest.

The lunch rush has hit by the time Joel and Sarah get up to leave, you’re fully in the sandwich making zone as they stroll past the counter and down the stairs to go out through the shop below. Joel calls out ‘Thanks guys’ and everyone trills ‘Thank you’ in unison and erupts into laughter immediately.

“Subtle guys, subtle.” You sigh at them, taking a big swig of coffee before plating up a ciabatta; “Table four please.”

Sam comes running back into the kitchen, making an almost off-the-scale high-pitched sound.

“Daddy left his fucking NUMBER on the bill. Here, here, here!” And it’s there, signed Joel. With a $10 tip. Sweet.

*****

It becomes Sarah and Joel’s routine, every Saturday morning for a milkshake and coffee, maybe a slice of cake, after Sarah’s soccer practise. You like watching Joel with Sarah, wondering what the set-up is if he has her every Saturday. Slowly, over the months, you learn that he has her all the time, that Mom isn’t in the picture at all. You try and piece it all together quietly, understanding he must have had her when he was even younger than you, observing their ups and downs, seeing how sometimes they’re bickering and at other times Sarah is attached to his lap the whole morning and peppering him with little kisses and grubby hands. One morning after a particularly busy rush, Joel invites you to sit with them and catch your breath. From then on, rather than nipping out for a smoke break, you always find time to sit with them for at least a few minutes, have a corner of their cake or bring them something new you’ve made for them to try. Sarah likes to talk to you about her school friends or the fairies at the bottom of the garden and you like to listen. Like to feel close to Joel for a few moments, have him look at you with those dark eyes and remember what it was like to kiss him. It’s your little window into the beauty of their everyday domesticity.

Your problem is Joel now has a clear view of your Saturdays too. He can see when you’ve been out the night before, when you’re so hungover you’re functioning on a zoned out autopilot, when you’re clearly wearing last night’s clothes or worse, someone else’s clothes. It’s written all over your body; the hickey from the latest boy, the stamps from last night’s club, someone else’s too big band t-shirt and a pair of emergency flip flops you keep in your locker. You couldn’t be a starker contrast to his perfect little unit. Sometimes last night’s conquest comes for a coffee and you have to desperately try and get rid of them before Joel and Sarah arrive, whipping whoever he is up a sandwich and pushing him back down the stairs.

“Call me babe, thanks for the coffee. Don’t worry about the shirt.” This one grabs at your ass, steals an on the lips kiss, pushes past Joel and Sarah on the too small staircase. You grimace, acrid taste of last night still in your mouth. You can’t even remember his name. You can see Joel trying not to stare, a flash of something over his eyes.

“Morning sunshine,” You pat Sarah gently on her pretty little head, “I found one of your fairy books at the thrift store, let me get it for you.”

“Oh, thank you, I love them! Daddy says they’re out of print, that’s why they’re so hard to find.” You pull it out from underneath the counter and gift it to her.

“Let me give you some money.” Joel reaches for his wallet.

“Nah it’s fine, it was like a dollar and you have more than paid for it with your generous tipping.” You try and distract him with a half-smile, hope he can’t smell the nameless boy on you.

“Morning Joel, hi Sarah,” Sam gives them both one of her pageant winning grins, “We’ve got some raspberry ice cream in for milkshakes if you’d like to try it sweetie?”

“Yes please! Thank you, Sam.”

Sarah makes her way to their usual spot of table six by the window but Joel hangs back for a second, you can see he’s hesitating. You take a moment to savour his handsome face, playful eyes and strong profile, always a bit pouty lips under that deliciously patchy beard. You’d like to tug at one of those almost curls in his messy, dark hair.

“You never called me.” The team all stop in their tracks for a heartbeat, quick glances confirm you’re stood frozen behind the counter. They all chime in at once;

“She never calls anyone.”

“She’s never called me in my life, and we’ve been friends since we were 17.”

“She makes me phone all our suppliers.”

You shrug your shoulders, all true. You’ve kept his number saved in your phone like a security blanket all this time, happy it’s there but knowing you’ll never use it.

“Pass me your phone.” You pull it out from your apron, unlock it and hand it over. He calls himself and hangs up. “Ok fine. Now I’ve got your number and I will call you…” He looks up at everyone, “Does she answer the phone?”

Adam begins to answer no, but Tasha chips in with a giggle; “She will if it’s you.”

“I guess I will if it’s you.” You share a flirtatious smirk with Joel. Tasha almost starts clapping.

*****

That evening your mobile goes and you see it’s Joel. He’s wasted no time at all.

“So, who’s shirt were you wearing today?”

“Oh, just a friend’s.” You’re blasé, you’re not going to see whatever his name was again if you can help it.

“You kiss all your friends goodbye?”

“Joel, I kiss everyone. I thought you knew that by now.”

“You’re telling me I’m not special.”

“Oh no you’re special. You’re my first proper stalker.  Normally they only show up at my work once, you’ve really committed. Dragging in poor Sarah too! Stole my number as well… I should be calling the cops really.” He doesn’t rise to the bait.

“You’re telling me he’s not going to show up again?”

“Who?”

“You are somethin’ else aren’t you?”

“So you keep telling me.”

“I really don’t like to share.”

“Important part of growing up surely, learning to share? Bet you teach Sarah that all the time. Hey! You share a cake with her almost every Saturday, sometimes you let me have a bite too?”

“Fine. I don’t want to share you. With anybody.”

You swallow thickly, you don’t have a smartarse answer for that. The truth is, you don’t know if you could do it, you’ve cheated on every boyfriend you’ve ever had.

“You still there? I scared you away?”

“I’m not good at this Joel.”

“I don’t need you to be ‘good’.”

You play with your hair, worry at a hangnail.

“I gotta go. See you Saturday?”

Joel sighs; “Sure, see you Saturday.”

*****

This Saturday, Joel rushes up to the counter, looks a bit flustered, very unusual for him. Sarah still sits at their usual spot.  

“I just got a call, Tommy’s at the police station, could I ask a massive favour? You can say no, you’re working I know, but could I leave Sarah here for an hour? Just while I sort him out? Our neighbour who normally looks after her is away and…” he sighs, “I don’t want to take her to the police station, again. She doesn’t need to see it.”

You answer without pause; “We can take our breaks with her, it’s not a problem.”

Sarah is an absolute delight. Sam sits with her first through the lunch rush, draws on the back of the till roll paper with her, creating monsters with a silly fold up game and hooting with laughter. You feel a bit jealous, that maybe Sarah is having a better time with Sam than she does you. Adam resigns himself to reading some of her fairy book to her, voices and all, but Tasha is the winner. The cafe has quietened down a little and she plays an exuberant game of find the hidden teaspoons with Sarah racing around searching in all the little corners and wondering loudly how customers can lose them down the back of the cushions. You finally take your break and are sharing a cupcake with Sarah when you look up at the clock and realise Joel’s been gone far longer than an hour.

You hate hate hate calling people. But.

“Hey, is everything ok?” It always makes you feel a bit physically sick holding the phone.

“Shit, I am so sorry I completely lost track of time, I’ve managed to bail Tommy out and I’m just driving him to his place now. He’s a bit of a mess. Is Sarah ok?” Joel sounds tired.

“Yeah, she’s fine. We’ve filled her full of sugar for you… think she’s earned us half of our tips today as well. She’s a treasure Joel, we might keep her.”

“I really appreciate today. I’ll come get her as soon as I can.”

“I… I get off in like 10. Why… why don’t drive her to yours? Then you can go straight home? Sounds like you’ve had a hell of a day?” Your heart is in your mouth as this feels like maybe you’re crossing some kind of line.

“That would be a real help, are you sure?” Relief washes over you and you make an affirmative noise, watching Sarah look expectantly at you, “I’ll text you the address. Sarah knows where the key is if you get back first.”

*****

Joel arrives back at the house almost exactly the same time as you do, inviting you in for pizza and a glass of wine. It’s strange to be in Joel’s home, surrounded by the detritus of his and Sarah’s every day; little shoes scattered by the front door, pictures of baby Sarah framed on the walls and half-finished art projects discarded on the dining table. There’s a warmth in the domesticity that makes you feel homesick for something you’ve never had. You love listening to Sarah chatter away and you’re proud of your little friendship when she requests you read her a bedtime story. Once her teeth are brushed, hair braided and jammies on, Joel nods his approval for you to disappear up to her butterfly filled bedroom with her favourite fairy story in hand. It’s the one you gave her.

When Sarah is safety tucked up in bed, you find yourself sitting back in Joel’s kitchen finishing a large glass of red wine with him and enjoying the first time you’ve been on your own together since all those months ago at the club. You keep shooting each other little glances, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

“I think about you all the time.” He pours you a second glass of red. “Think about what would have happened if I hadn’t had to run off in that club.”

“I would have dragged you home. Had my wicked way with you.”

“I don’t doubt it for a second Babygirl,” You keen at his nickname for you, shooting him a sultry look over your glass, “But maybe this is better? Getting to know you… I like spending time with you at the cafe and watching you at work with your team. You run a tight ship. I can see they really care about you…” He hesitates for a moment, before continuing, “Not everything is about making people want to fuck you, you know?”

“Maybe with Adam.” You roll your eyes, “Again.”

“Ok. Definitely Adam, but you know that’s not what I’m talking about. You act like everyone is only after one thing and that that’s all you care about… but there’s so much more to you. Surely you can see the cafe lot respect you? You’re kind and respectful to them, won’t let customers talk shit to them, make working a crappy job better.”

“I like my crappy job.”

“And so do I. Look, I’m trying to give you a compliment here that isn’t about how good you look or how much I want to touch you again, got it?” You take a long sip of your wine, flustered; flirting is your forte, but you always resist it becoming too real. This is feeling dangerously close to having the top layer of skin removed. Boys don’t tend to use words like respect and kindness around you.

“What about what I did to JT? You like seeing that?” Your face is scrunched, you don’t want to meet his eyes.

“That poor boy outside the club?”

You take a nervous sip. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t like it one bit darlin’. I don’t understand why you gotta be so cruel to those who want to love you?”

You freeze.

“I’m just mean.” You choke out a laugh, tilt your head with a mock, overly exaggerated shrug. Like it’s nothing.

“Don’t believe that for a second. I see how you are with Sarah, that’s not a mean person.”

“I…. Sarah’s special. I know she has feelings and emotions and depths and…. I… boys are different. I just don’t… I don’t think…”

“You don’t think men have feelings?” Joel is astonished, genuinely shocked for a second. His eyebrows reaching sky high. “Or, you don’t want them to?”

“I don’t know. I guess… I rationalise that I’m not like, a real person to them? They only care about how I make them physically feel, but not about actual me? And I want that, I want them to want me but I don’t… If I don’t let myself feel anything for them, it means nothing can hurt me. And I know they don’t mean it when they say they love me. They can’t possibly…  It doesn’t make any sense if I say it out loud.” You’re quiet but he is incensed, shaking his head and running his hands through his hair.

“Fuck, Babygirl you really think I don’t care about you? That I don’t worry about you and want you to be ok? Like seeing you on a Saturday morning isn’t one of the best parts of my week? We’ve been coming in for months.” He’s grabs you off the high stool you’re sitting on, forcefully pulling you up to his chest and practically shaking you by the shoulders like he’s scolding you; trying to make the words go into your resistant body.

You whisper up to him: “I think you just want to fuck me.” His grip falters, softening around you before coming up to clasp you much more gently by the jaw, holding your gaze.

“Jesus Christ kid. Yes! Yes, I want to fuck you.” So tenderly now, “Think about it all the time. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care?”

“No...” he doesn’t let you finish, can’t wait any more to kiss you. A first, delicate kiss quickly becomes desperate, weeks and weeks of not touching meaning you don’t want a second apart, licking into each other like you’re starving.

“I knew you wanted to fuck me.”

“Shut up and kiss me.” He’s pushing you hard against the kitchen counter with his whole body, it’s almost painful but you don’t care, you love the weight of him, want it to hurt more, his hands running up and down your body like it was just ten minutes ago you were dancing in the club.

“I need you to be silent.” He whispers into your ear and you bite down onto your lip, your cheeks are flushed and you feel like you’re burning between your thighs, nodding desperately at him. “Get upstairs, now.” 

Joel pulls the bedroom door closed and leans back on it, soaking you in. You grin wickedly at each other for a heartbeat before he picks you up and your wrap your legs around his waist, arms around his neck and you’re kissing like your lives depend on it. Fuck this is hot. He lies you down on the bed and takes no time at all in removing your clothes, pulling you black tank top over your head and you unhook your leopard print bra; he takes a moment to take each of your nipples in turn in his mouth before kissing his way down to the small dove tattoo on your ribcage. You curl away from him, giggling as his scruff tickles your skin and he pulls your leggings and thong down over your ankles.

“You need to get naked too.” You whisper hoarsely at him, yanking his soft grey t-shirt over his head and quickly unbuckling his belt for him. You take the opportunity to slip your hands down his pants and feel the weight of him, so hard and desperate for you. Just as it should be.

“Fuck Joel, feels so big.” You run your hand down his length and very gently pulse, feeling the heat pool in you with every movement.

“Gonna have you get you ready for me, do you want that?” He whispers into your ear and you let your thumb circle his already leaking tip  before you lie back down, spreading your legs for him as wide as you can.

“Fucking perfect babygirl, just like I dreamed it.” You stifle another giggle, lift your hips to meet his mouth against your cunt, so sweet and wet and ready for him. You gasp at the contact of him, warm and purposeful against your clit and then deep inside of you, he’s drinking you up and you can feel his enjoyment, rubbing your foot against his boxers and feeling him strain against them.

“Fuck me, you taste like heaven Babygirl.” You’re smiling so much it’s almost hurting, rising your hips up and down in tiny increments as he uses his tongue against your clit to make you moan, slipping a finger into you and curling to find where it makes you buck against him. You want to laugh as you feel the heat building in your core, hands finally able to pull at his hair in the way you’ve been fantasising,  with him now lost between your legs and clearly loving every second by the sounds that are coming out of him. He adds another finger and looks up at your, eyes locked in and so quiet but wicked, “you gonna come for me?”

“Yes, fuck yes, Joel….” You’re trying to be quiet but his tongue is back against your clit and your whole body shudders with pleasure and you have to push your face into your arm not to scream his name as you come. He’s immediately up and kissing you, scruff wet with your release and it’s tastes like sex and heaven all at once. You prop yourself up on your elbows, half dazed.

“I’m on the pill.”

He pulls you up into a sitting position, lets you straddle him and slowly, inch by glorious inch, lower yourself onto his perfect cock. So thick and hard and ready for you.

“That feel good, being full of my cock?”

“Yes Daddy” You catch the light in his eyes as he slaps your ass, “Oh you like that, don’t you, Daddy?” He groans and this might be the most fun you’ve ever had, bouncing on Joel’s dick with your legs wrapped around him and sat in his lap. One of his hands is palming your nipple and the other circling your clit as you nip and suck at his neck, palms flat on his hard chest as you use it to push yourself up and down.

“Gonna make you feel good, gonna make you come again, you going to be a good girl for me?”

“Yes” you pant, “yes please Daddy” he pushes your arms back behind you, so your weight is on them and it’s pulling you so tight around him, allowing him full access to your clit and you can only make the smallest of movements with your hips as he puts all his focus into circling you into oblivion. Your thighs are still draped over his and they begin to shake as you feel another wave of pleasure building and flooding your senses; you feel yourself throb around his dick and burst out with a chime of laughter, it feels too good. His hand is around your mouth in an instant, “Shhs Babygirl, you gotta keep quiet.” But he’s laughing too, drowning in your pleasure as you playfully lick his fingers. He flips you easily, so you’re facing the headboard and holds your hands firmly over your head, pushing your thighs apart with his legs and slamming his dick back into you. Fuck it feels good.

“You feel that, feel how good you’re taking me? Like you were made for me.” You nod your head vigorously; you’re losing the power of speech. Joel has you locked in position with one hand, you arch your back so you can feel every inch of him as he fucks into you, his other hand steady on your hip as he hits just the right angle again and again. A moan escapes that you have no control over, you struggle to keep kneeling for him as your body thrums with pleasure, he’s kissing you and you bite down on his lip as he messily loses his rhythm.

“I’m coming Joel, I’m coming.” You let out a silent cry and feel him losing control, emptying himself in you with a groan so loud he has to push his mouth into your back to try and conceal it. You’re both laughing silently as you collapse together in the bed, hot and soft and entwined.

“I hate to do it… but I don’t have people staying over… Sarah… you know, it can be confusing. Are you ok to get home? I can call you a cab?”

“Oh no it’s fine, no worries. Totally get it.” It stings a little, but it’s not the first time you’ve been kicked out of bed, won’t be the last. He’s pulling on his boxers, dragging a t-shirt over his head. You say, “I’ll drive it’s not too late.”

You contemplate your body for a minute, enjoying the slightly dull ache between your legs where he’s been, the mess of him spilling out of you, think for a moment of all the things you’ve put it through. All the bad hook-ups. How depressing you’re back here again, planning creeping down the stairs like someone’s dirty little secret. At least it’s not a sleeping mother you’re slinking past, that was bad one. You let a little shudder of cold run down your spine. Something had felt different this time but you guess you were wrong. Same, same.

“You ok Babygirl, you’ve gone awful quiet.” You switch on your smile for him, lean in for a quick kiss and feel nothing, blank yourself back into neutral. You will not let this hurt.

“All good. See you Saturday?”

“Ah, Sarah’s got a playdate, so we can’t make it.”

There it is. He’s got what he wanted, and you’ll not be seeing him again.

“See you around then.” And you’ve bolted, clothes half on and keys already in your hands, you’re out the door before he even realises what is happening. You don’t see, but he’s still sat on the bed, mouth half open in shock.

*****

“Joel is here…” Sam hisses at you as your crawl up the stairs to the cafe, head pounding and uncharacteristically half an hour late for your shift.

“Fuck.”

“He’s got fucking flowers. Babe, he saw you get out of that guy’s car through the window. I think he’s angry. Tasha started to cry, I sent her to the restroom to hide her.”

“Fuck.”

“Babe… what did you do?”

“I fucked it up again, didn’t I?”

“You look awful, are you ok?”

“I really don’t know.” You sit down on the top step, staring back down the stairs and contemplating throwing yourself down them and just running home. You’re not even sure where you’ve left your car. Adam brings over a coffee, stands behind you and leans down to stroke your tangled hair.

“You’re a hot mess honey. He’s coming over.”

You can’t look up, can’t bear to see the pitiful state of you reflected in his eyes. He squeezes down next to you on the stairs and sits beside you. He’s too big for the space, feels hot and heavy next to you.

“You’re supposed to be on a playdate.”

“I swapped so Sarah went to theirs. Thought I’d surprise you… Realise now that was a mistake.”

“I told you I’m not good at this.”

“You didn’t even give it a chance? I tried to ring about five times?”

“I thought you were done with me.” A wave of nausea hits you, you put your head between your knees, everything is spinning a bit. It tilts. Did he really say he was done with you? Or did he politely ask you to not confuse his kid and then try and ring you all week… you bolt upright.

“I’ve gotta be sick.”

He’s gone when you eventually emerge from the bathroom, beautiful pink peony’s left on the counter.

*****

Joel hasn’t come into the cafe for two weeks and it’s driving you mad. He hasn’t tried to call and there’s no way in hell you’re ringing him. The text with his address sits there as his last message to you but you won’t give in, won’t text him. What would you say? Sorry I’m a slut? Please don’t hate me? Love me? You shake your head and carry on ferociously slicing lettuce. Your mood has infected the tiny kitchen behind the counter, the team are mute as you storm in the small space. A regular tries to complain that the avocado in their toastie is too brown and you realise too late that you’re waving the large bread knife in their direction as you tell them in no uncertain terms it is FINE. You’re beginning to look slightly unhinged.

“Doll, why don’t you take an early lunch, you look like you’re going to stab someone and I don’t want it to be me.” Adam manoeuvres you away from the prep area, handing you a coffee and points you towards the almost empty cafe. “I’ll make you your halloumi bruschetta, table six is free.”

You huff and puff your way to the table with a scowl seared onto your skin, grabbing a paper from the rack so you can angrily flick through the pages and not absorb a single word. You’re sitting in Joel’s usual seat and find yourself replaying his greatest hits, memories crashing into your mind relentlessly and you push your hands against your eyes to try and squish them out. Your stomach turns cold as you remember the weight of him sat next to you in the too small space on the stairs, a sharp contrast to the heavenly feeling of him carrying you to his bed. ‘Fuck’ you hiss at yourself. You’re pushing your bruschetta listlessly around your plate when you catch sight of Joel out of the window and there is the briefest moment of relief before you make sense of what you’ve seen; he’s with someone else. Someone polished and clean looking, make-up carefully but sparsely applied so her natural beauty shines through with a warmth and comfort you know your face will never, ever give.

“GUYS!” You yelp almost feverishly, your face is pressed against the window, starring down, and the other three run from the kitchen. Tasha is still holding a tea towel and the cup she was drying; they join you at the window.

“No fucking way!” Sam gasps, “They cannot be coming in here? I’ll spit in both their coffees!” You give her arm a rub as a thank you. You can see this woman is trying to come into the shop downstairs, but Joel shakes his head at her and you swear you can detect anxiety in his furrowed brow as he steers her back down the narrow street. He’s not quite leading her by the hand but she’s leaning into him, clearly angling for some contact. He glances back up at the window and grimaces as all four of you wave pointedly at him, heads all tilted to one side. You chew on your lip, defeat aching at you.

“We’re going out this evening, yes?”

“Yes ma’am” the three of them chorus at you.

*****

“You can’t be here, you can’t behave like this?” Joel’s eye bore into you, like he’s questioning who you even are. You’re the fucking idiot that drank half her bodyweight by 8.30pm and got in her car to come and give him a piece of her mind, obviously. You’re stood outside his front door, waving your arms around like the crazed person you are and roundly berating him.

“Who is she? Did you fuck her? Are you fucking her?” You haven’t even considered ‘she’ might be here until that second and you try and peer around him into his hallway. He steps forward to block you out.

“You have no right to ask that. We both know what you’ve been up to.” He sounds exasperated but you feel yourself physically brush off his perfectly reasonable response and the heat in you doesn’t dissipate, you might be a hypocrite but you’re also mad as hell and for these briefest of moments you feel some sort of justification.

“But you… you’re supposed to be obsessed with ME. You want me? Why don’t you want me?” Somewhere within you, under the rush of booze and blood in your veins, you’re aware this isn’t your finest hour but something has snapped and you can’t let it go.

“You’re drunk. You need to go home. Did you drive here?”

“What do you care?” You spit out, you’ll crash the car and then he’ll be sorry. “I’m a big girl, I can look after myself.” Joel rolls his eyes at you.

“Yeah, seems to be working out just fine for you.” The sarcasm is simply dripping from him and you practically hiss at him and turn to storm away, keys in your hand, but Joel is much bigger and quicker than you, whips the keys right out of your hand and yells for Tommy who appears almost instantly. You come to your senses gradually; realising you are making quite the spectacle; Tommy must have been waiting in the wings to see if he could help and it’s then you notice Sarah is hanging by the front window. Her little face is creased with concern. You lose your fight instantly.

“Fuck. I’m…”

“You’re nothing. You’re leaving.” Joel is so angry he’s gone almost completely still, his eyes look wild and furious, a deep frown on that beautiful face. He presses your keys into Tommy’s chest. “Tommy can you drive her home? I’ll pay for your cab back.”

“Sure Joel, come on kid.” You traipse dumbly after him.

*****

You did a stupid thing. You called Joel. It is so unusual for you to phone, ever, he picked up on second ring and you pleaded with him to come over. So you could apologise, so you could make it right again. Sensible enough, if you hadn’t been drinking again with the cafe lot since close at 5pm and it’s now 11.30. You’re barely coherent. Even in this fuzzy state you know it’s a mistake, know you’re making it worse as he’s looking at you crumble in front of him. There’s pity there and it’s making you choke. You dread to think what he’s had to do to have someone look after Sarah at this hour, all so he can rush over and find you broken and desperate.

“Please, please,” you’re begging Joel, spiralling into hysteria, “I just need you to stay. You don’t have to fuck me, you don’t even need to touch me. Just sleep next to me, please.” Great heaving sobs are escaping your chest, it’s both physically painful and excruciatingly humiliating. You feel like a child. You’ve never really cried like this, even as a kid you bottled everything up and pushed the tears down, put on the brave face of the eldest daughter. Sometimes you let a few escape but your self-control won’t ever allow more than a smattering, more pinpricks than actual tears. You don’t know how to handle this madness or make it stop as it’s crashing out of you. You feel almost panicked, more vulnerable than even your Mom has ever seen.

Then before you know it, somehow, rage.

Anger rips through you; you need to feel some power again, need to lash out and hurt him the way you’re hurting. You leap up towards him, slapping at his broad chest and trying to push him to the door.

“Fuck you then, fuck you. Leave, just leave. I don’t want you any more.” You’re screaming at him and any semblance of sanity just got up and left. Joel is remarkably calm, stands stock still and lets you keep going, crying and hitting in a frenzy.

You feel like a wild animal; you just want him to be in physical pain and then maybe, maybe, it will mean you won’t be. You don’t know how long this goes on for before you collapse in a heap on the floor, your arms ache from the exertion and you can’t scream any more. You just ugly cry, cry, cry. Joel quietly goes and gets you a glass of water and a tea towel, gets down on his haunches and meets your narrowed eyes. He goes to touch your shoulder but you flinch from him, snatch the tea towel out of his hands and half-heartedly try and wipe some of the snot from your face.

“Babygirl this isn’t good. It ain’t right.” He’s using a voice you imagine he used when Sarah was a toddler and had thrown an enormous tantrum. You feel so ashamed.

“I bet you wish you’d never met me.” You feel so ugly, right through your soul to the tips of your toes.

“I could never think that. But this is chaos… I want to be with you but I don’t think I can fix this. I need you to want to be with me, to see that this is my real life… Maybe we need a break from each other, maybe you need to be on your own for a bit?”

“I can’t… I can’t… I’m scared to be on my own.” The tears are still uselessly streaming down your face and you try and stem them by placing the flat of your palms over your eyes. “I’m just so tried.”

Joel disappears for a few moments and when he comes back, you let him touch you. You let him pick you up off the floor and carry you to your room, where he’s cleared the bed and remade it quickly, it feels welcoming when he lays you down. You’re so limp and pliant underneath him, feeling almost boneless as he tucks you in. You try and kiss him, little muted, desperate kisses on his face, but he turns from you so you can’t reach him. It physically hurts. You’re crying again, quietly this time, tiny whimpers like a wounded animal.

“Stop.” Hands firm against your face he leans over the bed to you, kneeling on the floor. “Listen to me. I do love you, I do…. But I can’t pretend that this can work like this, Sarah needs stability and I have to give that to her. I gotta be selfish for her. I don’t think I can be the one to piece you back together when you’re falling apart... I need to step back, I can’t be broken and get up in the mornings and fix her breakfast. It hurts Babygirl, but I know this ain’t right.”

He hasn’t said I love you to you before. Lots of boys have; weaponised it or cajoled with it, got their dick wet with it or placated with it, thrown it around without a care like it didn’t mean a thing or begged you with it. Joel doesn’t want anything and you don’t know what to do other than break in half. You hide your face in your pillow, shaking with tears you can’t bear him to see any more.

He stills you with a kiss that feels like a goodbye. “Please take care of yourself.” You hear a distant knock at your front door. “I called Gracie from your phone, I’ll let her in. You stay in bed.”

You can hear them in the hallway, a whispered exchange that might as well be happening in another world.  You so desperately want to be asleep, to block everything out.

“She’s a bit of a mess. Please promise me you’ll stay with her; I don’t want her doing anything stupid.” You can’t hear Gracie’s reply, but you do hear Joel, “Please Gracie, she can’t come to the house again. It’s not fair on Sarah.” Then he’s gone.

When you next wake, Gracie is in the bed with you, watching trash tv and sipping on a hot tea.

“I’m here babe and I’m not going anywhere. I called you in sick to the cafe tomorrow.” You try to say thank you, but the tears are back and she gently strokes your hair and lets you weep.

*****

Joel’s POV  

“Hey Sam, is she here?” Joel had tried to stay away, tried to stop thinking about you, to stop worrying, but it’s been impossible. Seven long weeks since he saw you break down and no word from you, nothing. He’d even gone back to the club on a random Friday night, hoped he’d accidentally run into you. Sat nursing a terrible, cheap whiskey until 1am when he was absolutely certain you weren’t going to sneak up behind him and rest your arms on his shoulders, whispering secrets. He’d thought about messaging Gracie but it felt like checking up on you, so he’d left it. Just sat at home and fretted he’d made a terrible mistake. Made increasingly random plans for Saturday mornings so Sarah wouldn’t ask about going to the cafe or ask about seeing you. Her expectant, disappointed eyes making it hurt all the more. How much she missed seeing you helped make his mind up.

Joel hasn’t seen Denise again, felt stupid for agreeing to go out with her on a date in the first place. He’d been hopeful that she’d take his mind off you, a much more sensible match for a single dad in need of stability, but it only proved him there wasn’t room in his head or heart for anyone else. The pull he has towards you isn’t just physical; he can’t shake the feeling that rather than thinking you need a fixer, you want his understanding and acceptance. A comfort in the chaos.

His chest tightens as he mulls on the possible impact of this confusion on Sarah, the weight of the responsibility he’s been carrying since her beautiful, unexpected arrival seven years ago. Their future has always looked uncertain and scary, he’s constantly living in fear that he’s fucking it up and that he can’t give her everything she deserves. He wants to be Sarah’s anchor, but he also knows life is messy and it might be madness, but he wants you to be part of this tumultuous ride he’s on. You accepted Sarah from the moment you met her, quietly let her into the gang and showed her a purity of love that made his heart hurt. Maybe he can be a little selfish for once - he knows he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life wondering what might have been.  

So, here he is, walking up those same old too small, winding black stairs to the counter of the cafe, searching for your face behind the cake fridge in the tiny open-plan kitchen. Tasha is manning the coffee machine, her miniature frame shrinking from him as he makes his way up the last steps. He’s always felt like he took up too much space here, that he’s awkward against the pretty coffee cups and fancy cakes, it was just you that fastened him to it; the time spent together here always felt stolen and special, like he saw you when you were at your very best. Even the smell of freshly ground coffee reminds him of you now, the sound of the machine bringing him back to so many mornings watching you from table six; as you worked and laughed, flirted and scolded. He really hopes he’s not too late.

Sam shakes her head, looks back at Adam, who appears to have been promoted to chief sandwich maker, as if checking what to say. 

“She left Joel. Like, she quit kinda left. She went back to her Mom’s?” It feels like his stomach just dropped out of his body, a physical sensation that’s so sharp he has to put a palm down onto the cold counter to steady himself.

“Where is that?”

“I’ve got it.” Adam rips off a bit of till paper, copies the address from his phone. “She was talking about maybe going back to school…” Adam trails off, gives him a hard stare but Joel feels like there is a silent understanding there; people who love you really love you, feel fiercely protective however much you let them down.

As if on cue, Tasha blurts out; “She couldn’t keep working here, it reminded her too much of you. And Sarah.” She’s blushing, handing him a black coffee in a takeaway cup. “It’s on us.”

“Thanks guys.” He nods his head, waves the scrap of paper at them before sloping off down the stairs again.

“Don’t be a stranger!” Sam yells after him.

It takes him about an hour to drive to you. Nondescript suburbia, rows of 60’s builds that look identical and suffocating. He knows them well, grew up in something similar, absentmindedly reaches to smooth his hair into submission as if anticipating a telling off.  Maybe he’s going to get one. He’s anxious your Mom is already going to hate him and think he abandoned you when you needed him most. Damn it, that’s certainly how he feels. He’s not sure what his plan is here but he knows he can’t not see you, can’t not make sure you’re ok, has to tell you he needs you just as much as you need him.

He tried to call before he set off but, of course, you didn’t answer.

*****

You hear your Mom opening the front door and letting someone up, so you brace yourself, glancing around your girlhood bedroom and quickly deciding there is nothing to be done with the chaos. You sigh to yourself, knowing your Mom will have been as dishevelled as always and with the ever-present cigarette on the go. You wonder who it could be; Gracie isn’t due back until the weekend. You’re in bed, as you have been for weeks now, crumpled and tired but sober. Boy sober and alcohol sober. A miracle.

Nothing felt right in your old apartment and it’s not ideal here, but you at least feel safe surrounded by your old things and the familiar faces on the fraying posters and pictures of you and your school friends. Before you became jaded, sharp and cynical, spiky edges catching on the boys that you so desperately wanted to need you. There is no simple solution to this; you won’t just wake up one morning open and warm, beckoning a change for the better with wide arms and a song in your heart. But, you are changing. You understand that you can profoundly hurt and in turn, what it feels like to have your very heartbeat broken. You broke it yourself. It was you, you, you.

You have an old purple Lakers t-shirt on, faded and yielding, the kind of comfort you’re seeking right now. The creak on the stairs, you think for a moment it sounds almost like Joel’s footsteps making their way up the cafe stairs, but you must be mistaken. You close your eyes and hope, heat behind your eyes burning and your mouth feels hard and drawn down, with hands cold and clenched together. 

“Babygirl.” You let out a guttural sob as Joel drops down to the edge of the bed and you crawl into his embrace, wrapping your legs around him and he’s got you held so tight against his hard chest and soft tummy. You breath him in, drunk on his smell and heat. He holds you impossibly close, your face buried in his neck as you feel a tear roll down onto his hot skin. He kisses it away. Pulls you so you are eye to eye, breath tangled and no room to hide.

“You left the cafe?”

“ I couldn’t face it. I’ve let everyone down. I fucked everything… everyone.”

“I shouldn’t have left you, I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” You stop him speaking by kissing him almost chastely, before pulling yourself down against his chest and resting your head over his heart, one hand tucked around his broad shoulder and the other linked into his hand. So close, you’re so close, you can’t believe this is real.

“No, I needed to break the cycle. It was all getting too brutal. I couldn’t bear that I hurt you like that…  that I could’ve hurt Sarah… I don’t want to be that girl anymore, the hot mess. Gracie helped me move out, helped get me here.”

“It should’ve been me.” He shakes his head but you only lean closer, squeezing his hand.

“No, you were right… I needed some time on my own, away from everything, ease up on the drink and the boys. I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

“It’s enough now… enough. Sarah and I, we want you back in our lives. We need you.”

You breath hesitantly, anticipating waking up at any moment; “I see you every night in my sleep.”

“Me too Babygirl, me too.”

It feels like a dream, soft around the edges, the usual sharpness of contact melting instead into a haze of warmth and slow, deliberate movements. You don’t think you’ve ever been intimate with anyone without the cushioning of alcohol or weed, but somehow this seems even more unreal. You can feel everything. The numbness that often takes over is replaced with a quiet want. You lay down, let Joel pull himself over you on the bed, slowly kissing you and letting his tongue dance with yours with the gentlest of pressure. You love the weight of him, heavy and strong, pushing  you into the forgiving mattress in a way that is both comforting and burning.

“Let me love you.” He isn’t asking you; he’s telling you.

Gently peeling your clothes from you, it feels almost ceremonial as Joel removes the past and reverentially presses kisses down your body, holding you firm under his touch yet delicate like he’s afraid he might break you. His fingers brush at the inside of your thighs and you open for him, welcoming his mouth against you and disappearing into the honeyed daze of his featherlight lips and tongue exploring you. The silent room is woken with your low moan as the touch makes you gasp, Joel’s movements still so gentle and loving, tiny licks and sucks at your clit making you pulse against him. Your hand is in his hair, savouring the feeling of his almost curls again, lost in the tenderness he’s devouring you with. He looks up at you and when your eyes meet, something changes. The otherworldly atmosphere becomes thick with sex and desire, his slips a finger into you and you find yourself rocking against him hungrily, suddenly much more urgent, much more frantic to chase the pleasure that is now building in you, a knot that’s rapidly coming undone for Joel and Joel alone. His movements go from languid to rushed and eager, his tongue now flat against you and his tilts his head quickly from side to side  and it’s drawing out sweet moans from your open mouth as you tip closer to the edge. He adds another finger and curls against your walls, quickly finding where it makes you start urgently whispering his name and tugging at his hair. It’s never happened this fast before but you’re crashing against his mouth and greedy for him, clenching around his fingers as you feel your whole body flood with heat and bliss.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming.” He’s drinking you up, easing the pressure as he feels you gush so beautifully underneath him. You pull him up for a deep kiss, wanting to taste everything and make sure this is really happening. He shucks off his t-shirt, yanks down his jeans quickly.

“You love me.” You sigh into his beautiful face, those gentle eyes still hazy with desire. You reach for his cock and guide him into you, leg hooked over his hip so you can take him all in, feel the burn of how big and hard he is. Desperate now, hungry kisses as he takes a fistful of your ass and drags you back and forth.

“You love me.” he groans back into your neck, pulling your hands above your head and pining them there as he grinds into you at a relentless pace, all softness forgotten. Pulling almost all the way out and then fucking you hard, he frees one hand to slap you ass before grabbing you to pull you on top, slotting your knees on either side of him and you have your hands on his chest so you can use him as an anchor to roll your hips and feel every inch of him, his hands tight on your waist.

A hand finds it’s way to your jaw and you hold it close against you, his thumb pushing into your mouth and you bite down, it’s all becoming so much, you’re so full of him as you roll back against him quickly and feel a hot, dull throb within you as he uses his wet thumb against your clit. You lean back and lift your hips, let him have full access to you as you moan his name and feel your orgasm build and melt through your body making your arms collapse underneath you. Joel sits up quickly to catch you and lets you sink into your bliss, still rocking against you and kissing your tummy.

Then you are on your back again as he hooks your legs over his shoulder and pushes into you, all rhythm gone as he messily fucks deep into you, and it’s too much and not enough all at once, you both gasp a ‘fuck’ as he comes, pulses into you and he folds onto you, letting your legs drop to the side. A kiss on your forehead before he’s searching into your eyes again, hands brushing the hair out of your face and a hot, messy kiss, all teeth and tongue.

“My girl” he says, kissing the tears from your face, you can feel him still in you and you tighten around him, willing him to stay joined like this forever. In all your suppleness and warmth, in uncomplicated devotion.

“My man.” You sigh and hope, hope, hope you mean it.

Guuuurl 👀

Dieter Bravo X F!Reader-Popping Your Coke Cherry

WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY, Male preforming oral sex on female reader, piv sex, drug use, alcohol consumption, infidelity, overall just lots of chaos.

Authors notes:This is my first fanfic/smut I’ve ever written so please be mindful of that. I still have a lot of work to do on my writing skills.

“Are you almost ready? Jesus fucking Christ you’re not walking the red carpet. It’s a fucking house party.” Your boyfriend Jacob yells from the other room, annoyed that you aren’t ready for the party he told you about an hour ago. You finish the last curl in your hair, slip on your heels and exit the bathroom. “Alright! All ready! How do I look?” You say just excited to be going out for a change. “Looks good. I gotta take a shit.” Jacob says basically shoulder checking you to get to the bathroom.

You arrive at the party around midnight and it seems like things are in full swing. You walk in and are instantly greeted with the smell of weed and cigarettes. They are having a “Hawaii” themed party which basically means a few guys are walking around asking to “get laid” and throwing floral necklaces on drunk girls. You think it’s all so stupid until you finally find the counter with all the booze. This should help. You and Jacob take a few shots together when he tells you he needs to go to the bathroom and to wait there for him. You take a few more shots with some strangers and actually find yourself having fun. So much fun if fact, you don’t even notice it’s been 45 minutes and no sign of Jacob. So you decide to go find him, he’s probably passed out somewhere.

You stumble up the stairs with your heels in your hand. The floor may be gross but you’re smart enough to know not to walk up stairs in heels when you’re 6 . . . no . . .7 shots into the night. You check the bathroom first, a guy is passed out in there but it’s not Jacob. Then you approach a bedroom and stumble into the doorknob getting it open. What you see instantly sobers you up. At least it felt like it did until you got nauseous.

“Oh shit” you say as you stare in horror at a skinny blonde girl riding your boyfriend. They can’t hear you until you yell “FUCK YOU!” And slam the door behind you. “What the fuck? Oh shit!” Jacob yells trying to chase after you. The last thing you want right now is to see him so you quickly hide in a different room closing the door behind you. You press your ear up to the door and hear Jacob yelling for you over the music.

You sit facing the door, using it for support while you start to sob. You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear a man’s voice behind you say “Uh, so is this what you usually do when you think you’re alone?” You whip your head around to find a man wearing a brown bathrobe, messy curls, and a look that tells you he’s just as uncomfortable as you are. He’s seated in a rocking chair with a small table usually used for tv dinners in front of him that has several lines of coke ready to go.

“No not every time. Just the times I catch my boyfriend throwing 3 years down the drain just to fuck the first girl that would let him.” You say trying to calm yourself down enough to not be a total mess. “Ah shit well, sorry bout that. Was she ugly at least?” He asked. “Nope. Well not from what I saw. Skinny. Blonde. Flexible. Seems like he upgraded.” You say trying staring at the floor trying to figure out what you’re supposed to do now. “How flexible? Wait no don’t answer that. Sorry. You seem like a catch. I’m sure you could get any guy you want. Just uh, fish in the sea, find the right one, all that bullshit” He says with a smile that looks like how a warm blanket feels.

“Thanks but I’m not exactly the best fisherman.” You say still sniffling but feeling like you can stand again. You tell him your name and ask his. “Dieter, Uh Dieter Bravo.” He says while rolling up a $100 bill. “Uh, look I don’t know what else to say here so do you just want to do some coke with me instead?” Usually you stuck to alcohol and the occasional blunt, but tonight is a special occasion. You are heartbroken and angry, “Fuck it. How do I do this?” You walk over to him and kneel infront of the table.

“You’ve never done coke?” He says with a laugh. You like his laugh a lot. He’s got a chaotic warmth to him that feels nice to have around right now. “No I tend to stick to bath salts.” You say with a sarcastic smile. “I knew you’d have a nice smile.” He says making you feel a weird heat in your face. “Well first off how drunk are you?” He says seeming slightly serious. “Drunk enough to know I’d like to try coke for the first time in a stranger’s bedroom.” You say. “Well you’re in luck! I’m the master. Watch and learn little girl.” He says right before holding up the rolled money to one of his nostrils and plugging the other with his finger. He leans over the white lines and breathes in quickly and deeply inhaling a singular line. Wiping his nose he says “Just do it quick. Like ripping off a bandaid.”

He hands you the rolled money and you follow his advice. Quick and deep you inhale your first line of coke. “Alright! There you fuckin go!” Seeming so proud of you he pats you on the back while you wipe your nose. Instantly you feel a rush of adrenaline. You feel like you could take on the world. Concur anything and everything you’ve ever wanted to. “JESUS CHRIST! That’s fuckin nice. Wow.” You say with a big smile. “Well I’m glad I could pop your cocaine cherry. You took it like a champ.”

You both sit and talk for hours, doing shots and lines of coke. Making plans for the next day that you both knew you’d never follow up on. You look at the clock and see 4am on the clock. “Oh shit. I wonder where Jacob went. Probably left with Malibu bitch. Guess I’m gonna be ubering home tonight. I’m sure the owner probably doesn’t want us sleeping off our hangovers here.” You say standing up and fixing your dress.

He grabs your wrist and pulls you gently down onto his lap. “Ah I won’t mind sweetheart.” He says placing his hand on your thigh. “Oh you own this place? Damn it’s huge.” You say looking around the room that you’re just now realizing seems rather fancy. “Yeah I get that a lot” he chuckles. “But yeah I own the place. You could say the out of work acting business seems to pay off when you’ve had a few big movies.”

“Can I do one more line just for fun?” You ask looking down into his eyes and smiling. “Tell you what. I’ll give you one more line if you’ll let me do a line off you.” He whispers in your ear wrapping his arm around your waist and kissing your neck softly. “mmm deal.” You say feeling utterly euphoric. He lines up one more and you take it up your nose like you’d been doing coke your whole life. “Oof ok. Where were you thinking on my body?” You ask.

He stands up and picks you up, wrapping your legs around him, you both fall into the bed with him landing on top of you. “Hmm, where to pick where to pick.” He says with a smirk. “How about on your thigh?” He breathily asks, pinching your nipples through the thin fabric of your dress. “Wherever you want baby.” You say with a moan.

He crosses the room to grab the coke. “Oh and take off your underwear.” He says without hesitation. You eagerly slip off the lacy thong you were wearing taking notice of how wet you are right now. “Stay still ok babygirl?” You let out an agreeing moan. He lines up the coke on your inner thigh and quickly snorts it. Without any time to think he plants his mouth on your clit and starts sucking. He laps at you as if you were his first drink of water in a week. Hungrily he growls into your core. Working at your clit with light pulsating suction, he slips his finger in your cunt bringing you to your breaking point. You look down to realize he is staring at you. “Fuck you taste so good. Is this how you like it baby? Is this how you like having your sweet pussy eaten out?” He slips in another finger doing “come here” motion with them. “Fuck! Yes! Oh my god yes!” You are at the edge of an orgasm and your body is practically begging for release. “Oh you’re so pretty when you’re about to cum. Don’t stop now baby.” He says before dipping his head down to completely consume you. Licking and sucking at your clit while continuing to finger you, your body has finally had enough. Your orgasm floods all your senses. Making you writhe and scream out his name.

When you’ve finished riding through your orgasm, he comes up to meet your face. You sloppily make out, tasting yourself on him is just making all you previous tension build back up. “Fuck I want you in me right now.” You moan out while he sucks on your neck. Without missing a beat he flips you onto your stomach and pulls your ass up to meet his hips. You hear his robe hit the ground and feel his tip at your entrance. “Tell me how much you want it baby.” He says with a smirk in his voice. “Fuck please just fuck the shit out of me right now.” You plead. You’re almost embarrassed to find yourself so willing to beg but you tell yourself it’s the drugs and alcohol. “That’s all i need to hear.” He slowly enters you. Waiting for your body to adjust to him before moving in more. He’s way bigger than you’re used to. When he finally bottoms out it feels like he’s in your stomach. A twinge of pain shoots through you when he fully pulls out and slams back into your cunt. It’s quickly replaced with sheer pleasure when he picks up the pace, gripping his hand on the headboard he starts pounding into you. He fills you up completely with each thrust. His hips pumping fast and steady.

“Shit babygirl. You’re so fucking tight. It’s been a long time since someone fucked the attitude out of ya hasn’t it?” He says in an almost growl. Hitting your G-Spot with every thrust has you ready to cum again and he knows it. “Come on baby. Cum on daddy’s cock. I want to feel just how tight you get.” With those simple words you are cumming again. Completely overstimulated and practically spasming. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum too now. Oh fuck. Yeah milk this fucking cock baby.” With a few harsh thrusts he’s cumming deep in your pussy. When he’s finished you both lie there for a few minutes before he speaks up. “Hey uh, so do I need to go get a plan B or something? I can send my assistant out for it.”

You laugh and say “nah you’re good. I’m on the pill.” “Oh. Thank god.” He says before getting up and offering you a shirt to sleep in. He climbs back into bed and you both instantly drift off to sleep.

Finally got around to reading this, no wonder it kept showing up constantly scrolling through Tumblr 🥵🥵🥵

a lesson in condom sense | dbf!j.m. x f!reader

pairing: dbf!joel miller x sex shop employee!reader summary: [no outbreak] the last customer you expect to be waltzing into your secret day job is your dad's best friend. you can only fight the tension between you two for so long before giving in. warnings: (18+ mdni) what it says on the can: reader works at an adult store, many sex toys referenced (& used!), age gap (mid 20s/early 50s) brief mention of prostitution, don't follow reader's example, joel buys a fleshlight, joel fantasizes about you, brief mention of bondage, mostly pwp, reader humps a chair + gets caught doing it, mild exhibitionism, 'just the tip' that leads into unprotected piv, creampie, oral (f!receiving), vaginal fingering, joel uses a vibrator on reader, degradation, praise, soft dom!joel, pet names, aftercare [no use of y/n] word count: 6.5k a/n: condom sense is, in fact, a real sex shop that exists and serves the DFW metro area, so not exactly austin, but the name was too perfect not to pretend. unlike these two, please favor condom sense and wrap it up. dbf sex shop joel won the poll for my next wip, but expect coach!joel pt. 2 to be right around the corner. this isn't proofread yet but i don't think anything is too fucked up, i'll take a much better look later, promise.

Admittedly, working at a sex shop isn’t the highest point in your life, but it certainly isn’t the lowest, either. The 40% off employee discount does soften the blow of lying through your teeth at cookouts. Saying you’re working at Walmart while trying to navigate a competitive job market goes over better than saying you work at Condom Sense.

All things considered, it’s not the worst place you’ve worked. Your manager, a 60-year-old stuck in the 70s named Sally, is much more lenient than your past bosses. You get to recommend toys to the girls that come through, and you also get the satisfaction of them coming back to sing your praises. Condom Sense never would’ve been your first choice of work right out of college, but now you almost mourn the day you’ll have to leave.

Thumbing through an old issue of Cosmopolitan, your bubblegum is beginning to lose its flavor. The tinny noise of Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” purrs out of the ancient radio sitting alongside tentacle dildos. It’s still a little weird to have a constant audience of whips, handcuffs, vibrators, fleshlights, and everything in between, but since your bedside drawer has gotten fuller with every shift you take, you really can’t judge anything stocked here.

The later shifts are normally slower, especially this close to 11:00. Sometimes there’s a gaggle of prostitutes outside of the door, dressed skimpily no matter how biting the rare Texas cold is, but that isn’t the case tonight – you’re the only one here, feet kicked up on a pink stool.

As if the world has it out for you, the rust-eaten bell lets out a metallic jingle, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the thought of having to put your Cosmopolitan away. Who the hell comes into a sex shop twenty minutes before close? Someone whose vibrator gave out on them, someone who needs lube, or both.

“Welcome to Condom Sense,” you put on your customer service voice, reluctantly bouncing off of the stool. You flip your magazine shut and toss it onto the counter, breaking into a crouch to finally make yourself useful by restocking the condom display. “Let me know if you need anything.”

A small grunt comes in response, and then some heavy footsteps carry through the store. Great, even better, you think to yourself, it’s a man.

The crowd that’s attracted to Condom Sense is mostly college-aged or middle-aged women, not with too much wiggle room in between. It’s Texas, after all, where ownership of more than six dildos is “prohibited”. Sometimes there’s a stray overeager boyfriend or creep with a receding hairline, but normally Sally is right around the corner to tell anyone out of line to scram, waving around a broom as if trying to fend off a stray dog. That’s not the case tonight.

You hold your breath and keep putting boxes of Trojans into the glass display case. Whoever’s in here is quiet, at least, not the type to ask for help or make too much of a ruckus with knocking shelving units over. Hopefully you can get him checked out quickly so you can close up and head home.

You stay like that for five minutes, sorting through boxes and marking stock until a throat clears in front of the counter.

Jolting up, you smooth out the wrinkles in your clothes, fiddling with your nametag. “Hi, yes, you all seeeee-”

Who the hell comes into a sex shop twenty minutes before close? Apparently Joel Miller does. You know, your dad’s best friend.

Maybe it’s because you’re surrounded by phallic dildos, maybe it’s because you’re goddamn stupid, but Mr. Miller, who seems to be fresh off of a worksite, looks good. Even though there’s an unmistakable surprise stricken across his brown eyes and a splotch of dirt on the slice of neck above his flannel collar, his hair is mussed perfectly, his scruff tamed along his jawline. Your eyes flash down to what he’s holding: a fleshlight.

You hate how quickly your mouth goes dry at the thought of Joel himself thrusting desperately into the dumb toy, and worse is the thought of him using your cunt to get off instead. You’re quick to remind yourself. Off. Limits. First of all, you don’t fuck customers. And you definitely don’t fuck customers that are your dad’s best friend.

Joel’s fist tightens around the box as if trying to obscure what you already know. His face is redder than you’ve ever seen it, cheeks like apples. In the end, it’s him who speaks first. “This ain’t a Walmart, hun.”

Your face heats up, and you shrug. “Pays well.”

“Can’t blame ya there,” he nods along. “‘S been a while. You alright?”

“I mean, I work at a store called Condom Sense. What do you figure?”

“C’mon now, can’t be that bad,” Joel grins at you.

“It isn’t,” you concede. You look him up and down again, trying really hard not to spend too much time on the toy in his hand. “Long day… contracting?”

Joel lets out a long, winded sigh through his teeth. “Yeah… my guys fucked up our concrete job. Had us there two hours longer than we were s’posed to be. Probably gonna be another long one tomorrow.” He runs a hand back through his already disheveled hair, his nose flaring. “Not your problem though, sweetness.” His eyes flick over you, over the counter and the neon signs behind you. “Your daddy know you work here?”

You freeze, eyes widening. “He’d have a cow, Joel. And if you think you’re about to hold this over my head or somethin-”

“Woah, woah, now when did I ever say any ‘a that? That’s none of my business, hun. You’re an adult, as long as you're gettin’ paid and you’re comfortable? I don’t see the issue.”

You nod, heart slowing to a steadier pace, or at least as steady of a pace as it can manage with Joel standing on the other side of the counter holding a fleshlight. “So, uh, relaxing night in or…?” You swallow hard. Professionalism, you remind yourself.

Joel laughs, an almost nervous sound as he rubs the back of his neck. “Just… a bit dry lately, I guess.”

“First time buying?” you ask with a raised brow.

“That obvious?” He slowly slides the box across the counter to you, and you inspect it under the fluorescents.

You hum under your breath, tilting the box away from you to get a better look. “Not a bad first choice. I’ve heard good things. Since it’s your first time, are you more of a spit-in-your-hand kind of guy, or do you have some massage oil or lube?”

Joel stares at you, almost sputtering as his lips try to form words. “What?”

You shake your head, veins suddenly iced over. “Shit, sorry, I shouldn’t be asking-”

“No, no, not a problem, sweetheart. It’s your job. Just… don’t expect to be hearin’... that from you.” He chuckles, but it sounds strangled. “I… normally spit. ‘S faster.”

Joel, desperately shucking off his belt and pants, pulling his hardened cock out, spitting into his hand so he can wrap his fist around himself. That first groan of pleasure he lets out, hand moving up, down, up, down. He treasures his alone time so much that he has to be the type to savor it– but you can’t think that far. Your tongue darts out to swipe along your lower lip, and you swear Joel tracks the movement. Your chest is tied up in knots.

“Well, you’re gonna want a heating massage oil. Moves it along easier, feels realer, y’know?” You reach across the counter and pluck a blue bottle from the display. “This is our bestseller.” Mustering up the most casual smile you can give him without wincing, you tap your fingers along the countertop.

Joel looks between you and the bottle, gnawing nervously at the inside of his cheek. “Thanks, hun. That’ll be it, then.”

You ring him up, sinking the fleshlight, the oil, and a complimentary toy cleaner deep into a bag that says THANK YOU four times along the side. The printer buzzes as it spits out his receipt, and you hand it all to him. He gives you a nod, casual, simple. You could keep it that way, a tiny interaction isolated to the four walls of Condom Sense, but you feel the words knocking at the backs of your teeth.

You’re saying them before you can second guess them: “Enjoy yourself, Joel.”

He makes eye contact for what must be the first time that night, eyes murky with something that, if you were more gullible, could come across as want. “I will, sweetheart.” Joel nods, wrapping a large hand around the bag. You don’t watch him leave, but you do hear the ring of the doorbell as the door knocks shut. It’s not enough to distract yourself from thinking of what his moans sound like.

Joel sweats like a whore in church the next time your dad calls him. He practically is one when he thinks about what it’d be like to be inside of the divinity of your body, a rosary of sweat collecting on his neck. He’d say every prayer if it meant he got to keep thinking of you like that – feels realer, a spit-in-your-hand kind of guy, enjoy yourself. Enjoy yourself. Enjoy yourself.

It’s shameful, the way he thinks of you, the daughter of the man he considers his best friend. But he can’t make himself stop. Every time he pulls the fleshlight out of his drawer, you appear in his head. Sometimes you’re bent over the counter, whining as he rolls his hips into yours. Sometimes he rucks up those fucking skirts you wear to shove his face between your thighs, lets you soak his face as you pull his hair. Sometimes you’re riding him, moving how he shifts the fleshlight over his leaking cock.

Every time, regardless of what he imagines, he shakes himself loose in post-orgasm bliss, guilt chewing at his stomach. Every time he passes Condom Sense on the way to a job, he wonders if you’re working. What’s a respectable amount of time to stop in for a second sex toy purchase? Joel wouldn't know, and he doesn’t want to be selfish. Money doesn’t grow on trees, unlike his arousal. The fleshlight is already miles better than his own hand, and he worries what he might say if he sees you bouncing around, say, restocking dildos.

He manages to keep his self control. He doesn’t get on his knees and confess his sins to your dad on the phone, or when they run into each other at home depot. By some miracle, he doesn’t get any further than flicking his turn signal before immediately turning it off when he passes Condom Sense.

And then he has the dream.

It’s his day off, a Sunday, and he wakes up to his dick softening and his cum drying on his abdomen and all of the hair spattered there. There’s traces of the dream in reach, tugging on the harness he’d tied around your body to pull you back on his cock.

This time, he can’t shake himself loose.

He’s standing in Condom Sense by ten in the morning, running his hands down his sides and feeling oddly exposed, as if every camera or wandering employee can see the shame painted on his skin much like his cum had been. He hopes you’re not here; he’s not sure he can handle it, but he is sure of the arousal that would brim in his lower belly at the mere sight of you. It’s bad news – everything about this is bad news.

You’re bad for Joel, and you have been ever since he saw you for the first time after your college graduation, partying in your old man’s living room. Four shots deep and a feather boa around your neck, wearing a low-cut top as you scream-sung Dolly Parton into the busted karaoke machine from your childhood. That was the first time he ever saw you as anything more than your dad’s little girl. It should’ve been the last, too.

Joel takes a relieved breath when there’s no immediate sign of you in the store, but you very well could be squatting behind the counter like last time. There's a woman in a pink polo shirt with bangle bracelets standing over by the wall of ropes, reorganizing and sucking on her teeth. 

He doesn’t even know what he’s here for – he’s chasing something he can’t have, or at least a semblance of it. The obvious choice is the restraints from his dream, but he has nobody to put them on, no skin to feather with kisses as he pulls them secure. Another fleshlight would be greedy.

And then he hears it. The unmistakable sound of your voice, a shockwave to his chest. He slips behind a display, almost ready to make a beeline for the door when you say, “We restocked the wands.” Joel glimpses you through the grid of butt plugs he’s hiding behind, where you’re waving around a rectangular white box. “You were asking for recommendations, right? Well, this one’s a trooper.”

“That so?” your co-worker clicks. “Might be too intense for me. You’re known to be an overachiever.”

“No shame in a little overstimulation,” you shrug.

Joel slams a fist on his chest to stop himself from hacking out a surprised cough. His thighs go hot, a warmth that spreads between them and tightens his pants as he thinks about you with a wand to your glossy clit, hips squirming for more and less all the same.

“Yeah, for you. I’d be bawlin’ into my pillow in two minutes.”

“It’s my favorite! Only just gave out on me yesterday… had her for years, though. My old faithful. Have to say, it’s a little rough waiting for my next paycheck. Nothing else does it for me. Feels fucking incredible.”

Joel walks out. Not because he wants to, but because if he doesn’t, he won’t be able to stop himself from spending almost a hundred dollars on that wand and handing it to you in broad daylight. It occurs to him on the uncomfortable drive home, hard and throbbing between his legs, that he wants to be the source of your pleasure, to make you feel good.

It’s a damning thought for a man like him, but not damning enough.

Pent up is one way to describe the way you’re feeling.

After the unfortunate passing of your trustworthy wand, your fingers nor the rest of your collection of comparably wimpy toys, have been able to do the trick for you. And the worst part of it all? Your paycheck is still three days away.

You’d like to say not getting off in four days is the source of all of your arousal, but you’re not a liar. At least, not to yourself, because you wouldn’t stand at the podium and confess your nastiest Joel-centered fantasies to his face. It’d been bearable when it was only him fucking the fleshlight taped to the backs of your eyelids. You blame it on the pervy part of yourself that’s always rubbed her thighs together from watching a man get himself off. It’s no longer bearable when you start envisioning him moaning your name while he rocks his hips into the toy, chasing his release.

No, it’s not bearable at all.

Sitting behind the same counter you’d checked him out at makes it worse, roughly the same hour of the night that he’d popped in the other day. You keep thinking of how he looked at you, first caught like a deer in headlights, then almost shy, a word you’d never once use to describe the man you’d come to know as your dad’s best friend.

An even more pervy part of yourself, the same one that hopes he thinks of fucking you when he fucks his recent purchase, slowly rolls her hips into the stool. It’s imperceptible, not something that has a chance of being picked up by the camera. You grind your clothed, needy pussy onto the pink vinyl cover, smothering a whimper into your fist. The seam of your shorts catches on your clit, snuggled between your folds. Your arousal clings to the gusset of your drenched panties. Pleasure spools in your stomach, winding around your cunt and spine. 

You curl in on yourself, burying your head into your folded arms and panting as you grind on the stool. You let yourself pretend it’s Joel’s lap; the mound-like shape of the foam beneath isn’t at all close to what Joel’s bulge must feel like, but with every press of your hips, it matters less and less.

The taboo of it all, knowing you’ll have to go into the security system and delete the footage once you’re done soaking the vinyl, being in view of the unlocked door, is doing just as much for you as your vibrator back home would. So much so that with your head tipped low, your eyes squeezed shut, and your hips canting back and forth, you don’t even notice the rusted rasp of the bell above the door.

You don’t notice a damn thing until a strangled sound comes from the front of the store.

Your head snaps up so fast that you go toppling off of the back of the chair, just barely able to catch and prop yourself up on a shelf behind the counter. An embarrassed cough knocks its way out of your gut. Too taboo. You’re still panting when you’re stricken by a passing thought: you’re definitely going to lose your job, the last one this part of Austin seemed to have to offer. Shit.

Your dignity on the other hand is long gone, somewhere in the smear of arousal you left on the stool. “Sorry – fuck! I’m sorry,” you blurt out in a last-ditch effort to keep your job, fingers crossed that it’s someone who understands or at least doesn’t care.

When you look up, you get none of that. For the second time this week, you get Joel Miller. Joel Miller with his messed up hair and work-worn hands, slack jaw and rapid blinking.

You must be matching his expression now, mouth opening and closing with your eyes widened in the ultimate form of disbelief. Your head bows and your chin meets your chest. Apparently it wasn’t enough for your dad’s best friend to buy a fleshlight from you. He also had to find you getting off in public. 

“Joel, shit, I’m so sorry,” you start, planting the heels of your palms on your temples. Your legs feel weak, a death sentence with your sluggish, blistering heartbeat. Joel’s silence bears down on you, an inescapable weight, and you’re talking before you can stop yourself. “I– I’ve just been so pent up…” Cheeks burning from the inside out, you scrub your hands from your forehead to your chin.

“Shut up,” Joel says stiffly. A wince cleaves its way out of your body.

Another apology sits on your tongue. “I’m s-”

He cuts in, “Knock it off,” and that’s when your eyes drift lower. Below his belt buckle, but not much further. How could you look any lower when his cock is rock fucking hard in his jeans, fighting against the denim? You whimper, unable to stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together. “Jesus, are you in fuckin’ heat?” Joel snaps.

It doesn’t achieve the desired effect – you just let out another whimper, your arousal still clinging to your thighs. “Joel, please.”

Joel pinches his nose bridge. He shakes his head, dissolving into a muttered swear under his breath. “No, hun. Not gonna end up balls deep in my buddy’s little girl, even if you beg real pretty for me.”

“Why not,” you practically whine, pushing off of the shelf and walking closer to him. He only folds his arms over his broad chest as if to keep you away.

His voice is strained. “Baby–” Your heart flutters. “Can’t do that to your dad. You’re just houndin’ after a poundin’, ain’t ya?”

“I am,” you huff, brain clouded by the arousal that’s currently casting a shadow through all of your being. “Please, I haven’t come in days.”

Joel hisses at that like he’s in pain. He shakes his head again, much faster. There’s a line of remorse pressed between his brows, but it’s far overpowered by the pressure of his cock pulling his jeans taut. “Your little ‘massager’ quit on you, sweetheart?”

You bite your lip. Right on the money. “How’d you know?”

“Came in for… somethin’... the other day. Heard you fussin’ about it to your co-worker.” He shrugs.

You’re burning up, a match struck against the gritty concrete of Joel’s voice. It doesn’t matter that he’s a customer, doesn’t even matter that he’s buddies with your dad. You just want him to replace your aimlessly working fingers at night. You want release, and you want it with him. Begging won’t get you there with Joel, you’re realizing, even if all you want is to get on your knees and cry for his cock. You need to rile him up until he breaks. “Needed another pocket pussy to put your dick in?” you tease.

“Watch yourself,” Joel says. “You really that cock starved, darlin’, that you’d beg your daddy’s friend to stick it to ya?”

“You’re one to talk,” you smirk. “What is it you said? A bit dry lately, right?”

“I clearly got more self control than you, hun.”

You say, “Nah.” Your smirk widens, and you take another dangerous step towards him. “You’re hard as a rock, Joel Miller. Bet you were thinking about sticking it to me all along. That’s why you came back, huh? Get another glimpse of me for your spank ban-”

Joel seals the distance between you two, fist going to curl up around your jaw and squeezing. Your mouth pops open, a choked whimper dislodging from your lips. “You got batteries behind that register?” He asks, voice stern. His eyes are all pupil, plunged into black. You struggle to nod in his grasp. “Grab ‘em.”

He leaves you standing in front of the door, buzzing with nervous energy as he walks towards the vibrator section. Your stomach does what feels like ten cartwheels in a row. You lean over to the door, flipping the sign to closed and drawing the curtain shut before practically jogging to the batteries.

You grab the type your beloved wand takes, not even concerned with cashing him out before he’s in front of you again, slicing into the box with his truck keys. You slide the batteries over, and he’s peeling apart the plastic to expose your favorite pink wand, armed with six different settings that never fail to make you come. You only notice you’re rubbing your thighs together again when he gives you a sharp look while he’s popping the batteries into the proper compartment.

He pats the counter. “Up.” You hop up, maybe too eager, your eyes big and needy. Joel grabs you by the shoulder and leans you back, starting to work on the button of your jeans. “This is how this is gonna go,” he says, voice hardened with an order. “You want me to stop, say so. I’m gonna put this wand on your achy little clit, gonna make you feel better, because you ain’t slutty enough to be humpin’ a chair.” You nod so fast that you’re surprised your head doesn’t fall off. “Not gonna give you my cock, got it?”

“G-got it,” you get out shakily. He taps your hip, and you arch off of the counter so that he can yank your jeans and panties down, leaving you spread out and exposed.

 Joel spreads you with his pointer and middle finger. “Shoot, baby, you poor thing.” He runs a thumb through your seam, thumb coming up sticky with your wetness. “Drippin’ like a faucet.” He brings his thumb up to the corner of your lips, and you greedily take it into your mouth, tasting your musk off of his callouses.

“That’s it, suck it like a good slut,” he coaxes as you run your tongue along his skin. He pulls away with a pop and weighs the wand in his hand. Flicking one of the buttons with his freshly-sucked thumb, the toy whirrs to life and thrums in his large hand.

You squirm below him and his intense gaze, gripping the edge of the counter for any semblance of purchase you can get. Without warning, he places the toy down onto your clit. Your vision crackles black at the edges as you cry out. You writhe underneath him, hips helplessly bucking. Joel laughs, the bastard that he is, and rolls it along your sensitive nub. It moves freely with the help of your wetness, and even on the lowest setting, it’s more than you thought it would be.

It helps that Joel’s the one using it on you, knowing just went to add extra pressure and lift up, and it also helps that you’ve been untouched by even yourself for the majority of the last week. You push your palms down on the counter and desperately grind your hips against the wand’s head. Your head lolls back, the neon signs on the wall behind you shining on your sweat-slick skin. 

Joel flicks between two of the settings, a constant push and pull between low and a little higher, the sort of sensation that has your stomach stirring. “That feel good, hun? Better than rubbin’ this needy pussy on that stool, I bet.” You let out a pitchy sound of half-disagreement, half-pleasure in response, managing to push yourself up on shaking elbows to get a good look at him. He’s still hard, if not more than he’d already been, rolling the wand in easy motions against you. “Shh, it’s okay, baby. Not a bad thing that you only think with your cunt. ‘S cute,” he coos at you. His words make you gush.

“M-more,” you rasp, hips stuttering. You crave more, more of him, even though he’s already denied you that much. There’s a supernova of need flaring inside of you, enough to crack your lips into a ragged moan. Your cunt tightens, squeezing out more of your arousal. You crave him inside of you, buried deep and rolling his hips into you. “Joel, I need – need your cock.”

He turns it up, notches it to a faster pace that engraves pleasure onto your swollen clit. “No you fuckin’ don’t. Quit your mealy mouthin’ and take what I give you. You were ‘bout to spray your whore cum all over that chair, this should be more than enough.” Joel punctuates his sentences with hard jabs of the wand against you, drawing pathetic moans from your chest.

“J-J-Joel! Fuck!”

“J-J-Joel,” he mocks above you, shaking his head. His dark hair flops around with the movements and his tongue sneaks out to lick his lips while he watches you quiver below. “Yeah, you’re in heat alright.” Joel’s hand goes to the hem of your shirt and yanks it up, and your trembling hands help him lower the cups of your bra so he can grab and knead your tits.

His thumb circles your nipple when he turns it up to the highest setting, the one that makes your clit go numb and your back arch. You hardly have time to choke out, “Cl-close!” before Joel rubs the wand just right.

As your orgasm soars through you, you can hear him saying Attagirl, give it to me, so pretty when you come through the veil of your hearing’s fuzziness. You whimper, still rolling your hips as your fingers clamp around his over your tit, and he rubs circles into your palm while you ride it out. “That’s it,” he says when you come down fully, starting to shiver away from the pressure of the vibrator. He lowers it until it stalls in his hand and sets it down on the packaging.

“Good?” he asks, reaching up to stroke your cheek.

“Good,” you nod with a tiny little sigh.

You manage to haul yourself up fully onto your elbows, thighs still trembling. When you look him up and down, you notice two things: there’s the tiny etching of guilt in his eyes, but his cock is definitely still hard. Joel breathes out your name when you reach for him, cupping his sizable bulge through his pants. He hisses. “Can’t be doin’ that, baby.”

“Why?” you ask, lips contorted into a pout. “Because you’re scared you’ll bend me over and fuck me?” You feel his cock twitch under your hand. His resolve is breaking, and you’re loving it. “Just the tip, Joel.”

He winces from your words, but he looks at you, right down to your still-dripping cunt where your release trickles down your inner thighs and your seam. When you spread yourself out for him like he had done and run your finger tip along your opening, that seems to be the last straw. Joel curses under his breath and g0es to make quick work of undoing his belt with one hand, his other still holding yours. “Ju– just the tip,” he reiterates, voice stony. 

Joel pulls himself free, groaning when his cock springs up. A noise of surprise catches in your throat when you see him in full. He’s even bigger than he looked in his jeans – which you had no idea was possible. “Don’t worry, darlin’. Just gonna give you the tip, remember?”

“Yeah,” you exhale on a shaky breath.

Despite his insistence, he still reaches out for the condom display next to you, already popping a box open. You grab his wrist urgently, shaking your head. “Don’t need one. Want – want you like this.”

“We shouldn’t,” he says, still holding the box. “I mean, hun, this joint is literally called Condom Sense. Oughta have some, shouldn’t we?”

“Don’t care.” You gather some of your cum on your fingertips, wrapping them around his head so you can brush over his slit. His hips jump, a dead giveaway to what his answer will be.

He grunts, tossing the box somewhere off to the side. “You protected? Clean?” You nod, victorious. “Alright,” Joel sighs. Apparently coming all over his vibrator isn’t enough, because Joel bends over the counter and dips his head to press his lips against your clit, kissing before he sucks gently on it. You yelp, but quickly feel that heat returning and sparking in your core. He licks at your entrance, swirling his tongue around. “Taste fuckin’ delicious, baby.” You have a feeling he isn’t prepping you for the tip anymore, even more so when he pulls back to feed your cunt two of his fingers.

You whine, desperately rolling your hips down against his thick fingers, fucking yourself down on him as he opens you up properly. He curls his fingers, rubbing that spongy spot inside of you. Your stomach twitches. “That it?”

“Mhm,” you whine, and he starts thrusting his fingers in and out of you, always sure to brush your g-spot. The heel of his palm slaps against your clit and you whine, looking at where his fingers fuck into you. It’s an obscene view, his knuckles drenched in your juices while you clench down around him.

“Good girl,” he sighs when he finally pulls his fingers from you. He gets a good grip on his cock, rubbing the head through your slippery, sensitive folds. He coats it in your arousal before notching it at your opening. When he pushes in, he stays true to his word so far, but the tip is enough to make the room spin all over again. You squeeze down on him and he groans a rough, “Fuck. So goddamn tight.”

His words make you clench again, and his head tips to meet your shoulder blade, body poised at an awkward angle while he fights to stay at least partially outside of you. “Didn’t expect you to feel this fuckin’ good, sweetheart. So fuckin’... good.” He gives you shallow thrusts with the tip, just barely enough to slip in and out of you. His teeth sink into your shoulder as if trying to keep himself quiet, trying to steel himself into remembering who he’s on top of and who he just made come. 

“Joel,” you whine, carding a hand through his hair and tugging lightly until he brings his eyes on you. “Fuck me.”

For once that night, it’s enough. With his eyes on you, he eases into you, groaning with every inch he gives you until he’s bottomed out in your cunt. With all of Joel’s prepping, there’s no pain, only the fullness of what it’s like to throb around him, to leak down his cock. Your fist tightens in his hair when he pulls out of you only to slam back into you. You look down where his body almost covers yours, and through your silhouettes, you can see the stretch of your arousal sticking to his happy trail, stretching between your skin. The room does spin, now, a blur of pink and pleasure.

Joel says, nipping at your ear, “This what you wanted? Wanted me to stretch you out, make you take my cock like the whore you are?” He rolls his hips into yours and effortlessly finds your g-spot like before. Your legs scramble for purchase, wrapping around his waist and pulling him flush against you. His happy trail, spattered with your arousal, rubs against your clit. You grind your hips down, dig your nails into his biceps, desperate to meet his thrusts. When you don’t respond, he pinches your nipple, and your legs wind even tighter around him in surprise.

“Yes! Wanted it – wanted it when you first walked in, fuck,” you whine.

Joel smirks into the place between your shoulder and neck, kissing up the expanse of your skin. “Horny little girl. Bet you went home so excited to put that wand on your pretty clit, only to find out it quit on ya.” You can only moan, boneless and foggy underneath him as he rocks his hips into you. “Fucked my fleshlight thinkin’ of you, but I bet you already knew that, didn’t you? Wanted to bounce you on my cock so bad. Fuckin’ choking me like I knew you would.”

“Fuck me like you fucked it, then,” you say in a rush, your whimpers still poking through your sentences. “H-hard, Joel, want it rough.”

Joel grunts, twitching inside of you from your request. “Shit, can’t say no to ya. Gotta have… gotta have a goddamn death wish or somethin’, baby.” With that, he finds a punishing, ravenous pace, the filthy noises of his body slapping against yours filling the store from wall to wall. He grins. “But you like it, dirty girl. Can feel ya gettin’ close. C’mon, gimme another, baby.”

You come with a cry, soaking his cock, eyes watering from relief while you grip him. Warmth seeps into your bones and turns your brain to mush, electric from dopamine. You go limp on the ledge while he continues fucking into you, voice filling your ears, “That’s it, that’s my girl, fuuuuck, way better than that fleshlight. Shoulda bent you over the counter and fucked you that first night.” You moan at the thought, pussy still clenching his cock. 

You’re too busy coming to notice him reaching to the side, retrieving the long-forgotten wand. You could scream when he touches it to your clit again on the medium setting, and then your thighs are shaking around him even stronger and you’re coming for the third time that night, launched from one orgasm straight into another with Joel hovering over you, still fucking into you. “Fuck, again?” he asks, voice layered with disbelief. “Such a messy pussy, baby. Drippin’ down my thighs. Gonna make it even messier, pump you full ‘a my cum, sweet girl.”

Your vision whites, palms slapping on the counter before he wraps his hand back in yours like before to ground you. You squeeze his hand and moan in response. He turns the vibrator back to low and keeps rolling his hips into you. “Close, baby, gonna shoot this load up your pretty pussy.” Joel’s forehead drops to the counter, still mouthing at your neck when you feel him jerk inside of you. You feel the warmth of his cum spill into you while you still flutter around him, his debauched moans filling your ear as he empties himself into your cunt.

Both of you are breathing heavily by the time he pulls away from you, you laying down on the counter and staring at the ceiling tiles. They’re unfocused and blurry in your post-orgasmic bliss. You blink yourself back to reality, giving him a look with your hooded, tired eyes. His chest rises and falls, mouth and softening cock smeared with your cum. He’s looking at you with the same eyes you’re giving him, something crossed between incredulity and shamelessness.

Joel fishes around in his back pocket before finding a red flannel handkerchief, which he’s careful to dab at your inner legs. You’re both silent until he separates from you with a peck to your forehead. “Did good for me. You’re, uh… really somethin’, sweetheart.”

You grin at him. “That mean this is gonna happen again?” You ask as he tucks himself away and buckles his belt. You stuff your tits back in your bra, pulling down your shirt and securing your pants and shoes from where they’d long fallen into piles on the floor.

“Don’t jump the gun, baby.” He rubs the back of his neck and licks his lips. “But I ain’t rulin’ it out.”

A cocky smirk tugs at your lips, and you hop fully off of the counter, tugging your jeans up your waist. Joel taps the vibrator box when you’re all done. “Cash me out?” he asks, stuffing the handkerchief back in his pocket and grabbing his wallet instead.

You nod, scanning the damaged vibrator box and batteries and reading off his total. You bag up the soaked vibrator, the on-the-house toy cleaner, and the rest of the batteries he’d bought. “Here you go,” you say, holding it out for him.

“Nah, hun. That’s for you. What use am I gonna get out of a vibrator unless it’s makin’ you come?” He pats the back of your hand and slides the bag across to you again.

You stare at him, fighting not to let your jaw loosen. “Joel… that’s a lot of money.”

“And you deserve to come as much as you want, got it, pretty girl?” He smiles at you with a shrug as if he hadn’t just wrung three out of you within an hour. “Besides, you have my number. You know who to ask if you ever need someone to talk you through it.”

You choke, nodding dumbly at his proposition. So definitely not ruled out.

“Thank you,” you say, bringing yourself to match his smile.

He gives your hand a squeeze and says, “See you later, sweetheart,” before heading out.

And sure, this entire thing is a tornado that could toss up your life like a trailer park, but for Joel? You’d let it happen.

😍😍😍

𝓞𝓫𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓷

SoftDark!Joel Miller x afab!fem!reader

Summary: Explicit pictures of you taken by a man you cheated with find their way to your boyfriend's father's desk. He isn't too impressed with the artistry. Good thing he can make it right. He’s a photographer after all.

Warnings: 18+ only minors DNI you will be blocked. No outbreak, NONCON, DUBCON, coercion, blackmail, manipulation, power imbalance, implications of revenge porn [not by Joel], infidelity, girthy age gap [reader is in her early 20s, Joel is in his early 50s], explicit photographs and photography, petnames, praise kink, daddy kink, minor size kink, soft dom!Joel, sub!reader, fingering, edging, just the tip action, creampie, cumplay?, unprotected P in V [be better!!]. Let me know if I missed anything 🫶

Word Count: 5.9K

A/N: Surprise Joel Miller smut because why not. This is my first time writing for Joel, so please be gentle. Going for the subtle horror meets porn vibes. Hope you nasties enjoy. mwah 💗

Masterlist

“S’ just a hobby.” Kind, gentle mister Miller had scratched the back of his neck modestly, towering over you as you inspected the black and white photo negatives freshly hung on his walls. He just seemed happy that someone appeared to be taking up an interest in his retirement activities. It was an interesting choice, you thought, to hang up the negatives. 

That was your first time visiting the Miller household, and had you known your boyfriend’s father was as unassuming and sympathetic as he turned out to be, you wouldn’t have been as worried about meeting him as you were. You surely wouldn't have been able to guess looking at his pictures. But his scowl melted away into a soft, subtle smile the moment you walked through his door, and so did your reservations. 

You learnt a lot from him that evening– about cameras and such. He indulged you in conversations about your life and interests– you had many in common. There were quite a few people at the Miller’s Christmas party, and he made sure you weren’t too lost in the crowd. It was nice to have a listening ear.

Humble as he was, it was only months later you discovered his pretty pictures in a photography magazine. At the hotel you were staying in while on vacation with his son. It was the last vacation you ended up taking together. Switzerland. 

Since that Christmas you visited him every once in a while, occupying the couch in his office to help him sort through his prints, tidy up his gear, and chart out subjects he wanted to capture. His son didn’t really like making the twenty minute commute back home, so you brought his well wishes with you. Mister Miller liked the strawberry puff pastries you baked, so you brought them along as well. 

He was a quiet guy, and after all these years alone seemed to enjoy the company of someone in the house. His face lit up just that little bit whenever you came over. Enough to let you know you were welcome back anytime. 

His office was cozy. With a large Persian rug at its center, and tufted, walnut brown, leather furniture. He had an expansive library of literature beside his desk, one that he’d fitted to the wall himself. Reading- another one of his retirement hobbies. 

His desk was tidy, almost completely empty save for a picture of him and his brother Tommy, sitting on a ledge with their arms slung around each other, an in-progress construction site for background. Judging from the lack of gray hair on his head, and the absence of the little crinkles beside his eyes, the photograph was at least twenty years old. It looked like it belonged to an alternate universe. 

Mister miller looked a far cry from the sophisticated, whiskey drinking, cigar smoking, middle aged man you knew. A regular ol’ Joe, or Joel, rather. He had this rugged boyish charm about him. He was smiling wide, he looked happy. There was a jarring absence of that tired look in his eyes. Whether he looked more handsome back then, or now– you couldn’t decide. 

It was late July. You watched the menacing, dark gray clouds drift lazily towards you from your living room window. It was 4pm, but you had the lights on, and the oven going in your kitchen. The younger Miller was not yet back from work, even though he was supposed to be off by 2:30. At times like that one you hardly regretted your unfaithfulness. 

You had your little dinner date with Mister Miller that evening, but from the looks of it you might have had to reschedule. A crack of thunder reverberated along the walls of your two bedroom, and had you reaching for the kitchen timer you’d abandoned on your center table– the dial dangerously close to hitting ‘0’.

It felt more wrong than it should, calling it a date, considering the circumstances. You couldn’t say you didn't feel guilty still meeting his father, telling him that things were going great when they really weren’t. You wondered what Joel would think of you if he ever found out about your little secret. 

It was difficult not to wonder how two people could be so similar and different at the same time. Why, save for some of his good looks, Mr. Miller’s best qualities did not seem to pass down to his son. Admittedly, you thought about it a lot. You thought about it when you found a shade of lipstick that surely didn’t belong to you stain the collar of his cream sweater. 

Things had spiraled far out of your control since that moment. Into your secret paradise of hotel rooms and weekend getaways. Worst of all, you knew your partner was living a parallel life to yours. You could have ended your relationship, but things were just never that easy. Especially when consciously, or subconsciously mister Miller was part of the mix. 

You reached in the oven and pulled out the pastries. Looking between the custard you’d put into your piping bag, and the strawberries you’d cut lengthways laying beside the powdered sugar. The clouds were closer than they were five minutes ago. Your backyard was no longer the lush Eden of green and purple it was in the morning. You thought of Mister Miller– spending the night alone at home, sitting at his desk, with no dessert to enjoy after dinner. 

You reached for the piping bag and sighed, beginning to assemble the sweet treats and lay them in the pink paper box you’d picked out for him from your kitchen cabinet. 

—

By the time you got to his house thick droplets of rain were already coming down from the sky. It was about three shades darker than it was when you left home, and the minacous clouds had caught up with you. You glanced at your phone. 

7:00 pm 

You felt a drop trickle down the side of your cheek as you ran up the front staircase leading to the main door. You rang the bell. It sounded full, and new. He must have fixed it recently. 

Mister Miller opened the door. He always wore some variation of the same flannel shirt and dark jeans. Like a cartoon character. It was quite charming. You liked it. It was soft, and smelt like his perfume. Tobacco, Sandalwood. He rubbed your back soothingly when you hugged him. 

You handed him the pink box. It had a darker pink ribbon wrapped around it, folded at the top into a big bow, with a small card wedged in between the loops. 

“To Joel Miller :) ” 

He chuckled, then smiled. “Thank you, sweetie.” You didn’t need his gratitude, he was nice enough to you as is, but you did appreciate it. In the past months he had become your only real excuse to bake. 

He welcomed you inside, and soon enough you were settled in the dining room. He’d hung up a new painting since you’d last visited, and changed the light switches on the wall. Every time you were over there was a new addition to the home. You figured he liked having something to do. 

By the looks of it he’d lit the candles there a while ago, and laid the table. He’d butterflied napkins in their napkin rings, and set out glasses for red, white, and dessert wine. You felt a lot better about not canceling. You noticed the brand new table runner against the table’s wood. He told you he bought it that morning. He sounded excited. 

You helped him bring in the pot of stew from the kitchen, as well as a plate of cheese and a loaf of warm bread set on a wooden board. He served you some stew, then cut a few slices of the bread he’d baked and placed them on your side plate. It was surprising that he’d taken up an interest in baking. He always said he preferred to cook on the stove. He did it well. 

“Taking after you.” he’d said, reaching for the wine decanter. 

You wondered if he ever taught his son to cook, and if he did why the latter never liked to do so. You recognised the cheese on the platter. It was from the shop beside your house. You’d served it when he came home in February, with berry jam, marmalade and grapes. He hadn’t been back since then. 

He was mostly quiet during dinner, as always. He listened to you ramble about the show you were watching, and how you found your grandmother’s recipe book in your attic. You assured him you’d be trying every recipe in that book. He said he hoped so. Other than that it was quiet. A comfortable quiet. And you watched wax dribble away from the candle wic, and pool at the base of the candelabra. 

He cleared up while you brewed some tea and placed your pastries on the hand painted porcelain tray you’d gifted him for Christmas. You padded across the hardwood floors to his office, and it was only then you noticed how heavily it had been pouring outside. 

You peeled back the white lace curtains to find a sheet of rain clouding your vision. You made out the dim, golden lights coming off the neighbor’s porch, and the street lamps flickering gently. You were glad you came. It was all quite welcoming, and warm and golden in the Miller household– far more than you would be if you decided to stay back home. 

The door clicked open, and you felt him walking up behind you as you stood at his bookshelf. You pointed to the clock on the wall above it. “It stopped.” He exhaled heavily, with his hands on his hips, and looked up to the pathetically stuttering hours hand. It looked like it was fighting for its life within the confines of the glass– spluttering, struggling. 

“Fixed it two days ago.”

You peeled your eyes away. 

He eased himself into his leather office chair, reaching below the mahogany table to lift a large cardboard box filled to the brim with film. Used, unused, polaroids, disposables. It had red electrical tape around its edges, and the words ‘32, spiral cord and wire’ scribbled in black sharpie. 

“Gotta sort these.” He looked at you apologetically, but you reassured him with a smile, and poured him a cup of tea while he inspected the box. Your eyes wandered to the wooden clock, the hand still pleading for help. You heard it's garbled tic. The contents of the box clattered to the desk, rhythmically with a crack of thunder outside. 

You placed a plate and cup in front of him, then took your seat on folded legs across the table. The white curtains momentarily set ablaze, followed by another hard, violent thrum. You foredged through the pile, lightly covered with residual dust. The rings on your fingers sparkled when they caught the light of his table lamp. 

Amongst the many treasures were some polaroids of the lake mister Miller liked to fish in, the cabin he built upstate, and the back end of Tommy's Miller’s orchard. They looked like test films to you. Not as fixed on composition as Joel was. The settings on the camera all over the place. 

In the pile, under an oversaturated photograph of an apple tree, two familiar eyes peered up at you– much of the face covered and lost to the clutter. You reached for it. Bound together with a thin, blue paperclip were three separate photographs flimsily hanging on to one another. 

You felt sick to your stomach.

The eyes were familiar, because they were yours. 

A mangled torso, waxy, glossy legs, a chest glazed with the sheen of sweat. You looked more like a deserted mannequin than you did yourself. The dark gray “lighting” rendered your body and its surroundings lifeless– ironically, you remember quite enjoying it in the moment. But the polaroids were far more reflective of what you felt of them at present– plagued with regret and shame, and lifelessness. 

How long had he known? Importantly, How did he find them? It hurt you to even think about it. The sound of the stuttering clock was deafening in your ears, ringing like an ominous, cruel joke. 

You distinctly remember taking those pictures. Worse, you remember thinking of mister Miller as your partner had clicked them. You thought of what he’d think if he ever saw them. You could have never guessed you would actually find out. 

“How long, sweetheart?” You forced yourself to look up, finding his eyes already boring you. He was upset, and angry, and there was something brewing behind his eyes. But worst of all he was disappointed in you. And out of all the possibilities, somehow that was the worst. You’d rather him be yelling, because there was something about that soft, gentle voice of his that unnerved you. 

“Why didn’t’ ya say somethin’?” It was like a car crash, you just couldn’t look away from the polaroids in your hands. Your spread legs, bare breasts, panties thrown to the side. You opened your mouth to say something, but you just couldn’t manage it. 

“Really shouldn’t let just anyone take those kinds of pictures.” Your eyes welled with hot tears as he reprimanded you. The whole ordeal had you feeling like you’d been sent to the principal's office, sitting across from him at his desk, both his forearms leaned on the table as he threatened you with consequences. He continued to speak, despite being met with your silence. 

“You’re lucky these ended up here, would be a shame if he found out about it before you did.” While your little affair hadn’t ended well, you surely hadn’t expected whatever this was from your ex partner. He must have still thought your boyfriend lived at his childhood address. Boy did he make a miscalculation. You didn’t know which outcome you preferred. 

You wanted to explain yourself, wanted to assure him you weren’t some cheating, lying piece of shit. That you and his son were just not working anymore, that you felt guilty, and never did it again, that the man who took those pictures was the last one you slept with. That you couldn’t just end things with his son because you didn’t want to lose him. “Mister Miller- I-” 

He cut you off, snatching the images from between your fingers. You watched with burning eyes and your heart hammering in your chest as he inspected them. The man would never look at you the same. He sighed, his downturned, disappointed eyes catching yours. That look, it broke your heart. 

“I mean, look at these babygirl. Ya’ look dead.” 

With your palms cold and sweaty, and cheeks set ablaze, you sure felt like it. The burning in your chest and neck had become almost unbearable. 

“Such a cute lil’ body ya’ got there. And this-” he shook his head, his unblinking gaze forcing your eyes to his. “This boy fuckin’ ruined ya.” He tossed the polaroids on his desk, and leaned forward. 

It took you about ten seconds to realize that mister Miller’s real quam with the pictures was, for better or for worse, not the fact that they existed, or worse, weren't taken by his son, but that they were bad. Not morally, or ethically, especially considering how they’d landed in his possession, but artistically, formally. 

“Would be a shame if my son were to say, find em, layin’ ‘round.” The room began to spin in slow circles. In a second a flash of lighting struck through the curtains in the window behind Joel, his frame completely backlit by the blinding light momentarily. You winced as another harsh crack of thunder descended upon the quiet office. 

“No, mi- Please-”

“‘Specially to see ya like this, catch ya like this. In these god awful pictures.” He took your chin between his fingers, eyes filled with faux concern, brows furrowed. But behind the obvious facade there was something sinister and cruel. Something you wished you had seen before. Because you were sure it had always been there. 

“How ‘bout we fix ‘em, huh babygirl?” your eyes widened at the realization, at the weight of his implication. His grip on your chin was unrelenting, a warning, a little taste of what was to come. Had he forgotten somehow that you were in fact his son’s girlfriend and not his? A girl who was to him, until about ten minutes before, his future daughter in law? 

“You gonna help daddy fix ‘em for ya?” Time seemed to lose its cadence, every moment  stretched endlessly as you remained trapped under his dead eyed, unwavering gaze. His words sent a jolt between your legs, that name sent a jolt between your legs, and had you squeezing them together shamefully as you struggled to blubber out a response. 

He raised his brows in question, once again offering you the artificial choice before you were sure he would take what he wanted himself. You swallowed thickly, and nodded. It was a lot less difficult than you let yourself believe. What were you going to do? 

“Hmm good girl. Get on ya knees sweetie.” Still gripping your chin he reached for the camera on his desk. A polaroid SX 70– the one he used to click a picture of you blowing out your candles on your birthday. In that same office, where he sang to you alone, because his son was on a work trip. 

He pinched your cheek, and got up to round the table. You knew better than to talk back. You were reminded when you saw how his frame towered over you, like that first night you’d met him. Except this time his broad shoulders and muscular arms were threatening, intimidating, and undeniably making you weak in the knees. 

Pushing your chair back you got on your knees on that once thick, soft Persian carpet. It’s weave like a thousand needles piercing your skin, and no longer the cloud on which you liked to sit. 

“Would’ve expected more from a smart cookie like you. Didn’t I teach ya better sweetie?” It was sick. You knew he was talking of not only your carelessness, but those pictures. You should have known to come to him. He would have helped you figure it out. Your relationship troubles, and how to take those photographs. He squatted down to your level, eyes raking over your body like you were already on display for him. 

“Lemme see ya sweetie.” You wished he would just rip off the bandaid and do it himself. It would feel less humiliating. Reaching for the buttons of your sweater you undid them one by one. He watched your every movement, eyes trained on your chest as you exposed the swell of your breasts. 

He reached forward, and brushed his thumb over your skin, hushing you soothingly when you shivered. Your hot skin burned further under his feather light touch. It was like you’d always imagined– gruff and rugged, but skillful. Just like him. His fingers were rough, and reminded you of the photograph of him and Tommy on his desk. He suddenly looked a lot more like the man in that picture.   

It was like he was eating you up with his eyes with each bit of clothing you discarded on his floor. He hummed when you got to your white, daisy print ankle socks, and caught your wrist when you reached to pull them off. 

“Keep em’ on.”

Once brimming with vitality, his brown eyes turned lifeless, devoid of any flicker of emotion or human connection. You found yourself questioning whether you ever really knew him– the gentle, unassuming man you adored. If he even existed in the first place.

Left in nothing but your bra and panties you sat on your knees in front of him, unable to meet his eyes. Pink lace. You’d worn them on purpose, because your little dates were always a special occasion. You weren't planning on him seeing them. 

By the looks of it he seemed quite pleased with your choice. 

“All f’ me, babygirl?” His voice had dropped three octaves, almost slurred thanks to his smooth southern drawl. You swallowed thickly, and nodded your head. As much as you hated to admit it, he was, in some convoluted way, one hundred percent correct. 

Excitement defiantly swirled in your tummy as he let his hands roam your mostly bare body for a few seconds. Like he was examining and inspecting you. He lifted your limp arm to get a better look at your bare waist, then let it fall by your side and reached for the straps of your bra– loosening them to the point they were barely hanging on to your shoulders. 

The room began to spin a little faster when he gently pushed you back against the carpet, one palm planted firmly on your stomach to hold you there, the other hand folding your knees and planting your heels on the ground. The cup of your bra slipped off your chest, your breast now bare to the cool air. You felt exposed, for reasons less obvious than they really were. 

You heard the violent swish of the wind outside. It felt far and distant, and like it was right in that room, all at the same time. 

He began inspecting you again. It was odd, surely he liked the sight of your body, you could tell when you eyed the obvious bulge in his pants, but he was looking at you like you were some prop– like a little sex doll for his little photoshoot. He was moving you around as he pleased, positioning your limbs and tilting your head like an inanimate object. You didn’t fight back, let him take control of your body. It made your stomach churn, your core tingle. 

He nudged and then kneeled between your legs, fully clothed, looking at you methodically. You felt the cool air brush the wet spot that had formed on your panties as you gazed up at the ceiling, far too ashamed to meet his gaze. 

You watched him reach upwards towards his desk, and shift the lamp there till it was barely hanging on to the edge. The light hit you in the face, and forced your eyes shut till he turned it away and towards your chest. You tilted your chin to get a look at him, despite your better judgment. 

He hummed, swiping your dripping seam with his thumb, only stopping to eye you in warning when your body understandably jerked at the contact. The dark look in his eyes reminded you you weren’t really there for your own enjoyment, and more for his. It was like your natural movement was some sort of inconvenience to him, something that was hindering and interfering with his creative process. 

It was nauseating. But despite the fear that bubbled in your chest, you couldn’t deny the thrum of excitement that ran through your system when he began adjusting the settings on his camera. A part of you, a much bigger part of you than you'd like to admit, was enjoying the entire experience. 

“Look at that.” He chuckled, presumably at the way the fabric of your panties clung messily to your wetness in spite of your seemingly unwilling demeanor.  You felt a drop of sweat roll down between your breasts in anticipation. 

He teased your clit over your panties, switching between watching your face intently and finding the best angle. Leaning backwards and forwards. You knew better than to move around this time. “That boy doesn't know a thing about angles does he?” He was mumbling, excessively concentrated on properly composing his shot. 

“‘S’ okay sweetheart, we’ll fix it.” Hooking two fingers under the seam of your panties he pulled them aside, exposing your bare cunt to the chilly air. “Daddy’ll fix it.” He watched himself run his fingers through your wetness, and you watched him swallow thickly at the view. You chewed on your bottom lip, summoning all your restraint not to wiggle your hips in his direction. 

“Thought ‘bout this cute lil cunt all fuckin week.” 

Your disobedient mind encouraged the desire that pooled in your core, and you turned your head side to side to rid yourself of the disturbing thought. 

He must have noticed your strained expression, the way you were so clearly begging to be touched, but refused to admit it. Your creased brow was not one of intense pleasure, but anxiety, uncertainty and perpetual frustration. His shoulders dropped defeatedly, and he looked at you like he was about to unleash on you another set of debased instructions. 

“Gotta look like you’re enjoyin’ yourself more than that babygirl.” 

Caught slightly off guard, but admittedly thankful nonetheless, a breathy sigh escaped your lips as he began drawing soft circles on your aching clit. “That’s it babygirl” His praise licked between your legs, going straight to your core. Fingers wet with your slick he rubbed your throbbing pussy, and you let your head fall back against the carpet. 

“So fuckin’ wet f’ daddy.” 

Increasing his pace ever so slightly his fingers moved to tease your aching hole, just barely pushing in. You felt a moan bubble in your throat, forcing its way out of your mouth. It was more than embarrassing to admit you were enjoying his attention. 

“Let go babygirl. Daddy’s gonna make ya’ look so pretty in his pictures- like ya’ really are, like ya' deserve.”

He bit his lip to keep from smiling when he heard the soft moan slip past your lips. “That's better.” You didn’t know if he was more pleased with your pleasure, or the fact that you’d look better in the photographs.  

As your chest rose and fell with his movements you were more and more convinced. It was undoubtedly better to play along and give in. There was little point resisting by the time the thought even occurred to you. Admittedly, embarrassingly late. At least that's what you told yourself when you moaned and sighed below him. 

“Shit sweetheart. Wish you could see what ‘m seein’.” You imagined what Joel could see through the lens. It felt dirty, and contrite, but also exhilarating, and warm and right. 

You felt the tension build in your hips, between your legs. He had been resisting fucking you with his fingers, and your need to be filled was only increasing with each touch to your sensitive clit– your aching hole clenching around nothing. Your mind wandered to the way you’d undoubtedly seen his cock twitch in his jeans at the sight of you. How you’d been wishing secretly for him to fill you up. 

The coil in your belly tightened, and tightened, and you felt yourself reach the edge, the very peak of your pleasure. You made out a beam of white lightning through your half closed, lust clouded eyes. 

He brushed his thumb over your clit, ever so slightly. You were so so close, feeling the tension reach its highest point in a split second and then dissolve entirely. You gasped, back arching off the ground. 

In the deafening silence you heard the shutter and click of the camera. The sound was menacing. And it made your tummy flutter.  

“That's it baby, good girl” 

Your slick pooled at your entrance, running down your thighs and making you shift uncomfortably. You felt numb in your toes, something in you prompting you to kick your feet just a little. At the lost pleasure. The word was leaving your mouth before you could even register it. 

“Daddy” 

“I know, I know-” Fuck. He sounded so gentle. Like the Joel you knew. The Joel you loved.  “just a little longer sweetheart, you can take it.” He rubbed the inside of your thigh. 

He rested his camera on his knees and reached forward to cup your cheek, stroking your warm skin with his thumb. His fingertips were ice cold, and made you wince. “Just think of how pretty they're gonna turn out-” The look in his eyes was pleading, like you even had a choice in the matter. You wondered if he thought you did. Either way it seemed to work on you. “How pretty you’re gonna look.” 

“C’mon be a good girl f’ daddy.” His words made you mewl. Joel pinched your hip in warning, but kept his voice steady. 

“C’mere” Hitching both your legs on his shoulders and on either side of his head he scooted forward on his knees. Your skin tingled in anticipation, and you wondered what it would be like to have his head between your thighs. 

Admiring your white ankle socks he ran his thumb along the base of your foot, making your squirm in his hold. He engulfed its arch in his large palm, placing a kiss to your soul and then your ankle, moving forward to nuzzle your calf with his nose. 

“Goddamn, such a cute lil thing.” 

You watched him palm his bulge through his jeans, then undo his belt with his eyes still trained on your messy, wet pussy. As if he’d caught you staring he reached forward and tilted your chin back up towards the ceiling. Surely, you straining your neck to get a good look at him was doing nothing for his shot composition. 

You felt him let go of your shin in favor of guiding his cock along your throbbing seam. His tip bumped your clit, making you mewl and inadvertently lift your hips in his direction. You wished you could see him, on his knees in front of you, his cock teasing your dripping cunt. 

“Poor thing, can feel how bad ya’ need it.” Exhaling heavily he continued to rub his cock against your wet folds, eyes fixated below him. He cursed lowly under his breath, and lined himself up with your entrance, pushing in just a little. 

Your mouth fell open in a wordless cry at the slow stretch of him, and you attempted to grab fistfulls of the carpet beneath you. He’d barely put it in , but it was enough to send your eyes fluttering shut. 

“Cute lil pussy can barely take my cock, baby.” 

He fucked you, giving you just the tip, over and over and over, unwilling to burry himself in you to the hilt. You felt him twitch inside you, the slow pace and minimal contact enough to keep you both on edge, and not enough to provide any semblance of relief. 

You whined in protest. 

“Shh babygirl, I know.” He fucked you in slow shallow strokes, hips barely moving. You felt his eyes glued to your face, as if he was waiting for the perfect moment to snap his shot.

He thumbed your clit, his own breath quickening when your walls clamped around his cock. 

You’d never reach your peak this way, and it looked like he noticed. It seemed to be quite a large part of his artistic vision, and you were more than glad. 

He groaned and thrust himself to the hilt in a single slow push, picking up his pace just enough to where you could feel him hit that sensitive spot inside you. His cock throbbed against your aching walls, the drag of him sending your eyes rolling back into your head. His hands gripped your thighs, lips dragging across your calves every now and then as he fucked your warm, wet pussy– slow and deep. 

You felt full, unlike you ever had before. With the way he was making you feel it was difficult to think of who he was, and how he’d got you into this position. Neither your boyfriend’s existence, nor the reality of his intimidation took away from the soaring pleasure that made your body sing. 

It was all too much to bear, and you could feel your orgasm building in your core once again. 

The ominous sound of the wooden clocks garbled tic found its way back to your ears, this time in rhythm with your pounding heart. It sounded oddly comforting, like it was pushing you closer to the edge. 

“Daddy-” you reached for his hand, bringing his large palm to squeeze your breast. He obliged, his free hand moving from there to tug and pinch at any part of you exposed to him. 

“Daddy, gonna cum-” Joel sat back just a bit, still fucking into your soft cunt. “Cum ‘f daddy babygirl, fuck, that’s it.” It was all you needed, the tension that had been building in your core for what seemed like forever finally snapping. Your body went rigid, eyes screwing shut and back arching off the ground once again, legs tingling. Your walls fluttered around his cock as he slowed his pace, coaxing you through it. He hit that sweet spot inside you over and over, seemingly enjoying the many waves of your orgasm just as much as you. 

Between the ticking and Joel's labored breaths, and ringing in your ears you barely heard the click of the camera, but the soft sound sent a jolt through your body, like an electric aftershock. 

You took more than a moment to catch your breath, face tingling and head buzzing. 

When your eyes fluttered open you noticed Joel had abandoned his camera on the ground beside him in favor of grabbing your thighs. Still sensitive you shivered as he fucked into your pussy, fast and hard. You looked up at his face, twisted in pleasure, the little wrinkles on his skin accentuated thanks to his frown and furrowed brow. 

“So fuckin tight babygirl” You felt him pulse and throb inside you, emptying himself in a few final, sloppy thrusts. 

He looked so handsome, with his hair just slightly out of place, and flannel wrinkled and messy. The thought of being filled up by him had your tummy erupting with butterflies. 

Still catching his breath he reached for his camera, pulling out ever so slowly. With your legs still on his shoulders he tucked himself back into his jeans and fixed his belt, slowly easing himself on his stomach in front of you, and dropping your legs on either side of his head. 

You couldn’t see him, but you felt him chuckle against your bare thigh, his breath tickling your skin. “Show me how full ya’ are of me babygirl– how messy ya’ are f’ daddy”. You bit your lip as you pushed, and heard yet another click of the camera echo across the room. 

“Fuck. look so fuckin’ pretty, full’ve my cum” His spend leaked out of your fluttering entrance, and you felt him swipe his finger against the cut of your pussy and push anything that escaped right back in. He shifted your panties back in place, the material already dampening once again, this time with both your and his juices.

He sat up with his legs stretched out in front of him, back resting against the legs of his couch beside you. He pulled you to rest your head on his lap. You watched him intently as he reached beside him for the photographs. They must really be something, because mister Miller sure looked impressed with himself. 

When he turned to you you were probably met with his most wide and genuine smile yet, the three fresh new polaroids pinched between his thumb and index. You watched as the white light from outside invaded the room, and struck his face, illuminating it for a split second. The garbled tic of the wooden clock had subsided into the white noise of the background, along with the steady hum of the rain. You relaxed into his embrace. 

“Make the prettiest little model, don’t ya think sweetheart? Daddy’s gonna have to use ya’ more often” 

And no, I'm not a jerk

I would ask if you could help me out

It's hard to understand

'Cause when you're running by yourself

It's hard to find someone to hold your hand

You know it's good to be tough like me

But I will wait forever

I need someone else

To look into my eyes and tell me

"Girl, you know you've got to watch your health"

See you on a dark night

See you on a dark night

See you on a dark night

Going to hell for this one. Please let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs keep me writing. I also want to re iterate please be careful about who you send or let take explicit pictures of yourself. Never show your face and stay safe. Dividers by @ saradika and @cafekitsune 💗🐝🫶