Bitchesuntitled - BitchesUntitled

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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 💗🐝🫶

I think this is incredibly telling! Like the fact that during his speech admitting to be a tad drunk, this man went there tonight just thinking “It’s gonna be a fun night” not even THINKING he would win! He deserves the fucking world!!!!!

baby boi was SHOOK

Oh my word! 😭 I knew this was gonna be an angsty emotional ride but did not expect for it to be THAT much of one! Poor Joel, I wanna wrap him up in the softest blanket I own and tell him everything will be alright ❤️

The Rite of Movement | part five

“something I’m not, but something I can be”

A/N: big disclaimer for this chapter: I do not know if this is actually how the porn industry functions. And while Brazzers is a real porn site, I don’t have any knowledge of how they run things on their site. For the sake of fiction, and the storyline, I wrote Joel’s era in Brazzers as a very very toxic work environment. Please heed the warnings. This takes place pre-miller-co. Joel and baby love have not met yet. Joel does however have a girlfriend during his time at Brazzers. Oh, and I listened to what was I made for on repeat while I wrote this 🥺 thank you to @itsokbbygrl for betaing and being my little cheerleader through this series 💗 and thank you to all my other friends for your endless support on my silly lil stories! (Y’all know who you are and how much I love you!)

~word count: 3.1k~

Summary: it’s Joel Miller’s 30th birthday. 30 years of existing, 12 years working for Brazzers, and what does he really have to show for his life outside of being a pornstar?

Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!female reader

Warnings: angst, implied smut, toxic work environment, implied workplace abuse, mentions of the porn industry, misogynistic comments/behavior towards women in the porn industry (not by Joel), feelings of body insecurity, shame, mentions of smoking, grief, resentment, language, mature themes, +18 minors dni!

series masterlist

Los Angeles, CA. September 26, 2009

An alarm clock blares on Joel’s nightstand, the shrill sound pierces his eardrums, sending his arm flying out from under the covers, smacking the top of the device, silencing it with a heavy groan rumbling up his chest.

6:00 a.m. the sun has barely just begun to peek over the mountains, the bustle of LA traffic, late-night goers returning home, early-morning risers preparing for another droning day.

The big 30: The age where you were expected to have your shit together. No more making foolish mistakes, no more job hopping, you should be married with kids and have a house with a white picket fence and drive a minivan. You should be invested in the stock market, your lawn should be properly trimmed, maybe you even make enough money to own a vacation home.

Joel hadn’t a fucking clue what he wanted out of life. He wasn’t married. He didn’t have any kids. He lived in an apartment with his brother Tommy, splitting the rent between their paychecks. LA never felt like home to him. He liked the palm trees and the beach. He hated LA traffic, smog, and that stupid Hollywood sign that alluded to a lifestyle that only the ‘chosen’ members of high society would get to indulge in.

City of Angels? Not even close.

30 years old, and feeling like he had nothing to show for his life outside of being a pornstar. A branding identity that shamed him more times than he was willing to admit. Is this all I’m good for?

Brazzers was the bane of his existence for 12 years, and yet every time he would try and put his foot down and quit, he was lured right back in. He loved sex just like anyone else. He loved the intimacy, the closeness, the connection to another human being. Above all, he loved making his partners feel good. To make them come, fall apart on his tongue, fingers, or his cock. To hear their pleasured cries, high-pitched real moans of his name.

It was euphoric for him, to make another person feel so good that they completely lose themselves in the moment, in the feeling of the rite of movement. He used to think that this was enough, that the act of sex and unbridled pleasure was all viewers would want to see. He thought he was enough.

But in the adult film industry, sex was never just enough.

He didn’t like being told how he should fuck.

Yank her hair harder.

Slap her around a little.

Squeeze her cheeks till she cries.

Choke her.

I want to see bruises on her ass, Joel.

Fuck her like you mean it, like you hate her. Like she’s your bitch. Your property.

Are we making a porno here or what? Don’t wipe her tears. That’s not what men want. They want to see a cunt being pounded. C’mon, Joel. This is supposed to be a male fantasy!

He learned how to dissociate and remove himself from the scene entirely. He worked on autopilot, tuning out the jarring voices that demanded more from him and his partner(s). And when the passion faded, he struggled to stay hard and on top of his game.

And even with the warm, wet mouth of a fluffer sucking his soft cock, he wasn’t turned on. Not in the slightest and he could feel the shame creeping up on his neck as the director barked at him to get his shit together.

“What do you mean you’re not able to get hard, Miller? You got a hot piece of ass under you, man! What the hell else do you want? Y’know, would it really hurt for you to be more like your brother?”

“She’s got a name, you know.” Joel bit back, grinding his jaw back and forth. The blatant disrespect that women faced on a day to day basis was downright disgusting.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. You make pornos, Joel! Or did you forget? Stop acting like a fucking sissy and do your goddamn job.”

“I need a minute,” he gruffed out and gently pushed the fluffer's mouth off of his cock. He strode past the director and the rest of the set crew and pulled his boxers on in a haste.

“Fine. You get 10 minutes, Miller. And when you get back, I expect you to be fucking ready, and hard.”

Joel didn’t respond as he shucked on his shorts and threw on his hoodie, grabbing his phone and pack of cigarettes to stuff in his pocket. He averted making eye contact with the director, shoulder checking him on his way out of the room.

10 minutes, Miller!

Fuck you is what Joel really wanted to say as he walked at a fast past towards the nearest exit in the long hallway.

-

The sun was blinding the moment he stepped outside into the back alley. He whipped his phone out, nervously pacing back and forth as he dialed Tommy’s number, listening to the dial tone ring and ring.

“Hey, you old fart! Feelin’ 30 yet?” Tommy said playfully.

“Yeah. I’m feelin’ 30 alright.” Joel grumbled, sinking back against the side of the building.

“What’s up? I know how much you hate your birthday, but why do you sound so—”

“I’m fuckin’ quitting, Tommy. I can’t do this shit anymore. I can’t fuckin’ do it. I’m about five seconds away from stormin’ back in there and beatin’ the living shit out of the director.” He snapped, carding his fingers through his hair, gripping the roots tightly. “I’m throwin’ the towel in, and I ain’t lookin’ back.”

“Woah, woah, woah! Hold on now, what the fuck happened? Are you sure you just want to—”

“Tommy.” Joel warned him, squeezing his eyes shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Don’t start this with me, okay? I need to know if you’re with me on this because I sure as hell ain’t leavin’ you out here on your own.”

“I ain’t a kid anymore, Joel. If you want to quit for your own reasons, that’s fine, and I support you, but that doesn’t mean that—” he sighed deeply, weighing out his words in his head before he said, “of course I’m with you on this.”

“I’m not gonna force you to quit, Tommy. I jus’ don’t think this cesspool is fuckin’ good for either of us. Talked to a few others that were thinkin’ of quitting, but no one has pulled the trigger yet. We can do some amateur work till we find our footing again, and I want to move back home, Tommy. I want to move back to Texas. I fuckin’ hate this state. Everythin’ is too damn expensive.”

“I’ll follow you wherever you go, Joel. You know I will. But what about…Carmen and Sarah? You jus’ gonna pack your shit up and not tell her?”

Joel felt his heart twist and clench, knocking the air from his lungs because for the first time in his 30 years of life, his heart was going to be broken, and there was nothing he could do to prevent the inevitable from happening.

“She’s never gonna accept me for who I am and my job, Tommy. She resents it, I know she does. And Sarah will eventually resent me too. She’ll grow up and feel ashamed that her stepfather is a fuckin’ pornstar. They both deserve better than what I can offer them. It’s not like I can just start over and get a respectable job! What established company is gonna hire a guy who’s CV consists of a highschool diploma, a year of working construction jobs and 12 years in the adult film industry?”

Tommy felt his heart break for his brother, splitting right down the middle. “Joel…” he trailed off.

“Her friends treat me differently, and everytime I’ve brought up the potential of meeting her family, she changes the subject on me, Tommy. And you know what? I don’t blame her. Who the fuck would want to introduce their pornstar boyfriend to anyone, let alone her family? I jus’ figured I’d cut her losses sooner rather than later. And even if things were to work out, and I get a new job, a new life, am I just supposed to accept the knowledge of knowin’ that the entire time we have been together, she’s resented my job? Some things just aren’t meant to work out, and that’s fine. I’ll let her go and she’ll meet a nice, normal, man with a good stable job who doesn’t fuck for a living.”

Joel Miller. Paging, Joel. You’re needed on set. Hurry the fuck up—

“Fuckers.” Joel muttered under his breath as he rose to his feet. “I gotta go, okay? I’ll text you in a bit.”

“Wait, Joel,” Tommy started, trying to think of what he could possibly say to his brother that would make the situation better. “Everythin’ is gonna be okay. It’ll all work out in the end.”

“Yeah, sure.” He replied flatly. “I’ll see you.” he ended the call, shoving his phone back into his hoodie pocket and pushed open the exit door just as his name was called over the intercom again.

This time he was going to put his foot down for good. He wasn’t going to be lured back in. He was done. His mind was made up and there would be no turning back.

-

“Fucking finally. I said 10 minutes, Miller. You’re lucky I even gave you that.” The director scoffed and snapped his fingers at the fluffer to do her job.

Joel stopped her with a gentle hand along her shoulder before he made direct eye contact with the director. “That won’t be necessary.”

“What the fuck do you mean that won’t be necessary? We were supposed to be wrapped up with this shit already. I have a freshie to introduce to you afterwards, so if we can just get a move on—”

“I said, that won’t be necessary.” Joel calmly reiterated as he grabbed his bag from the floor and slung it over his shoulder.

“Boy, you better fucking start talking. What do you mean that won’t be necessary?!”

“It means that I quit. And I hope that freshie and every other woman here fuckin’ quits while they still have the chance.”

The atmosphere in the brightly lit room immediately shifted and the tension was palpable. Joel’s onscreen partner was shocked, the fluffer was shocked along with the rest of the film crew.

“You have gotta fucking joking me right now.” The director laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You got some fucking nerve, Miller.”

Joel shrugged, glancing around the room before he turned towards the door, grasping the handle in his palm and pushed it open. He paused, looking over his shoulder, giving his onscreen partner a small, reassuring nod, “oh, and just a little word of advice? If you want sex to sell, and for Brazzers to not tank like the fuckin’ stock market, start by treatin’ women in the industry with respect. Jus’ a little food for thought. Pass that onto the CEO, and then tell him to shove it right up his ass.”

He walked out after that, listening to the director holler his name and something along the lines of, you’ll be back. They always fucking come back!

And on his way out, his shoulder gently made contact with another body rushing up the stairwell. “‘S’cuse me.” He rasped.

You didn’t get a look at the stranger's face on your way up. You were too focused on the fact that you were running late, and couldn’t afford to be potentially fired.

He didn’t get a look at your face either.

-

Joel opted to be alone for the rest of the day, sitting on the hood of his car, smoking through an entire pack of cigarettes while he watched the clouds roll by, and tourists stop to take pictures of the infamous Hollywood sign. He thought about his life up until this point.

30 years on this shithole we call earth. 12 years spent in the adult film industry, and never had he felt so lost and alone. Hours away from ending his first ever long term relationship and leaving the past behind.

Fuck 30. He thought to himself.

The inevitable settled into his bones as the sun slowly began to set behind the mountains, creating stunning hues of pink, oranges and purples in the sky. His phone buzzed on the exterior of the hood of his car, tearing him away from his thoughts when Carmen’s name popped up on the screen.

Hey, birthday boy. Are we still on for Thai food tonight? x.

Hey, baby. Yeah, of course. Can’t wait to see you.

5 missed calls from Tommy

10 messages from Tommy.

What happened to fucking calling me later, Joel?!

Why is your phone going straight to voicemail!

Can you just let me know that you’re okay?!

Joel.

Dude.

Pick up your phone!

And you call me the bad texter?!

This isn’t funny.

I didn’t sign up for the silent treatment!

If you’re dead in a ditch somewhere I’m gonna fucking kill you!!

He typed out a quick message to his brother informing him that he was in fact still alive and that he would be home soon.

What he wasn’t expecting was Carmen and Tommy to host a surprise birthday dinner at his apartment. He wasn’t mad at his brother for not giving him a heads up, and it wasn’t like Tommy could tell Carmen a simple, hey, by the way, my brother is going to break up with you and he wants to move back to Texas!

But all Joel could feel now when she pressed her lips to his in a sweet kiss, and planted a silly little party hat on his head, was guilt. An overwhelming tidal wave of guilt and shame for what he was going to do. And throughout the evening his guilt began to fester like an untreated wound. Bubbling pus leaked from his heartstrings like a broken faucet when he opened his unexpected present from Carmen.

It was a pocket wrist watch with an olive green strap that fit his wrist perfectly.

“You’re always misplacing your phone, so I figured that this would help you tell the time better? I know it isn’t much—”

He interjected softly, looking over at her with a small smile tugging on his lips, “It’s perfect. Thank you.” I’m so sorry.

And when Tommy stepped outside for a smoke and to give Joel and Carmen a bit of privacy, the energy shifted and Joel could feel the thread between them being pulled tight, threatening to snap at any given moment.

“Joel, is everything okay? You’ve hardly said a word to me tonight.”

And instead of responding, he got up from the couch in a haste, trying to keep his nerves at bay, but truthfully? He was panicking and it was written all over his face. “I’m fine, Carm. I jus’—I need some air.” He walked the short distance to the little balcony, pulling the door open as he stepped outside into the cooling night air.

Lights shimmered in the distance, palm trees swayed from a breeze off the coast. 30 years old and he felt like the biggest fucking asshole on the planet. Can I fix this? Can I make it work?

He stared down at the watch on his wrist, the tiny spokes ticking away as he rested his forearms along the paint chipped railing, listening to the soft squeak of the sliding door being pulled open as the blood rushed in his ears.

He tapped his foot nervously, jaw ticking under the fading light at the realization that there was no turning back.

“Do you love me?” He suddenly spoke, teeth grinding down on the inside of his cheek, the taste of copper bursting on his tongue. A reminder come morning when he would awake to the same soreness in his mouth that he feels in his heart.

“Joel…” she trailed off, standing alongside him, rubbing her arm as a self-soothing gesture.

“Do you love me…unconditionally?” His question hung heavy in the air, and when she didn’t immediately answer, tears began to prick the corner of his eyes, stinging and blurring his vision.

“Baby, please…why are—”

“Please don’t call me that right now, Carmen. Please.” he sniffled, staring back out over the railing at the shimmering mirage of Los Angeles. “If you did love me unconditionally, you would have answered me right away. It’s okay, I’m not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. I jus’—I know you resent me for being a pornstar. I’ve known about it for a while,” he said softly, feeling a tear rolling down along the side of his nose and drip down over his lips. His dewy eyed gaze met hers briefly, before he looked away. “And I also know that you would never ask me to quit, but you and I both know that’s what you want from me.”

There was no point in trying to deny it any longer. There was no bad blood, no bitterness. Just two adults facing the reality that is life. And sometimes…relationships don’t work out. The passion fades and resentment rears its ugly head.

“And no matter how many times I have tried to earnestly explain to you why I chose this career path, you will never understand. And I would never try to force you to. But it’s not fair to you, myself, or Sarah to continue this relationship when you will never accept me for who I am, Carmen.”

“You’re right, Joel.” She said quietly, her own tears beginning to brew along her waterline. “I’m so sorry.”

He swallowed the lump growing in his throat and the sob threatening to leave his lips, “I am too.”

There isn’t much left to say as they hug for the last time. She wishes him well in life and he does the same. There’s a new ache in his chest at the thought of him no longer being involved in Sarah’s life anymore. But he believes she’ll be better off without him, too.

And when she leaves his apartment for the last time, taking almost 3 years of memories along with her as the front door clicks shut, and her echoing footsteps down the hall become softer and softer, he lets out the sob he had been suppressing, sinking down to his knees in defeat.

Tears stream down his cheeks as a car horn blares below on the street.

Fuck you, asshole! Get out of the road! The owner of a sleek BMW yells with the window rolled down to a teenager crossing the street on his bike.

30 years old and heartbroken. So much for having his shit together.

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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.

Buuuugggg!!!! You’re killin’ me here! 🫠🫠🫠 this was so fucking hot! The way he quickly figures it out, catches her in the act, and then makes her keep going?! 🥵🥵🥵

Enjoy the Silence

You trespass into Joel’s house in search of some peace and quiet so you can get yourself off. Joel catches you in his bed in a compromising position. (5.2k)

That’s Pedro’s bum can you tell I love ass

Tags- pillow humping, masturbation, getting caught in the act, some humiliation but Joel talks you through it, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, prone bone, softdom Joel, little bit of crying (good tears) creampie, let me know if there’s something I missed.

A/N- Thank you to @tightjeansjavi , @notjustjavierpena , and @noxturnalpascal for all of your encouragement on this I know I’m not easy to deal with sometimes AND thank you my dear readers for being patient with me, I’ve been slacking on writing/uploading. I’d love it if you’d say hi to me, I’ve been missing you!! Hope you enjoy this one I’m glad to be back❤️🩷💜💙🩵

It’s too fucking loud tonight. You live with a group of single women in Jackson, all somewhere around your age, a few older, a few younger. You get along well with them, and they get along well with each other. Too well, perhaps. They’ve been talking for hours tonight. Hours. And they talk for hours most other nights too, especially now that the weather is starting to warm up. They’ve been making drinks and playing music, being rowdy. It’s past eleven at this point and they’re still going at it. 

You can’t sleep. The blankets are too warm, but without them you’re cold. You’ve flipped your pillow over what feels like hundreds of times.  It’s just one of those nights. Except every night is one of those nights, it seems. You tried touching yourself to fall asleep easier, but with no success. It’s not exactly the easiest getting off in such a full house. You’ve got privacy in your bedroom, sure. But the walls are thin and sound carries with such ease.

 God, does this suck. A lot of your problems would be solved if you could just get yourself off. You sit up in bed and stare out your window and into the window of the house next to yours. Joel’s window. His lights are off now, but earlier you had caught a glimpse of him getting out of his bathroom. His hair was wet and slicked back, his skin shiny and damp. He’s so sexy, so thick. That’s when you moved your hand between your thighs as you watched him pick out clothes from his dresser, biting your lip and circling your clit frantically as you prayed for his towel to drop. It didn’t. It never does. You groaned quietly in disappointment as you watched Joel walk back to his bathroom and then come out moments later fully dressed, subsequently shutting off his lights and leaving his bedroom. For a moment, with your eyes and your thoughts focused on Joel, you were able to block out all the noise and focus on your pleasure. But then he left and the pleasure vanished. 

You’ve lived next to Joel for quite a while now. More often than not he’s grumpy, keeping mostly to himself and Ellie. He’d usually just glare at you and your roommates. He can be friendly with others, though. 

Once one evening, Joel had spent five minutes knocking at your door to complain about the noise. You saw it coming, you and your roommates had amassed quite a few dirty looks from him in the moments prior. You watched him through the window, glaring at your porch from his own. Your roommates were outside, talking and listening to an old but new-to-you CD. He wore a scowl and his arms were crossed at his chest when you finally opened the door. 

“You ladies are chatty,” he grumbled. “Your music’s hurtin’ my ears.”

“We can be chatty, yeah,” you replied, “But you’re kinda crotchety.”

Joel sighed and rolled his eyes. “I’m askin’ you politely to keep it down,” He turned to leave then, but you tapped the back of his leg with your foot, stopping him, “You could go inside, you know,” you taunted.

Joel turned back around slowly. He looked so big, so broad as he looked down at you. “So could you.”

“Hm,” you hummed. You weren’t really sure why you were arguing with Joel when really, you agreed with him. The CD player sounds tinny and hurts your own ears at times, you can’t imagine what it does to Joel’s damaged ears. And the girls were too loud, other people live around here. But you were annoyed at the way he came over to complain about the noise level when he doesn’t know half of it, how loud it gets. “Fine. I’ll get them to quiet down if you do something for me.”

Joel raised his eyebrows, “Oh, I’m doin’ ya favors now?”

“Something like that,” you said. 

“What do you want?” he asked through a sigh. 

“You’re right, they’re being too loud,” you explained, “You don’t know how loud it can be, actually. I’ll try to get them to quiet down if you let me get some peace and quiet.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, your house is usually pretty quiet,” you began. 

Joel nodded. “Mhm. And I like it that way.”

“And I’ll keep it that way,” you urged. “Please? My roommates are so loud, I can’t even hear myself–” 

“Yeah, I know. Come on,” Joel interrupted. “Let’s go inside, then. Talk to your girls tomorrow.”

Joel led you to his house, opened the door for you and brought you inside. He offered you a glass of water and told you to make yourself at home, so you sat quietly on his sofa. Joel sat on the loveseat next to you. He figured you’d have brought a book or something to busy yourself with, but when he looked up at you after a few moments, you had curled your legs into your chest, laying sideways on his couch. He laughed to himself quietly and laid a blanket over your body, then turned out the lights and went upstairs to bed. You had never slept so peacefully. And that’s how the tradition began, Joel would let you come over to enjoy the quietness of his home. You never made good on his end of the deal, though. Your roommates stayed too loud, but it didn’t matter. You and Joel had found a system that worked for you both. 

Still staring at Joel’s window, you shift your attention towards the direction of Joel’s front door when you hear it slam shut. You watch him stroll away, probably off to drink with Tommy or something like that. 

Your core is still aching, a dull but constant ache. You’re thinking about Joel, unable to get the image of his slick body out of your mind. You’re thinking of the quietness of his house. Peace and quiet would be nice right about now. It’s never this late when you go over to Joel’s. You know you’re welcome over any time. Joel gave you a key to his home when you earned that privilege. But surely he didn’t have that open-door policy for what you’re thinking of using his quiet home for. He wouldn’t know though, right? 

Fuck it, you decide, climbing out of your bed and sliding on a pair of slippers. First grabbing Joel’s key from your nightstand, you exit your room and go down the stairs, going towards the back door where you walk past all of your roommates in the living room who don’t seem bothered or worried about what you’re up to this late at night. The chill of the air bites at your cheeks and your shoulders. You didn’t bring a jacket, but the distance from your back door to Joel’s isn’t a long one. 

You unlock his back door with your key and let yourself inside, scraping any dirt from your slippers on his doormat so as not to track it inside. It’s always quiet, but the silence is almost eerie. It makes you feel uneasy, doubly so because you know you’re doing something you shouldn’t be. But you’ll be quick. Joel won’t know, so no harm no foul. 

You scan the first floor, looking for a quiet, comfortable area. Joel’s home looks almost like TV in black and white the way it’s so dark right now. The first floor is no good, you’ll feel exposed. So you walk up his stairs, and your first instinct is to go to his guest room. You spend a lot of time there anyway, when you’re not napping on his couch you’re napping in that room. But he keeps it clean for you, pristine. The bed is made neatly and tailored specifically to his taste. You’d never be able to recreate that, he’d instantly become suspicious.

Across the hall is his own bedroom, not nearly as tidy as his guest room. A clothes pile on a chair, the shade of his lamp slightly off kilter. His bed is made up of crumpled sheets and blankets, the pillows indented from the weight of his head. Joel won’t know a thing. 

You tiptoe into his room, closing his door but the creak of its hinge cuts through the quiet air and startles you. Maybe it’s better to leave it untouched. You make your way quietly to his bed, first sitting on the edge, your feet dangling slightly in the air. You kick your feet a little, letting your slippers fall off. You feel so out of place here, so wrong. Like you’re invading his privacy, but you’re not. Not really. You’re not here to snoop or to do anything wrong, you’re just here to…well.

You lie back in his bed, his sheets are soft and worn, cold on the back of your legs. Their scent fills your nostrils, they smell like Joel. Like soap and his musk, slightly sweaty. It’s almost like he’s here with you. Spreading your legs and dipping your hand beneath your pajama bottoms, your mind starts to wander. Tracing your clit with your fingers, your brain is flooded with flashes of Joel. At first, it’s images of his neck, his forearms, his hands, all the veins protruding, muscles flexing. You’re circling your clit faster as you imagine he’s here with you, that it’s not his bed you’re lying against but instead his chest, he’s holding your knees apart as he nudges your head to the side with his nose, your neck exposed for him to lick and kiss and nip as you tease your cunt. You come quickly and your fantasy drifts from you. You make yourself come once more before you adjust the bedsheets slightly, put your slippers on and leave. Joel’s bedroom looks just as he left it. 

You watched him, learned his evening schedule. On Tuesdays and Thursdays he’s out on evening patrol, he doesn’t come home until the early morning. Those are the nights you sneak over to his house. As time goes on, you learn that you can be less careful. You don’t bother wiping your shoes, you don’t tiptoe like you used to. You’ll push the bedroom door open wide when Joel leaves it halfway shut. When you leave, you don’t bother laying the sheets back in the way Joel has them crumpled.

Joel notices.

You still come over for your usual quiet time, and Joel studies you. He’s begun sitting close to you, trying to memorize the smell of your shampoo on your hair. He thinks he smells it on his pillow. And the scent of your body, your soap and your perfume. He thinks he can smell it on his sheets. He thinks he can smell you on his sheets. 

You stay too long in his bed one Thursday night, startled when you hear Joel’s heavy footsteps in the distance. You bolt out of his bed, going down his stairs both as quickly and as quietly as you can. You shouldn’t have been so ballsy. Joel thinks he hears the door close but doesn’t pay it much mind as he undresses and gets into bed, and he doesn’t even notice you running back to your house from his window. What he does notice, however, is the way his bed feels warm as he lays down. He runs his hand along the length of his bed, the sheets feel cool on the opposite side. When he flips on his side, his nose nudges against something damp on his pillow. That’s when he sees your light flickering on from across the distance between your two windows, he sits up in bed to get a closer look at you. He watches your chest heaving like you’re out of breath, perhaps from sprinting across his lawn. He watches you then fall on your bed, he sees both of your knees hike up and spread apart. That’s when he puts two and two together. Suspicions confirmed.

He always knew you were trouble. And now he knows what you’ve been up to, trespassing to touch yourself in his home, in his bed, without him. You goddamn deviant. He’s gonna catch you in the act. 

-

Four whole days go by, which gives Joel enough time to find someone to cover his evening patrol. It’s Tuesday night and he’s got his bedroom lights off so you can’t see him watching you from his window. You look antsy, pacing back and forth across your room, frequently checking your window to see if he’s left yet. When Joel does leave his home, he’s conscious to not look behind himself at your window, to see if your light turns off. He doesn’t want you to know that he knows. He doesn’t look to see if you’re sneaking through his lawn. Instead, he keeps walking, giving you ample time to really screw yourself. When he feels a sufficient amount of time has passed, he turns back around and walks home. He enters his front door slowly and quietly, like a ghost. He takes careful steps through his living room, up his stairs. When he reaches his room, he pushes the door open wider and leans against the frame, listening to your breathy moans, watching you grind on his pillow in the low light of his room. You’re gripping his headboard as you whine, you’re even wearing one of his dirty flannels. Sick puppy. 

“Joel,” you moan to yourself. “Joel, oh god–” the lights turn on and you turn your head to see Joel leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed.

“Joel!”

“Yeah, I know,” Joel murmurs. “Caughtcha, didn’t I?” Any words you could possibly think of are caught in your throat. You feel hot, itchy. Joel notices the key he gave you sitting on his dresser and spins it around his finger. “Wasn’t what I had in mind when we set up our little arrangement.”

“I was– I wasn’t–” you shift uncomfortably as Joel puts the key down. 

He shuts his door and approaches you on his bed, first examining his headboard. He hums when he sees there’s little indents in the wood from your fingernails, marks on the wall behind the headboard. It all makes sense now. When Joel sits next to you on his bed, you quickly slide your ass off of his pillow and away from him. He’s quicker, tugging your– his flannel in the opposite direction, forcing you back to your place. “Nuh-uh,” he chides. “You stay right there.”

The air feels thick and Joel’s eyes are dark, almost inky black. You can hardly look at him, his intense gaze making you squirm. So instead you look down, where he plays with the fabric of his flannel, admiring the way it dances on your thighs with his touch. He lets a silence hang heavily between you both as he presses his lips in a thin line, waiting for you to explain yourself. You don’t. You can’t. You feel so exposed, so ashamed of yourself.

“Whatcha been doin’ to my pillow?” he finally asks. His voice is low, quiet and deep. He’s met with more silence. “Makin’ a mess, s’what. Up to no good, hm?” More silence as you adjust his flannel over your body, protecting your modesty. “I’m askin’ you a question,” he takes your chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, forcing eye contact. 

“Yeah,” your voice is hardly above a whisper. Your face is hot, your waterline is brimmed thick with tears, a few spilling over. “I’m sorry, Joel.”

“Ohhh, I know,” Joel coos, wiping the tears from your cheek with his thumb. “M’not tryin’ to embarrass ya, darlin’. S’human nature.” You can’t even begin to think of a way to get out of this situation. “S’that pillow ‘sposed to be me?”

“Yes.” 

“Figures,” Joel mumbles. “Makin’ me blush,” he taunts, tracing lazy patterns on your thigh. His touch makes your tummy flutter, it feels misleading. Like you’re enjoying it almost, though you shouldn’t be. “All you had to do was ask, sweetheart,” he says. “Didn’t need to make believe with my pillow. Get yourself into all this trouble.” You can’t quite get a read on what his angle is here. Still aroused and you feel nervous, small, guilty – awaiting punishment of some sort. 

 You’re defeated. All you can do is nod in understanding. You find the bravery to meet his eyes, his gaze still dark and intense, perhaps even hungry. He walks his fingers up the length of your thigh, noticing how you twitch as he nears your center. “I’ll go easy on ya f’ya tell me the truth. How long you been doin’ this, sweetheart?”

You are in trouble. He’ll go easy on you if you tell him the truth. “I dunno,” you whisper.

“Sure you do.” 

 You don’t even know. A few weeks, a month maybe. You shrug. 

“Think you wanna be honest with me,” Joel advises, provoking you slightly. Nothing from you. “S’alright. You don’t have to tell me. Just means you’re gonna finish the job.” 

“What?”

“You’re gonna finish what you started,” he says. “And this time I’m gonna stay right here and watch.”

Your heart drops. You search Joel’s eyes, looking for some sort of indication that he’s fucking with you. You’re not sure that you’re capable of this. Sex and masturbation are already two different animals. Getting off in front of the man you fantasize about in his bed? Where would you even begin?

“You had the balls to start this, you’re gonna finish it. Come on sweetheart, show me how you do it,” Joel nods, gesturing for you to begin. When you don’t, Joel scoots even closer to you on the bed. “So shy, aren’t you?” He turns his body toward you slightly, outstretching an arm across your body and then holds your hip in his strong hand. He begins to guide your movement, encouraging you to rock back and forth on his pillow. But you’re stiff in his hold. “Come on now,” he encourages, “Y’can even hold my hand f’ya want.”

Joel holds his free hand out to you, still moving your hip with the other. He knows how vulnerable and exposed you feel right now. Taking his hand, your other gripping the headboard once more, you still can’t meet his eyes, Instead you squeeze them shut, your hips following the guidance of his grip. 

“Why you bein’ quiet?” he asks, “Need to hear ya.”

Complying with his request, you let out a shaky and small moan. More of a whisper, really. He hums in approval, encouraging you to be louder. You’re starting to build a pace and find your courage, at least a little. 

When you let out a real moan, a real sound of pleasure, Joel squeezes your hip. “Ohh, there it is. Good girl,” he coos, “Good fuckin’ girl.” 

It’s instantaneous, the way his praise goes right to your core. You’re rocking your hips faster now, adjusting yourself to find a better angle. You can feel your own slick beneath you on the fabric of Joel’s pillow, wetting your thighs and your ass. His hand grips your own firmly, holding you steady, reminding you that he’s here with you.

Joel smirks as you move on your own accord. He lets go of your hip to explore your stomach and your torso with his palms, his fingertips dancing along the underside of your breasts. He sits up to get closer to you, tweaking one of your nipples beneath his fingers and sucking the other into his mouth, licking and swirling his tongue around the peaked bud. You tangle your fingers in his salt and pepper curls, tugging the strands as you ride his pillow. 

This is all he wanted. To watch you leave your mark on his clothes, in his bed, on his walls. He pulls away from you and watches you in admiration, moaning softly when he finally presses his palm against his bulge. He undoes his jeans and pushes both them and his boxers down his thighs, then removes his shirt. He grips his cock tightly, biting down on his moans as he gazes at you with lust in his eyes. He thinks you’re getting close now. Your hips are beginning to stutter in their movements, you’re getting quiet now like you’re concentrating on your pleasure, your body’s tensing up. He’s been so focused on you, he’s forgotten all about the fact that this is supposed to be your punishment for trespassing. 

Fuck. The punishment. 

Joel doesn’t have a clue how he’ll punish you as he lurches forward, kneels behind you and pulls your arms from the headboard. He hopes he’ll find the answer along the way. All he knows is that you’re not coming, not yet. Especially not by your own doing. Yeah, that’ll work, he thinks. He’ll bring you to the brink of orgasm, make you beg and apologize before finally letting you come. Maybe he’ll not even let you come, he’ll see how he’s feeling as time progresses 

Joel holds your arms behind your back in one hand and you yelp in surprise, then he adjusts his placement and pulls you back by your legs until you’re prone on his bed. “Up, sweetheart, up,” he mumbles, lifting your hips and pulling his pillow back, propping your ass up for him. The dampness of your arousal on his pillow feels warm and sticky against your tummy.

He palms your ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh before parting your cheeks with his thumbs. He runs a single digit through your soft, slick folds, humming as you tremble beneath his touch. You’re so wet. “What a fuckin’ mess,” he purrs, pressing his middle finger against your entrance, circling it before pushing inside. You keen into his touch, arching your back for him. 

“Joel,” you whine as he pulls his finger out. 

“Do you know what a mess you made?” He doesn’t bother letting you attempt to respond, you’re way too addled for his touch to answer his question coherently. Joel dips his tongue between your sensitive folds, replacing his fingers. Just like how he touched you moments prior, he traces your entrance with a pointed tongue before dipping it into your heat. Your arousal is like honey, so thick and sweet on his lips. 

He tastes you, savors you as he kisses your cunt. He’s lapping through your slick folds, his tongue parting all of your sensitive flesh, sensitive just for him. You can feel the wiry hairs of his beard tease your clit before he dips his lower, circling and flicking your bud with the muscle. He sucks it between his lips, making you squirm and writhe in pleasure. “Joel, oh my god.”

Your fantasies of Joel were never like this, never so indulgent. He’s sucking at your clit, then licking, nipping at your folds, before focusing his attention back to that bud. You’re moaning, pushing your ass back and grinding against his mouth, feeling his aquiline nose tease your hole. He’s buried between your most private place, his tongue flicking and swirling with such fervor. You’re biting into his sheets and seeing stars when he enters you with his fingers once more, curling them into that sweet spot inside of you. 

You’re bucking against his face, your slick soaking his fingers to the knuckle, spilling into his palm. His fingers’ movements don’t falter as he pulls his mouth away from your cunt, trailing kisses over the crease where your ass meets your thigh. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

“I’m so close,” you answer through a gasp. 

Joel kisses up your ass cheek, “How many times did you make yourself come in my bed?”

“Twice,” you reply. You’ll answer any question he asks now.

“Only twice?”

“Tonight.”

“Ohh,” Joel says. “Twice tonight. How ‘bout in total?” 

You don’t know the answer. Of course you don’t. He’s doing the math in his head as he fingers you. He’s thinking at least twice a night, twice a week. This venture of yours has probably been taking place over a couple of weeks. So that’s…more than enough, he decides. “Yeah, ‘course you don’t know. S’lot though, hm?” He lifts his face to watch you nod. “In that case, m’not sure that you need to come again.”

“I do,” you whine, “I need it, Joel.” 

“You want it–” Joel pulls his hand from your core and you cry at the loss. God, you wish his mouth was back there. “You be good to me and I’ll consider it.”

Joel pumps his cock momentarily behind you before he nudges a knee between your thighs. “Wider,” he instructs, leaning over you from behind.  He brackets your thighs with his own, one hand on your waist as he notches the tip of his cock inside of you. He doesn’t yet push all the way in, though. Instead, he waits as you squirm and arch your back for him, trying to take more than what he’s giving you. You whine in frustration. “Easy, now,” he warns. “Should ask permission. Nicely.”

“Please, Joel,” you say, “Fuck me.”

“Yeah, there you go,” he praises, working into your body. You sigh in satisfaction as he buries himself in you fully, his tuft of coarse curls scratching against the skin of your ass. “Wasn’t so hard, hm?”

Joel tightens his grip on your hips, denting his nails into your skin like how you did to his headboard. His thumbs are pressed firmly into your lower back as he begins to roll his hips into you. The way he thrusts so languidly into you makes your head fuzzy, the only thought you can focus on being the sensation of his thick cock parting your insides. He’s fucking you steadily now, and you can feel the skin of his thick, pillowy tummy caressing your back with every stroke. Fuck, how good he feels.

He fucks you apart, setting a steady rhythm. Joel knows how much you needed him, how much you wanted him before now. How you love it, how it’s nothing but pure pleasure that makes up your whimpers and gasps and the tears on your cheek. He leans lower, covering your hand with his own and intertwining his fingers between yours. You shiver as he tugs your earlobe between his teeth, then licks and kisses your ear, his mustache tickling your skin as his nose nudges your temple gently. He takes a moment to kiss away your tears and rests his arm around the crown of your head, caressing your hair before fucking you wildly.

“Feels nice, doesn’t it, sweetheart?”

“So good,” you choke out. 

You can feel Joel’s grin against the shell of your ear. “Just how you imagined when you were fuckin’ yourself on my pillow, hm?” he purrs.

“Better,” your answer is honest. 

“Yeah, I know,” he says, “Good answer, sweetheart.” 

He curls one of his forearms beneath your bicep, reaching for your breast and tweaking, pinching you as he wraps his other arm around you, searching for your pussy with his hand. He finds your sensitive bundle of nerves and draws lazy patterns over it, teasing you. You’re so wet. So slick, your pussy gushing with each stroke of his cock deep inside you. The sounds of your slick and skin slapping skin are lewd, obscene as he pounds his hips against your body. He’s grunting, gasping in your ear. It sends shivers down your spine. 

You’re twitching and bucking your hips, chasing that tightness beginning to build in your tummy. “Easy,” he murmurs. “Let me take my time with you.” He knows how desperate you are to come, but Joel makes you wait a little longer, feel the burn some more.

You’re whining and squirming as Joel fucks you, his face buried against your neck the hair on his cheeks scratch you. He’s biting, nipping at your skin as you let out your breathy little moans. In every inch of his body, he feels it–that power he holds, knowing you’re aching to come on his cock and it’s all because of him, it’s all for him.

His cock is beginning to twitch and he’s feeling that warm, sticky feeling in his gut and deep in his balls, he’s not lasting much longer now. He fucks you harder. “What about now, huh?” he grunts, “Should I let you come now?”

“Yeah,” you moan. “Yes. Let me, let me.”

“Then ask me,” he whispers, momentarily slowing his pace. He draws in and out of you slowly as he speaks, “S’all I wanted you to do, just ask me.” 

“Please let me come, Joel,” you ask.

“Good girl,” He brings his hand to your face, shoving his fingers past your lips. You know what he wants, no need for his instruction. You’re moaning, sucking on the digits as he fucks you, the motion of his thrusts grinding your clit into his warm palm. Joel feels you begin to tense up as you choke on his fingers. “There you go, let go, let go f’me. You’re alright,” he coos. “Come for me. I’ve got you.”

You’re stiffening underneath him, eyes screwing shut as you let yourself go. You come on his cock and against the calloused palm of his hand, ecstasy washing over you in thick, electrifying waves. Joel watches your face closely, he memorizes your cries of pleasure and how you convulse beneath him. He’s fucking wrecked you. 

You’re gurgling on Joel’s fingers that are still in his mouth as he slides his other hand away from your cunt in favor of resting it up high by your head. It’s his turn for release now. He’s without a thought when his hips begin to stutter as they lose their rhythm, the frenetic slamming of his body against yours indicating his closeness. He lets out a symphony of grunts and moans into your ear as he comes inside you, painting your insides with his spend, milking himself entirely. You take it all, everything he gives you, whining at the overstimulation and the way his release makes you feel so warm and full. Your cunt is slippery with his come as his thrusts begin to slow, slow some more until he stills inside you completely, resting on top of you. With a groan, he pulls out to admire his work, to watch how your combined arousal spills on his sheets. He uses two fingers to push some of his escaped come back inside you. 

You stay laying on your tummy as you cross your forearms to use as a pillow to rest your head. Joel meets you on his bed, also laying on his tummy. You hadn’t even realized he undressed himself. 

He reaches over to caress your cheek, then your flannel-covered back. “Nice touch,” he murmurs. “S’pretty on you.”

“Smells like you,” you confess quietly. “Turns me on.”

Joel makes an amused face as he nods. His eyes are sparkly but sleepy and your cheeks are warm, you bite down on a shy and embarrassed smile. He smirks at that.  “So bashful,” he purrs. “You’re welcome to use my home and wear my clothes for your dirty work any time you like,” he says. “Just invite me every now and then.”

-

If you enjoyed, please leave me a comment, rb, or send me an ask, tell me your thoughts. Your kind words and engagement keep me motivated to write

The way I snorted laughing at this 🤣😂🤣

Oscar Isaac: